Silver Collar

by Gill McKnight

  “What you’ve got is lycanthropy, not Spanish fly,” Emily snapped. “And your dirty saliva is all over my skin.”

  “Funny how your stammer stops when you’re being a bitch.”

  “Oh, what a big sense of humor you have, Grandma. Goes well with that big red nose,” Emily said.

  Luc’s hand involuntary reached for her sore nose. The bleeding had stopped, but the throbbing hadn’t.

  “You broke it.” She lied to see if any remorse was forthcoming. You never knew with humans.

  Emily snorted back laughter. “You look more Rudolph than werewolf.”

  Estranged as she was from her pack, it still went against every fiber in Luc’s wolven being that a human should know the truth about the Garouls, and especially about her. Survival of the species meant secrecy. She had to fix this mess somehow, which was difficult, seeing as she could not eat the infiltrator.

  “Hear that?” She whipped toward the window, diverting the conversation and pumping concern into her voice. She needed to get the upper hand again. This Emily was an all-knowing, spiteful thing.

  “W-what?” As she suspected, the stammer came back. Emily was a born worrywart.

  “Do you hear the howling?” Luc whispered. “They’re closing in.”

  “The Garouls?” Emily asked, though she looked like she already knew the answer.

  “No, that would be Alvin and the Chipmunks.” Luc cast her a dirty look. “I bet they want their book back. Is it overdue? Have you been naughty and not checked your library ticket?” She tried to look self-satisfied.

  “I c-can’t hear anything.”

  “That’s because you have puny human ears.” Luc enjoyed the dread that flashed across Emily’s solemn gray eyes. “They’re going to eat you, and Luna help them because you’re one poisonous little toad.”

  There was a moment of silence as Emily concentrated on hearing, anxiety etched across her face. She nursed her hand close to her chest, rather overdramatically, in Luc’s opinion. Luna forbid I bite her properly; we’d be on Broadway.

  “I can’t hear anything,” Emily repeated, trying to sound dismissive.

  “Try harder.”

  Luc’s tongue clicked against the roof of her mouth. She wished she had her wolf teeth. She’d have loved to run her tongue along the smooth enamel surface and imagine sinking them into Emily’s throat and then shaking and shaking and shaking her.

  There was a shudder.

  The floor they were sitting on lurched. The cabin moaned like an old whaler, and from outside came the snap and splinter of tree roots upending.

  “I heard that,” Emily whispered, her face went even paler.

  “Not that!” Luc barked, though she was all ears, concentrating on this newer, much more dangerous sound.

  The roof shook and threw down a shower of debris. Wall planks bent and cracked. Shards of dirt and uprooted plants spilled through the gaps.

  “Mudslide,” Luc yelled, her gaze locked on the cell’s back wall. It heaved and splintered. It tilted to a distorted angle and cracks rang out like gunfire. “Oh crap.”

  The wall exploded inward, a torrent of mud and stone scree barreled through the planking and poured across the floor in an ear-splitting roar. The roof collapsed to the rear of the cabin, its corrugated tin shrieking as it tore apart. The world around them became a confusing slurry; a sharp-edged torrent of earth and stone and bruising darkness.

  Chapter Ten

  Jolie followed Mouse as far as the highway that wound all the way down to Route 3. It was the best route through the mountainous region and heavily used by commercial traffic. Eighteen-wheelers and Mack trucks streaked past throwing up dirt and belching pollution. The grass and long-necked weeds swayed crazily in their back draft. She saw Mouse ducked down in the scratchy underbrush. She seemed hesitant, wary, and Jolie realized the youngster didn’t have much experience with busy roads or how to navigate them in wolven form. Jolie lengthened her pace, hoping Mouse’s momentary indecision would gain her the couple of seconds she needed to stop the cub from running out in front of a truck. Mouse waited, her head whipping from side to side as she watched the oncoming blaze of vehicle headlights, trying to judge a safe gap. Her hindquarters were bunched, ready for a mad dash across the wet pavement. Jolie could see her trying to time her run, unhearing and unseeing of anything else, her concentration fully on the thundering trucks. Jolie snuck up behind her undetected and grabbed Mouse by the heel as she lunged for the road.

