Blood Moon Cat Clan

by Bevill, C. L.

  “Lizard people,” Per repeated. “Great. Lizard people.”

  “Actually, the newspeople called them lizard people. The Native Americans likened them to snakes.”

  “Snake people,” Per said. “Even better. And Martinez is buds with them?”

  Hawthorne shook a finger at Per. “Basically, there’s an underground city under Los Angeles and Martinez has some ties to their otherworldly weirdness.”

  “Puts a whole different meaning to underground,” Per said sardonically. “We should just wish to be dealing with the mafia.”

  “Consider it the area you don’t go messing around in except in broad daylight and with twenty guards armed with very large guns,” Hawthorne said. “Also maybe a master wizard and some kick-ass ninjas.”

  “Except I have to,” Per said.

  “There’s things down there that will eat you like you were a bacon-wrapped Snausage,” Yale said. “Use your thigh bones as a dental pick.”

  Lena shook her head.

  “Why couldn’t she get kidnapped by the butterfly people?” Per asked the sky. “Kitten people would be good. Even puppy people. I could throw them a bone, and they’d let her go because they were fetching.”

  “I know some very bad puppies,” Lena said. Hawthorne glanced at her and laughed.

  “Where’s Under?” Per asked.

  Hawthorne spread his hands out. “Well, that would be the problem.”

  “Entrances change,” Yale said. “They’re like portals. They get closed up by magick, by earthquakes, by all kinds of stuff I don’t even want to think about.”

  Lena said, “We can follow the Reaper.”

  Hawthorne frowned.

  “The Reaper?” Per said. “Snake person, maybe? Some kind of whack were? A monster from another dimension?”

  Lena’s forehead furrowed. She didn’t understand he was making a joke. “Homeless guy. Dresses like the figure of death, and carries a scythe made out of old boxes.”

  *

  The Reaper was a homeless guy who dressed in a long, black hoodie and carried a scythe made from cardboard and duct tape.

  “Seriously?” Per commented.

  Lena shrugged. She’d led them through Little Tokyo to Weller Court. The tourists weren’t mobbing the scene, there but there were enough of them that the weres were able to retract into the shade of the buildings.

  “He’s a human,” Yale said. He said the last word as if it meant something icky. Per would have shrugged, but he was busy keeping his eyes on the Reaper.

  “He’s more than that,” Lena said, never taking her eyes off the figure that danced on a corner and shook his fake scythe at a passersby. Occasionally someone would toss some money at him, which he would snatch up and stick down his hoodie.

  Hawthorne studied the man. “Humans are drawn to the paranormal. Have you seen what’s been playing at the movies lately? Anyway, some of them are very unique.”

  “Exactly,” Lena added. “The Reaper brings artifacts to antique stores. Some of the artifacts are very unusual. Some of them have dark magick staining them. He’s said to the dealers that he finds them…under the ground. Mostly, the dealers think he makes them. Fakes them. They don’t take him seriously.”

  Yale glanced at Lena. “Wow, I didn’t know she could speak several sentences in a row.”

  Lena growled at Yale.

  “And you didn’t think to mention this to me?” Hawthorne asked in a very Alpha manner.

  “It’s in last week’s memo,” Lena said. Her tone was short. “And I put it in the one the week before that, too. I included one of the artifacts.”

  “Yeah,” Hawthorne said, mollified. “I think I threw those two away. That little figurine gave me the willies.”

  “You do memos about paranormal crap?” Per asked as he watched the Reaper prance on the sidewalk. A woman skittered nervously out of the homeless man’s way.

  “Yes, and I have an iPad, too,” Lena said. She bumped her chest with her fist. “Technology good.”

  “So what’s Death’s story?” Per asked.

  “Lots of homeless in L.A.,” Yale said. “Not so cold at night. Lots of shelters and soup kitchens. Sometimes they get to see Tom Cruise and Brad Pitt.”

  “I think he’s part something,” Lena said. “Part fae. Part magick. Part Irish wolfhound. He knows where to go. He knows to avoid things.”

  “Does the Reaper have any connection to Martinez?”

