Skinwalker

by Faith Hunter

Page 6

  Beneath it all . . . was scent of rogue. Drew it in over tongue, over roof of mouth. Isolating. Parsing scent. Old. Very, very old. Anger. Madness. Many scents in layers, different parts of rogue.

  Complex scent, she thought. Like many scents overlapping, compounded. How strange. And what is that smell? Image of her wrinkling weak, useless human nose.

  Smell of madness, I thought at her. Strong. Smell of decay, rot. Rot . . . Ahhh. I remembered. Liver-eater. Long years since smelled a liver-eater. Felt her puzzlement. Pushed it away. Sucked in scent, opening mouth and pulling air over fluid-filled sacs in roof of mouth. Tongue extending, lips curling back. Tasting. Scenting.

  Set liver-eater scent signature in memory. Named it mad one.

  Complex, she thought. Compounded scent signature, many individual scent molecules, pheromones and elements make up its essence. I’ve never smelled anything like it.

  Many, yes. Many scents for mad one. In a single bound, leaped to top of boulders. Small mountain. Nothing like my territory—no tall hills, deep crevasses. Easy hunt here in land of flatness. No challenge. Tail-twitching disdain for flatness, no tall trees and wild streams. Gathered self. Jumped to top of wall. Standing. Four feet in line on brick. Crouched, making smaller target. There. Scented vampire. Easy hunt. Only feet away.

  No, her voice came.

  Drew in night air again. Scent was wrong. This one female. Kill it anyway?

  No. Hunt the rogue, her human memory whispered.

  Dropped to ground, tail twitching. Eager. Liked hunt. Liked challenge. Liked danger. Moved through shadows of neighbor’s yard to street. No dog scent. Good place to come and go. Sat beneath big leaves of low plant, watching. Learning. Scenting.

  Saw him, hidden in shadows, sitting on stoop. Watching house, preying on new den. The male she liked, human with bike. Not hunting. Lazy, giving away position. Breathing smoke, scent like scat, marking territory. Strong enough to defend her? Possible mate? If he could catch her. If he could best her. Not likely. She was strong. Beast made her so, long ago.

  Felt her puzzlement. Ignored it. Ignored her. Pondered, breath a soft, thrumming pant of throat tissues. Long past time for her to mate. If he could catch her. Fun.

  Moved through shadows, into night. Humans and pets still about. Stupid little dogs barked. Hairy things, smelling of human perfume, dead food, rotten teeth. Scented me, scented Beast. All fell silent. Crouched, tails down. Scuttled away. I hunted, padding through darkness, feral and sleek. Night fully fallen. Humans never saw.

  The French Quarter, territory she wanted to hunt, was small. Streets in squares. Buildings built close, squeezed together. Prey could not escape. Hidden gardens. Exhaust. Alcohol, fresh and sweet, and old and sour. Tar on streets, stinky human world.

  Sound of music everywhere, loud, raucous. Horns, drums—drums, like sound of beating heart, racing in fear, ready to be eaten. Smell of money, drugs. Pong of sex without mating. Lonely sex. Many female humans standing on tall spikes. Easy prey. Stores filled with paint and canvas, stone and metal. Much food and smell of sleeping. Restaurants and hotel, she thought at me. Smells of her world.

  It stank. But underneath stink, other smells sat. Under reek of sewage and stench of dirty river. Under spices humans cook into food. Under odors of humans themselves, perfumed and breathing smoke. Scents of vampires. Many.

  Vampire stench was part of ground, part of earth. Their ashes wafted along street, carried in air. Their bones, ground to powder, settled into cracks. Vampire territory, for longer than I lived, even counting time of hunger when I was alpha and Jane was beta. Didn’t know numbers beyond five, but there were many more than five vampires. I marked their territories, setting Beast scent. A challenge.

  Centuries, the thought came from her. They have been here for centuries. A long time by human reckoning. Too long for me to understand, or care. Turned back to hunt. Prowled, hiding often in night, scenting, searching. Finding hiding places as moon crossed sky. Crafty, silent, good hunter.

  Saw/smelled vampire. Walking alone. Unnoticed by humans. Gliding. Predator. I hunched down in shadow. Jane wished for a cross and stake, Christian symbols to kill evil.

  Not evil, I thought at her. Predator. Like Beast. She curled lips as if thought was spoiled meat. Together, we watched vampire stroll out of sight.

  Long before dawn, scented old blood. Found street where mad one took down many humans, ate best parts. An alley. Narrow, confined. Walls, straight up like water gorge, but without bold river. Strong reek of blood, blood, blood, much blood. Pong of wasted meat. Scented mad one she hunted. Trying to drink enough to find health again. It was dying.

  They cannot die, she whispered.

  Dies, I thought back at her. This one sick. Smell of rot.

  Above its reek I smelled angry, frightened humans morning after. Telltale stink of guns. Hacked softly at remembered smell. She liked guns. She hunted with guns. I remembered other. Long barrels, gunpowder, pain, fear, scream of big cat. Hated. Long ago in hunger times.

