by C. T. Adams
The long string of screams and swearing when she surfaced made the three men laugh and one cub try to climb the walls. Only one thought had flowed through her mind as she shivered and tried to catch her breath. What in the hell sort of animal does the owner of this place shift into?
Giselle had been right about needing to cool down. So much steam rose when she hit the water that the humidity in the room rose by half. Her hair was going to be a frizzy mess. But it did cool her down enough that her skin was nearly back to its normal color.
Just remembering the water made her shiver, so Tahira turned her attention back to the men. When Bruce nodded, Matty tied off the rope to a nearby hook. There seemed to be hooks and pulleys all over the place, along with a variety of floor textures, from Astroturf to sea-grass mats to rubber. Both she and the wild tigers were finding the room quite entertaining.
“Charles must have known that we were coming. I can’t imagine that he normally stocks sika deer and antelope in the walk-in, but Babette will be thrilled.” Bruce was looking at the antelope with a pleased expression. The skin and hooves were still attached, and it was swinging slightly in the breeze from the vent.
The whole notion of “presentation” of food to Babette interested Tahira. Since she’d become a tiger, she had been hunting live game on the moon. She’d never really stopped to think about animals in captivity. The drive to chase, hunt, and kill was still there. She knew that she would become quite depressed if, for every meal, day after day, a steak or part of a deer was simply tossed in a bowl.
“Right. She should have a fair go at that. Will she fossick it by herself, or do we call her attention to it?” asked Matty.
Larry laughed as he walked up to the pair holding the kylie that Matty had just finished carving. “Don’t worry. She’s been watching you two the whole time. She knows exactly where it is. But the cubs come first. She’ll find it in a bit, when it’s a little warmer and smells stronger. Here’s your kylie. Sorry it took so long for me to get it pulled out of the wall, but that’s a long climb to the ceiling!” He smirked when Matty reddened and smelled of dry embarrassment. “You do realize that a kylie is called a ‘rabbit stick’ because it’s meant to be thrown at ground level, right?”
“Yeah, I know, mate. The trouble is that I did throw it at ground level. Guess I need to work a mite on the angles.”
Tahira rubbed the towel against her face as she struggled not to laugh. She had been thankful that she could duck under the water to avoid being hit by Matty’s various failed attempts at hitting an archery target next to the door. The odd sound of wood wobbling through the air, combined with a panicked “Down, mates!” had been enough for her to stay in the pool until the kylie was safely embedded in the foam wall two stories up.
Larry was kind enough not to rub it in. “It’s a shame that we didn’t think to bring Babette’s diet sheet in our packs, Bruce. We should have remembered she couldn’t travel yet. Does she need some vegetables today?”
“I think I saw a couple of small pumpkins in the walk-in. She’d probably love to chase them in the pool.”
“Wild tigers eat pumpkins?” Tahira couldn’t help but ask. Of course, she loved pumpkins, raw or in pie, but it hadn’t occurred to her that wild ones would as well.
Bruce nodded and walked toward her, pausing to give Babette an affectionate scratch behind one ear on the way.
“Well, it’s more about touch and smell and the game of it. Pumpkins float and Babette likes to jump into the water to chase them around. Then she’ll nose it and chew on it like a bone. It’s just about head sized and squishes under her teeth and claws. But they’re high in vitamins, too. I don’t want to spoil her too much with all of this fun food in one day, though. I’ve already hidden two of the rabbits that Giselle caught behind some rocks in the cattails for her to find. There’s also grass growing in one corner of the enclosure in the next room, and we’ll add in some crickets and white worms at dusk. The cubs will like chasing them, and Babette will eat the ones they squish.”
“This is an amazing basement! It must have cost a fortune to build,” said Tahira. “I guess the owner is pretty rich, huh?”
“Charles has had this place for a very long time. He’s built it up over the years to entertain the animal side of the various dignitaries in the Sazi world.” Bruce bowed slightly. “And now to the Hayalet as well.”
