Catspell

by Colleen Shannon

  “She was the daughter of the village apothecary,” the earl said, his voice muffled in his kerchief. “But what was she doing in my parkland? Surely not poaching.”

  “An assignation, perhaps?” Ethan suggested.

  “She had no suitors that I’m aware of. Her father kept her under his thumb.” The earl’s eyes misted. “I have to tell him. And since it happened on my land, I’ll make remuneration to him.”

  “Poor mite.” Ethan’s soft tone almost brought tears to Shelly’s eyes, but she controlled herself and glared at the earl.

  “Money does not solve everything, sir. Besides, other than the fact this happened on your estate, how do you know there’s any connection between this poor unfortunate girl and Arielle?”

  The earl backed a step. “I said no such thing.”

  “But you were thinking it.” She turned back to her work, too busy to wonder over much about the strange, speculative look Ethan gave her.

  “As we supposed, her carotid artery was severed.” Missing, more like. The bite mark on her neck was so huge and savage, the entire side of her neck was almost missing. That explained why the blood marks faded so quickly. The attacker must have thirsted for her blood and gone to the richest source immediately. The ragged clothes were torn and bloody, but it was easy to see the second bite had indeed severed the femoral artery of her left leg.

  Again, Shelly saw the imprint of very large fangs. For an instant, she was haunted by a fear that her transformation last night had not been as controlled as she thought. The size of these fangs was similar to her own in lupine form. But her leaping heart slowed in her breast when her keen gaze speared the darkness and saw the antlers a good fifty feet away, the remains of the deer she’d killed and feasted on.

  No, whoever had killed this girl had done so hours after she returned to her room. She wondered if the location of the murder was itself a challenge to her. But who knew of her abilities, save that cat creature she’d faced?

  No one. Redoubling her efforts, Shelly arrayed the body as decorously as possible and began recount the murder by the clues of the footprints left behind in the soft ground. It was difficult, even with her experience, because of the wily nilly character of the tracks.

  Here the entrance of hobnailed boots, probably the game keeper, there a more refined boot print with a higher heel–the constable perhaps. She’d defined several other marks all made by small, coarse clogs that probably belonged to the stable boys before she spotted what she was expecting but hoping not to find.

  A paw print near a tree.

  There, almost obscured by a pile of leaves as if someone had deliberately tried to cover it, was a shallow depression of a very large paw print. Again like Shelly herself in her lupine persona, the cat moved like a much lighter creature than the size of the print would indicate. But curiously, when Shelly tried to track the print, she found no others. She looked up at the tree.

  Gashed deep into the oak’s dark bark was a fresh scratch, such as a claw would make. And very near the scratch, caught on a splinter, was a coarse wisp of hair. Deep golden hair.

  Hair the color of the great lion she had encountered. Shelly pocketed the evidence, but Ethan, damn his watchful eyes, caught her.

  “I say, dear lady, how can you expect me to keep an accurate account of this examination if you hide things from me?”

  Reluctantly, Shelly showed them the tuft of fur.

  The earl turned it over in his hands. “Coarse.”

  Ethan snatched it. All mirth drained from his face, even the teasing, as he handed it back and made a notation. “Lion fur found at the site of the killing.”

  Blanching, the earl expostulated, “How could you know from such a small sample? It could be a dog, or a small alley cat--”

  “Both have softer fur,” Ethan disagreed. “We shall not know for certain until we compare the tuft under a microscope to a known sampling, but I have hunted in Africa and touched a lion’s pelt before.”

  While they argued, Shelly was climbing the tree.

  Ethan blinked up at her through the leaves. “What the deuce are you doing now?”

  Shelly tracked the claw marks, trying to get an idea of the size of the animal by placing her hands on each mark. She could not stretch far enough. The chill of intuition froze into certainty.

  A lion very similar to the one who faced her the other night, at least of similar size and color, made these marks.

