He came closer. God, I wanted to run away. Wolf wanted to run away.
He was in front of me, holding out his hand, like he wanted me to take it, so he could draw me into his world. His goblin market.
Slowly, I took a step back—a hesitating step, to encourage him to follow. I was right on the edge, he could draw me to him if only he took another step toward me, over the line.
But he stopped. When he smiled, he showed teeth.
He said, "I see your spell. I'll not cross the line."
Screw it. Screw him. I grabbed his shirt and pulled, yanking him forward. Across the line.
I expected him to be heavier than he was. Hauling him felt like pulling on a pillow—he was light enough to fly out of my grip. Surprise at this made me lose my balance. I fell backward, but I kept hold of his shirt, determined to bring him down, literally if need be.
I hit the ground, expecting him to fall on top of me. But he didn't, because as soon as his body crossed the invisible barrier that we'd created he caught fire. He burst like a flare, yellow and red spewing with a shrill hiss that might have been a shriek. Ash and embers fell against me, onto my face, scalding. I screamed and put my arms over my face. My hands burned, throbbing and painful. I rolled, trying to get away.
Somebody stopped me and pulled me up until I was sitting. "Are you okay?" It was Jeffrey.
My hands were red, baked and itching, like a bad sun-burn. My face burned and itched, too. I hated to think what it looked like.
I lurched out of his grip and twisted all the way around to look for Smith. "Where is he? Where'd he go?"
"He's gone," Jeffrey said, laughing a little, nervously. "He just burned up."
A few black cinders lay scattered on the grass. At the gate of the caravan, people were drifting out, stumbling, confused, shaking their heads.
"It's over," I said. I was too tired to feel any kind of victory. Yet, I couldn't help but feel like there should have been more. That had almost been easy—anticlimactic. I shouldn't have been able to finish off someone that badass all by myself.
Stockton was still filming, gripping the camera with both hands, white-knuckled. So how did you wrap up a story like this? Brush your hands off and go home?
Behind me, a groan sounded, deep, changing in tone. The tenor was familiar—a human voice, turning into a wolf's growl.
One of Smith's bodyguards was shape-shifting. And why not? How long had it been since any of these people had given in to the other side of their natures? And now the power that had controlled them was gone.
The shorter one doubled over, pulling off his shirt, ripping the sleeves as he did, and growling. As the other one watched, he backed away, but his muscles were rippling, his body melting, changing. All the lycanthropes would react to that; in moments, they'd all shift.
That didn't even begin to mention what the vampires would do, freed from Smith's control.
"Jeffrey, we have to get out of here."
He looked around, his eyes widening as he realized what was happening. "Yeah, I guess we do."
"Roger!" I shouted. "Get back to the car! Now!"
Sure enough, a woman who'd made her way out of the gate grabbed a man standing next to her, tripped him so he sprawled on the ground, straddled his back, and bared her teeth. She threw herself at his neck, biting into him. He thrashed, trying to roll and swipe at her. Claws sprouted from his hand.
Many of the others, realizing what was happening, ran flat-out into the woods, no looking back.
Helping each other, Jeffrey and I got to our feet and started running. Stockton stared out, his eyes wide and surprised. His camera was still up, still recording.
I grabbed his shirt as we passed him. "Come on?"
A furious snarl ripped the air behind me. A wolf could run faster on four legs than I could on two.
"Run. Just run," I said to Jeffrey, shoving him toward Stockton. I turned my back on them to face the wolf that was racing toward me.
Chapter 9
He wanted the easiest prey in the area. I must have looked good. Small enough to be an easy target with enough meat to make it worthwhile.
That described me in so many ways I didn't want to think about.
He was pale, almost white, which made him glow in the moonlight. He was also big, one of the stockier wolves I'd ever seen: massive through the chest and shoulders, legs working, head low, like a battering ram. He'd plow into me and knock me over like I was nothing, then rip into me without a second thought.
But I'd survive the first few cuts. I already had lycanthropy, unlike Jeffrey and Roger. I was tough; I could take it.
Holy crap.
