The Gathering dr-1

by Kelley Armstrong

  “Stop!” he yelled.

  When I kept going, a bullet whizzed past.

  “I said stop, bitch, or next time I won’t miss.”

  I dove for the ground. He fired. The bullet hit a tree, splinters raining into my hair. I heard him curse as he tromped through the undergrowth. I crept along the ground, and when he came around a nearby tree, I could see him, his eyes streaming tears. He peered into the forest and swore again.

  I tugged out my cell phone and opened it.

  No service.

  Please no. Not now.

  I held the phone at every angle and at arm’s length. Nothing.

  The guy kept stumbling around, clearly having no idea how to move in a forest. I crept on my belly toward him, ready to leap up and blast him again. Then I stopped.

  He had a gun. This was the time to run, not fight.

  I rose onto all fours and crawled away from him, sweeping aside dried sticks and dead leaves and anything else that might crackle. As I moved, I kept looking up into the trees. I couldn’t help it. My gut instinct didn’t just say to run, it said where to run. Up.

  That was nuts. In the time it took me to find a suitable tree, he could shoot me. I fought the impulse and concentrated on moving slowly and quietly.

  “Do you really think you can get away?” he bellowed, his voice echoing through the forest. “I’ve got a gun, you stupid bitch. It’s a half mile back to town. You’ll never make it.”

  I could do a half mile. Inch by inch if I had to. I continued forward without pause … until I reached a dry creek bed full of dead vegetation. No way I was getting through that without making a racket.

  “I’m not after you, kid,” the guy yelled. “Just tell me what I want to know and you’re free to go.”

  I started along the creek bank. When it threatened to take me too close to the guy thundering through the woods, I stopped and looked around. A fallen tree crossed the stream-bed. Staying in the long grass, I crawled to it, got my balance and—

  A hand clamped over my mouth, yanking me back as I started to tumble. My fists flew at my attacker, but he held me tight, pulling me against him, one hand over my mouth, the other around my waist.

  “Shhh. It’s me.”

  I twisted to see Rafe. He motioned for silence, then let me go.

  “I heard a shot,” he whispered, checking me over. “What’s going on? Who is that?”

  “You forgot to mention that the guys you robbed tracked you down.”

  “What?” He blinked in genuine surprise.

  “Is your real name Rafe Santiago?”

  “No, but it’s one of the aliases my mom used.”

  Aliases?

  The guy yelled again. “That’s a limited-time offer, kid. The longer you take to come out, the more you’re going to piss me off. You have two minutes. Starting now.”

  Rafe took a deep breath. “I’ll handle this. Get back to town.”

  “Like hell. Where’s Annie?”

  “She took off an hour ago. That’s why I’m late.”

  For a guy who worried about his sister so much, he didn’t seem to keep a very close eye on her. Soon, this guy was going to tire of looking for me and continue down the path, hoping it led him to their cabin. If Annie was there, she wouldn’t know enough to run.

  “Distract him,” I whispered. “I’ll get help.”

  I started to crawl away.

  Rafe grabbed my leg. “If the town finds out about Annie, we’ll have to leave.” He met my gaze. “I don’t want to leave.”

  “Do you want to die?”

  He didn’t answer, just put his hand against the back of my head and pulled me into a kiss that made my head swim. Rough and deep and desperate.

  He wouldn’t look at me after that, just turned his gaze forward and said, “Get help. I’ll distract him.”

  I took off crawling. I’d gone about twenty feet when the guy yelled, “Fine. You don’t want to help me? I’ll find Rafe myself, and when I’m done with him, I’m coming back for you. No one disrespects me like that, especially not a little …”

  He let loose a string of racial epithets, which I’m sure he thought would wound me to the core or at least piss me off enough to give myself away. I kept crawling.

  “You looking for me?” Rafe yelled.

  The woods went silent. I held still.

  “Rafael?” the guy called after a moment.

  “That’s me. And who are you?”

  I rose, staying hunched over, and moved as fast as I dared toward the path.

  “You don’t know me,” the guy called, “but I’ve been paid to bring you back to the Jacksons.”

