Predator

by Janice Gable Bashman

  Bree let out a heavy sigh. It had to be the hand. What else could it be? And Kelsi knew that lab inside and out.

  Her dad headed straight for the case where he had stored the hand. “Damn!” he said. He double-checked the storage case and then checked a few others.

  No one would have moved the hand without telling her dad first. It had to be Kelsi.

  “It’s gone,” her dad said. His shoulders slumped and his voice dropped as he drew out his words.

  A moment later, as if someone shot her with a jolt of electricity, Bree raced from the room. She charged down the hall and up the stairs and into the storage area outside the DNA lab.

  “What is it?” her dad said as he came up behind her. Panting, he seemed as though he would fall over if someone gave him the slightest push. An officer stood next to him.

  “The bone samples,” Bree said. “Kelsi took them too. Is she after the DNA, Dad?”

  “Most likely it’s a private collector who’s after the hand,” the officer said. “My task force sees it happen all the time, especially with art and ancient pottery. But they want everything associated with a find, no matter what it is, and I guess that would include the bone samples. They’ve got these huge collections hidden in their homes. Sometimes even their guests don’t know they’re eating and drinking in what’s essentially a small museum. There are even private chat boards where people place requests, and when an item becomes available—and I mean that in the loosest sense of the word, since they’re stolen—then the buyer is matched with the thief. We shut them down and another board pops up. It’s impossible to keep track of these things.”

  Bree knew there was no way Kelsi wanted to sell the hand. But she didn’t say anything to the Garda.

  “Well,” her dad said. “I guess there’s not much we can do about it now. I’m just glad we sequenced the DNA when we did.”

  “But now no one will believe what we discovered,” Bree said, “not without evidence to back it up.”

  “We still have the bog body,” her dad said.

  “But it’s not enough, not without the hand.”

  He gave her a reassuring smile. “Progress always experiences reversals. Fortunately, this time, no one got hurt.”

  Bree nodded. He hated to see anyone hurt. He even removed spiders from the house instead of killing them. But if it was Kelsi who stole the hand, then who was the other woman with her? And what were they going to do with the hand?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Mashey Hotel, Largheal, Ireland

  Sweat dripped off Bree’s forehead, and her t-shirt and shorts clung to her skin. With the music blaring on her iPod, she ran on the treadmill at a steady 5.3 miles per hour. Across the room, in the otherwise empty gym, a man in a tight tank top lifted weights; his muscles rippled with each rep. She wondered what that kind of power felt like.

  Bree cranked the incline to six and felt the ache in her calves but pushed through it. Maybe if she kept going, if she ran until she couldn’t take another step, then she’d feel so tired she could just flop into bed and fall right asleep. She was exhausted, but her mind just wouldn’t shut down. For the first time in a long time she had felt really excited about something. Her dad did too. And now it was gone, thanks to Kelsi.

  Bree ran faster, harder, in an attempt to burn through the anger that consumed her.

  Why couldn’t something go right in her life?

  Just this once.

  Nine minutes later, winded and just about ready to call it quits, Bree startled at the touch of a hand on her shoulder. She lost her balance and grabbed the handrails, feet still keeping pace with the treadmill. When she was steady again, she hit the stop button and hopped off. “What is it?”

  Her dad moved his lips. Bree held up a finger and pulled the ear buds from her ears. Before she could turn off the iPod he said, “That’s really loud.”

  “It is, sorry. It’s the only way I can hear it over the treadmill.” A quick tap of the iPod and the clanking of weights and the whooshing of the air conditioner replaced the thump, thump, thump of the music.

  “We have to go,” her dad said.

  “I was getting tired anyway.”

  “Not to bed, I’m afraid. The police found Kelsi at her aunt’s house.”

  He was already halfway to the door. Bree grabbed her water bottle and jogged to catch up.

  “Dad—what’s the rush? They’ll detain her.”

  Her dad looked at her with an almost maniacal gleam in his eye. “They didn’t just find Kelsi. They found the hand.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  O’Malley House, Fairich, Ireland

  Bree stepped from the car, and acrid smoke made her gag. She drew the front of her shirt up and over her mouth and nose, but it was no match for the stench, so she pinched her nose through her shirt and examined her surroundings, taking in everything.

  A rock and dirt path led from where they had parked to a stone house flanked by giant oak trees. On the left was a rocky field; on the right, woods. Parked in front of the house were a squad car and a Sentra, or maybe it was a Camry. Bree couldn’t really tell in the dark with only the moonlight illuminating the way. Lights blazed through an upstairs window, but otherwise the house seemed deserted.

  Her dad said, “The police officer’s waiting for us around back.”

  As Bree neared the house, shadowy shapes by the front door became a shovel leaning against the doorframe, a pair of rubber boots, and a tilted stack of broken chairs. They trekked around the house. The smoke thickened the closer they got to the back, and the pungent smell enveloped everything.

  “You’ll get used to it,” the officer said as they rounded the corner. “Give it a few minutes.”

