Ghost Stalker

by Jenna Kernan

  His eyelids grew heavy, but he fought off the lethargy.

  “You’re a sight,” she murmured.

  For the first time he thought to wonder what he really looked like. For years he’d relied on his good looks to get him exactly what he wanted from women, and he realized with a nasty lurch that he had lost one major advantage. Those women had gouged his face as if it were warm wax. He allowed himself to relax as she bathed his face and neck.

  “Are you certain they were ghosts?”

  He didn’t open his eyes. “Positive.”

  “How do you know?”

  “The stink. They smell like death and their eyes take on an unnatural yellow glow.”

  The drug made him woozy but did its work. He made an investigatory pat of his face as she drew out a stethoscope and listened to his chest.

  “Your lung is collapsed. We need to get you looked at.”

  His friend Sebastian would have him whole already. “I thought you were a healer.”

  “I am, but I can’t reinflate your lung. It wouldn’t be safe. I have a friend. He can do surgery on-site. He’s very good.”

  His thoughts were harder to gather. He tried to focus on why this was a bad idea. It came to him at last as he recalled her earlier concern that he may go wolf on the operating table. “Anesthesia?”

  “It won’t matter.”

  He opened his eyes and their gazes met. Her face flushed and he knew she was up to something.

  She tried for a smile of reassurance, but it flickered and died before reaching her golden eyes.

  “He’s a large-animal vet.”

  Nick drew a breath to protest but choked on the blood in his throat and managed only a gurgle.

  “Now listen, if he puts you out, you’ll already be in animal form.”

  Nick groaned again. “What if he puts me down instead of out?”

  “I won’t let that happen.”

  This from a woman who had already tried to smother him.

  “Why don’t I feel better?” he muttered.

  “I promise to do everything I can to help you. You have to trust me.”

  Trust a woman. That was funny. He’d laugh if his rib wasn’t jabbing his lung. Instead, he tried to think of another way. He had never been to a vet. The very thought was humiliating, but he had a nasty suspicion that he’d die otherwise. Given the people he needed to protect, he couldn’t do that.

  Nick nodded his acceptance.

  “I have to get you into the truck,” she said. “I think, if you change, I can carry you.”

  He looked at her and knew she couldn’t do it. He sat up. Even with the painkillers chugging through his system, the effort covered him in a cold sweat. Together they made it to the front steps. He was dribbling frothy pink blood from his mouth again and coughing. Pinpricks of light spun about him as he gripped the railing.

  “I’ll get the truck.”

  She set off at a run, bounding like a deer, and he wished he had the strength to give chase. The truck roared up to the steps. He lifted his head from the crook of his arm, not even recalling assuming that position.

  She wrapped an arm around his broken rib cage. The pain nearly buckled his knees.

  He made it to the door and staggered into the truck. She rounded the hood and jumped into the driver’s side. She reached for the clutch then hesitated, leaving them in place.

  “I’ll have help at the vets. Maybe you should change now.” She gripped the steering wheel as if bracing for a blow.

  Nick studied her. “You gave your word.”

  He waited until she nodded her acceptance before focusing his dwindling energy on the change. The power zinged through his veins, momentarily overcoming the pain. Then he coiled into the position of a wounded animal upon her vinyl seat.

  He kept his gaze on her as she stared in wide-eyed astonishment.

  “A wolf,” she whispered and he realized that she had not known his animal form when she agreed to tend him. Did it make a difference? It was certain it would to some. Had she been there—during the war?

  Her face paled as her bloodless fingers slipped from the wheel. She threw open the door and slid from the truck, pausing only to slam the door in his face. She kept both hands on the metal exterior as she stared in horror through the closed window.

  So much for the truce they had forged. It seemed that Skinwalkers were not the only ones who could not be trusted.

  Nick woke in the arms of a barrel-chested man whose booming baritone voice ordered someone to hold the door.

  “Jessie, I don’t care what your friend said. This here’s a damned wolf.”

  “He’s gentle, I swear,” she said, vouching for his character.

  “Folk round don’t patch wolves. They shoot ’em.”

  “Well, I want him patched.”

  “Car hit him?”

  Nick was swung through the door and carried past rows of plastic chairs. The scent of cat, urine, dog and ferret all assaulted him in a nauseating wave of odor and he did not hear her answer.

  She hadn’t abandoned him, then. What had changed her mind?

  “What happened to his face?”

  “I don’t know. But his ribs are broken.”

  “Tangled with a bear, maybe. Sure you don’t want to just put him out of his misery?”

  Was it the real purpose of this visit? Nick started to struggle but the man simply tightened his stranglehold. Nick’s injuries made him weak, too weak to transform again.

  Behind him, Jessie Healy’s voice rang with adamancy. “Absolutely not!”

  “Might be expensive.”

  “Just do it.”

  Nick liked the sharp ring of authority in her tone. They laid him on his side on a cold metal table that stank of disinfectant and fear. The vet had his back to him for a moment. When he turned, he held a huge needle.

  Nick scrambled, but the vet grasped the scruff of his neck.

  “Hold him, Jess.”