  Shelly traced the path of claw marks to the end of a branch and looked down. Again, a pile of leaves had been raked over the evidence, but when she dropped down and gently pulled the leaves away one by one she saw…a man’s footprint. A bare footprint. Also lightly imprinted, and then, when she tried to track it further, erased by a piece of branch, no doubt, for she saw a sweeping mark, almost as telling as the footprints themselves, that led to a rock outcropping and disappeared.

  Ethan said over her shoulder, “Well? What has that acute brain of yours concluded?”

  Shelly longed to set him in his place with the dire nature of her conclusions, but she had no interest in frightening the earl and Arielle even more, or perhaps stirring up the press if they heard the rumors of her suppositions. Shelly said only, “A brutal murder of a young woman was committed here tonight. Mostly likely by a large feline, perhaps a lion.”

  “And?” the earl and Ethan said simultaneously.

  “The other facts I will convey when I have more evidence.” And had figured out how to safeguard a young girl with latent psychic abilities from the lure of a cat-man who wanted to entice her into his dark world.

  For Shelly had seen enough, coupled with the gut instinct of many solved cases, to draw a terrifying conclusion from this chain of evidence.

  A lion went up this tree.

  A man came down.

  Ethan arched an eyebrow and smiled as he put the notebook back in his capacious greatcoat pocket. “Keep your cards close to your chest, if you will.”

  “Is there any other way to play?”

  “Not for the two of us.” His green eyes absorbed her, as dark and verdant as the living things of life and joy, and death and despair, all about them.

  She looked away, but her gaze snapped back to his at his next comment.

  “I call your bluff, my very dear lady. If you wish to find further evidence to substantiate your theory before you tell all, what do you make of the remains of that deer a mere fifty feet away?”

  Shelly didn’t need to make anything of it. She’d killed it herself.. Last night. As a werewolf.

  He continued, “Do you suppose the same creature did it? Or perhaps there are two very large, very dangerous animals with enormous fangs loose in the earl’s parkland. I examined both sites earlier, you see.”

  Kicking herself metaphorically, Shelly looked at his boots. A slight heel. The expensive footwear was his. “Did you also contact the newspaper?”

  He scowled. “Of course not. While your conclusions were more thorough than my own, they are exactly the same. This poor child was ripped apart by a large lion. But did the same creature kill the deer? And if so, why the ferocity for the girl and the quick, merciful kill for the animal? Explain this enigma, my very dear lady.”

  Challenge, pure and direct, gleamed from his eyes now. He swept an arm before him, much as she’d done with him on occasion, and invited her to walk deeper into the trees.

  As she did so, she could not escape the uncomfortable notion she was also walking deeper into a trap.

  Luke Simball felt Seth long before he saw him. Instinctively, he began the transformation before thought gave birth to action. His hands formed into claws, his pupils narrowed, and a tail began forming.

  However, since he sat alone at a table in his club surrounded by gentlemen, supping on perfectly satueed Dover sole–which he would have preferred raw–he marshaled his natural urges. The tail receded and his hands, human again, used knife and fork with perfect etiquette.

  When Seth appeared in the large bay wi
ndow, walking fast, his cane over his arm, Luke was prepared. He merely cut another bite of sole while he waited, his expression totally neutral. Despite the artful show of indifference, however, now the sole tasted like grass--with a liberal peppering of hatred to add spice.

  That was a familiar taste. And an addictive one.

  He knew why Seth was here. He’d been spotted after following Seth and Arielle to the psychic’s abode. While he had not been close enough to hear the subsequent conversation between the two, a few pound notes had loosened the fat woman’s tongue. The only question remaining was whether he should wangle an invitation, as Seth no doubt did, from Arielle, or if he were to sneak into the room in his alter ego. It was untenable that Seth, with all his ferocity, ruthlessness and guile, should be sequestered with the woman they both hungered for at such a vulnerable time in her psychic development.

  Luke had taken one look at the fat woman and known that whatever her idiotish style of dress and affectations, she was a genuine channeler to the arcane. If she succeeded in calling up Arielle’s mother, Luke needed to be there. He had felt more than once that the spirit of Isis did not look kindly upon him.

