Goldenseal

by Gill McKnight

  She located one hard little metal shell with her fingertips. She pulled it out and held it up to the weak morning light and it sparkled. Silver. Silver bullets. It was so obvious what Connie had been up to with the smelter tucked away in her studio. Tipping each bullet with a dab of pure silver. How could Amy have missed it? Because she was too quick to dismiss it as part of the Wicca hocus pocus Leone was indulging in. Amy slotted the lonesome little projectile into the chamber.

  Poor Connie, trying everything she could think of to save herself from— A metallic click. Amy snapped alert. It came from behind her. Followed by several more clicks and rattles, like the dull jingling of coins. Slowly, she turned her head, unsure what she was hearing. Why had her body not given her the usual warning signs that danger was nearby? Where was the prickled skin, the hair on end? Where was all that when she needed it?

  A drip of something wet landed on her shoulder with a small splat. She zoned in on the small pink stain seeping out across her coat fabric. Another drip landed close to it, a darker pink stain oozing out to join with the first. A heavy shadow leaned over her, close enough for saliva to drip from its jaws onto her jacket in bloody globules.

  Why hadn’t she sensed Virgil was there?

  Amy’s blood pressure fell so fast her ears buzzed and her head felt too light to form a cohesive, sensible thought. She was faint with exhaustion and soul-deep weariness with this persistent game of survival. There was no more strength or resourcefulness left in her; she’d passed her limit ages ago and was spent.

  Hot breath burned across her cheek. It was stale and coppery. Stagnant with its last meal. A clawed hand reached around before her, to show a cluster of shiny bullets cupped in a furred palm. They clicked together melodiously, cheerfully tinkling. Their shiny silver points winked up at her.

  Another oily thread of saliva trickled down the front of her jacket. A growl dipped into a dangerous, satisfied purr. This was not Virgil. Every one of Amy’s instincts told her that. It did not make her feel any safer. In fact, she felt in considerable danger. This wolven was new to her. Hopefully, it was a Garoul and not another of Virgil’s pack. How many Elicias did he have out there?

  Amy turned slowly. She faced a broad, matted, silver-streaked chest. A female. It had the same softer breast tissue flattened over strong pectoral muscle she’d seen with Elicia and Leone.

  It snarled, but not in a friendly manner. Its pale golden eyes seemed flatter, duller. They held none of the intelligence that shone from Leone’s. Its coat was streaked in blood. Its own, from the look of it. It had fought recently and had not fared well. Its crimson muzzle curled back and its teeth gleamed, sharp and wicked. Amy blinked, transfixed. It was a thing of soul-shredding beauty.

  It lunged at her with a vicious snap, missing her nose by millimeters and waking Amy out of her stupor. She stumbled back, terrified. Not a friend, then. Not a Garoul. It wasn’t tall or dark enough. It had to be another rogue.

  It seemed pleased she had backed off. The bullets continued to click; only now they sounded cold and menacing, like their owner.

  “Amy.”

  The anxious call came from outside. The beast stiffened. It was Marie’s voice.

  “Amy? Are you in there, girl?” Claude called this time, his voice hard and urgent.

  Amy locked eyes with the monster. Could she scream for help in time for it to make any difference? The beast seemed to be considering the same question. With a snarl it tilted its hand, and one by one let the bullets drop. Each landed with a sharp clatter on the floor. They rapped on the wood, loudly ripping apart the quiet of the cabin. Amy flinched, as if each and every one was an actual gunshot. Her grip on the revolver trembled. Was this a game? Could she aim and shoot before this animal pounced? The bullets rolled mockingly around her feet.

  “Amy?” Marie was approaching the porch steps. The creature shrank into a crouch.

  “Here,” Amy called back in a strangled croak, her eyes never leaving the beast before her. “I’m not alone.”

  Marie’s footsteps stopped.

  “Connie.” Marie’s voice was calm and controlled. “Don’t hurt her.”

  Shocked, Amy stared horrified at the angry creature crouched in front of her. This was Connie? Why had she not known? She had felt the connection between Leone and the hulking beast in her truck. Known it right through to her core, once she had gotten over her fear.

