Skinwalker jy-1

by Faith Hunter

  “You don’t smell human. What are you?” Leo said. Trying out his vamp voice on me, smooth and honeyed, and promising me a really good roll in the hay.

  “Stop that,” I said. “It doesn’t work on me.”

  “She growled, boss,” the bruiser said. “When she took me down.”

  “I heard her. What are you?”

  “None of your business,” I said.

  “Whose blood do I smell?” Leo asked.

  “Katie—” I stopped, not knowing what to say. Admitting that Katie had made a mistake by taking too much blood was on a par with saying an adult human had pooped his pants or eaten his own boogers. Really gross or stupid. Accidentally killing prey was a young vamp error, not something an ancient vamp did. Ever. And not the kind of thing a good employee said about her employer. The silence stretched, and Leo’s brow went up. Just one. Waiting.

  “I was forced to reprimand a member of my staff.” Katie stood in the hallway, wearing a dressing gown that shimmered like silk. She was clearly naked beneath it, the thin fabric blood free and molding to her thighs. Not what she had been wearing. “May I ask that your blood-servant assist with the transfusion?” she asked. “It is not my intent to lose him.”

  I understood immediately. It was okay to nearly kill someone as discipline, but not by accident. Feudal attitudes, something the vamps had left over from, well, from feudal times. I understood it, but I didn’t have to like it.

  Leo glanced at his servant and the man looked reluctantly from me to him before he nodded. It was clear he didn’t like the idea of leaving me alone with his boss, but he was willing if Leo gave the go-ahead. Leo inclined his head. Regal, giving permission. Bruiser rolled his head on his shoulders, and I heard two cracks as his spine realigned itself. He gave me a hard look, promising to kill me slowly if I acted out again, and went down the hallway, his booted feet silent on the wood and carpets. Predator silent.

  “Your new guardian used a cross on me,” Leo said, holding out his left hand. A livid burn, blistered and seeping, marked his hand, in the shape of the cross. Silver. I wanted to grin but that seemed impolitic. Katie moved to him and knelt at his feet.

  “Humble apologies, my master,” she murmured, as her blond hair fell forward, hiding her features. “May I be allowed to offer healing, or do you wish to chastise her yourself?”

  Crap. I tensed. Leo lifted one corner of his mouth at my faint motion and speared me with his eyes. I stared back, though I didn’t meet his gaze. Black eyes, coffee-and-milk skin, dark hair falling in soft waves to his shoulders. French lineage, maybe. Aristocratic and elegant. His photos lied. In them he looked ordinary. In person the vamp was drop-dead gorgeous. The drop-dead part would have been funny if I didn’t feel like an insect about to be stepped on.

  His smile widened, as if he read every thought in my head, from gorgeous to squashed. “If she dishonors me again,” he said, “I will kill her, rogue vampire to be contained or no.” He held his injured hand to Katie. She did something behind the curtain of her hair and I smelled vamp blood. A moment later, she stood and raised her bleeding wrist to Leo. He took it in one hand and pulled her to him, the motion exposing the side of her body as the robe fell open. The whites of his eyes bled red; the pupils expanded black as he vamped out. He put her wrist to his mouth, bit, and closed his lips around the wound. And he sucked. But his eyes were on me.

  I felt the pull of his mouth as if he drank from my wrist. Heat blossomed in my belly. Beast rumbled a growl I just barely controlled. Leo chuckled deep in his throat, drinking. I couldn’t help myself. I slid my fingers around the hilt of the vamp-killer. Those red-as-blood, black-as-death eyes followed the motion. And then looked into my own eyes. I resisted everything I saw there. Everything he made me want. Son of a freaking sea lion. This guy was good. Powerful as the devil himself. I looked away, at the floor, knowing he saw it as weakness.

  I felt the cross grow warm and tucked the silver icon in my back pocket, hoping the glow didn’t attract Leo’s attention. No one knew why vamps reacted to Christian symbols and the symbols to them, and I didn’t figure that now was the time to ask.

  Moments later, Leo pushed Katie away. He raised his left hand, inspected the mostly healed skin, and wiped the blood smear from the corner of his mouth. And licked it. He was laughing at me. I could see it in his eyes. He was also testing to see if the sight of a vamp drinking would shock, repel, or excite me. Beast was interested, from a strictly predator standpoint, but that wasn’t the emotional reaction Leo was watching for.

  Katie knotted the belt of her robe, her eyes glittering behind the veil of her hair. “You may go,” she said softly to me. “Report back before sunrise. You may speak to the girls then.”