  A shadow loomed above him. The room quieted as gentlemen of all stripes and status paused in their smoking, drinking and talking to watch the coming confrontation. No one knew they were brothers, but all of London branded them newcomers who were accounted to be in competition with one another in all things. Cards. Women. Money. Wagers abounded on who would first challenge whom to a duel.

  If they only knew, Luke thought wryly, wiping his mouth as he looked up at Seth’s angry face, the duel had already begun. No gentlemanly conduct or seconds would regulate it.

  Luke waved a polite hand to the chair opposite. “Really, old fellow, you shouldn’t loom above one like a mighty oak in need of trimming. It’s most disconcerting.”

  Seth remained standing, though he kept his voice low, obviously well aware of the surreptitious stares. “Do not make the mistake of coming to Arielle’s seance. Consider yourself warned.”

  Luke wiped his mouth. “Ah, subtlety. Your strong suit.”

  Seth leaned down over Luke, his hands flat on the table, so only Luke could hear. “I prefer honesty over malice, deceit and treachery, unlike some.”

  “Did I deny knowing about the seance?”

  “No, but only because you knew I saw you skulking about.”

  His appetite totally gone now, Luke shoved back his half full plate. “Odd how the patterns of the past always drive the vicissitudes of the present.”

  “I’m trying to play fair given the familial connection between us but–”

  “Not on my account, old chap. Playing fair was never part of our relationship, even when we were boys, much less now. To the winner goes the spoils.”

  Seth straightened again, and for an instant as he stared down at his brother, Luke saw a flicker of sadness in his golden eyes. A year ago, even six months ago, something instinctive in Luke might have responded and cried mercy if not offered it. But now, it was too late. Now, Luke’s instincts were those of the cat. Predatory. Ruthless. Brother or no, Luke wanted to take Seth’s neck between his hands and squeeze, to bite the sensitive point where brain stem met spinal column and…

  Claws popped out of his fingertips. Folding his hands in his lap, Luke looked down so Seth couldn’t see his changing pupils or note that the light felt so bright it hurt his eyes. The same instinct made him purr, deep in his throat, “Arielle is mine. Accept it and I may let you live.”

  Seth looked genuinely pained. “You shame me. You shame our common parentage and our ancestor Mihos. Even when we were boys, I could never trust you to watch my back. Now…” Seth’s voice, too, lowered to a dangerous rasp. “You are worse than the felines you claim to love. Even cats kill mainly to eat, to defend territory or to mate. You kill for enjoyment.”

  “And you? You were not ruthless when you confronted all those poor dead young women?” Luke took care to raise his voice just enough for those straining to overhear. “You will pay for your crimes, and I will win Arielle for the best reason–I am more worthy.” When Seth merely looked at him evenly, Luke made his voice pitying.

  “Really, Seth, can you never get over your juvenile competition with me?”

  The taunt almost worked. Only Luke could see that Seth’s eyes, too, had diamond shaped pupils, or note that hair had begun to grow on the backs of his hands. Golden hair.

  Seth took a deep breath, the golden hairs receded, and he sounded almost normal. Almost. So typical of him, he got to the most basic point.

  “If you come to the seance in any form, I shall kill you.” He turned on his heel and left.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “It looks like perhaps the same animal did this,” Shelly lied without compunction as she, Ethan and the earl stood over the deer.

  “Nonsense. The other kill is feline. This one is canine.” Ethan watched Shelly appraise the dead deer and said helpfully, “Look at the fang marks. A lion’s mandibles leave a much wider bite radius than the narrow jaw of a wolf.”