  Rafe laughed. “Bring me back? Right.”

  “You think I’m going to kill you? Oh, no. The Jacksons want to do that themselves, sending a message to every other punk who tries to rip them off. The only question, Rafael, is whether you come along willingly or you make me go after your girlfriend and your sister first. The Jacksons don’t want them.” He let out a nasty laugh. “But I think I could find some use for them.”

  “And if I turn myself in, you’ll leave them alone?” Rafe’s voice had moved farther in the opposite direction, drawing the guy away from me.

  “That’s the plan.”

  The guy didn’t seem to be following Rafe, but that was fine. He’d made contact with his target. I was safe. I reached the path and—

  A bullet flew over my head. I ran.

  “Maya!” Rafe shouted.

  A sharp pain in my hip made me stumble and I went down. My hip felt like it was on fire. There was a scorched track through my jeans, the skin below it grazed and burned.

  I looked up to see the guy bearing down on me, gun pointed.

  “Stay down, bitch, or—”

  I rolled into the undergrowth. He fired. Missed. Fired again. In the distance, I could hear Rafe shouting as his footsteps pounded the path.

  Another shot. Then a click and a grunt. I peered through the brush to see him trying to unjam the gun. I steadied my breathing, then scrambled along the ground until I was a few feet from him.

  I leaped up and blasted him full in the face with pepper spray. He screamed and tried to fire, but the gun was still jammed, and I was already diving away.

  He fell back, fumbling with the gun as tears streamed down his face. I ran toward him and grabbed the gun. I didn’t get a good enough grip on it, and when he let go, it sailed into the forest.

  The guy grabbed me by the arm. I wrenched free and tore off. He tried to follow, stumbling blindly after me. Rafe was no longer shouting, just running full out in our direction. His face was taut with anger, and when I heard the growl, I thought it came from him.

  Then a tawny blur charged through the trees, snarling and snapping. It was the cougar from the night of my party, the female. She planted herself between me and the guy, who’d stopped swiping at his eyes and now stared at her like he was sure he was seeing wrong.

  The cat crouched. Rafe skidded to a halt.

  “No!” he said sharply.

  The cat kept snarling, crouched and ready to spring.

  “We’re okay,” Rafe said, his voice firm. “I’m okay. Maya’s okay.”

  I looked at him. His gaze was fixed on the cat. He was talking to the cat.

  I took a slow step, sidling toward the gun. I kept my gaze on the cougar, and when I moved, I could see her left flank and the mark there—dark fur in the shape of a paw print.

  I swallowed. I knew what I was looking at. I knew what it meant. But I couldn’t let the thought form. Not now.

  Rafe was still talking, sharper now, telling the cat we were okay. She crouched, hindquarters shifting, the tip of her tail twitching.

  “No,” Rafe said, jumping forward. “Don’t—”

  The cat leaped just as the guy wheeled to run. He managed to dodge her, stumbling slightly as she brushed him. Rafe took off after the cat, yelling, but she tore after the guy. I followed.

  The guy ran full out, knowing he
was running for his life, but the cat was faster. As the gap between them narrowed, the cat hunkered down for a flying leap. Rafe shouted something I couldn’t quite make out. Or maybe I could—I just wasn’t ready to believe what I was hearing.

  Just before the cat leaped, the guy’s arms windmilled, legs buckling as he skidded to a stop right at the edge of the ridge we’d climbed the afternoon before. He turned, hands going up, and shouted “Okay! Okay!” as the cat crouched, tail flicking, amber eyes fixed on him.

  “Call it off!” the guy yelled as Rafe raced toward them. “Call that thing off and I’ll go away, okay? I never found you, okay? Just call—”

  The cat jumped. Rafe shouted and this time I heard exactly what he said.

  “Annie!”

  The cat hit the guy, and they flew over the cliff. Rafe kept shouting her name, running toward them so fast I thought he was going to fall, too, and I lunged, screaming, but he stopped right at the edge.

  I raced up beside him. Below, the cat lay on the guy, who was sprawled on the grass, his eyes open. Open and unseeing. The cat lifted her head and whined. We started climbing down.

