Skinwalker

by Faith Hunter

Page 14

  I hunched close to road. Padded close. Within range. Gathered all power in. Weight balanced. Silent. Sprang. Through air. Long tail revolving for stability. Forelegs reaching. Unsheathing claws. Lips back. Mouth open. Killing teeth bared.

  It looked up. Glimpse of face, pale in dim light. And was gone. Gone. Fast.

  Shock flooded through. Overshot place where mad one was, and now was not. Passed through empty air. Retracted claws. Lifted paws to break fall. Crashed hard into brick wall. Weight on one pad, bending into it. Body whipping. Hard slam. Bruising shoulder. Ramming hip. Drop to ground, eyes searching.

  Strange sound. Look up. There. On ledge, one, two stories. Too high to leap. It clung to window ledge. Looking down. Laughing. I growled, spat. It jumped. High, to roof-top, running. Not hiding escape. I raised head. Screamed frustration. Echoed. Wild.

  Get away, she thought. Get away and shift back. White men with guns. Image was memory, one we shared. White men hunting big cat.

  Her thoughts came to fore. She was expert in man-world. For now, we shared control. Raced to alley opening. Down block. Into shadows. Creeping around tall, blocky truck. Hummer. Siren sounds. Police. Near kill.

  Sped through dark, avoided human prey-groups. One witch family, celebrating, power leaking in sparkles. Almost back to Katie’s. Sick scent suddenly overlapped. Fresh.

  Hunched, nose low. Mad one came back this way. She went silent. I bent, took over. Drawing short steady drafts, air and scent, tongue extended to taste/smell. Looked at sky. Sunrise far off. Crouched. Followed, silent in night. I am good hunter.

  Mad one crossed bridge over big river. Bridge full of cars, light. No shadows to slink across. I climbed high on steel. Truck drew near below, spitting clouds of poison. Pulled paws close. Timed passage like running prey. Leaped.

  Claws and paws hit, scrambled. Metal scratched beneath. Crouched, catching balance. Like riding buffalo, rocking, claws scrabbling, instinct seeking flesh.

  On far side of big river, city thinned, smells changed. Less death: sour river water, dead fish, alcohol, exhaust. More prey: domestic and feral cat, many dogs. Big rats—nutria. She had studied. Twenty-pound rats. Good to eat? Birds—prey and predator. Owls hunting. Bats. Squirrel, small mouthful. Mosquitoes, too small to catch. Swamp. Spill-waters emptying into lakes around New Orleans. Still-water stretched ahead. Sharp, pointed moon reflected on top.

  Truck slowed. I jumped, landed. Drank water full of plant stuff and crawly things. House squatted in dark, down short road, just ahead, man-light in windows like predator eyes. No other houses near. Moved on bent legs, tail tucked close, following scent, to house, warded with power. Not witchy power. She came alert. Remembering. The People, she thought.

  Her kind. Cherokee. I pushed her down. My hunt. Followed scent of mad one around property. Domesticated cat, dog-scent. Pets inside, with humans. In back, in trees, was low, wood hut. Sweat lodge, she thought, her excitement high. An elder lives here. I remember!

  Inside, I put paw on her mind, demanding silence. Padded to lodge. Ground rank with mad one. Scent followed path, into woods. Well-used path. Lair near? Or it hunted elder.

  No! she thought. Vision of kits, helpless. To be protected, she demanded. Such is an elder. I forced her down, deep, silent. She struggled. Swiped at her with inside claws, scoring her mind. This is hunting. She fell silent, angry, worried.

  Tracked mad one into woods, pines, firs, oak, maple, sweet gum. Soil heavy with rotten stench. Elder’s dogs had fed it, two dog bodies decaying in brush. This was hunting ground.

  I moved slowly, tail held straight behind. Remembering speed of mad one. Didn’t move like sick prey. Moved like wind, unseen. Fast. I stopped often, scenting air. Circled back, sniffing, into trees. No fire had cleaned forest; underbrush was thick. Path only way. Trap? Mad one would understand traps.

  Trees opened into clearing, floor of pine needles. Hunched down, waiting. Nothing moved. Slowly, I circled open space. Found nothing, no out-moving path, no trace of scent leaving. Carefully moved into clearing. Soil rank with its scent, heavy with reek of old blood. Liver-eater rot. It hadn’t left. Yet was not here. Puzzling. A game and hunt for her, for Jane.

  I looked at sky. Little night left. I/we were far from new den, from rock she marked to find place. Far from food that did not have to be stalked. Much dead cow in cold place in den.

  Refrigerator, she thought at me. In the freebie house.

  Turning, I padded back down path.

  Near dawn I stopped at edge of city, in safe place, full of shadows. Garden near house where family slept. One snored. Jane awoke, clamored to be alpha. If I did not shift, Beast would be all day; she would not. But bad in this hunt. I/we slid beneath plant. Crouched. Let her come. I/we shifted. Gray place like half-dark of cave swallowed me. Light and dark, lightning in storm-torn sky. Bones slid, popped. Pain cut through like a thousand knives.

