by John Levitt
“I thought you were out of town,” I said, keeping alert for the slightest hint of a change in her appearance.
“I couldn’t do it,” she said. “I was all set to go, and then I thought what if that thing followed me, tracked me down, and killed my parents, too? I couldn’t do that to them.” I nodded and looked around the room.
“Nice place,” I said. She glanced around abstractedly.
“It’s my friend Missy’s. She’s out of town.” She focused on me again. “How did you find me?”
I shrugged. I was more concerned with finding out for sure who she was than making small talk.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked. “Why didn’t you answer your cell?”
She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to; it was obvious. She hadn’t trusted me. Fair enough—I wasn’t in a trusting mood myself.
I looked closely at her, hoping irrationally for some clue. My gut told me she was really Morgan, but the gut can be mistaken. If it couldn’t, there wouldn’t be so many failed love affairs. But my head also weighed in. I’d seen those tears by the pet store, when she thought no one was watching. They could have been faked, but for what reason? She’d thought she was alone.
But the Wendigo had fingered her. That should be proof enough right there—what possible reason would he have to lie about such a thing? Unless . . . More thoughts raced through my head. What if he weren’t the Wendigo at all? Shape-shifters weren’t restricted to human form, as I’d seen. Could the shape-shifter have killed him?
Maybe not—the Wendigo was quite capable of taking care of himself. But she wouldn’t have needed to. A perfect imitation wasn’t necessary—the Wendigo was so odd that I wouldn’t be able to tell what was normal for him and what wasn’t anyway. And Lou wouldn’t necessarily have caught on, either—since both the Wendigo and the shape-shifter weren’t quite of our world.
But what was the point in putting me on Morgan’s trail? If the shape-shifter wanted her dead, it would have been simple for it to kill her. A moment’s thought and I had it. If the shape-shifter killed her, I’d still be after it, more determined than ever. And if the shape-shifter somehow managed to kill me, Victor and Eli would never rest until they got it. After what had happened to the first shape-shifter, it had to be wary of us.
But if it convinced me that Morgan was the shape-shifter, and I killed Morgan, it would be home free. No more shape-shifter; problem solved. As long as it kept a low profile, we wouldn’t even know it was still out there. It could even leave, relocate to another city, and we’d never suspect. And as far as it knew, there was no reason I’d ever see the Wendigo again.
I sat down across from Morgan, keeping some space between us, and keeping the moist earth ready in my hand, just in case. I was 99 percent sure I had it right, but that 1 percent is what usually kills you.
“You should have left town,” I said. “It’s not too late. If you don’t want to go to your parents’ house, find a motel somewhere, anywhere, just so long as it’s away from here. I’ll have this taken care of in a day or two.” I hoped. “And answer your cell if I call—I’ll let you know when it’s over.” She nodded, resigned.
“Okay.”
Lou ran up to her, put his paws on her knee, and wagged his tail in an exaggerated manner. It was his way of reassuring her, and it worked. He can be a thoughtful guy. She didn’t smile, but the muscles around her eyes relaxed. I got up and walked to the door.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “It will all be over soon.” It wasn’t until I’d left that I realized that statement could be taken more than one way.
TWENTY- ONE
I THOUGHT THE SUPPOSED WENDIGO MIGHT BE waiting for me by my van, but no. At least that gave me breathing space. There was some more information I wanted to get before tackling him, and I knew just where to get it.
Twenty minutes later I was back at Ramsey’s apartment. The little creep had suckered us. He’d even made me feel a little sorry for him. But the one thing that had put me on Morgan’s trail, the thing that was too weird for coincidence and made me so quick to accept what the Wendigo said, was that little story of his about Ruby and sex and the odd trill. Why wouldn’t I have believed it? How else could he have come up with such a thing unless it was true? Unless he’d heard Morgan that night she spent at my house. Like if he’d been crouched outside my bedroom window, leaving only traces in the dirt to mark where he’d been.
He hadn’t just been in league with just the Ruby shape-shifter—he was in tight with the other shape-shifter as well. So, time for a visit.
