chapter SIX
“I’ll be back in a couple hours,” I said an hour later, desperate, but Ash shook his head. He held onto the door handle, grimly, and there would be no way of getting into the car unless I crawled in through the other side. Then, if I tried to pull out, he’d either break the door handle, the door itself, or run after me. And he was wulfen. He could definitely keep up with the car unless we were on a straight shot of freeway, and he could find me in town if he really took a mind to. “Jesus, Ash, I’m just going into town! I won’t be gone long.”
Ash shook his head even more vigorously, greasy hair flying. Bits of leaves and twigs threaded through the dark matted strands, I still hadn’t found wherever he’d flung his shirt, and he was barefoot. Mud striped his chest. He’d seemed pretty happy, until I put my malaika in the back of the Subaru and my bag in the passenger seat. He’d let out a howl and bounded off the steps, nearly colliding with me, and grabbed the handle on the driver’s side.
Perfect. I wanted a hot shower, not just a sponge bath. Not to mention a club sandwich and some coffee that didn’t come from a percolator. I was pretty sure I could just be an object of gossip if I went into the diner in town, but Ash? He’d make me an object of outright speculation, no matter if I behaved correctly or not.
He inhaled, opened his mouth. “Noooooooo.” A long, drawn-out syllable. Then he changed it up. “Nonononono! Wif! Go wif!”
“For the love of Pete.” I put my hands on my hips, and for once I sounded like Dad when he was exasperated past bearing with a malfunctioning engine. Too exasperated even to swear, and that’s saying something. “You do not have to go with me. It’s just down to the two-bit town in the valley. I’ll be back in a couple hours, max. You stay here with Graves.” At least, I was thinking Graves was still around here. If he went wandering off in the woods and got lost, that would just put a capper on the whole day. I’d left his lunch under Saran wrap on the table, and the touch throbbed like a bad tooth inside my head, a feedback squeal from my own frustration.
The malaika were bulky, but I didn’t have a holster for either gun we had, and I didn’t have the patience to jury-rig something. Besides, during the day around here, I didn’t want a telltale bulge under my shirt. Country people understand guns, sure. But I wasn’t one of the locals anymore.
If I ever had been.
Ash dug his bare heels into the dirt and glared at me. Orange sparked in his irises. He set his chin and took a firmer grip on the door handle.
When he’d been almost-eight feet tall and all hairy, at least he’d been less trouble.
I tried for patience. “Look, you’re not even cleaned up. You’ve got dirt all over you. People will stare.” That’s a bad thing, in case you’re wondering.
His ruined chin thrust out further. Here in the sunlight, you could see the scars clearly. They were a reminder I could’ve done without. I remembered him trying to change back into a human shape, and the sobbing when he finally had a human throat again was the kind that will stick in your dreams. If I didn’t have so many other nightmares, it would’ve been a starring attraction.
Of course, I was dreaming other things nowadays. Things that might or might not have been happening. True-seeins, Gran called them, and I hadn’t been wrong yet.
If she was dead, ibn Allas, I would be, too. There was something in that scene I wasn’t getting, and I didn’t have time or energy for enough heavy brooding to figure it out. At the very least, Christophe suspected I wasn’t dead, and he wasn’t stupid. He’d found me before.
He would do it again. He’d probably also try to drag me back to the Order, where I was “safer.” No way, no day. I didn’t like the idea that someone in the Order could sell me—or, God forbid, sell Graves out—again.
And here I was wasting time arguing with a half-Broken werwulf who couldn’t even talk.
“Oh, what the hell.” I threw up my hands. “Get in, then. But don’t make any trouble, or I’ll . . .” I decided to leave the threat hanging. What could I do to him? A big fat pile of nothing, that’s what. At least when he was all tall and hairy, I didn’t feel so bad about locking him up somewhere safe and going about my business.
He didn’t waste any time. He was in the backseat in a trice, bouncing up and down so hard the springs groaned. “Settle down,” I told him. “We need this car.”
I opened the driver’s side door, did a sweep of the sun-drenched meadow. No sign of Graves, and the clouds stacking up to the west told me there would be rain before long. A spring storm, maybe. That would be all sorts of fun and mud. I could even smell it on the wind, grass and trees sensing a long drink coming and releasing their little perfumed cries of joy.
The touch throbbed uneasily inside my head. I tasted citrus, but only faintly, and it wasn’t wax-rotten. Trouble coming, but nothing specific enough for me to take any precautions. Best thing was to just get everything done as soon as possible, so we could leave in a hurry if we had to.