  Hissed. Was gone.

  I lay, naked and filthy on the ground, panting, trembling like I’d been struck by lightning. A spider crawled across my foot and I shook it off. The gray place of the shift had seemed to last longer than usual this time. I had no idea what really happened when I shifted, though I had seen a digital video of it, taken by Molly not long ago, and I didn’t really disappear into some other realm. I just glowed like light and shadow, like lightning in a storm cloud. I figured it might be something like quantum mechanics or physics, my cells actually moving around but not going anywhere. Something like that. It wasn’t like I had anyone to ask. When I got my breath, I rolled to all fours and to my feet.

  I needed calories, fast, but first I needed clothes. I pulled off the pack and unrolled my clothes. Carrying them so tightly rolled meant they were always horribly wrinkled, but it was better than going naked. I slid into jeans and tee and strapped the pack, now containing only money, cell phone, keys, and weapons—a stake, a cross, and my derringer—to my waist and slipped on the thin-soled shoes. No bra, no undies. But covered. I wrapped my long hair in a knot, out of the way. At least it always shifted back untangled. Squaring my shoulders, I moved into the dawn, out from the eaves of a house. I had no idea where I was on a map, but my cat senses said I needed to head northeast. And I needed food. My stomach growled loudly. In the early light, I spotted a convenience store and bought a candy bar for the calories, a Coke for the caffeine energy punch, and a new tube of lipstick. I took them to the bathroom, where I cleaned up, washing my face and arms, scrubbing beneath my nails. I’d need to call a cab, and no self-respecting cabbie would stop for someone who looked as if she slept in her clothes under a bridge abutment. As soon as I was more presentable, I went back to the cashier, paid for a second candy bar and put on my best I-partied-all-night, world-weary look.

  “Can you tell me where I am?”

  He laughed. He was maybe eighteen, pimply chin, greasy hair, and smelled of weed and last night’s beer. “You’re near Lapalco Boulevard. ”

  “I just came from woods, a swamp, and a lake that way. ” I pointed. “What’s there?”

  He laughed again, thinking me too much a party girl to remember where and with whom I’d spent the night. Which was what I wanted him to believe. His leer was a pain, but I could live with it. “Jean Lafitte National Historical Park? Maybe Lake Catouatchie? There’s several lakes out that-away. ”

  I held up a five. “This is yours if you call me cab. Someone I can trust to get me back into the Quarter. ”

  He leaned over the counter, resting his weight on an elbow. “I’m off in a couple hours. I can take you. ”

  I smiled, looked him over as if interested, and shook my head. “Tempting, but I got to be at work in an hour. I need fast as well as trustworthy. ”

  He sighed and pulled a cell phone. “You ought to reconsider. Jobs are a dime a dozen. Good fun is a lot harder to come by, and we could have some fun. ” I shook my head again, this time adding a rueful, regretful smile, and he punched in a number. T
he person who answered said, “Bluebird Cab,” so I relaxed. I might be a bit paranoid but paranoid sometimes pays off.

  He pressed the phone to his ear, cutting off the sound. “It’s Nelson. I’m at work, but there’s this chick who needs a cab into the Quarter. ” He looked at me. “You got cash? It’s gonna cost you. ”

  I held up a ten and a twenty. “After that I’m tapped out till payday,” I lied. Too much cash might make me a mark. I didn’t want to start my day having to break someone’s arm.

  “She’s got money. Sure. ” He hung up. “Five minutes. My cousin Rinaldo. He’s okay. Married with five kids. Works third shift and drives a cab to keep ’em all fed. I tried to explain to him about birth control, but he ain’t the brightest bulb, you know what I mean?” He was trying to make a joke, and laughed as if he was really funny.

  I smiled and nodded. “Thanks. I appreciate it. ”

  He took a card from his pocket and passed it to me. “Call me next time you want to party. I got access to some stuff. You know?”

  “Thanks,” I said, pointing to the card. “Put Rinaldo’s number on back. Never know when I’ll need a cab in the morning. ” When he was done, I tucked the card in my pack and walked out the door. Minutes later, Rinaldo pulled up in a yellow cab with a large bluebird painted on the forward doors. He looked me over, waved me closer, and unlocked the doors with an automatic click. I climbed in back and gave him my address. “And I need breakfast. Drive through a fast-food place and I’ll treat us both. ”

  Rinaldo studied me in the rearview and said, “Yo. ”

  I took that as a yes and lay my head back. I was exhausted.

  The Joe was sitting on my front stoop when I got out of the cab. I had made arrangements with Rinaldo to pick me up in the mornings wherever I happened to find myself. Making nice with a cabdriver was always smart. I had learned the hard way that getting home on my own wasn’t always easy or even feasible. And the places where I shifted back to human weren’t places a cabbie would come unless you were a regular. Thinking I was the party girl my tired face and red lipstick proclaimed, he told me to be careful, call him anytime, and sped off.