  At first, the cat just lay there, whimpering. When she tried to rise, she stumbled onto three legs, her left front one dangling.

  “Stay there,” Rafe yelled down. “Don’t move. Just stay there!”

  The cat made a noise low in her throat and looked up at us. I looked into her eyes and I knew what I saw—who I saw.

  “Annie,” I whispered.

  Rafe looked over sharply. He tried to make eye contact, but I turned back to the ridge. Blood pounded through my veins so hard it hurt.

  Annie. The cougar below was Annie.

  As crazy as it sounded, I never once thought, “But that’s impossible!” Because I knew it was true.

  I saw that dark patch on her haunch and I knew when she was human, there’d be a birthmark in the same place. I knew what it meant for her. And I knew what it meant for me.

  Yee naaldlooshii.

  Skin-walker.

  TWENTY-SIX

  WHEN I REACHED THE bottom, I knelt beside the fallen guy. I checked for a pulse, but his staring eyes told me he was dead.

  I thought of Mina Lee. Eaten by a cougar. Possibly killed by a cougar. I glanced over at Annie, then tore my gaze away. I couldn’t think about that now. I couldn’t think about a lot of things now.

  Rafe noticed the hole in my jeans and realized I’d been shot. It was only a graze. Slap on a bandage and I’d be fine.

  He crouched beside the cat as he checked her injuries, and if there was any doubt that it was Annie, it disappeared as I watched her letting him touch her hurt foreleg, only whimpering when he brushed a sore spot. I crouched beside them, and she stretched her head back and nudged me, giving a chirp of greeting, eyes closing as she rubbed her head against me.

  “Is it broken?” Rafe asked me.

  I ran my fingers along her leg.

  “It doesn’t seem to be,” I said. “I think it’s just a sprain. It should be wrapped, though. Can she …?” I swallowed. “Can she Shift back? To human?”

  “She will, but it’s not really …” He paused. “It isn’t under her control. She just will.” He looked at me. “I know you have a lot of questions—”

  “All of which can wait. Give me your jacket. I’ll wrap her leg and see if she can stand on it.”

  He stripped out of his denim jacket. Underneath he was wearing the same sleeveless tank top he’d had on on Saturday. When he twisted, once again I saw the dark edge of what I’d presumed was another tattoo. I remembered yesterday, when he hadn’t wanted to take off his shirt to wrap the arm.

  I caught the armhole of his shirt and pulled it away before he could stop me. There, below his shoulder, was a paw-print birthmark.

  For a second, I couldn’t breathe. I just stared at that mark until he tugged the fabric from my fingers.

  “Maya …”

  I turned back to Annie. “Hold her still. This will hurt.”

  He leaned down, trying to catch my gaze. “Maya …”

  “Hold her,” I snapped. “We need to get her to safety and take care of—” I glanced at the dead guy and couldn’t bring myself to finish, so I just looked over at Rafe and said, “I’m guessing you don’t want to take this to Chief Carling?”

  He shook his head. “I can’t.”

  “Then we have work to do.”

  I didn’t need to splint Annie’s foreleg. I’d just set to work when she started her Shift back, and I don’t know what I expected—a screaming, tortured transformation, I guess—but instead she started to twitch and quiver and whimper, and Rafe told me to get back, then she was human again.

  It only took a couple of minutes as she morphed in a process that looked more like something from a sci-fi movie than a horror flick. It took a lot out of her, though, and she lay there, curled up in a ball, gasping and panting, naked and covered with sweat.

  Then she sat up, looked around, saw me, and crawled over. She curled up, half in my lap, like a scared child, shivering, her heart pounding, snuggling against me for warmth. After a moment’s hesitation, I hugged her and told her it would be okay as Rafe draped his jacket over her. Within minutes, she was asleep.

  “We need to”—I glanced at the dead guy—“move him.”

  My second body in as many days. I should be horrified. At least with Mina Lee, I’d felt a hint of grief. Even then, though, my response had felt wrong. Cold.

  Now it was even worse. I felt nothing. This guy had come for Rafe, and he’d been willing to kill me to get him. He’d died by accident. If he’d had his way, he’d have done a lot worse to us. Still, to feel nothing didn’t seem right. Too sensible, even for me.