  Hungry for a clue, she examined the snarling face before her. The gleam in this creature’s eyes sharpened, becoming focused and cunning.

  “Connie. You remember Amy, don’t you? She draws plants, just like you. In fact, you taught her, a long, long time ago.” Marie appeared at the door and carefully stepped into the room. Connie stiffened at her entrance, more alert, her body humming with excitement. Her attention was now split between Amy and Marie, wavering more toward Marie, her lover, her mate.

  Marie’s dark eyes settled on Amy. Silently she signaled for her to move away. Connie growled as Amy edged toward the door, and Marie immediately moved closer, claiming Connie’s attention. Amy shuffled a few more paces sideways. Her boot tapped on a bullet and sent it spinning off, jingling into the others. Connie roared out, a deafening bellow. Amy closed her eyes and waited to be swallowed. She stood rooted to the spot, hunched and lost. Connie was no more than a maddened animal.

  “Connie.” Marie’s voice was sharp and she strode farther into the depths of the cabin. “I need you over here.”

  Amy could see Marie’s eyes already held that eerie glow she knew to be wolven. She was moving into transmutation, but in the most controlled way Amy had ever seen. Connie responded strongly to Marie’s change. The tone of her growl dropped away to a harsh purr. Her whole body relaxed and she seemed to vibrate in Marie’s presence. Amy knew Marie was luring Connie away to allow her to run for it. Taking full advantage, she started backing out the door.

  Marie spoke gently and soothingly, and Connie twitched and stood as if uncertain. Her teeth were bared under a snarling muzzle, her growl rumbled low and threatening. Her gaze swiveled to Amy, and for one flickering second Amy glimpsed her aunt in that bestial face. A look of love and sorrow shone out at her with such pathos she could have fallen to her shaking knees in gratitude. Connie was in there, inside this raging monster. And she was slowly emerging from her living nightmare, from Virgil’s filthy infestation. Marie would see her through, with love, and determination, and her medicines. Claude would teach her to cope, as he did all the young Garouls. Connie would beat this. Connie would win, and Virgil would lose everything.

  “Amy? Go with Claude. I want to stay here with Connie. Don’t worry. I’ll look after her,” Marie said.

  Amy nodded and continued her slow backward shuffle when she found herself suddenly airborne, lifted bodily by Claude and briskly carted away. He deposited her on the porch steps and darted back to lock the cabin door, leaving Marie inside.

  “Will Marie be safe?” Amy said.

  He nodded.

  “Yeah. She’s got Connie’s next dose in her pocket. They’ll spend some time together. Sleep a little, and Connie will revert back to her human self.” Gently he guided Amy away. “Connie doesn’t know what she’s doing, Amy. She’ll be a lot better by tomorrow, and you can talk then. I promise you.”

  “Did she do all that damage to her cabin herself?”

  He sighed heavily. “Poor Connie. She’ll be so upset. All her books and things, ruined. It’s been hard on her. Virgil was such a filthy animal. She’s got multiple infections on top of the shock to her system.”

  “He’s a bastard.”

  Claude didn’t argue. “He did nothing right. I’m guessing he attacked Elicia at some point. Probably how he gathered his followers. She’s in a bad way, too. It’s a wonder she ever survived. At least Connie had help from the start. Elicia was isolated, poor kid.” Claude shook his head sorrowfully. “The full moon last night didn’t help either of them.”

  “I went looking for Connie at the storage shack
. I guessed that’s where you were keeping her. When she wasn’t breaking out of it.”

  “We knew Virgil was on the prowl, so we moved her into this cabin. Marie stayed with her. Jori needed medical help for Elicia, and Marie had to go and help. Connie wrecked the place while she was alone. If I’d known I’d have stayed with her, but—”

  A distant howling interrupted him. He stood still, head cocked. Another howl followed almost immediately, then another. He turned to her.

  “Virgil’s been scented. Amy, will you promise me something? Will you keep going straight down this trail to Marie’s cabin? I’ll have to join the hunt.”

  “I promise.”

  “Is that thing loaded?” He nodded at the Bearcat dangling uselessly from her hand. She shook her head.

