Skinwalker (Jane Yellowrock #1)

Skinwalker (Jane Yellowrock #1) Page 53

Inside, phone rang. Human-man answered, deep voice close, near door. “I know it’s late,” tinny voice said through phone, far away. Rick? Jane asked.

“I’m still up, Ricky-bo. What I can do you for?” Both humans laughed.

I coughed softly. No humor in words. Fake Cajun accent, she thought. Still no humor. No prey to play with.

“I need some info,” Rick said.

“Of course, I’ll do what I can. How can I help?”

“I ran into Anna at an event and she said you were helping a vampire clan buy up land along Privateer Boulevard in Barataria. I got me some friends who might like to sell, housing prices being so low and all.”

“And you want the vamps to pay you bigger money than current market prices.”

“And I’d like my name kept out of it, if possible. Put it all in Anna’s name for now, like you’re doing with your other land deal.”

Silence for a moment. “She tell you ’bout my other land deal, my Anna did?”

“Yeah, right,” Rick said. “Over pillow talk. I was down at the Notarial Archive Office on another case and came across her name on a dozen different land deals. I put it together. The Hornets need another stadium, a swamp land-use law is in committee, and you just happen to be buying up swamp property out southwest of the city, property that I figure will be drained by the Corps of Engineers in a year or two. Meantime, you’re getting it cheap. No skin off my nose. I just want a cut of my friends’ deal if the vamps will pay up. And you are the man when it comes to dealing with vamps.”

Hornets? I saw hornet, stinger sharp, vicious. Hornet nest, round, vibrating, high in tree.

She chuckled in the dark of deep mind. Basketball team, she thought. If I’d known about the Hornets, the land in the wife’s name might have made sense. This is why I don’t like to do business in a strange town. Not enough background info to put the pieces together.

Inside, more speaking. “I can mebbe do you some good there, bro,” the mayor said. “You come by the office, yes?” The deep voice moved away.

Night sounds grew loud. I wanted to listen, but voices were gone. I rolled over, rubbing wet off, on chair. Paws in air, squirming, scratching itchy back. Felt good.

Footsteps paused inside house. Door opened, breaking silence. I rolled-leaped-landed in shrubbery, on front paws, back feet following, close together. Silent. Big leaf hid face. Something huffing, feet pattering. Running to far side of pool. I leaned out. Focused on little dog. Poodle. Male. Three-week-kit-sized. Curly, water-swimmer hair, puffy. Raised leg, let loose stream of aromatic urine. I pulled feet closer. Intent on dog. Food.

No! she demanded. Frustrated, I drew in air, faint hiss.

Dog looked up, sniffed. Put nose down, scenting. Hackles rose. Dog followed Beast scent-trail to pool, to splashes. Man-scent-perfume on dog, stank on wind. Dog raced to chair. Saw me in bushes. Started barking. Danger! Danger! Predator hereherehere! Danger!

“Sparky! Stop that!” deep-voice-man—mayor—shouted from door.

“What is it, honey?” Anna-human said.

Come out! Trespasser! Killkillkill! dog barked.

I gathered self for killing attack. Hissed, soft, full of threat. Eyes on dog.

No! She rose up, forced me down.

“Your stupid dog is barking,” deep-voice said. “If he wakes the damn neighbors—”

“It’s probably another possum. Come on, Sparky.” Anna-human walked out into night, little shoes tapping.

I turned hungry eyes to her. Not a possum. I am Beast!

No! She held control tight. Forced down killing instinct. We fought. I showed killing fangs, white in man-light. Hissed. Little yappy dog yelped, ran to Anna-human. She picked up snack-dog and tap-tapped back inside. From safety, she said, “Look at all the water. I bet Sparky heard the neighbor’s teenage kid out here again.”

“Damn stupid dog. All we need is a drowning lawsuit,” deep-voice grumbled. “I’ll call the Demarcos in the morning.”

Door closed. Outside lights went off. Pool lights still glowed. Killkillkillkillkill! Stupid dog barked inside, thinks it could kill Big Cat. I shook free of Jane’s control. Not possum! Not human child! I am Beast! Need to scream it to the winds!

Not now, she thought. Woods nearby. Hunt. Image of fat rabbit. Blood, fresh meat. Killing claws sinking deep.

Yessssss. I turned tightly, slunk out of backyard, along property line, into trees. Strong rabbit smell. Nose to ground, filled entire head with rabbit-scent. And stalked.

I ate rabbit—blood and flesh and milk from her teats filling mouth. Then tracked back to rabbit nest, under fallen tree. Dug out young ones, screams and cries bringing pleasure with feast. Jane slunk back, away from blood feast. She was not hunter. Was not mother to kits. Was only human. Kit-less. She was only thief.

Satisfied, I allowed her to surface. She was silent. Unhappy. Pictured den. Katie’s freebie house. She thought, Let’s go home. I wanted long hunt. Smelled deer. Found tracks, small, dainty, smelled of doe. She commanded, Home. I growled. Turned toward city, grudging, not happy. She thought, Maybe we’ll find a deer on the way.

I huffed with satisfaction. Deer!