  On the ground beside the officer, a circle of rocks encased a smoldering fire. What was left of the hand sat atop a bed of burnt branches. Torn between staring at the grossness and turning away with revulsion, Bree focused her attention on Kelsi, who sat handcuffed on the back steps leading into the house. She stared hard at Bree but remained silent. Bree turned her focus toward something that might surrender its secrets.

  With a flashlight borrowed from an officer, she examined what was left of the hand—two fingers and part of a palm. The hair had burned off, the pointed fingernails were dark as tar and partially melted, and the remaining flesh was black and shiny and appeared petrified. When her dad joined her a moment later, Bree turned to him and said, “It’s really badly damaged. How are we going to get it out of there without totally destroying it?”

  “We’ll have to act fast.”

  “I wouldn’t be sticking my hands in there right now, Dr. Sunderland. It’s still pretty hot.”

  “I saw a shovel by the front door,” Bree said. “Maybe we could use it to get the hand out.”

  Her dad glanced at the officer. “It’s a good idea. Do you mind?”

  The officer returned with the shovel a minute later.

  Her dad wrapped his fingers around the wooden handle near the blade, tilted the shovel until it was nearly parallel to the ground, and then gently slid the shovel between the burnt wood and the hand. Each inch he penetrated shifted something, and the hand wobbled, threatening to topple off the pile and fall to the ground. After persevering another few inches, he stopped. “This isn’t going to work. Bree—get two sticks, would you?”

  Once Bree fetched the sticks, she braced the hand with them, one on either side. Her dad eased the shovel under the hand, but the movement caused the wood and the hand to shift. Bree failed to catch it with her branches. The hand tumbled to the ground and rolled a few inches before coming to a stop.

  Bree threw her branches to the ground so hard they bounced twice before settling.

  Her dad dropped the shovel. “Not much else we can do. Now that the hand’s out of the fire, I think it’s best to let it cool off a bit before I try to move it again.”

  Bree marched straight over to Kelsi. “You’re a scienti
st. How could you do this?”

  “They killed my family.”

  “But the hand’s an important artifact.”

  “And if you knew even half of the lycanthrope lore you’d know to stay away. Far away.”

  “So now you believe?” Bree said. “When I said I thought it was a lycanthrope hand you were all over me like I was an idiot. Now you’re saying that’s why you stole the hand.”

  Kelsi said nothing.

  “Take it easy, Bree,” Her dad said as he squeezed her shoulder. “It’s over now.”

  “Come with me,” the officer said to them. When they were out of earshot of Kelsi, he said, “I’ve seen my share of liars. I don’t think she’s one of them. Either she believes all this stuff about lycanthropes, or she’s one hell of an actress.”

  “I wonder what happened to the other woman.”

  “What’s that, Bree?”

  “Remember, Dad? The officer said there were two thieves.”

  The officer cleared his throat. “Well, about that. There were two of them when we got here—”

  “And you let one get away?” her dad asked.

  “We didn’t mean to, but we were focused on saving the hand. The other woman took off the instant she saw us. By the time we cuffed Ms. Doyle and dowsed the fire she was long gone.”

  “Did Kelsi say who the other woman was?” Bree said.

  The officer shrugged. “She’s tight-lipped, that one.”

  Her dad crossed his arms. “Does it really matter at this point?”

  “I guess not,” Bree said, although she was starting to wonder if the second woman might have been wearing green the other night, when she had met Liam at Doolin’s.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The Woman lay so close to the moist earth she could almost taste it. The bushes surrounding her provided excellent coverage, and she could see Kelsi and the others through a small clearing.

  After the last of the cars bounced back down the road and out of sight, the Woman rose from her hiding place to make her call.

  “Did you get it?” she heard.

  “We burned the hand and some bone samples,” the Woman said. “But the Garda arrived before we could finish the job. We did what we could.”

  “If our secret is unlocked, all that the ancestors knew and all we dreamed for the future will be lost. They’ll try to destroy us as they did in the past—but this time, they’ll have access to our own power. And they’ll stop at nothing to get what they want.”

  “Understood.” The Woman shifted, and a branch snapped underneath her foot. “I managed to get away but they got Kelsi.”

  “And?” the voice said, a little impatient this time. “What did she tell them?”

  “I backtracked and overheard her tell them she did it because they killed her family. She said nothing more other than to warn them to stay away from the hand.”

  “Do you think they bought it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good,” the voice said. “Do you think there’s enough left of the hand for Dr. Sunderland to work with?”

  The Woman’s heart felt like it missed a beat. “I wish I knew.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Liam’s house, Westshire, Ireland

  It was odd seeing Liam’s house for the first time, especially since it would be Bree’s last, now that her dad had decided they should leave Ireland early and head home. It was also weird seeing Conor sipping a beer in front of the TV. Bree had imagined him like her dad, studying all the time or reading a book. She never figured him for a sports guy.

  Liam’s mom smiled and a hint of wrinkles framed her mouth. “Why don’t you two come into the kitchen and leave Conor to his match. I’ve got cold minerals and crumble, unless you’d rather have biscuits.”

  “Crumble sounds good,” Bree said.

  “Blueberry,” Liam added. “It’s Bree’s favorite.”