Tahira moved her head a bit ruefully. “Technically speaking, you probably shouldn’t be entertaining a Hayalet. Unless my parents step in, it’s pretty likely that the people in my grandparents’ village will want me to be either killed or banished if they find out. I didn’t tell my folks that you were Sazi when I told them I’d been rescued, because there’s been a blood feud between the two cultures for centuries.”
“I’ll be stuffed!” Matty exclaimed, while Larry shook his head angrily. “Do you really think they would? Hurt you, I mean? Just for staying in a house with us?”
“It’s not like the Sazi can talk, Matty, and you know it.” Larry’s voice dropped several notes.
Matty shrugged and sighed. “Yeah, I suppose that is tall poppy syndrome. We can’t really talk about being vicious when we’re up ourselves about whether we turn on the moon. Lots of family members back home in Sydney who won’t ever be Sazi get spewin’ mad at the way they’re treated. Still, we’re not all arses, Tahira. You’re welcome back if they give you the boot. I’m sure Antoine would say the same. He’s a high mucky-muck councilman, so he could get you settled somewhere.”
“That may not be true for much longer.” Antoine’s voice took all of them by surprise. It was as though he had magically appeared behind them. Nobody had heard him enter the room. Matty jumped several inches because the taller man was directly behind him when he spoke. “I’m afraid that all of our lives have just taken on a distinct…twist. Tahira, could I speak to you in private for a moment?”
Tahira felt a shiver that had nothing to do with air temperature or a cold pool. Then butterflies started to tumble in her stomach and she stood up somewhat nervously. She couldn’t read Antoine’s expression at all. That worried her. It was as though he had disappeared inside himself. No facial expressions or scent of emotions—in fact, no scent at all, which seemed impossible. There was nothing to guide her.
Oh, God! Could my family already be here?
Larry was the only one to notice her brief moment of panic. He gave her shoulder a quick squeeze and smiled encouragingly.
Antoine turned and walked toward the door, pausing by Babette. He and the tiger stared into each other’s eyes for a moment and Antoine nodded. Tahira was just slipping on a thick terry-cloth robe over her swimsuit when he turned back to them.
“Babette would appreciate it if you would raise the antelope a bit higher and open the entrance to her compartment so the cubs can watch her pull it into the grass.”
Tahira was taken aback at what appeared to have been a direct request from the tiger, but Bruce nodded as though it was commonplace.
“I wondered about that. She’s been off her feet for a bit and probably wants some exercise. We’ll take care of it. C’mon, Matty.” The pair walked off, with Larry following in their wake.
Antoine turned back to her with that same blank expression. “Would you prefer to change first? There are some people upstairs who would like to speak with you.”
It confirmed her worst fears. Her mouth felt like sand and her skin was flushed again. “I don’t have anything here that my kabile would consider suitable clothing. My grandfather would kill me for certain for wearing a swimming suit where people could see me, but the clothes I had on earlier aren’t much better. He’s a traditionalist.”
The comment raised his eyebrows just a bit. “It’s not your family that’s arrived.” He looked her up and down for a long moment and pursed his lips. “But you have a point. Ahmad is also a bit of a traditionalist. Let us see if we can find you something suitable in my sister’s room. We’ll take the back stairs so we don’t
run into anyone by accident before I’ve prepared you. But we must hurry, mon chat du feu. Time is running short.”
He walked away before she could ask the questions still trembling on her lips.
Who is this “Ahmad”? I don’t know anyone by that name. What sort of preparation is required to meet him, what in the heck does “mon shot do few” mean, and what about—?
She realized that she had started to follow Antoine through the doorway hidden behind a tapestry of a giant polar bear without asking a single question. The realization made her stop cold and remain frozen in place. He cocked his head questioningly when she failed to follow.
Tahira started to tick off reasons for staying put in her head. Let’s see…leaving the group…with a guy who looks pissed off…through a secret door…to climb an unlit staircase to who-knows-where. This is starting to feel like one of those bad horror movies where you want to beat the heroine senseless for ignoring the obvious.