I strolled around back of the Victorian to his door and politely knocked. No answer, but when I knocked again, louder, I heard movement from inside. Ramsey answered the door, bleary-eyed from sleep. Either he’d been up all night the night before or he routinely slept into the late afternoon every chance he got, or both.
“Mason,” he said. His tone was wary, but not fearful. Not yet.
“Ramsey. Invite me in, why don’t you?” He didn’t want to, but he was afraid not to.
“Sure,” he said, stepping aside. “Come on in.” Lou slipped in ahead and Ramsey peered around me, trying to see if I was alone.
“Victor’s not with me this time,” I said.
“Thank God for small favors,” he muttered, then looked nervously over at me as if he might have gone too far. I stared him down until he started getting ill at ease.
“To what do I owe this pleasure?” he said, false hearty, trying to make a joke out of it. He wasn’t very good at that sort of thing. I ignored him and walked the few steps it took to reach the kitchen area. I glanced down and saw that same piece of bacon from our last visit still curled up on a corner of the floor.
Ramsey had edged back and now was standing between me and the door, as if guarding against my retreat. Alarm bells went off. He should have wanted me out of his apartment, not in it. Which meant, quite possibly, that he wasn’t alone. Lou’s warning growl almost covered up the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs. When I looked up I saw who it was.
For a moment I stood paralyzed. It was one of those situations so unexpected, so wrong, that your entire world turns upside down. The universe suddenly makes no sense. It couldn’t be. The room hummed as blood rushed into my head. Gliding down the stairs, smiling sweetly and relishing my surprise, was Morgan. Or maybe it was the smile of a gourmet about to embark on a particularly tasty meal. I almost let her get right up next to me, stunned as I was. Which was the point of her little deception, and it almost worked.
The hackles on Lou’s back raised up, and the sight of that cleared my head. How stupid of me. This time it wasn’t Morgan at all. This time it was a shape-shifter, clothing herself in Morgan’s persona. Maybe Ramsey hadn’t been exactly sleeping after all. She reached toward me, but I had a surprise for her as well. I reached into my pocket and balled up the change-inhibiting ball of earth I carried. Matching her smile, I walked right up to her, and for a moment she hesitated, unsure of herself. Then I flung my hand out, quick as a snake. She jerked her head back, but not in time. The glob of dirt plastered itself over her neck and shoulder, dripping down and staining her tee shirt. She couldn’t transform herself now until she cleaned it all off, and that would take her a while.
It was still two against one, but Ramsey hardly counted and the Morgan persona had no real strength or defense. And I wasn’t just one, anyway—I had Lou. He’s too small to have much use in a physical fight, but he has strong jaws and sharp teeth, and could keep someone like Ramsey at bay until I had time to deal with him. My talent could easily overcome Ramsey, and although the Morgan shape-shifter wouldn’t be affected much by it, I had one more thing as well. I had my knife.
I took it out and snapped open the blade. Morgan had spread her fingers wide and seemed to be straining. Her smile faded as she realized nothing was happening, and an expression of frustration appeared on her face. Then the beginning of panic. I allowed myself a moment of sweet satisfaction.
&nbs
p; Lou spun around and gave two quick warning barks. Ramsey was up to something. I’d dismissed him as a threat, but that’s never a good idea, no matter who it is. He was on home turf, and desperate, and anyone can be dangerous if you give them the chance.
I turned quickly, leaving the fake Morgan on her own for the moment. Ramsey hadn’t moved from the door, but he wasn’t quite Ramsey anymore. His face had narrowed considerably, his hands had sprouted fresh new claws, and he’d grown a bit in height.
The Wendigo had originally warned me that they traveled in pairs. Always. I’d neglected to ask what happened if one of them died. Since we hadn’t been able to close the energy pool, an open conduit remained between their world and ours, and apparently a bench player had been brought in to help out. Maybe these shape-shifters had a psychic connection between each other, or maybe the Morgan imitator had just been thoroughly briefed. Either way, there were now two of them to deal with and I was in trouble.