  “No, just to Under,” Lena said shortly. “Listen, he’s going to notice us in a minute. Then he’s going to run. Keep on his heels, and he’ll run to safe ground. Not safe for us but safe for him. I think he sleeps in Under at night. He’ll lead us to an entrance, and we’ll have to be quick to follow him.”

  “You want to go Under?” Yale asked with horror.

  “Hell yeah!” Lena nodded with a smile. “I want to see what goes bump in the night, up close and personal.”

  Hawthorne grunted. “Should be interesting. I’ll call my Second and let him know not to stay up tonight.” He extracted a cell phone and made a call while the other three watched the Reaper.

  Suddenly, the Reaper stopped dancing, and his gaze settled directly on the weres watching him. Even from across the street, Per heard the Reaper say, “Oh, fuck me sideways with a dill pickle.” The Reaper jammed his scythe into a belt made of rope and began walking in the direction opposite them.

  Per didn’t wait for Hawthorne or the trackers.

  Per didn’t know Little Tokyo, but he’d gotten a good whiff of the Reaper. The man smelled strongly of sake and raw fish. Per barely perceived the other weres were hot on his tail.

  The Reaper started with a swift walk, but after a quick back glance, he saw Per’s determined visage and broke into a trot. He leaped into a crowd of tourists and then into a narrow alley.

  Jumping over a bench, Per charged. Hawthorne called something, but Per didn’t take time to process it. The only person who might lead Per to that wonderful scent that was Sage was getting away.

  Per reached the entry to the alley and saw the Reaper ducking behind a dumpster. There was the sound of bricks rattling and then Per was there, in enough time to see feet disappearing into a wall.

  His eyes seemed to play tricks because the wall started to close up behind the feet. Per growled and dove in behind the Reaper. Hard scratchy surfaces ripped along his broad shoulders as he shoved himself inside…something.

  Darkness overwhelmed him, but Per heard the scuttling movements of the Reaper as he scrambled ahead of him.

  “Why are you following me?” the Reaper wailed. “I haven’t done anything.”

  “Is this Under?” Per demanded. He willed his eyes into felineness. Darkness became shades of gray. The area was a basement filled with junk. Moldering bricks fell in piles along the edges as if knocked over by passing giants. The Reaper was making his way to the opposite side, feeling with tentative hands, obviously blind in the murk.

  “Under?” the Reaper repeated. His head thrashed about, looking for something he couldn’t see. “I don’t know anything about Under. Man walks over, man walks under, in times of war, it burns asunder. I’m just someone looking for a place to crash.” His voice broke out in a mad cackle of laughter. “And it ain’t a bridge.”

  Per glanced over his shoulder, realizing the opening was closed. Hawthorne and the weres wouldn’t be following him. Additionally, he wouldn’t be getting out that way anytime soon. But something else caught his attention.

  The underground room had several exits in the direction the Reaper was inching. Furthermore, there was a scent that was not raw fish and sake. It was spice and cinnamon and musk. There was a little fear present in the scent now. Most importantly, there was the copper tang of blood. Her blood.

  Sage.

  ~ ~ ~

  Chapter Five

  A cat’s a cat and that’s that. - A Folk Saying

  Sage doubled her effort on the grate. Her fingers stung as sweat got into the cuts. Blood and
wet crud from the drain made her digits fumble with the struggle. The claws on the door scored the exterior as if testing it for a way in.

  “Hello…kitty,” the voice said and then chortled with amusement.

  Oh, snap. A thing with an affectation for Japanese culture. Yea me.

  Shoving her fingers harder, Sage braced her shoulders and bent her knees slightly. That grate’s coming out or I’m herniating myself. One or the other.

  “Maybe a shy kitty,” the awful voice suggested. “Come out and play with me?”

  “I’m a little busy now,” Sage said and groaned with the effort. The muscles in her back strained. She heard something pop and she wasn’t sure if it was from her back or from the grate.

  “Oh, kitty talks,” the voice said with evident delight. It was hard to tell because the tone sounded like a jangling skeleton rasping across a rocky surface.