  “Just one. The rest are…” She looked back at the cabin.

  “Never mind. Just head straight to the compound.”

  “Wait. I have another one.” She scuffled about in her jacket pocket and pulled out the silver bullet. “My lucky one.”

  Claude raised his eyebrows. “Whatever. But put the gun away before you shoot yourself. Okay?”

  With a kindly pat on her shoulder, he turned into the forest and quickly disappeared in the undergrowth.

  Amy felt unsettled after he’d gone. Another section of the Garoul riddle had fallen into place. She knew what had happened to Connie and was reassured she would recover under Marie’s ministrations. Remembering Elicia’s panic and pain last night made her glad the Garouls were there for Connie. But that didn’t take away from the fact their goddamn code had endangered her in the first place, and that they had blatantly lied to her about Connie’s condition. There were still a lot of issues Amy wanted to discuss when all this was over.

  At the Silverthread she took the left fork that would take her into the compound. Amy trudged on head down, deep in thought.

  But would it ever be over? She knew the code now. A secret she was obviously never meant to share. A barrier that had kept her separate from the rest of this family, and even from Connie. All her life she had been excluded and never realized it. What would happen now? Would she be ostracized completely?

  The thought scared her. Earlier her anger had made her want to run away forever, but now that she had seen Connie, so lost inside the monstrosity Virgil had forced upon her, Amy couldn’t bear to leave her. Connie was bound to the valley forever, learning the Garoul ways, only this time from the other side, this time as a wolven.

  Amy knew she could go back to Europe and pick up where she left off, but nothing would ever be the same again. She would never stop worrying about Connie, or the next rogue pack to find the valley. There would always be some danger lurking in the shadows. The Garouls had enemies in both worlds. Humanity would treat them like lab rats, and the wolven world had its own predators, rogues who wanted to overturn the ancient werewolf clan.

  Amy knew she was also kidding herself that it didn’t hurt losing Leone all over again. And for the same reasons as before, lack of trust, withholding, all secrets and lies. Despite herself she found tears rolling down her cheeks. Her life felt emptier than ever. The Garoul curse had taken everything from her: Little Dip, her second family, Connie, even Leone. Everything of emotional value had been stripped away.

  “My, what big tears you’ve got.”

  Virgil stepped out of the undergrowth directly in front of her. He was in human form, looking the worse for wear. Unshaven, his thin hair sticking out at all angles. Torn and disheveled, he stood naked before her with the beginnings of a soft erection.

  “I find if I change back and forth frequently enough it confuses my scent trail. It won’t buy me much time, but hopefully enough to disembowel you, you sniveling little bitch.”

  He stepped toward her. Already she could see the milky haze in his eyes. Muscles twitched and spasmed under his skin.

  “It’s funny, Virgil, but at this moment you are the only constant in my life,” Amy said calmly. “I hate you with all my heart.”

  “Oh, it’s mutual, my clever little whore. Now, let’s play a game. I’ll count to ten, and you run. It will be more fun that way.” His spine was hunching over, the vertebrae popping under the stress of his slow mutation. He began to count, “One, two—”

  Amy eased the revolver from her pocket, and his countdown faltered.

  “Silver bullets, Virgil.” Relaxed and in control, she was unconcerned with his games. She’d had enough. “I’ve no idea if they work on a werewolf. It might be a load of steaming movie crap, for all I know.” She leveled the gun at him. “But then you’re not exactly a werewolf yet, are you? You’re a librarian.”

  And she shot him.

  He was easy to trail by sight and scent. He left clues everywhere—flattened undergrowth, bent twigs, small tufts of fur snagged on the denser thickets he’d pushed through. His alien smell was pungent, its stringency jarring here in her valley, her den. It raised her hackles, and she bared her teeth. Adrenaline flooded her.

  Leone was puzzled at his circuitous route; the compound seemed a central pivot point but not his ultimate destination. He had his sights set on something else. She recognized the basic hunting pattern but was uncertain of his target. His movements, though stealthy, lacked finesse. His fluctuations from wolven to human must be exhausting him, though he probably thought of it as camouflage. A useless, energy-consuming ruse. She guessed he was self-taught and acting on instinct. He’d have had none of the training and discipline drummed into the Garouls from an early age.