  She laid trembling hands on his hip and he stilled instantly, feeling the assault of stubborn resolve that was not his own. Was he crazy? She was Niyanoka and his interests were not the same as hers. She had given her word, but she had given it to a creature who she considered to be her inferior and her enemy. Panic rushed like fire through his veins and he tried to rise to his feet.

  Nick felt the pinch as the needle punctured his scruff. There was a burning and then his legs went out from under him.

  Chapter 4

  Nagi was still in possession of the young man’s body when the ghosts arrived, all three of them, pulsing weakly and stinking of failure. Rage ripped through him as the excuses began. They had located him in the living world, where he came to collect errant ghosts for his circle. But tonight he was attending to a very personal matter which they were interrupting.

  He led them outdoors to the cool, familiar darkness of the night and did not stop until he was well away from the house. There, beneath the shimmering canopy of silver stars, he paused to face them.

  “My lord and master,” said the first, “we did as you bid and attacked the Tracker and—”

  The arsonist interrupted, “But we did not kill him, as you commanded.”

  The third said nothing.

  The first continued as if the others were not there. “And we allowed him to escape before following.”

  “Then why are you here, groveling like sick dogs?”

  The arsonist became more transparent. “He did not go to the Healer.”

  “What!” Nagi extended his human arms, sending a shock wave forward with such force it threw all three ghosts back into a series of somersaults. The only thing that kept him from casting them to the very bottom of his circle was the need for more answers.

  “Where is he?” Nagi shouted.

  The first ghost’s voice faltered. “H-he found a Dream Walker.”

  Nagi glared. Why would an Inanoka travel to an enemy when a friend could heal him? He fixed his gaze on the center ghost, the one who thought kil
ling his wife would keep her from loving another. Why did he not speak?

  And then he understood. Holding the fury at bay, he spoke to the third specter.

  The icy calm brought the vibrating forms before him to stillness. “You warned him, didn’t you?”

  “We didn’t, my lord,” said the first, then glanced at his comrades and in that instant chose his soul over theirs. He pointed at the silent one. “He did. While still in the woman’s body, he called to us that the Inanoka was taking us to the Seer. The Tracker must have heard him.”

  “So he changed course.”

  No one spoke.

  “And why does it require three of you to bring me this message?”

  No answer.

  “Who guards the Inanoka in your absence?”

  Animosity pulsed bright red between the three and he knew all. None trusted the others out of their sight, so they had abandoned their posts to come to him.

  “All of you were called to the Spirit Road at your death. But you did not come. When I captured you, I gave you what none before you had ever received—a chance. This is how I am repaid. I am keeper of the souls of the unwanted. But you—” he pointed at the culprit “—are unwanted even by me.”

  A jade spark issued from his hand. The killing orb shot at the third ghost, igniting his soul until he blazed bright as green lightning.

  Nagi was disgusted by his own choices. He should have taken more time to pick his soldiers instead of enlisting the first three sorry ghosts he captured.

  He turned his attention on the two remaining souls.

  “Tell me where he is.” They did, but he was not satisfied.

  “You left your post. What shall I do with two deserters?” He lifted his human hand to the stars, opening a portal. There the Ghost Road glittered, leading the way to the Spirit World, a world they would never see.

  “You will now walk the path you are destined to tread.”

  Nagi waited. The ghosts both looked relieved. He had not extinguished their souls. But in time, they would wish he had.

  He allowed them only one step upon the Way of Souls. Hihankara, the crone that guarded the road, appeared before them instantly, her grim continence relaying that these two would never pass.

  He called to them and they turned.

  “Both of you have living family.” He looked at the first. “You a mother.” And then to the arsonist. “You a sister. Both live worthy lives. I count their prayers. In time, you might have been released from my circle. But for your failings, I condemn you to the bottom level of my circle, from which none escape.”

  Nagi lifted his hand.

  “My lord, wait.”

  He exhaled and his breath swept them from the road. He watched them tumble through space, screaming and clawing as they dropped through the center of his spinning circle of souls, through the ghosts who might someday reach the Spirit World, past those without hope, into the circle of despair. Here the ghosts did not walk in an endless circle. Here they stood, packed as close as cattle in a slaughterhouse. But the closeness did not warm them. In icy silence they called, unable to move, unable to see or hear even their own voices. There were worse things than death, far, far worse.

  Satisfied, he strode across the lawn, wishing he could feel the dew that clung to this body’s bare feet. But his human host was only a puppet at his command. He could not feel or taste. In fact, he could not recall if he had allowed this body to eat since he took him. He decided to stop in the kitchen for some nourishment. It would not do to have his host expire before he was done with him.

  Chapter 5

  It was midafternoon before Jessie arrived home with the wolf, still seething over their agreement. He had proved her suspicion correct by his lie of omission. A wolf!

  The vet had wanted to put him down and, Maka help her, she had been tempted. Then he asked to keep Nick overnight, but she did not dare leave him for fear he’d come to and transform. After trying and failing to lift Nick from her truck, she’d been forced to call for help, but not to her parents. Great Mystery, no!