  “Kitty’s got talons,” Sage warned. “Sharp ones.”

  “Goody.”

  “Don’t suppose you care to let me out and point me in the direction of out?” Sage tried even while she pulled.

  Claws dragged across the door.

  “Out? What for, you want out? Boring out there,” the voice said suggestively. “Humans scream way too much.” The voice went up a notch in pitch, “Eeek. Run. Help. It’s going to eat us. Shriek.”

  “I can see how that might put you off,” Sage said and pulled again. Something else popped. It wasn’t her back.

  “What is kitty doing?”

  Sage looked toward the door. She abruptly realized she could see. It was shades of black and gray, but she could see the outline of the door and the slightly brighter outline of the little window. Something moved in front of it and blocked the meager light. Eyes glowed there.

  Large, luminous eyes. Very, very large eyes. Oh, what big eyes you have, Grandmother.

  “I hope you don’t think I’m being rude, but what are you?” Sage asked. She eased her shredded fingers around for a better grip. The blood was making everything slippery.

  It’s the shifter DNA. She realized it with abrupt surprise. Her eyes had gone cat. Well, wish I’d known that a few days ago.

  “You’re Under, and you don’t know what’s down here, kitty?”

  “In a locked room here and didn’t have much choice.”

  “Humans keep very large crabs in a water cage in restaurants,” the voice said thoughtfully. “They wear bibs with a picture of the crabs on it. Then they pick out the one they want to eat.”

  A philosophical thing. I’m having such a wonderful day.

  “Yeah, I think you mean lobsters,” Sage said as she heaved again.

  “Oh, yes. Lobsters. This room reminds me of that, except I don’t get to choose which one I get to eat. Only one left.” The voice sounded slightly melancholy.

  “Bummer.”

  “So kitty it is,” the voice decided and the door began to screech as the thing outside began to pull on it.

  *

  Per grasped the Reaper by his shoulder and spun him around. The Reaper came around holding a knife constructed of glass and duct tape. Per jumped back with a low growl. Sage’s scent had been there for a scant instant and now it was gone. But possibly the homeless man knew where Per needed to go.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” Per said. His voice was only half a tic above a snarl, and he was dimly aware his words didn’t quite match up to his tone. “I only want to know where the girl is.”

  “Girl. Schmirl. Earl. I’ve got a flag to furl.” The Reaper slashed again with the homemade knife and backed away.

  Per sighed impatiently. The homeless man backed into a wall, and the were waited.

  “The girl,” Per said again. “Tell me where Martinez put the girl.”

  The Reaper slashed again. “Don’t hurt me. I don’t know anything.”

  “Is this Under?”

  “Under? Under is all under,” the Reaper said loudly. “Can I just get my flashlight out?”

  Per said carefully and slowly, “I am not going to hurt you. I just want to find a kidnapped girl.”

  The Reaper stabbed half-heartedly. “Robert Lewis Stevenson didn’t kidnap a girl in Scotland, you bonny shifter laddy!”

  “Get your flashlight out,” Per said shortly.

  The homeless man stabbed again, but it was only a dismal, little push of the glass knife. Finally, his face relaxed minutely, and with his free hand, dug in the front pocket of his hoodie. A little blue flashlight emerged, held capably in Death’s dirty hand. Before the button could be clicked, Per backed away ten feet.

  The Reaper’s eyes adjusted to the light while Per let his eyes go human again. He knew the Reaper stood against the wall, sizing Per up, running the flashlight over his tall, broad form.

  Finally, the Reaper said, “Girl in a cage. Shifter doesn’t want anyone going near her.”

  Per nodded. “That’s probably it. Where is she?”

  The Reaper pointed to one of the tunnels. “Down that way. Past the ucolates and manories and probably some narfalots.”

  Per eyed the tunnel suspiciously. “I’ve never heard of those.”

  The Reaper sighed loudly. “Otherworlders. Think they’re the only big baddies in town. When they look under their feet, there’s always something bigger and badder around. Always.” He put the glass and duct tape knife away and pointed with the flashlight. “Come on. I’ll walk you about halfway. I can’t go further because the narfalots want to eat my liver. They saw some movie, and they want to try it with beans and wine, but they can’t get the beans and wine.”