But she wanted to follow, wanted to know where the staircase went, and wanted to meet this Ahmad. And then she understood what was wrong. Her defense class training was conflicting with what Grammy had told her on their last hunt together. One part of her brain screamed caution, drilled into her for years before she came into her animal form. Beware of following strangers into enclosed places. There’s safety in numbers. Always stay in brightly lit areas.
But Grammy’s advice made sense, too. Hayalet are ghosts. We’re one with the dark. There can be no stealth in a group, so seek the shadows and solitude. Explore new places, for you are the hunter. The game will not come to you, so always be prepared to follow and strike. Be the master of your surroundings.
She was feeling out of control, and had been ever since Rabi disappeared.
Reacting in panic made me careless and got me captured. Since then, I’ve been unsure of myself and depressed, so I’ve been letting others lead. I’ve been following along like a scared rabbit, when I should be kicking butt and taking names.
All that was about to change.
Tahira closed her eyes and let her ears and nose flood her brain with information, as though she were stalking prey in the pitch dark. The squeak of pulleys behind told her that Matty and Bruce had begun to raise the antelope carcass higher. The snarls and growls of the cubs were a lie, for their scent was joy and contentment. She searched outward farther and felt Antoine’s massive wall of power press on her from the doorway. She tried to find something…anything to give her a hint about his mood. But there was no scent other than that which lingered on her own skin. At odd moments, she could still taste brandy and chocolate.
When she opened her eyes, Antoine hadn’t moved. Apparently, he’d figured out that she was working through something and was waiting—if not patiently, then silently.
He was the linchpin to all of this. Every instinct she had screamed it at her. He had offered help and she would be a fool not to take every advantage she could. She needed information, at the least, and probably assistance, too. But she would get neither by remaining in the basement, swimming and playing with cubs.
She strode forward confidently. A sweeping look around as she walked revealed every potential trap, every weapon that could be used in a fight if it came to it.
“Is there a problem?” he asked quietly as she passed him to enter the stairwell.
“Not anymore.” Her deep near-snarl was met with the shadow of a smile.
When he closed the door behind him, he flicked a wall switch and the stairwell was flooded with light from a series of fixtures. She looked up to a small door at the top of a long flight of stairs. Since there were no other landings or hallways, she presumed that was their goal. She continued to climb the stairs while he followed smoothly.
“When you get to the door, turn left. Fiona’s bedroom is first on the right.”
She slowed and glanced over her shoulder, keeping herself steady with one hand on the rail. “Fiona is your sister? Is this her house?”
“Yes, no, and…yes. Fiona is my sister, and this is my sister’s house. But it’s not Fiona’s. The house belongs to my older sister, Amber, and her husband, Charles.”
Tahira opened the door when she reached the top of the stairs. Her calves were protesting just a bit. “Amber’s a pretty name,” she said as Antoine turned off the light and closed the door to the stairs.
He shrugged. “I preferred it when she was called Yvette. It suited her better. But Charles requested Amber.”
When she neared the bedroom on the right, Antoine reached past her to open the door. His sweater-clad shoulder brushed her robe, but it felt like skin against skin. His aura seemed to slide along hers like satin, raising enough goosebumps to want to make her rub her arm to warm it.
He put a light hand on the small of her back as she entered the room. It turned her legs to jelly and forcibly reminded her of the feeling of his arms tight around her. With her heart pounding loud enough that it should echo in the huge room, she tried to think of something to say that didn’t sound idiotic or incredibly forward.
“So, she changed her name just for him? That’s sweet. What did your parents think of that? Mine would scream bloody murder if I changed my name.” Her mouth felt dry and her throat tight as he stepped farther into the room and closed the door with a click that seemed far too loud.
She should move, get out of his way so he could show her the closet—but she seemed to be frozen in place, waiting for…something.
His soft voice right next to her ear made her shiver and nearly lose her balance. “Did you know that your hair has two different scents, mon chat du feu? It smells both of sandalwood where it is dark, and toasted cinnamon.”