  I was dismissed. And Katie was ticked off. I nodded once and backed down the hallway. In the office, the bruiser was attaching an archaic-looking, Y-shaped tubing from a girl to Troll. The right blood type was the redheaded girl with emerald eyes, Rachael. From her place on the couch, recumbent, she stared at me, expressionless. The bruiser followed her gaze.

  I put Troll’s weapons on the huge desk, noting that the center part was darkly tanned leather, worn and distressed. “Troll will need these,” I said. “Tell him thanks.”

  “Troll?”

  I tried to smile and found my mouth didn’t want to. “Tom.” I pointed to his patient. His expression altered with amusement and he pointed at himself. “You’re Bruiser,” I said.

  “I have a name,” he said. “I’m George Dumas.”

  I looked him over. Six-four, weight lifter, but not to bulging excess; rather, he was slender and toned, brown eyes and hair. Clean-looking with a sculpted nose, long and sort of bony. I had a thing about noses and his was primo. Not that I would tell him. “So what,” I said, not sure why I was being rude except that I didn’t want to express an interest in someone who might become an enemy. His eyes widened at the insult.

  I left the room and took the narrow hallway to the back door, the one that led to the garden. As I pulled the door closed behind me, I heard the doorbell ringing. Probably the first of Katie’s Ladies’ party customers. Not something I wanted to see.

  I went back over the wall and got ready to shift. Time to hunt.

  CHAPTER 6

  Paranoid sometimes pays off

  I groomed cow blood from face and paws, studying night. In mountains, moon was bright, different light but same shape. Edges sharp. Hungry moon. Not hunting moon, not round and full. There, stars were so many even Jane couldn’t count them. Here, surrounded by man, moon was dull, stars few. Stars hid near man. Man and his false light.

  Clean of cold beef blood, I breathed in stink of human blood and vampire spittle on cloth she left under plant bowl. Dead humans and it. The sick thing. Mad one. Short, fast sniffs drew scent deep inside. And . . . found something new. Not noticed before. Opened mouth, extended tongue, hard, lips back. Pulling scent across roof of mouth. Yessssss.

  Plant pot rocked. Predator hackles rose. Placing paw on pot, batted it. Pot rolled. Scattered plant, roots, soil. Alive? Motion like porcupine. Not good eating. Pain. Careful of spines, batted again. It rolled. Injured!

  Crouched. Unsheathed claws. Swatted. Hard. Pot-animal rolled to bench, hit, broke. Kill! Bounded up. Landed crushing weight on pot. Gripped broken body in claws. Soil spilled out from split like blood. Injured prey again pot, now broken. Sniffed, smelling man-blood on base. Smell of mad one. And faint odor of . . . other. Scent not in memory, not exactly. But also familiar. I rumbled deep. Spat.

  Hunt. Command from deep inside. She was impatient. Shoved her down. Silent.

  I flexed shoulders and leaped to fence top. Paused. Landed on other side. Crept to side of neighbor-den, beneath bushes. Into night. Circled block to front of Katie’s. Mad one, rogue vamp, had been here. Heartbeats ago. Fresh/rotten scent overlay Leo’s and Bruiser’s. It tracked them. Waited in doorway, across street. I counted—two doors down. Watching, hiding in shadows. Rancid reek of excitement, mixed
pheromones. Complex odors.

  Vamp form of adrenaline, she thought. Knew about adrenaline. Tough meat if slow kill, or long chase. Better eating to lie in wait, drop on prey. Fast killing strike. But sometimes fun to chase, play with food. Difficult to choose. Tender meat or fun.

  Scent called. Strange smell that almost was. Sick thing moved on. Keeping to shadows, its excitement potent. Hunting. Cars passed. Followed when shadows fell again, nose low. Smelled prey-scent beneath mad one’s footsteps. Human female, walking. Sex-smells, many partners. She was unmated, searching. Loneliness was forceful, buried in scent.

  I remembered true mating, before she came. Before we became Beast. Her surprise stirred, deep inside. Memories of before times were buried deep, beneath after times with her. Shocked her. She struggled. I batted away thoughts like plant pot. Useless. Later. Hunt.

  More-than-five blocks later, smelled fresh blood. Crouched in shadow of alley wall. Crept forward, paw, paw, paw into darkness, belly hairs dragging across dirty stone of man-road. Mad one crouched in man-light. Wrinkled. Dry. Rotted. Stink of rich new blood. Human. Eating sounds. Mad one ate without regard for thief-of-food. Gray light and blackness formed over it. It seemed to shift. To change. Wrinkles faded. Rot smell died.

  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. The 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.