My knife, which a moment before had seemed a weapon of deadly purpose, now seemed weak and ineffective. A four-inch blade is a dangerous thing. It can slice through flesh and sever arteries. If you’re strong, you can even plunge it straight into a heart, even if you don’t know what you’re doing. I’d never before used a knife for anything more violent that cutting rope or slicing salami, and against a tiger or a bear or a brain-eating shape-shifter it seemed a very long shot indeed. But a long shot is better than no shot at all, and at the moment of truth you either do what you must or you die. It doesn’t get any simpler than that.
Lou poked his nose into the back of my knee once, then again, sharper. That’s his signal for when he’s about to do something he thinks is clever. Sometimes it is, and sometimes it isn’t. I hoped this was one of his cleverer thoughts.
He charged the shape-shifter, snarling in his most ferocious manner, but before he reached it he uttered a strangled yelp, stiffened, and keeled over. Immediately he started twitching, then jerking, then howling with a tone that set my teeth on edge. His legs flailed around and shook with tremors, foam came out of his mouth, and he snapped his jaws over and over, so strongly I thought he was going to break some teeth. He was in the midst of a typical grand mal seizure.
It was impossible to ignore. I had a hard time looking away, and I knew it was all an act. The shape-shifter was momentarily transfixed—it was something totally unexpected, outside its experience. Its head was turned away from me, and for just an instant it forgot I was even there.
I would have bolted past it through the door, but it was blocking the exit. I had one chance, and I took it. I was across the tiny room in half a second, knife held low, and by the time it reacted and turned its head toward me it was too late. I was right up on it, and I plunged the knife into its throat and immediately yanked it out toward the blade side. I sliced partly through the tough trachea, and more important, tore through the carotid artery. Blood spurted out, pulsing with every strong beat of its heart.
It could still have killed me then with one swipe of its powerful claws, but it instinctively reached up in a vain attempt to staunch the gushing blood streaming from its throat. I jumped back as Lou scrambled to his feet, miraculously healed.
The thing was tough. It could have taken a bullet and still have fought on. But when blood is draining from a main artery, it doesn’t take long to sap the strength. And there’s a psychological element as well. A wound like that, a wound you instantly realize must be mortal, produces a paralyzing fear and robs the will. It gave a bloody cough, took two hesitant steps, and sank down with its back against the door. I was no longer even in its thoughts.
I turned to face the Morgan one. She was frantically scraping off the dirt I’d smeared on her, and had managed to get rid of most of it. There was still enough left on her body to inhibit her ability to transform, but not enough left to stop it completely. She was stuck in the middle, a weird hybrid of attractive young woman and voracious shape-shifter, still recognizable as Morgan, but with those trademark claws and a horribly distorted jaw and mouth. She was larger than she’d been, not a full-sized monster, but not a slim girl anymore.
I thought she might run when she saw her partner dying on the floor, but the thought never entered her mind. She bounded over to the fallen shape-shifter, looked down briefly at it, and then sprang at me, claws outstretched.
I wasn’t going to get lucky twice, and she wasn’t going to be taken by surprise. Without thinking, I spun and headed up the stairs to the level above.
Now I had the high ground, and I’d have at least some advantage when she came after me up those narrow stairs. It wasn’t much, but every bit counts. Lou was behind me when I made my break toward the stairs, but he made it to the top before I did.
The room upstairs was windowless and even tinier than the room below. A bureau was pushed up against one wall, and almost the entire rest of the space was taken up by a mattress on the floor, reeking of the creature’s lair and covered with tangled sheets and blankets. And blood. Now it was my turn to be distracted.
Ramsey, the true Ramsey, lay crumpled on a corner of the mattress, chest opened in a familiar fashion, skull shattered and empty and smeared with viscous gray matter. He couldn’t have been dead more than a few hours. Karma. Ramsey might have been weak and morally repugnant, but he’d paid for his sins.
I wrestled the bureau to the front of the room and jammed it between the narrow walls of the stairway. It wouldn’t slow down the shape-shifter for long, but every second was precious. The sight of Ramsey’s body had given me an idea. Not a nice one, but beggars can’t be choosers.