  They had expected him to run. The Garouls were everywhere looking for him. Some were patrolling the perimeter roads outside of Little Dip, some sipping horrible coffee at Norman Johnston’s, others were watching Virgil’s apartment or the highway, the service stations, the bus and train depots at the larger towns.

  Now it seemed he hadn’t left at all. Virgil still lurked in the valley on some sort of suicide mission. This was an unwelcome development. He had an all or nothing target, a must-kill, but she couldn’t figure out what it was. His tracks led down to the Silverthread. Worried, she quickened her pace.

  The sharp retort of gunfire echoed through the valley. Clean and crisp, a single shot rang out in the morning air. Amy! Only a human would need a gun in Little Dip. And Amy was the only human in the valley.

  Leone’s loping gallop ate up the ground. She flew over underbrush, swerved around trees and rocks. She became a dark, menacing shadow streaming through the forest, violent and demonic as a tornado. An electric energy burned in the air around her; the anger and anxiety in her gut made every hackle along her spine rise. She scented Amy, her mate. Hers! The filthy bastard had gone after Amy—he wanted to kill her mate.

  Leone hurled herself through the forest and down to the river.

  Amy missed by inches. Virgil staggered in shocked relief, his sweaty face pale and uncertain. Unfazed, Amy aimed at him again.

  “Oops, pulls to the right. But now that we know that, let’s play a game. I’ll count to ten, and you run. It will be more fun that way. One…”

  He turned to flee, having no contingency plan for a victim who refused to cower and die, who actually fought back. He dove into the trees for cover—straight into the broad, furred chest of Leone Garoul.

  He crawled away, anger and fear forcing him into the throes of rushed mutation. For all his presumed potency, he didn’t change well or cleanly. Instead he spasmed and jerked. Ugly, undignified, inept. One swipe of her razorlike claws and she could have killed him immediately, except Leone was content to circle him, allowing him to change completely. She herded him to the water’s edge, to where she wanted him to be. Always in control, always sure. It was a matter of time before he died, a time she would choose.

  Amy trembled, forgotten and neglected on the dirt track. She should have run but now she was compelled to watch this macabre dance. Leone looked majestic, sleek and strong. Her slightest move rippled her blue-black coat in the morning sunlight. She flowed as liquid as prairie g
rass. She was fluid and dangerous. So incredibly dangerous. Snarling and snapping at his heels, she pushed an agitated and angry Virgil into the water.

  He slavered back; his yellow eyes gleamed mutinous and menacing. Hatred overshadowed every move he made. He lunged, but Leone saw it coming before he’d half formulated the thought. Anger was so easy to read. She grabbed him by the throat, careful not to cut, and hurled him into the river with such speed and force Amy jumped with fright.

  Leone pounded into the water after him, a seething ball of fury. She wrapped herself around him, dragging them both into the shallows. Her added height and considerable strength allowed her to hold him underwater. The extra length in her arms easily kept him down as he clung to her, scrabbling for leverage.

  The water churned white and frothy around them. He surfaced once, in a panicked surge that took up nearly all his waning strength, but Leone was taller, sleeker, and stronger, and she knew how to use all three to advantage. Amy watched, her face a mask of horror, as Leone slowly forced her flailing victim back under. He frantically clawed at her exposed belly and chest. She couldn’t protect her torso; it took both hands and all her power to keep him still, even as he tore at her. Her blood colored the water around them, the ruby red drifting away, diluting to nothing in the river’s thick, idle swirls.

  Determined, Leone pressed Virgil’s shoulders against the bedrock. The life-stealing waters danced over his face. He surged again, coming up inches from the surface and the air she ruthlessly denied him. The pain as he ripped at her belly was excruciating, but it was futile. She wouldn’t ease her grip.

  In last-minute desperation he tried to drag her down with him, but she steeled herself, and didn’t flinch. His clawing became weaker. He clutched at her, panicked, holding on to her arms as if she might save him. But she didn’t.