Dawn was lightening the sky when I came to myself on the garden rocks, steaming in the cool air. We had found no deer and Beast had been obstinate, not wanting to let go, wanting to hunt, wanting blood and meat, wanting to remain in cat form after dawn. Beast had never been so difficult to restrain and now she sulked, her anger tainting my mood. Her claws opened and pressed into my mind, deliberately hurting. She had wanted to eat the dog.

Bird ate cat, Beast muttered, sulking, still mad because I had shifted into a bird, and the bird got to eat whatever she wanted.“I’ll let you hunt,” I murmured. “Soon. I promise.”

Bird ate cat, Beast repeated. Saw in Jane’s mind. She slunk away.

I half crawled into the house, limbs so tired they quivered with exertion. I fixed a bowl of oatmeal and ate without tea. Clambered into bed, exhausted.

I woke slowly, the sun setting, sending slanted rays across the room, through cracks in the blinds. The mattress was soft under me, firm deeper down, a far better quality mattress than the one in my apartment near Asheville. Not something I could afford getting used to. I had money, but it was invested, not for creature comforts.

I rolled over, resettled, and pulled a pillow under my neck, letting my mind wander. Rick LaFleur called the mayor at home at night, probably with Anna’s intervention. Anna who was sleeping with the mayor, Rick, and the liver-eater in an unknown form, unless the mayor was the liver-eater—but his smell wasn’t right, so I didn’t think he was the creature.

Rick was investigating the vamps, but what else was he doing? Not acting as the mayor’s eyes, clearly; the mayor didn’t know what Rick was up to. Maybe cop’s eyes. Or he was after my bounty. Or investigating the vamps for an unknown third party. I’d have to keep him close.

Beast sent an image to me, blurred by sleep. Rick, on his back, her paws on his chest, claws nicking the flesh at his throat. I chuckled softly, happy just to have her talking to me. She sent me an image of a deer, and slid back into dreams. I rolled out of bed.

I had to hunt again tonight. If I wanted to win the ten-day kill bonus, I had to locate and kill the rogue within forty-eight hours. I repacked the contents of my travel bag, hanging the sour-smelling, pool-water-wet clothes up to dry, rolling a pair of gauzy pants, T-shirt, undies, and thin-soled shoes around the crosses and stakes and rezipping it.

I ate, set raw meat on the lawn, stripped, and climbed the rocks. I had never shifted so many nights in a row. I hadn’t expected it to tire me this much. Hadn’t expected it to give Beast so much control and/or make her so stubborn. Hadn’t expected tonight’s pain. It ripped into me, slashing, like claws at prey. Beast raced into the gray void, pushing the change, forcing. Rocks cracked and split, sounding like thunder.

I rolled from rocks. Broken rock rained down around paws. Big paws. Flexed them. Recurved claws slid from sheaths. Bigger. I was big. I like big. Big Cat. Big as liver-eater .

Jane was afraid of big. What have you done? she asked.I snarled, angry; pressed paw onto her, pushing down, claws at her throat, her belly to sky, Jane beta, me alpha. Her necklace and travel pack were too tight. Not good. But better to be big. Big Cat. Jumped fence, raced from yard, into night. I found truck, rode across river, muzzle high in air, taking in scents. Truck swayed, motion soothing. Hunt, I sang. We hunt.

Moon was growing fat. Not yet pregnant hunting moon. Gave enough light to see water far below, moon reflection broken on river surface, like droplets of blood, scattered by wind.

Truck turned. Jane saw sign—BAYOU SEGNETTE STATE PARK. I launched off truck, to ground, moving fast. Hit. Rolled-rolled-rolled. Into ditch. Brackish water. Stink of dog filth. I sprang out, dog filth all over. Blood splatters showed tale. Dog hit on road, flung down. Dead dog—blood and entrails—spread up incline. Shook pelt, hissing, irritated. I raced into shadows. She was amused. I was not. I do not smell like dog. Will not. She comforted. I slunk along ground looking for water. Pools, fresh, free of dead dog, were ahead. Look at sign, she asked, properly beta to my alpha. I looked up. DRAKE AVE. Moved on; found water and splashed in.

Rolled to clean off dead dog. Something moved in water. Get out! she screamed. I pushed off bottom, leaped from water, forepaws spread, claws grasping. Landed. Spun. Drops scattered. From water, wide jaws reached. Wicked teeth rising from pool. I hissed. Hacked.

Alligator, she said.

Alligator bad.

I don’t like them either, she agreed, fear in her tone. Hunt the liver-eater? Please?

Liver-eater bad. Long time since tasted liver-eater. Watched Jane in mind at words. She went still—fear-prey still. I jogged into shadows, watching her in mind. Cat and mouse.

Long minute later, she asked, tone fearful, When did you taste a liver-eater?

I hacked. Remembered. Image eased up from dark of mind, hidden from Jane for many seasons. Old woman. Long gray hair, chin and nose and yellow eyes like Jane, piercing.

Not old. A woman in her sixties, maybe, she thought, her mind uneasy. She smells rotten, like the liver-eater we chase. Fear swelled fast in back of Jane’s mind, like belly of dead prey in summer sun. She thought, I don’t remember this. . . . I hacked with amusement; shared past.