My Big Fat Supernatural Honeymoon

by My Big Fat Supernatural Honeymoon(lit)

  The man gibbered and choked with fear, his glands opening up and pouring chemical terror into the meat. Dammit. Nothing sensible would come out of him for a while.

  I decided to try to calm him down. “Hey. Why are you trying to bury me?”

  Poison, you jackass. And you lapped it up. I’ve never been the quickest on the uptake, I leave that to Kat. I settle for being the most thorough, most of the time. My fingers tingled and my chest constricted, something foreign burning off through my metabolism and sending a wave of weakness through me. Good thing about being Sunrunner, most poisons run right through us and disperse, defeated by heightened tissue regrowth and our neurological resistances, built to handle the sensory overload of the change.

  Bad thing? It hurts like hell, and it makes us cranky.

  I didn’t smell anything in the meat. Then it hit me again, a wave of sugar-coated nausea, and I cursed, grinding the chubby man down into the dirt.

  The tea. Sweet enough to rot all the teeth, and sugar will cover up all sorts of things where a canine’s concerned.

  “OhGawd ohGawd—” A sharp stink wafted up. The man had actually peed himself.

  Good Christ. What am I going to do now? I showed my teeth in a wolf’s grin and he cried out, trying to backpedal, his legs and arms flailing wildly. I let him go, standing up as he gibbered and moaned.

  Just a good ole boy, never meaning no harm. Huh. I bent down, quick fingers working, and found a heavy ring of keys. It would be worth my while to find out who the hell he was and why he was burying bodies for someone, but I had a bigger concern.

  Poison meant Evans was involved. Which meant Kat was vulnerable, and in deep trouble. I wrapped my fist in the man’s overalls and shirt, hauling him up. “Where’s your car, Bubba? Be a nice boy and tell me, and I’ll let you live.”

  I CUT THE ENGINE AND LET THE TRUCK drift, rattling, down the long slope. I was about a mile from Evans’s place, and pretty sure she’d know my unwitting benefactor’s vehicle. The man was trussed with duct tape and tossed in the back with two toolboxes and various other odd bits, since I didn’t want to murder him.

  Not yet, anyway.

  I got out, my boots crunching on gravel. The moon rose, high and white, casting knife-edged shadows along the ditches and under each little rock in the road. It was still hot-humid-damp, so the roostertail of dust the truck left in the air wouldn’t be too visible. Besides, it was night.

  But what if you’re not just dealing with suckers, Mitch? It was the voice of panic. Where’s Kat? Dammit. What am I going to do?

  I rested my hand on the truck’s hood for a moment, metal pinging as it cooled. The goddamn thing smelled like lit diesel farts and drove worse than a walleyed wino. It was loud and probably well-known in this neck of the woods. If I left it by the side of the road, sooner or later someone would find it, and whoever was behind all this would know I wasn’t dead.

  So I either had to dispose of both Bubba and his truck, or I had to work fast.

  Of course, if Kat was already dead…

  You stop that right now. It’s only been a little while. They had just started to bury you. Chances are Kat’s still alive, they have to figure out what she knows and if she told anyone.

  Still, if Evans had poisoned me, she might not be inclined to keep Kat alive either.

  Jesus Christ, Mitch, just get on with it!

  In the end I decided to leave the truck by the side of the road. If someone found Bubba taped up in the bed, it wouldn’t make a rat’s ass worth of difference.

  I’m no murderer. But if they hurt even one hair on Kat’s head we were going to see just what a pissed-off Sunrunner can do to frail human flesh.

  THE RAMBLING ANTEBELLUM HOUSE WAS DARK AND DESERTED. My Jeep sat in the gravel parking lot bordered with tall thin willows on three sides and a sloppy mix of kudzu on the fourth heading toward the road. The creek babbled a little under more willows, a long stone’s throw away. It was child’s play to force the back door—deadbolts are strong, but wooden doors tend to tear away from them if you apply enough force.

  The kitchen was pin-neat and the downstairs was completely tidy as well. I went up the stairs to the second floor, took a hard right, and found the door to our suite open and the entire room looking like a hurricane had hit it.