I dodged. At the very last possible moment I dodged and grabbed the wolf's tail. I was stronger than I looked. I kept hold of it long enough to change his momentum, to make him hesitate and look back, to pause before he adjusted the vector of his attack to where his prey had slipped.
His jaws were open, aimed at my shoulder, once again to try to shove me to the ground and hold me with his teeth. Swinging my body, I deflected his face away. Instead of locking a firm grip on my shoulder, his canines scraped down my arm. A couple of deep gouges on the bicep was better than losing a shoulder, right?
I couldn't slow down to think about how much it hurt. Jeffrey and Roger should have had enough time to get back to the car. Time to run away. I kicked the wolf's face before he could gather himself for the next attack. I had to convince him I wasn't as easy a catch as he first thought. This was a time I had to let a little bit of the Wolf into my mind. She was better at fighting than I was. Kick him, snarl at him, scare him off.
Do all that, and stay anchored to my human body as well. I didn't want to lose control of that part of myself. I didn't want to leave myself vulnerable while I shifted. And I wanted to be able to talk about this when it was finished. Assuming I was still conscious when it was finished.
The wolf hesitated. He was thinking about it. Probably because other, potentially easier prey attracted him.
"Kitty! Kitty!" A kid ran up the hill toward me—the young man I'd talked to before everything hit the fan, the one who'd just tried to join the church. "Help, I don't know what to do, you have to help me—"
"Come on." I grabbed the guy's shirt, shoved him so he was behind me, and shouted at the pale wolf. "Get out of here! Go on, get away!"
I backpedaled up the hill. "Run!" I said to the guy. "Get to the car."
I turned and followed him. I didn't dare look behind me.
We hopped the fence, first the kid, then me. Jeffrey stood by the car, holding open the passenger side door. He also held a Club—the attached to the steering wheel so the car doesn't get stolen kind of Club—in his right hand, ready to swing it like it was, well, a club. Just in case something was following.
I shoved the kid into the back and piled in immediately after him. Jeffrey jumped in the front seat and slammed shut the door.
The pale wolf crashed into the door, jaws open, slobbering on the window.
Stockton was filming it.
"Roger, would you put down that camera and drive?" I shouted.
The second time the wolf charged us, causing the whole car to rock on its wheels, Stockton put the camera down and started the engine. We pulled out onto the road a second later.
My straggler curled up in his seat. Hugging himself, he shook, sweat breaking out on his face. He mumbled, "Stop it… stop it…"
He was starting to Change. It began inside, a feeling like an animal clawing its way out. It hurt more when you tried to keep it from happening. When you couldn't stop the Change from happening.
I grabbed him, taking hold of his face and making him look at me. "Keep it together, okay? Take a deep breath. Slow breath. Good, that's good. Nice and easy, keep it together." His breathing slowed; he stopped trembling. After another moment, he even relaxed a little. Some of the tension left his arms.
He closed his eyes. He wouldn't look at me.
"What's your name?"
/> He needed a moment to catch his breath. "Ty. It's Ty."
"Nice to meet you, Ty." He nodded quickly, nervously, keeping his head down. I moved a hand to his shoulder—a light touch to keep him anchored in his body—and sat back.
Now maybe I could catch my breath.
I didn't want to think about the can of worms we'd opened. In the long run, Smith being gone could only be a good thing. But all those people were homeless now, and confused. And monsters. At least we were in the middle of nowhere. They could only hurt each other. Which was bad enough.
"Kitty, you're bleeding." Jeffrey stared at me between the two front seats.
Blood covered my right arm. Just looking at it sent waves of pain riding through my shoulder.
"It's okay," I said, gritting my teeth. "It'll be fine by morning."
"The rapid healing, that's true?" Stockton said. The reporter turned his camera onto me, holding it between the front seats with one hand while steering with the other and only half watching the road. "Can I watch?"
"No." I glared until he set the thing down. I took the charm off and handed it to the front seat. Roger accepted it, pulling the chain over his head. "Roger, your grandmother got you into this, didn't she? The fairy charms, the supernatural. Working for Uncharted World?"