  Oh no, you don’t! Damned if I’m bringing you back to Marie scraped into a paper bag. Her growl was edged with anger. Mouse looked around in dismay as Jolie dragged her backward through the underbrush and deeper into the trees. Her ears flattened and she spat wildly but knew better than to struggle with Jolie holding on to her leg. Once she was released, she scrambled to her feet and stood hunched and hissing.

  Hiss at me one more time, missy, and I’ll nip your nose off. Jolie was livid and her growling grew deeper. What the hell are you doing out here? Are you meeting up with someone?

  Mouse averted her eyes, finding the forest floor fascinating. No one. I was just out running.

  Running, my ass. Tell me the truth, Jolie rumbled, there’s no way you would even think to cross that road except you needed to be on the other side. What’s over there? Who’s over there? The cub was out of control, Jolie decided. She had grown up as good as feral with no notion of pack manners. What did Ren think she was doing raising cubs like this? But for Jolie’s intervention, the little squirt would be squashed as a fly on a fender. All Jolie wanted was to get her back home before Hope found them missing. Marie and Ren could sort the runt out later. You came all this way for a run? No way am I swallowing that. Guess Marie can whup the truth out of you.

  I’m following the hunt, Mouse conceded. Jolie smiled inwardly. Marie’s name always worked like a charm.

  Why? Marie will have your whiskers. Jolie frowned at this news.

  I don’t want them to hurt Luc.

  Luc deserves all she gets, and she’s damned lucky I’m not out there with—

  The bushes rattled behind them and they both stiffened. I knew it! You were meeting somebody, you lying little—

  Jolie took a defiant step toward the undergrowth determined to face down whoever was in hiding. With one last snap and shake of foliage, Tadpole bustled out of the bushes. His ginger snout snuffled inches from the ground and he bumped into Jolie’s shin before he noticed her. Ecstatic at his find, his tail began to wag and he jumped up on Mouse’s leg for a pat of approval.

  Jolie’s shoulders slumped. Could this night get any worse?

  What the hell! Who’s guarding Hope? she roared. Tadpole dropped to his belly. This is ridiculous, Jolie continued bellowing at him. You crazy ferret! Do you two realize what will happen if Hope wakes up and finds us all gone? I will die, that’s what will happen! She will kill me. Now, back home, the lot of you—what? Her last word came out in a squeak of disbelief. She was standing there roaring at Tadpole, and Tadpole alone. Mouse was gone. She had slipped away while Jolie harangued the dog.

  With a last hard glare at the dog, Jolie turned and stomped off to begin her search all over again. She snapped branches, and stormed through the greenery until leaves and blossoms littered the ground in her wake. Uncaring, she trampled over new shoots and bent fledgling trees, squashing everything that came into her path. Behind her with his tail waving proudly, Tadpole followed her swath of destruction.

  *

  Emily instinctively curled into a tight ball as a wave of mud and stones washed her into the corner. The noise was terrifying, and all she could do was squeeze her body as small as possible and hope the freezing deluge would stop before burying her completely. Stones and forest debris pounded on her back. Boggy water filled her ears, nose, and mouth until she spluttered for air, sure she would drown in the mire. And then the onslaught stopped. The thick, turbid gurgling gave way to the creak and crack of wooden walls.

  Emily collapsed ont
o her aching back, resting on her elbows. Freezing mud covered the entire floor more than a foot deep. She was swamped in it, covered in it, every inch of her. Reclining like this, it came up to her chest. If she stood, it would be knee-deep. Toward the rear, where the roof had fallen in, mud banked up to nearly five feet, and huge boulders and twisted tree roots stuck out of the back wall at all angles.

  She sat up, stunned but relieved she could move freely. It was pure dumb luck one of those huge boulders had not pulverized her to bits. Thankfully, she had been far enough back to miss the full onslaught.

  But the werewolf hadn’t.