  “Who is the expert here?” Shelly pretended to examine the bite mark, all the while feeling the delicious warm rush of blood in her mouth she’d enjoyed last night when she ate the deer. She had indeed made a quick, merciful kill. One massive bite on the back of the neck had severed the deer’s spinal column. She’d not eaten much before she trotted back to the house, her wilder appetites sated for the nonce. But as she stared at Ethan, she felt them returning…

  “I, Madam,” he said loftily, “am also a student of anatomy and science. I have killed lions before, skinned them myself and dissected the remains myself to study them. Also with wolves. Can you say the same?” He watched the way she looked at him and gave the ghost of a laugh. “I infer I may be your first human dissection specimen if I do not desist but…I am ever persistent.” And whispering for her ears alone, he added softly, “And vigilant.”

  Proving it, he pulled a string from his capacious coat pocket, making her wonder what else he hid there, and measured the neat bite at the base of the deer’s skull. Then he stalked back to the human remains and did the same, making notations in that infernal notebook, and returned, showing her the much longer length of string he’d measured for the lion’s kill.

  “Facts do not lie.”

  “No,” she snapped back, “but their interpretations are manipulated according to the theory espoused.”

  The Earl of Darby looked between the pair, one his friend and the other his employee, with a thunderstruck expression, as if he’d finally picked up on the undercurrents between the two. However, the combatants ignored him.

  “How would you explain this kill, pray tell?” Shelly challenged him. “A very large dog, I opine. Wolves have not predated in the woods so close to London for many years.”

  “No, the bite patterns for a dog and a wolf are somewhat different, plus the fangs on this creature are abnormally large, even for a huge wolf.”

  “Monsters, then,” Shelly said evenly. “I shall let you explain that to the reporters on their way here and see how such sensational speculation helps us calmly gather the facts we need to solve these murders.”

  “Reporters? They do not need to know–“He broke off as he, too, seconds later, heard the approach of a light carriage and saw two men in bowler hats careening toward them. Even from this distance, he could see that one had photographic equipment. He looked back at Shelly. “My very dear lady, you have uncommonly excellent hearing. Better than any…human I’ve ever met.”

  Alarm bells rang in Shelly’s head. He’d been hinting that she knew more about the killing of this deer than she was letting on, but this comment bordered on overt challenge. Was it possible he’d seen her transform last night? Surely not. She’d been so careful. As always she’d looked in every conceivable direction She kicked herself mentally for cluing him to the fact that she heard the carriage a full five seconds before he did, but the damage was done. She could onl
y bluff her way through and make a graceful.

  “Some of us of the female persuasion seem to be more sensitive to aural and tactile sensations,” she blurted, then wished she hadn’t. Why did he discomfit her so even when she should be most on her guard?

  Ethan’s green eyes darkened in that disconcerting way of his. This time, however, his thoughts were very obvious because his gaze wandered over her, centering on her full bosom pressing against the staid male shirt. To her fury, her nipples hardened under that caressing gaze. “That is something I shall be delighted to ascertain in a very…tactile experiment at a later date.” He kept his voice so low that Shelly knew the earl couldn’t hear him. “But I suspect your sensory abilities spring from a somewhat different source.”

  Thankfully, the carriage arrived, saving her from the most unwise retort trembling on the tip of her tonguet. She walked rapidly into the trees, hearing the rude questions from the reporters raining down on the earl and Ethan as babble over her own heartbeat.

  Was it possible Ethan himself was the lion creature? He had toyed with her so expertly, with the cruelty and confidence of a cat. What better disguise for a predatory shape shifter than an old family friend out to help protect Arielle? He’d have access, he’d have opportunity, and it could well be he had motive if he were as obsessed with the daughter as it seemed likely he’d been with the mother. Arielle looked exactly like her mother, after all.

  No matter the evidence, she didn’t want to give credence to these suspicions. In the privacy of her own thoughts she could admit that, as much as he exasperated her, Ethan also powerfully attracted her. But why else would he goad her about her ‘abilities’, trying to catch her in mistakes, if he didn’t suspect her prowess?

  Troubled, for the last thing she needed was to be the subject of an inquiry herself even as she tried to conduct one of her most difficult investigations ever, Shelly walked into the mansion.