  Liam’s mom gave them each a plate of crumble and then fished in the fridge for the sodas. “It’s fascinating work you’re doing. I didn’t get chances like that when I was a girl. And that hand you found…if it’s a lycanthrope’s, it’s possible it was Benandanti.”

  Bree looked up from her food. “That’s what Conor implied. What do you know about them?”

  Liam’s mom set the sodas on the table with a metallic clunk. “The Benandanti were lycanthropes. The name means ‘Good-Walkers.’ Some people called them the ‘Hounds of God.’ They could sense evil lycanthropes and other malevolent spirits, especially vampires, witches, and ghosts. In order to fight evil, they changed into the form of a wolf. The battles were fierce. The Benandanti were loyal and intelligent and—”

  “Alright, Ma. She gets it. We don’t know that it’s a lycanthrope hand or what it is. And just because the stories say the Benandanti existed, it doesn’t make it true.”

  “Not all of my stories are superstition you know,” Liam’s mom said. “Believe what you want, but just because you haven’t seen something, it doesn’t mean it isn’t real.”

  Liam groaned and glanced at his watch.

  Bree, however, was in no rush to leave. “I’d love to hear your stories, Mrs. Dunne.” Bree missed her own mom, and that emptiness, for the few moments Liam’s mom spoke, had hurt a little less.

  Liam and his mom exchanged a look and Liam nodded.

  “Three nights each year,” his mom said, “witches stole all the grain and descended to hell with it. It was up to the Benandanti to stop them. If they failed, crops withered and people starved. Animals and fish died.” Her voice took on a dramatic depth. “But the Benandanti had the forces of nature on their side—wind, rain, lightning, all to their extremes—and they could summon them at will. The Benandanti were powerful and important. They also had amazing healing powers, especially when it came to helping children. Of course, some people argue that it’s all rubbish. But that’s how most things are: You have your believers and your non-believers.”

  “But can that be trusted?” Bree asked. “Conor said that sometimes they did bad things too.”

  Liam’s mom shrugged. “No one knows.”

  “You think there are still Benandanti around today?” Bree asked.

  “I imagine so, although they went into hiding a long time ago.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “The Inquisition,” Liam said. “They murdered them. That’s what the lore says anyway.”

  Liam’s mom seemed surprised that he had actually listened when she had told him the lore. “Many good people were executed in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries because they were Benandanti or suspected of being Benandanti. After living in secret for hundreds of years, somehow the word got out about their existence and that was it. The few that survived went back into hiding.”

  “I thought only witches were executed during that time,” Bree said.

  “That’s the popular belief, but sadly it’s not true.” Liam’s mom sighed. “The Benandanti were hunted, although some might argue and say they were investigated, for close to a hundred years, so it’s no wonder they went back into hiding.”

  “That’s awful,” Bree said.

  “Whether you believe or not, that’s up to you. But I think it’s reasonable to assume that some of them would’ve been buried in unmarked graves in the bog.” She stood and took the dirty dishes to the sink. “Now I’ll leave you two kids alone. We’ll save more stories for some other time.” She gave Bree’s shoulder a squeeze and left the room.

  Bree drew in a deep breath. She wouldn’t be back, and they both knew it.

  Liam balled up his napkin and tossed it onto the table. “You look disappointed. You didn’t really want to hear more stories, did you?”

  “I thought if I knew more about the Benandanti it might help me figure out what Kelsi wanted with the hand. And then I could figure out more about the bog body and if there’s others out there like it. But I guess I’ll never know, now that we’re leaving Irela
nd.”

  “You can’t give up.”

  “I won’t,” Bree said. “But it would be a lot easier if we stayed here.”

  “You think Kelsi really believes in the Benandanti?”

  “I do,” Bree said. “Plenty of people believe in all kinds of things: Santa Claus. The Loch Ness Monster. The Tooth Fairy. And your mom seemed to think they were real.”

  “Nah, she was just telling stories.”

  “Didn’t you hear it—when her voice changed? Some part of every story is true,” Bree said.

  “You’re cute when you get all excited about things.”

  She pushed at his chest. “Seriously, why else would the stories about the Benandanti have been around for so long? Someone’s gotta believe in them or they would have died out.”

  Liam nodded slowly, as if he was deep in thought. “I guess you’re right. I didn’t think about it like that. But even if Kelsi believes the Benandanti existed, it still doesn’t explain what she’s so afraid of.”

  “My gut still says we haven’t seen the end of it. There’s something going on here that hasn’t played out.”

  “Like what?” Liam said.

  “I don’t know. I’m just glad Kelsi and that woman didn’t destroy the hand and that we were still able to get some DNA.”

  Conor entered the room and headed straight for the refrigerator. “I’m just grabbing another Guinness. I’ll be out of here in a minute.”

  Once Conor left with his beer, Liam stood. “Let’s go somewhere more private. I’d take you to my room, but my da’s real strict about not having girls in there.” He paused and his face reddened. “That’s not what I meant. I mean…I’m not allowed to have girls in there, but it’s not like I’ve brought home anyone else. You know what I mean, right?”

  Bree smiled; it was cute that Liam was nervous. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Let’s just go to the sun room, if that’s okay with you.”