  There was nothing her people hated more than a wolf. The very reason her people no longer lived in large groups was because of a great gray timber wolf. His name was Fleetfoot and he led the uprising. His army of Skinwalkers nearly destroyed them. His death marked the turning point. After the Niyanoka victory, they broke into small bands, hiding among the humans they protected. Since the Skinwalkers could not see auras, they could not differentiate between men and Spirit Child. Their invisibility acted as a defense tactic, a sort of camouflage, should the truce between their people ever be broken. Thus far, the agreement remained intact. But for those who lived through the bloodshed, the war would never end. Her people had vowed that the Skinwalkers would never again find them amassed in one place. From that day to this, they lived among humans, hiding in plain sight.

  Jessie did not like asking for help, but in the end she called her neighbor, up the road. While she waited, her mind filled with images of terrible stories her mother had told her after surviving the war between the races. Her mom had witnessed the bloodshed caused by Inanoka.

  Why hadn’t Nick told her his animal form was wolf?

  But she knew. He tricked her. Somehow he had known that if she even suspected he was a wolf, she would never have entered into that cursed bargain.

  Larry Karr pulled in, a little too eager to help. But he groaned when he lifted Nick, succeeding in extracting him from the truck.

  “He’s heavier than you’d think,” he said, a sheen of sweat breaking out on his pink face.

  Larry carried the sedated wolf into the house with Jessie leading the way to her guest room off the kitchen.

  “Put him on the bed,” she said.

  Larry, out of breath now and puffing like a power lifter, hesitated only a moment before doing as she requested. Once unburdened, he gazed down at the large gray timber wolf with a solemn expression. “You sure that thing is tame?”

  Jessie wasn’t—for she could think of nothing more wild or unpredictable than a wolf.

  Her silence seemed to reinforce Larry’s concerns. The rancher had a spread just south of her place and had likely shot a few wolves, regardless of the laws. He shifted his watery eyes from the canine to her.

  “Maybe I best put him in the barn. You got a cage out there?”

  She did, the one she used to house her Labrador pup. But that was years ago. Her mother had hated the dog, hated all animals that reminded her of wolves and bears.

  Jessie reviewed her promise and wondered if she had said anything that prevented her from caging this Skinwalker. Fear of him warred with her obligation to do her best to care for him.

  “Better leave him there.”

  “Might roll off. Might bite you. Hate you to have to get rabies shots over some mangy sheep killer.”

  Nick was anything but mangy. His coat would be the envy of any woman who ever dressed in fur. Why had she promised to care for him?

  She turned to Larry. She had lived only ten years in this place and she could safely stay another fifteen before people began to notice that she did not age like the rest of them, for her life expectancy could be up to four hundred years. She liked it here, but recognized that this problem might expose her. Her neighbor could not know about Halflings. Niyanoka law forbade revealing who and what they were.

  “He won’t bite me. I told you. He’s a pet.” She took a tentative step forward and rested trembling fingers on Nick’s head, hoping he didn’t awaken and take off her hand. The instant her fingers slipped into the thick, soft coat, she sensed the tingling sensation of power. The texture was as sensual as anything she had ever touched. Even sedated, Nick radiated strength and energy. She found herself stroking him from his ear to the thick scruff at his neck. It was a coat to burrow into, with lush outer hair and soft, thick inner fur that protected him.

  But it was a coat he could shed at will and slip into the midst of humans, tricking them into believing he was something he
was not—just as he had done to her. Jessie fumed. He was a born deceiver and dangerous, yes, far more dangerous than Larry could ever imagine.

  Jessie gazed down at the white bandage on the wolf’s side. Three of his ribs were broken, as if he’d been kicked by an elk. But that didn’t explain the gouges. One of his eyes was patched, but the claw marks on his muzzle were not. The vet had chosen to stitch them and leave them uncovered to heal. He had not been careful with the stitches, and Jessie felt a little sick with worry about what the Skinwalker would say when he found his face so roughly patched. Had he been in human form, such injuries would have warranted a plastic surgeon or at the very least a smaller gauge needle and thread.

  “That damned thing might have one of my lambs in his belly right now.”

  Time for Larry to go. She turned to him and smiled, knowing she should offer him coffee. But Larry was married and seemed a little too interested in helping her out today.

  “Thanks so much. I can take it from here.” Jessie put a hand on Larry’s shoulder, trying to usher him from the room. He took the hint and headed out through the kitchen, but paused on the front step.

  “Sure I can’t…”

  “Thanks again. Appreciate your help.”

  He didn’t move.

  “Give my love to May and your girls.”

  That was the push he needed. He ambled back to his pickup and gave a wave from the open window before pulling onto the road and out of sight.

  Jessie watched the rooster tail of dust in his wake and breathed a sigh of relief. It was a good five seconds before the disquiet returned, prickling up her spine like a rolling cactus. She had a wolf in her house.

  If her mother found out, she’d kill him, her—or both.

  She made her way back to her patient, studying his limp form. There was a small bandage covering the spot where the vet had shaved his coat to insert a tube that reinflated his lung. All in all he looked much worse than when she had taken charge of him. It would have been easy to let the vet put him down. Her mother would have approved.

  Was a promise still a promise when given to the enemy?