  Kat had put up a good fight. The window was busted all to hell, humid night seeping in as air-conditioning escaped. Grit lay everywhere, the smell of suckers rasping against my instincts. The mirrors were shattered and the mosquito netting over the bed was ripped up, the bed thrashed out of recognition and our luggage scattered around. Chairs were upended, the plush settee in a corner where she had probably tried to barricade herself, to judge by the damage to the wallpaper and plaster. The lightbulbs were all smashed, the ceiling fixture pulled out and dangling by a thread like a loose tooth, the lamps both overturned, their fringes tangled.

  Small, my Kat. But packed with dynamite. Birch stakes lay scattered through the room, one driven into the flooring like a straw into a potato.

  Damn, girl. If the situation had been otherwise, I might have smiled.

  No clues. Just the remnants of a helluva fight. Violence still smoked in the air. Had I been deaf to it all, poisoned by sweet tea?

  I made my way back downstairs, moving easily through the darkness. Evans’s office was on the other side of the detached kitchen, in a connected outbuilding recent enough to still smell like fresh lumber to my sensitive nose. The lock was better than the deadbolts on the front and back doors, and the door itself was metal. Fortunately the new drywall wasn’t nearly so resistant, and I walked right in, ducking to avoid the crossbar of the wall’s skeleton, sneezing at clouds of chalky dust.

  The office was pin-neat, with a wide tall window that looked out on the garden and a desk littered with paper. I glanced at the door and stopped, my skin chilling and rippling for a moment as I fought off the urge to shift to meet a new threat.

  Hanging from the doorknob was a little muslin pouch tied with red ribbon. It stank of death, with a peculiar overtone of horehound candy. The fetish rocked slightly against the door, humming nastily to itself. The sound of its tapping was flabby fingers against a pane of wet glass.

  I froze and looked around the office. The air was close, thick, and rank with sorcery. Another step in, and the sorcerer’s den might wake up—who knew what little traps were left in here?

  Great, Mitch. You idiot. How did you not smell her out? Her perfume, and that talcum powder—just the thing to dog up a sensitive nose. And she was scared, not of me but of the sheriff. Merciful Sun.

  Something caught my eye. I bent down a little, peering out the window. When sitting at the desk, Evans would have her back to the wall instead of the door. File cabinets marched along the other wall. The picture window framed gardens, the ribbon of the road, forest, and Lover’s Leap, glowing slick and wet under the almost-full moon.

  “Holy shit,” I breathed, and backed out through the hole in the wall.

  Of all the bed-and-breakfasts in Virginia, we had to walk right into one run by a sorcerer. I stared through the Sunrunner-sized hole in the wall at the moonlight flooding over the desktop, a big bad Southern moon drenching everything with dead light. There was probably evidence in that office that would tell me what the hell was going on and why Kat had been taken.

  You’re dumb, Mitch, but you’re not that dumb. You’re not a private eye, you’re a Sunrunner, and your wife’s in trouble. You want to finish this honeymoon, you’ll go and get her. You know where.

  “Lover’s Leap.” My voice, flat and furious, took me by surprise. The house creaked and sighed its regular nightly song. Old houses are like that, they hum to themselves at night, the heat of the day leaching out of joints and beams. “Hang on, Kat. I’m coming to get you.”

  I LOPED ALONGSIDE THE ROAD IN FULL CHANGE, my pads silent on the forest floor. The burn of light on shifting textures of fur ran along my nerve endings, the night exploding like champagne on the back of
my throat. There was a thread of wrong along the road, a scent that shouldn’t be, well-traveled, like the passage of a predator at the edge of a herd. It raised my hackles and gave speed to my legs, the wolf’s joy at its freedom matching my urgency.

  Kat, honey, just hold on. I’m on my way.

  A Sunrunner can cover a lot of ground on four legs, but the moon was lowering in the sky by the time I reached the base of the mountain, where the road took a sharp turn and started winding up to Lover’s Leap. I could either cut across the hairpin turns, or I could follow them and lose time, remaining more cautiously hidden.

  Kat. I decided to take a direct route up the side of a sharp rocky incline, covered with all sorts of trashwood and clinging bushes, scrub pine and bare rocks. Instinct told me there was a way.