He smiled wryly. "Some people think I'm on that show because I'm a crappy reporter. I could be on CNN if I wanted. Except I believe. No, I don't believe. I know. The supernatural—it's like any other mystery. You find enough evidence, you can prove the truth. This gig gets me closer to that." Just like Flemming. The search for truth. Stockton was just traveling a different road. "So—you sure you won't let me film you next full moon?"
"No."
"How about you, kid?"
"What?" Ty looked woozy.
"No," I said.
Stockton chuckled, entirely too amused. "Hey—where are we going?"
I found my phone in my pocket, turned it on, and hesitated, because I didn't know who I could call for help. I hated to say that my first impulse was to call Cormac. He'd know what to do with a couple dozen rogue vampires and werewolves rampaging the countryside. Unfortunately, his solution would involve lots of silver bullets and stakes, and we'd end up with a bunch of corpses. I was trying to avoid that.
My next idea was to call Ahmed. I didn't have a phone number for the Crescent, so I called information. They were able to get me through to the restaurant side. A cheery-sounding hostess whose voice I didn't recognize answered the phone.
"Good evening, this is the Crescent. May I help you?"
"Hi, yeah—is Ahmed there?"
"Who?"
A sinking feeling attacked my stomach. "Ahmed. The guy who owns the place."
"Oh! Just a moment. May I tell him who's calling?"
"It's Kitty."
She set the phone aside. I could hear the murmur of generic restaurant noises—voice talking, tableware clinking—in the background. The moment stretched on. I started tapping my foot. I didn't have a lot of time here.
A familiar, robust voice picked up the line. "Kitty! How are you?"
Situations like this made it so hard to answer that question. "I need some help, Ahmed. What would you do with a couple dozen vampires and lycanthropes who'd lost it and you wanted to get them under control so they didn't get hurt?"
I grit my teeth. When I said it out loud like that, this mess sounded ridiculous.
He hesitated for a long time, so that I had to listen to the restaurant white noise again. Then he said, "I would leave the area, and wait until morning to return to see what was left."
"But the vampires will die without shelter."
"That would not be my concern."
No, it wouldn't, would it? "Then what about the lycanthropes? I know you'd want to help the lycanthropes."
"If you can bring them here, to the club, I can shelter them."
"But I have no way of getting them there."
"Kitty, what have you gotten yourself into?"
I sighed. He wasn't going to be any help. He probably never even left the Crescent, his little domain. "It's a long story. I'll have to talk to you later. Bye."
"Goodbye?" He sounded confused. I hung up anyway.
That left one other option.
I called Alette to ask her if she could help. Bradley answered the phone, put me on hold, and returned to say that she could. She'd meet me at Smith's caravan in an hour.
An hour later, we drove back by the site. The police had already arrived in squad cars, along with a sedan I recognized as the one Bradley drove, and a large, windowless van.
Stockton pulled onto the shoulder. A cop came forward and tried to wave him away. I rolled down the back window. "I'm with Alette," I called. The cop hesitated, then let Stockton park.
While a trio of cops moved alongside the road setting out flares and obviously standing guard, Alette and Leo stood at the edge of the grassy field. A group of people approached them from the caravan. Leo held something out to them, and they moved slowly, cautiously toward him.
"Stay here, lock the doors," I said as I climbed out of the car. I didn't stick around to see if they listened to me. I didn't get too close. I had my limits. The people drawn to Leo were thin, wan, cold—vampires. Leo held a jar of blood, open to the air, so that the smell drew them.
The vampires in Smith's caravan hadn't eaten in months, some of them. As they approached, Leo spoke softly to them. He touched their chins, their hair, and they bowed their heads and followed docilely. He led them to the van and guided them inside. Tom waited by the back door.
Bradley approached me, clearly on an intercept course to keep me from interrupting Alette and Leo.
"What's happening?" I asked, before he could chastise me or start issuing orders. "It looks like some kind of vampire hypnotism."
He said, "The ones who joined Smith aren't very old, only a few decades. Easy to control. Older vampires aren't going to go looking for a cure. If they've made it to a hundred without getting killed, it usually means they like it. But these—they're looking for guidance."
"What'll happen to them?"