  Emily splashed onto all fours and crawled as fast as she could toward the cell with its bent bars and bank of solid mud. Sharp stones cut at her palms and knees. It felt like crawling across a riverbed, but her pounded body was too weak to stand in the slippery mess. Wind and rain slashed at her face, whistling in through the flapping tin roof. The sharp smell of pine cut clean and fresh through the sour pungency of the mud. Emily grasped the bars and regarded the mess inside the cell. How could the woman have survived? Emily’s heart thumped in her chest and she felt a familiar tightness gather in her body, swarming like bees in her belly. What had she done? She had incarcerated a woman in this death pit, and now she was buried whole. Crushed to death, or drowned.

  Emily began scooping away handfuls of dirt from where she had last seen the woman. She had to be here, pressed right up against the bars; there was nowhere else for her to go. She clawed at the earth, but every cavity she scooped out filled up at once with muck and water. Something squirmed and touched her fingers. A hand broke the slippery surface and grabbed at her wrist. Emily reared back with a cry and dragged the woman upright into a sitting position. They sat and blinked at each other in surprise. Then the woman’s face cracked into a wide grin, gleaming snow white against her mud-plastered face.

  “Hey there, Swampy,” she said good-naturedly, as if adventures like this befell her every day. Emily splashed onto her backside, relieved to see the woman alive. They had both had a narrow escape. Above them, the roof creaked, as if to warn that they were not safe yet.

  “W-we need to get out of here.” Emily eyed the bent roof beams.

  The woman shrugged. “I’m going nowhere unless you’ve got the door key.”

  But already Emily was pushing her hands into the waterlogged pockets of her pants. She pulled out mud-soaked tissues, coins, and a pocket-sized flashlight. Everything spilled onto the dirt as she searched frantically.

  “Here!” She jingled a set of keys.

  “Yippee,” came the flat reply. “Now get me out.”

  Emily hesitated. What if her captive ran away? The roof creaked again, louder and longer, and the mud under their feet shifted and flowed as if she were standing in a rolling river. To hell with it.

  When unsure what to do, Emily followed her gut, which was invariably always digesting moral fiber. She pushed the larger key into the cell door and turned it with a satisfying click. The door refused to open. She shouldered it with all her strength, but it moved barely an inch.

  “Let me try.” The woman grabbed the bars on the other side, and between them, they managed to wedge the door open several inches. The cell walls shuddered and mud swirled around their legs trying to suck them down deeper.

  “I can get through this.” The woman began to slip through the gap; she was remarkably thin. “You go. Get on out,” she ordered Emily. After a second’s hesitation, Emily moved for the cabin door.

  “Not that way,” the woman called after her. “It’s holding up that entire wall. Go through the window.” Sure enough, the sagging wall seemed to be resting on the doorframe and nothing else. Alarmed, Emily went over to the window and pulled it open. It was high up, and tall as she was, she had to scuff for a foothold to reach the ledge. She was hanging there scratching the wall with her toes when a firm hand on her bottom pushed her upward and through the opening with dizzying speed. Before she knew what was happening, she landed in a heap outside, a slimy mud bank breaking her fall. With an agile leap, the woman landed beside her. Emily lay sprawled at her feet, shivering with cold and shock. This is the moment she kills me, proving for all eternity what an idiot I was to trust her.

  “Come on, Tar Baby. We gotta get away from here.” A hand scooped under her armpit and she was hauled to her unsteady feet. She gaped in surprise at her former captive who seemed more intent on dragging her away to safety than caving her head in.

  “Ouch!” She clutched the back of her thigh and limped alongside her rescuer who wasn’t slowing any. They were several yards away when, with an earsplitting crash, the cabin collapsed completely.

  “Told you it was going to go,” the woman said, and kept on dragging her.

  “Stop. Wait, just wait.” Emily dug her heels in and refused to move another inch. “Where are we going?”

  The woman looked at her, perplexed, then shrugged, dropping her hand away from Emily’s arm. “Dunno. Just away.” The rain ran in rivulets through her stringy, mud-drenched hair and down her forehead into dark eyes that blinked out rainwater and dirt.

  “Well, I’m going to my RV for a hot shower,” Emily stated a little huffily, and with that, turned in the opposite direction and limped away.

  “Wait. You’ve got an RV? Where? I didn’t see any RV.” The strange woman was hot on her heels.