  I made very little noise, scrabbling through undergrowth and using the rocks as takeoff pads. I’m no mountain goat, but a wolf’s hardly the worst animal when it comes to getting up a hill. The faster you go, the easier it is to balance, like a tightrope. Each time I crossed the dusty ribbon of the road fresh urgency pounded behind my heart, each beat saying her name. Kat. Kat. Kat.

  The last sharp turn unreeled on my right as I bounded from rock to rock, twisting in midair to land splayed on an outcropping. On my left was a widening semicircle of gravel, the parking area for Lover’s Leap. Instinct drove me into shadow at the far end, avoiding the bright glare of exposure. I nosed around the edges of the lot, trying to catch something of that thread of wrong.

  Nothing. The night was still, except for frogs singing somewhere down in the valley and a raccoon bumbling along a ways away, the soft passionless talk of owls sometimes filtering through.

  This was the only clue I had, and it was a bust.

  Something has to be here. It has to be. Look harder. Look again.

  I stilled myself, watching the wide field of pebbles, stamped dirt, and moonshine. Heard the far-off thudding of an engine laboring through the turns. Someone was coming.

  I decided to chance it and worked as far toward the edge as I could, nose to the ground. I slunk out into the light, tail held protectively low to keep my profile small, and stepped into the full force of the wind from the valley, the exhalation off the mountain changing to an inhale. Every sense strained, watching, waiting. Little points of light in the valley was the town, stars come to earth.

  The knocking engine grew closer. It wasn’t Bubba’s truck, but every instinct screamed for me to get back under cover.

  A stray draft touched my nose, teasing with the decaying tang of bloodsuckers. I stiffened, easing out past the rickety rotting wooden fence meant to keep idiots from taking a plunge. My front paws placed themselves delicately, testing the ground before I shifted my weight.

  The draft came again, and I dropped my nose. It wafted up from somewhere below, foul death-reek, bloating flesh and old rotting blood. It was a fermenting smell, hot and juicy.

  A nest.

  I hesitated. The rock face wasn’t quite sheer here, bulging and curving to point an accusing finger toward the town. The change melted away as I lay flat on my belly and swung my legs out over the drop, furry toes lengthening and finding crevices.

  This isn’t going to work.

  Never mind. You have to make it work. Besides, the smell was close. Close enough to make the fur rippling up my back stand on end in hard bristles, a mane of adrenaline-laden fear.

  The knocking engine eased closer, gunning, brakes squealing on the turns. Someone was going fast. I hesitated. My questing right foot stretched for a hold and found only emptiness.

  What the hell? Meaty warmth caressed my bare hairy foot, caught between wolf and man. Bones crackled as I shifted, trying to find a better shape, fingers jammed in crevices and my other leg twisted awkwardly, anchoring me to the cliff face.

  The thought of a nest here, just under the surface of a high school makeout spot, turned me cold. The thought of Kat, maybe trapped in the close wet decaying heat, maybe waiting for the suckers to straggle back home and find a predawn snack waiting for them, called bitter bile up into my throat.

  I moved my left foot to another hold, bracing myself, clambered down another few feet. My right foot still dangled. I was on the edge of a cave entrance, I thought, and shuddered at the idea of my leg hanging out in front of a sucker.

  Another few moments of squirming while the engine roared closer and closer brought a gift—my right foot touched something solid and gritty, and I dropped onto a long low shelf in front of a pitch-black horizontal crack in the face of Lover’s Leap. I peered at the shelf and the rock below, my eyes picking out hand-and-footholds. An easy climb for a Sunrunner—or for a bloodsucker powered by stolen life and ravenous hunger, looking for its safe hole to spend the night. A nest like this could go on, hidden, for a long time. Precious few would think to look for it here, or would believe what they found.

  The nest was most likely empty, everything that called it home out looking for prey under the moon. I eased into the pitch blackness, miserably compelled. The sorcerer might only have to get Kat up here, easy if she had accomplices, and leave her tied up. A nice little sucker-snack before dawn sent them into torpor.

  I couldn’t smell her. The reek of suckers was too thick.