“Wha…uhm…what does that mean?” Her voice cracked and then trailed into a whisper as he slid his hands down the arms of the robe.
“I do not know. Perhaps it is because—”
She shook her head slightly and felt his nose right next to her ear. He leaned even closer, until his breath pushed against her eardrum with wet heat. “No, that’s not what I was trying to ask. What does ‘mon shot do few’ mean?”
He moved away from her ear just a bit. “Mon chat du feu? It is a French phrase. Why do you ask?”
“Because you keep saying it to me. But I don’t know what it means.”
He paused long enough that she wasn’t sure he was going to answer. When he did, he had stepped back a pace and his voice sounded worried. “I see. It means ‘my fire cat.’ When you were putting logs on the fire, the coals made your hair glow and the strands smell of smoke.” She turned around to see his expression. He was smiling slightly, but it didn’t match the concerned expression in his eyes. “Does it bother you? I thought you might prefer it to the rather clichéd mon cherie or even that which many of my friends use—mon petit chou.”
“And what does that mean?”
He chuckled, and the sound seemed to wash over her like warm water. Even the roots of her hairs tingled when he laughed like that. “It means, ‘my little cabbage.’ ”
When she opened her mouth in surprised amusement, he shrugged gracefully. “We are a very down-to-earth people in France. So, too, are our endearments. A very nice or obliging person is a cabbage. It’s similar to ‘my dear’ or ‘my friend’ in America.”
He stepped around her and walked toward an ornate wardrobe with his hands clasped behind his back. “It’s strange. I remembered thinking mon chat du feu would suit you, but I didn’t realize I was saying it out loud.”
Once again, his voice and scent betrayed nothing. But she noticed his knuckles were white where one hand gripped the other before he unclasped them to open the cabinet doors. “In any event, come look through Fiona’s outfits to see if there is anything that suits you. I will leave you to dress and then we can go downstairs together.”
She was already looking in the wardrobe, moving hangers aside, and pulling several possible outfits into the light, so she almost didn’t hear him. But when the lamps from the hallway lit up the floor ne
ar her feet, all of the questions sprang again to her mind, still unasked and unanswered. “No! Wait! Don’t leave.”
ANTOINE PAUSED IN the doorway. He was annoyed and concerned that his hand was shaking ever so slightly. There were too many things to deal with today without becoming attracted to this young Hayalet. It was more of a struggle than he liked to keep his voice bland, but it was necessary if he were to avoid the circumstances in his vision. “No? I would have thought you would prefer to try on clothing without an audience.”
Her arms were full of hangers of clothing. Her frustrated expression matched the hot metal scent rising from her. She pointed with a free finger to the trifold silk divider wall in the corner. “I can change behind that. But…well, you know this Ahmad. I haven’t a clue what he’ll find acceptable. Besides, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
Antoine sighed, closed the door, and took a seat at Fiona’s desk. She was entitled to as many answers as he could afford to give, but the questions she’d asked thus far had been more than a little uncomfortable. When was the last time he’d called a woman by an endearment? Even one he was dating? And to do it completely unconsciously—merde! But he had offered to prepare her to meet Ahmad, and he would honor his word. He would certainly give Gran—or, rather, Giselle no more reason to question his judgment or dedication to his duty. He was still completely befuddled by her accusations, especially considering how very hard he worked to learn the details of the various motions that came before the council. He would have to find some way to convince her not to complete the challenge, because it was unlikely she could defeat him in battle. But killing her would destroy him inside, and his sisters would never forgive him for her loss.
Tahira stepped behind the screen. She hung the hangers on a wall hook that was just outside the screen’s protection. She flipped through the outfits several times before selecting a white, ankle-length wrap-around skirt that he’d seen Fiona wear several times, along with a pale blue ruffled shirt. She pulled them behind the screen with her. He heard the whisper of cloth stretching and moving, and realized that he could see her silhouette through the screen, backlit by the light seeping from behind the lace draperies. He cleared his throat and stared at the carvings on the bed posters, trying desperately not to imagine the image that would match the nicely curved shadow.