  “You would if you’d gone farther north.”

  “What? How far?”

  “About a half mile. I drove it in closer after you were locked up. It’s there.” Emily pointed to a small, beat up, orange RV on the far edge of the clearing.

  The woman gave a low whistle and increased her stride. “Sweet.”

  “Hey,” Emily called, anxiously. “I got the keys.” Already, the woman was looking in the windows, smearing the paintwork with her mucky hands.

  “This thing has a shower?” she called back. “It’s miniscule.”

  “It’s big enough for me.” Emily puffed up to the side door and slid it open.

  “It wasn’t even locked,” the woman objected.

  “I n-never said it was locked. I said I had the keys.” Emily sat on the side step and began to kick off her shoes, grimacing in pain.

  “You pulled a muscle?” the woman asked.

  “Yes. I was pushed headfirst out a window, remember?” Emily answered tiredly and shucked off her jeans, uncaring about the other woman. She was freezing to death in these mud-soaked clothes. She needed to get clean and drink something hot before she froze into an ice cube. “Once I get the engine started, I can warm the water. It heats up pretty quick.”

  “Tepid will do.” The woman made to push past her into the RV.

  “Hey.” Emily grabbed at her arm. “Get those dirty clothes off.”

  The woman looked at her. “I’m naked.”

  Emily stared at the mud-coated body. Of course, the woman was naked. They were both so slathered in dirt it was impossible to tell the difference in the rain-filled, misty night. The woman pushed past her leaving a trail of muddy footprints.

  “Don’t touch anything,” Emily yelled after her, and shed the last of her clothes. The sound of water alarmed her. Already, the woman had located the small shower and was running it. “Hey. I haven’t got the engine started yet.” She opened the driver’s door and turned on the ignition.

  “It’s wet. That’s all that matters,” the call came back. “Do you have any shampoo—oh, here it is.”

  Emily stepped into the RV, anxious and unhappy that the woman had commandeered her little traveling home. She kept it pristine, but already it had muddy feet and handprints everywhere. The shower door was open and water splashed all over the linoleum floor.

  “You’re making a mess,” she scolded her. Her anxiety tightened in her chest. This was a preposterous situation. A werewolf was in her shower. And using her best shampoo. Except it wasn’t a werewolf. It was a muddy, messy, very naked woman who had absolutely no manners. Everything was out of contro
l, and Emily was struggling to corral it back in. Between that and keeping her breathing steady, she was light-headed with exhaustion. She stepped in a puddle of cold water. “Do you have to thrash about like a p-porpoise?”

  “Get in here. The water’s warming up.”

  “Just hurry up and I’ll go next.” Her teeth were chattering. Coming in out of the rain had helped, but her chill went bone deep. She was so cold she felt unwell. A hand reached out and hauled her into the small shower cubicle where a dollop of her expensive shampoo was dropped onto her head. “You can’t—ack,” she spluttered on the soapy water.

  “Where’s the key for this?” The woman pointed at the collar around her neck. Emily reached for the chain around her own neck. It was missing along with the key to the silver collar.

  “I-I don’t know,” she said.

  “Get it off.” The woman was tugging at the collar. “It’s annoying.”

  “The key’s g-gone.”

  “Typical.” Then large hands began to roughly lather Emily’s hair. “Nothing goes right for me,” she groused. The cubicle was far too small and they stood all angles and elbows, and far too close for Emily’s liking.

  “Ouch.” She winced and pulled away.

  “You’ve got a lump on your noggin.” Strong fingers probed her scalp. “It matches your black eye. You look like a winking raccoon.”

  “Well, you look like a p-proboscis monkey,” Emily huffed.

  “Ah. You caught me with a lucky swipe on the hooter.” The hard fingers continued to probe Emily’s bruised face and neck, checking out her bone structure for any more sore spots.

  “Leave me alone. It hurts.” She tried to step away but was blocked by a wet, slippery body, and teasing, challenging eyes.

  “But you’re not clean yet,” the woman said. The suds from the shampoo were massaged over Emily’s body. She was scrubbed behind her ears with rough fingertips digging out any muck lurking in the grooves of her ears.