When I was young, before Eli straightened me out, I’d had a brief fling with the dark arts. I never got into it seriously; it just wasn’t me. But I’d learned a few things that I’d just as soon have forgotten, except you don’t forget things like that. And one of those things, not surprisingly, had to do with fresh corpses and blood. There’s a reason they call it the dark arts.
It was no time to be squeamish, though. Moral and ethical considerations tend to vanish when you’re faced with a deadly shape-shifter and nowhere to hide.
I was still covered in the blood that had spurted out from the Ramsey shape-shifter’s carotid artery. I focused all my energy and reached out toward Lou, siphoning a bit of his life force. My own wouldn’t work nearly as well—it’s that whole closed-loop feedback thing again.
Lou felt it, and his knees buckled. He whipped his head around and looked at me with disgust. He knew what I was up to, and he didn’t like it.
“Sorry,” I muttered. “Would you rather we both die?”
I wove the life force through the shape-shifter’s blood that was still dripping off my arms. I knew about this spell, but I’d never done it. How could I have? It requires a blood sacrifice. But this time, when I’d cut the shape-shifter’s throat, for all magical intents and purposes, that was exactly what I’d done.
I bound up the blood and the life force and let it flow into Ramsey’s corpse, using every bit of magical energy I possessed. It would leave me helpless on the magical plane, but so what? Talent wasn’t going to affect that shape-shifter anyway. As usual that much effort left me feeling weak and dizzy, but this time I also felt nauseous. I was trembling, and the edges of a panic attack were nibbling at me. Necromancy is more than just dark arts; it’s profoundly disturbing. I suppose after a while you get used to it, but I don’t see how.
But it worked. Ramsey’s corpse stirred and sat up, not slowly, but with a sudden jerk as if its strings had been pulled by a giant puppeteer. It had one good eye left, so apparently it could see. No heart or liver, but that didn’t seem to bother it any. Its head swiveled around with a jerky motion like an animatronic robot. Lou sank down so low he was almost like a black-and-tan puddle on the floor. I stood motionless against the wall, pretending I was a floor lamp.
So far, so good. But the most important part of the spell, and the most difficult, was control. And that was something I’d never learned and never wa
nted to, thank God. Animating a corpse is one thing; making it do what you want it to is quite another. If I’d had one of those green rune stones, I might have managed it, but they were all gone.
It all depended on timing, and the shape-shifter downstairs did its part perfectly. By this time it had managed to scrape most of the earth off of it, and had transformed itself nearly back to its original form. A loud noise came from the stairs, and the bureau blocking the stairway suddenly splintered, pieces flying off it as the shape-shifter tore it apart like a rotting log.
Apparently Ramsey could still hear, as well. He bounced to his feet, surprisingly spry for someone who was dead, and lurched past Lou and me to confront the threat. When the shape-shifter came through the door, the first thing it saw was a creature as frightening as itself. It stopped dead and made a high keening sound of surprise. I’m not sure what it would have done, but Ramsey left it no choice. He threw himself at the shape-shifter and wrapped himself around it, groping for its throat.
When I’d made the golem out of wood and nails, it was frightening but totally ineffective. The Ramsey corpse was a different matter. He might not have been very strong in life, but he was strong now. And being dead, he didn’t get tired. An all-out attack takes up so much energy that if it doesn’t succeed very quickly, it fails. Arms grow tired, breath becomes labored, and before long you can barely stand upright.
But in the best zombie tradition, Ramsey was tireless. And, of course, immune to injury and pain. The shape-shifter recovered in a second, whipped her long muzzle around, and took a good-sized chunk out of his shoulder. Ramsey ignored it and managed to get his hands around the shape-shifter’s throat. It tried to shake him off, but he was glued to it like the death he was. The shape-shifter brought up its powerful claws and ripped his stomach open. Some fluid gushed forth and long ropy intestines dangled out, but again it made no difference. Ramsey’s hands continued to squeeze the shape-shifter’s throat, cutting off its air. And unlike Ramsey, the shape-shifter was getting tired, especially with no oxygen fueling its high metabolism. Worse, as far as the shape-shifter was concerned, blood flow to the brain was being cut off, and if it couldn’t free itself quickly, it would pass out and never wake up.