  Placing paws carefully, walked through dark, under yellow ribbons, past dying flowers in tall piles. Along middle of narrow defile. Found place where ovulating female fell. And stringy old one, to her side, cobbles saturated with his need to protect, as if she were his kit, his cub. Healthy young male, three paces away. And more-than-five others. Mad one killed, ate slow.

  She said, It took its time. She understood time when not measured by moon. Confusing.

  Strolled back to alley entrance. Crouched low, belly held off dirty street. Humans walked past, singing, reeking of strong drink and vomit. Then gone. Searched for mad one’s trail. Found none going in. None going out.

  Looked up. Coughed approval. After mad one toyed with humans, after eating its fill, mad one went up, along wall like spider or squirrel. Tasty meat, squirrels. Not enough to fill belly. Mad one climbed wall like squirrel. Faint scratches where claws dug in. Worthy prey. Even I could not climb wall like this. I hacked excitement. Good hunt. Mad one powerful, smells captured in blood-stench memory. Humans tried to wash away. Could not hide it.

  Heard more humans. Close. Two turned into alley. Dirty, reeking wine, sweat, filth. Humans moved in, trapping. I melted slowly into shadows. Soft warning hack. Beast here. Not hunting, but will defend.

  They ignored warning. Stupid humans. They crawled into large paper box. Sounds of crackling cardboard, shifting humans. Dirty smells wafted. Their den. I had passed it without knowing. Dropped head. Shamed. Foolish as cub. Too intent on mad one and smells of hunt, blood, kills. Foolish. Stupid. Kitten mistake.

  Two humans bedded down. Sleeping in open. Easy prey if I wanted diseased, sinewy meat. They talked. Quieted. One snored.

  Crept along alley to opening. Dawn coming.

  “Pretty pussy. Come here, pussycat. ”

  Looked to side and saw human, eyes open, shining. Hand out. “Come here, pussycat. I got a treat for you. ”

  Hacked, insulted. Not domesticated. Beast big. And free.

  He held out hand, gesturing. Come. Eat. “Pretty pussy. ”

  She was amused. Beast sniffed, mouth open. Beef. Hamburger. Dead, cooked. Jane liked them. I padded slowly to human, shoulders arching, belly low, pads silent. Human unafraid. Drunk. Sniffed offered treat. Stared at him with predator eyes, seeing Beast reflected, golden, in his. Prey should be afraid. Was supposed to be afraid.

  “Pretty pussy, I know you’re hungry. Have some. ”

  Took offered hamburger. Flipped it back, into throat. Meat and mayonnaise. Swallowed. Walked away. She laughed.

  I padded back along own scent trail before sun rose. Important, sun rising. She couldn’t take back her skin once sun rose. She would be stuck in panther form—a good thing—but she would not be grateful. The night belonged to Beast. Only night. Daytime was hers.

  Leaped to top of wall. Dropped down inside garden walls. Strolled, loose limbed and satisfied. Drew in scents. Smell
of rotting blood was strong—old cattle, dead, killed by others. Rot, sped up by heat, trapped by wet air. Stench of blood in cloths—slain humans and mad one. Mad one had strange blend of scents, small parts of different things, some known, some not. Sniffed at aged blood on cloth. Familiar. The hunt. Yes, good hunt. With flex of muscles, leaped to top of rocks and lay flat, belly to stone. And thought of her.

  Grayness covered me. Light and shadow. Bones and sinew flowed and shifted. Cracked and snapped. Pain stabbed deep and she/I groaned with pain. For a moment, we were one. We were Beast, together.

  CHAPTER 3

  I’m a tea snob

  With a last slash of claws across my psyche, Beast was gone and I was left, my flesh and muscles aching, my nostrils deadened, vision drab and colorless, even as the sun lit the eastern sky. Human once again, my hair draped over me like a shawl. My bones ached as if I were old, in mind and soul.

  The final slash of pain had been deliberate. Beast had occasionally referred to me as thief-of-soul, and I knew that I had stolen her, somehow, by accident, so long ago I couldn’t remember it, though Beast remembered and sometimes punished me for it. I had feared Beast would not allow me to shift back. There had been times in the past when she held on to her form after dawn, which forced me to keep her shape until dusk or until the moon rose again, part of her punishment. I don’t know exactly how long I lived as Beast in the Appalachian Mountains, my human self subsumed, hiding from humans, from man with his guns and dogs and fire. It was a long time of danger, of hunger. I feared that it might have been decades, far longer than the normal human or big cat life span, and that my kin were all dead and gone, as lost to me as my own past.

  I had vague memories of returning to human form several times over the long years, then shifting back to panther, until the final time I shifted to my human shape. It had happened a few days before I was discovered walking, naked and scarred, in the woods of the Appalachian Mountains. I had appeared to be about twelve and had total amnesia, unable to remember language, or how to think like a socialized human. Unable, at the time, to remember even Beast.

  I think something had happened, something deadly. I had scars on my human body, bullet shaped. I think—have guessed—that a hunter found Beast. Shot her. And I changed back into my human form to survive, just as I had once shifted into Beast’s to survive.