  Per studied the man for a moment. There was a sense of something otherworldly about the human. Lena was correct. The Reaper was something else. He was human and a touch of supernatural. It gave him an edge in a place where humans were likely to be a midmorning snack.

  “You know what I am,” Per said.

  “Shifter,” the Reaper said. “Smells like cat. I won’t make the litter box joke, but it’s hard not to.”

  “And you’re not as insane as you’d like people to believe.”

  “Crazy gets more money,” the Reaper said. “You coming? Because I got a can of Spam with my name on it. Grilled over a camp stove with a little warm sake. Yum.”

  The Reaper pointed the flashlight away from Per and let it flow over the tunnels. He picked one and shoved through, ducking his head to avoid the bricks at the top of the opening.

  Per sniffed again. All he could scent is the Reaper’s aroma of raw fish and sake. There was also a hint of incense, as if he’d been recently burning some.

  The man might have been part human and part otherworlder, but he appeared all Japanese American. It seemed appropriate that they were under Little Tokyo in Los Angeles. He stepped after the homeless man and felt cold air sifting over them.

  Wherever they were going, it was chillier and filled with the essence of all types of things otherworld.

  It made Per shudder.

  *

  The door to the room was fairly solid. Sage glanced up and saw the inside of the hinges starting to twist. If the thing outside kept working at the door, it might eventually be able to rip it off.

  Sage on the menu. Guess Martinez had left a padlock on the exterior, after all.

  Once her father had gone through two doors to get to Sage. He hadn’t wanted to eat her; he’d wanted to beat her until she stopped talking. Consequently, Sage learned to pick her battles and never with a drunken bully on a Friday night. One had to be smarter, and in this case, that lesson was paramount.

  “I don’t suppose you would take a bribe?” Sage asked as she pulled at the grate again. Two of the bolts had snapped. She had her hands and half her arms under it, trying to lever the rest of it upward.

  Maybe Martinez will come back. Even he sounds good now.

  The assault on the door stopped. “Bribe? Kitty has something to offer?”

  Eww. “What would interest you?”

  “First born child?” the voice sound
ed hopeful.

  “Not married. Don’t have a boyfriend. A child is not on the game board.” Sage glanced at the door again. The shape outside was still blocking the window and the eyes glowed. She thought they looked thoughtful.

  “Gold?”

  Sage had a ring on her hand which was 20K gold. It was a cameo that had belonged to her maternal grandmother. The cameo’s features were nearly rubbed away, but it had a little diamond in a gold wire necklace around the woman’s neck. It was one of the very few pieces of jewelry her father hadn’t managed to steal from her mother and sell.

  “I’ve got a ring,” she said. “Very old. It’s all antique gold and has a diamond in it. Very sparkly.”

  “Ring?” the voice repeated doubtfully. “I suppose I could take kitty’s ring after I eat her all up.”

  “Or you could take the ring and let me go. You could buy something else to eat. Top Ramen is good. Lots of carbs. Fills even the hungriest fella up.”

  “Top Ramen?” the voice said, outraged. “I’m a carnivore.”

  “Listen, I make a mean grilled salmon steak,” Sage said as she managed to shove a foot under the edge of the grate. The jagged edges of the metal sliced over her feet. She hadn’t noticed her shoes were missing before. “I’ll cook you up a great meal if you let me out. I’ll do salmon steaks, ribeye, and chicken. My roast chicken will make your mouth water. I use rosemary and thyme.”

  Silence ensued. Perhaps the thing was taking the offer under consideration.

  “Oh, and kosher salt,” she added quickly. “I use lots of that. One of my roommates is Jewish and she says it rocks.” Sage could feel fresh air on her toes. The hole under the grate opened up into something larger. If she could simply pry the remainder up so she could shove herself through, the thing at the door couldn’t find her. Then she would do something she didn’t want to admit. She would shift into her cougar form. The cat in her would take care of most baddies and probably scare off a few others.