"They'll stay with Alette until she can find out where they're from and send them home." He glanced back at Stockton's car. Of course the reporter had his camera pressed against the windshield, glaring out. He even leaned half on top of Jeffrey to get a better angle. "Your friends should leave."
His tone didn't allow argument. Besides, I pretty much agreed with him. This was like an accident scene, and Stockton didn't need to be broadcasting it on his show.
"I'll ask them, but Stockton's got the keys. Good luck getting him out of here." Then I had a brilliant idea. Stockton reported on the paranormal. He'd absolutely love this. I told Bradley, "Let me get the kid out and back in his own car. Then could you maybe pull the Man In Black routine on Stockton? It might just scare the crap out of him." I couldn't help it—I grinned.
"Man In Black?" Bradley's brow furrowed with distaste.
"Just be yourself when you tell him to get the hell out of here. It'll be fun." I trotted off to check on Ty.
Jeffrey unlocked the car for me. I opened the back door. Ty was sitting up, looking around, aware of his surroundings.
"Hey, Ty, you ready to go home? Can you drive?" I said.
He ran a hand through his floppy hair and nodded. "But can't I stay with you?"
I absolutely did not need that kind of responsibility. I'd run away from that kind of responsibility. I tried to let him down gently. "Walk with me, 'kay?"
I held out my hand. He took it and let me pull him from the car. Staying close to him, I walked him to his car. "There's a club in D.C. for people like us. A guy named Ahmed runs it. He can help you, there's lots of people there who'd be happy to help you cope with this. You should go there."
He scrounged a pen and piece of paper from his glove box, and I wrote down directions to the Crescent for him. I also gave him my number.
"No more quack cures after this, right?"
/>
"Right."
"You going to be okay?"
He nodded, a little more decisively than he had before. "Yeah. I'll check this place out. Thanks, Kitty. Thanks a lot."
I sent him on his way.
I turned around just in time to see Stockton's car back up a few feet in order to zoom a U-turn onto the road, engine revving. Arms crossed, a looming monolith of a man, Bradley stood at the edge of the pavement and watched him go.
When Stockton's car was out of sight, Bradley turned around. He wore a big grin. He said, "You're right. That was fun."
I was so sorry I'd missed it.
Leo, supervised by Alette, was still herding vampires. The scene was surreal and vaguely appalling.
"Does it bother you?" I said to Bradley. "Working for a vampire? Emma said her family has worked for her for centuries. What about yours? Or are you related to Emma?"
"Distant cousins." His smile was amused, wry. He nodded to the cops. "One of the officers there is another cousin. I never really thought about it, to tell you the truth. It's just how it's always been. If you don't grow up thinking any of this is weird, then it isn't weird. When I was a kid, my parents would take me to her place to visit. It was like having another aunt."
The lycanthropes wouldn't fry when the sun rose, but I was worried about what they might do in the meantime. Alette wasn't. She and Leo set out raw meat as bait and armed the police with silver bullets.
Wasn't exactly what I had in mind. But it turns out the silver bullets were weapons of last resort. The vampire mojo worked on the weres as well. The two vampires lulled them to sleep, let them slip back to human, then let the police take over. Many of the people had missing person files on them. Eventually, they'd make it back home.
The two vampires cleaned up the whole mess. That was why lycanthropes needed large numbers to defeat vampires in a head-to-head confrontation.
We explored the caravan while Alette's police friends put up yellow tape and marked the whole thing off as an investigation site. Under the tent, a temporary stage made of plywood and milk crates stood toward the rear, and a string of bare lightbulbs hung from tent poles, across the top. It looked harmless enough. The rest of the camp, though, was a disaster. None of the trailers had sewer hook-ups. The few available camp and chemical toilets were overused. Immortality and rapid healing didn't preclude the necessity of other bodily functions. Nothing had been cleaned, piles of trash lay discarded in the corners of RVs, in the beds of pickups. Some signs of food remained: empty cans of soup and beans, along with dirty dishes, were stacked in sinks and on counters. Mold and slime spotted them, and dozens of flies rose and scattered when we opened doors.
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