  I tried to whisper Kat’s name, forgetting I was half-changed and making only a little whine. The reek stung my eyes and filled my nose with stinging pain. Two more steps brought me to a stone overhang that might have brained me if I hadn’t been warned by the hair-fine sensitivity of the half-changed. I had to go on hands and knees, squirming over a hillock on the rocky floor, a small part of me noting the geological irregularity that would keep daylight from streaming through the entrance.

  A foxfire glimmer struck my eyes. The crack widened into a small corridor, one I duck-walked through. Every bad memory in the world was attached to that hideous wet smell. Suckers don’t bring their prey back unless it’s small and easily portable, but they dye the walls of their nests with pheromones and slick excretions that raise the temperature. I rounded a shallow bend in the corridor, and the floor sloped away underneath me, turning into fine sand. A low unhealthy glow came from chunks of rock daubed with something like lichen, and my hackles rose. The cave was large enough for a goodish-sized nest, and bones swam in the sea of rot-laced sand on the floor. Against the back wall was a drift of jumbled things—clothes, broken pottery shards, glass twinkling, all sorts of crap.

  In the middle of the cave, sunk down three-quarters of the way, a hump of black obsidian surfaced. The light touching its face didn’t reflect—it fell in, endlessly, dying in the stone’s depths. A sharp tang of sorcery cut through the morass of foulness, and I had to blink several times, eyes streaming, before I realized the shadow in front of the obsidian chunk was humanoid, rocking back and forth as it whispered something lost in the susurrus of warmed air whistling through the crack.

  I blinked furiously, trying to clear my vision. Kat was nowhere in here.

  And Mrs. Evans, her bun neat and tidy as ever and her house-dress dragging on the filthy sand, crouched in front of me, her chanting suddenly rising from a whisper to a keening. The obsidian sparked, a bloody glow rising from its depths, and I suddenly smelled suckers, up-close and personal.

  Now is not a good time to wish you’d studied sorcerers a little closer. But Sunrunners don’t tangle much with them. We’re too busy with suckers most of the time.

  Whatever Evans was doing couldn’t mean well. And she, of all people, would know where my wife was.

  I gathered myself, legs compressing under me and the change shifting me further toward wolf than man. Sand whispered underfoot, and Evans jerked away from whatever spell she was concocting, too late.

  I hit her low and hard, hearing a bone snap as I jolted her across the cave, claws scraping in treacly sand. The chanting vanished, swallowed as her teeth clicked together hard enough to take a chunk of tongue out. She was an old woman, and stout, and hellishly strong. Why had I never noticed b
efore?

  Because you weren’t looking, Mitch. Stupid dog.

  I clapped a hand over her mouth and got my knee in her midriff, opening my mouth to snarl. Strands of her gray hair came loose as she heaved and struggled, and I had to change a bit to get a mouth human enough to talk with.

  “Where is my wife?” I roared, the words splitting and echoing across the cave. “You tell me or so help me I will kill you!”

  I still had her mouth clamped closed. How was I going to get information out of her without her mumbling more spells?

  Evans shook, her eyes glazed with shock, her leg twisted at an odd angle underneath me. Sweat stood out on her brow, great pearly drops against doughy skin.

  I heard, faint and faraway, the knocking of the engine that had followed me up to Lover’s Leap. It cut off, suddenly, and other sounds crept into the cave’s dense wet gloom.

  Little soft padding feet, and a hiss. The obsidian in the middle of the cave chuckled like wet clay tearing apart. I knew that sound—it was the noise suckers made when their prey was close and unaware.

  I snapped a glance over my shoulder. Against the foxfire, little pinpricks of light showed—sucker eyes, throwing back only a small point of light since their pupils are so far shrunk. They’re all but blind in anything other than almost-darkness, but their heat-sensitivity makes up for it, and a sucker can hear your pulse a mile away.

  I heard the faint thud of car doors slamming as they crowded in through the lips of the cave. Some of the pinpricks halted, the shapes slumping as the suckers dropped down to all fours, turning their heads to catch the sound of prey above.

  Faint on the wind came a piercing cry, one I’d know anywhere.

  “Mitch! Mitchell Black! Where the hell are you?”

  Kat? I looked down, and the sorcerer’s eyes rolled back inside her head. They’re tricky beasts, and once a sorcerer’s spell goes far enough it completes itself, whether you interrupt them or not.