  “I know a place,” I said after thinking for a moment. I carefully slid from under Annie, lowering her to the ground and adjusting the jacket over her. I stood and looked down at the body. “Is anyone going to come looking for him?”

  Rafe shook his head. “The Jacksons must have put out a bounty on me. He wanted to collect it himself, which means he wouldn’t risk telling anyone else where he was going.” He stepped toward me, fingers closing around my arm. “I’m sorry, Maya. I never would have gotten you involved—”

  I pulled from his grasp. “Don’t lie to me. Not now. That’s why you’re here. To get me involved. Not in this”—I motioned to the dead guy—“but this.” I tugged my shirt away from my jeans, showing off the top of my matching mark, and as I did, I watched his expression, praying for a look of surprise and knowing I wouldn’t get one. I didn’t.

  That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? You said you were looking for something special in a girl, and that’s what it was.

  I didn’t say the words. Even thinking them made my gut clench, made me want to run as far from him as I could get, but I couldn’t do that. I needed answers.

  “I can explain,” he said.

  “I expect you to,” I said. “But first, we have to get rid of him.”

  We carried the body to a narrow cave farther down the ridge, where erosion had eaten away at the cliff side. We took his ID. He didn’t have keys, so he must have hitched a ride. We put him in the cave, then stuffed the opening with rocks and branches, to keep scavengers away.

  By the time we got back to Annie, she was awake again and ready to walk to the cabin. She was still exhausted, though, barely saying a word, leaning against her brother. When we got there, it was exactly as I remembered it—the kind of place so rundown that hikers would use it for shelter in bad weather, presuming no one lived there.

  The cabin was barely larger than my bedroom and had an outhouse. A new generator supplied electricity and a propane stove provided heat for cooking. As rustic as you could get. Clean, though, I saw as I followed Rafe inside. Probably a lot cleaner than it had been when Ed Skylark lived here.

  There were two beds, little more than bunks. One was original. The other was made of new wood, as was the table and two chairs. Add a tiny fridge, and that wa
s it for furnishings. The bed linens and plates and other stuff all looked new but were discount store quality. Clearly Rafe was making the drug dealers’ money last as long as he could.

  Rafe helped Annie to the new bed, which was piled with colorful pillows and blankets. She snuggled in, saying something about being hungry, but she drifted off to sleep again before she could finish. Rafe got a health bar from a crate of groceries and a juice box from the fridge, and left them beside her bed. Then he motioned me outside.

  He didn’t say another word until we were standing beside the fire pit, and even then he only said, “So …” before lapsing into silence. I lowered myself onto the log they’d been using for a fireside chair. He sat and tried sliding closer, but when I tensed, he stopped and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring into the forest.

  “You said your mother was Hopi,” I said, pointing to the tattoo on his forearm.

  He rubbed it and nodded.

  “They have the skin-walker stories, too, don’t they?”

  He looked over sharply, blinking.

  “Yes, I know the legend,” I said. “But I’m guessing it’s more than a legend.”

  “It is.” His hand came down right beside my leg, not touching. He looked down at his hand, like he was hoping I’d slide closer, give him some sign everything was okay. When I didn’t, he said, “This isn’t how I imagined it. Telling you.”

  “Did you imagine telling me at all?”

  His gaze shot to mine. “Yes. That’s why I asked you to come out here tonight. I knew I couldn’t wait. Shouldn’t wait. Things were happening, and you needed to know the truth, if you didn’t already.”

  “Okay, so you were going to tell me tonight. Well, it’s tonight. Go on.”

  He squirmed and I knew the timing didn’t matter—he’d expected this to play out differently, probably on a cliff top after a climb, sitting together, his arm around me, as he casually said, “Hey, you know how those mountain lions have been hanging around you a lot lately? Well, there’s a reason …”

  “Skin-walkers,” I prompted.

  “Right.”

  Silence.

  “I’ve only read one reference to them turning into cougars,” I said. “It’s usually wolves, coyotes, even bears.”