I’d left Graves a note under his plate. Went to town, be back in a bit. Keep the fire going. I thought of adding I’m sorry, but I didn’t. What did I have to be sorry for?
Other than getting him bit and dragged into this whole ungodly mess, that is. Still, he said he didn’t mind. Did that mean I only had to be sorry for liking him, or for getting him kidnapped and tortured by vampires, or what?
He liked being a part of the Real World. I don’t know if I exactly enjoyed it, but I knew I’d never want to be one of the oblivious. Did that make me an a*shole?
I couldn’t even figure it out anymore, and it wasn’t the kind of problem I could do anything about. I sparked the car, the engine roused, and Ash made a little squeal of glee.
“You sit yourself down and put your seat belt on,” I barked, and he did. He rolled the window down, though, and spent the entire bumpy ride down the ridge and down the county highway with his face in the slipstream. Don’t ask me, I don’t know.
We would have been okay, except for the Charleston Chew.
I didn’t realize Ash had kiped it until we were outside the big wide Sav ’n’ Shop grocery store that used to be a Winn-Dixie when I was young, and I heard the man shout “Hey! Hey, you!”
I turned incuriously, and he was bearing down on us—the manager, a big potbellied good ol’ boy with furious little piggy blue eyes behind thick horn-rim glasses, pasty cheek flab under a greased dark comb-over. His polyester tie flapped and the wide yellow sweat stains under his armpits married the fussy shine on his wing tips to make the picture of what Gran would call “a bitty-ass man too big for his britches already.”
It wasn’t her most damning epithet, but it was close.
I looked at Ash. Who tore the wrapper open and made a small hmm of contentment. That was when it occurred to me. I didn’t pay for that. He must’ve just grabbed it.
“Oh Lord.” Give me strength. Jeez. I yanked the balky cart to a stop. It had a screechy wheel and wobbled alarmingly, but it was the best on offer. The clouds were coming up fast and the smell of rain was an overpowering, sweet green haze. Stormlight gathered, yellow–bruised in all the corners, making every edge stand out sharp. The shadows had turned to deep fuzzy wells. “Ash. Where the hell did that—”
“Stop right there!” Piggy Eyes was really worked up. He almost plowed into us. “You gonna pay for that? Huh?”
“I paid for everything else, sir,” I drawled, and Ash took a huge bite. He chewed sloppily, observing the scene with bright-eyed interest. I cursed inwardly. “I didn’t see he had that, sorry. Here.” I was already digging in my pockets for the change.
An ugly flush spread up Piggy Eye’s cheeks. He was obviously unmollified. “That yourn? He retarded or somethin’?”
Gran would’ve fixed him with a glare, so I did. “That’s my kin, sir.” It was like channeling her, and I had to try hard not to smile as I offered him two crumpled dollar bills. “He’s special. Here.”
I should’ve been aiming for a submissive tone, I guess. Or at least something conciliatory. Instead, I sounded like I was brushing him off, and—here’s the bad part—there were a couple of wide women in print shorts, locals by the look of them, passing by to head into the store’s air conditioning.
One of them laughed, her flip-flops making regular little smacking sounds against cracked pavement. Her shoulders were permanently sunburned, and her blouse had a tropical print way too bright green to do any good for her complexion in this lighting. “Lyle’s about to do a citizen’s arrest right there again.” She spat tobacco juice, a pungent brown streak, and the other woman chimed in with a cackle that would have done Witch Hazel proud. They swept on into the store, the automatic door wheezing tiredly shut behind them.
Petty tyrants don’t like being laughed at. Piggy Eyes Lyle flushed an even darker brick red, and his meaty paw shot out. The touch snapped inside my head like a wet sheet shaken before you put it on the line, and I realized he’d been following us through the store, watching us.
Watching me, in particular. And the things he was thinking squirmed inside my head like maggots. I actually flinched as his fingers closed around my upper arm.
“You’re comin’ with me.” He squeezed, hard. He had only human strength, but the aspect woke with a jolt, smoothing over my skin with oil-soft heat. My fangs tingled, and I clapped my lips shut over them. The thirst tingled in the back of my throat, bloodhunger waking up. It was weird—it was taking over that other place on the back of my tongue, the one that warned me of danger. It didn’t feel right, but I didn’t have time to think about it.
The sun dimmed. The clouds had found us.
Ash growled. The sound rumbled free, a warning I was used to from hanging out with wulfen. It deepened at the end, and anyone with any sense would’ve backed up in a hurry.
Lyle, however, had no common sense. He actually shook me, and tried to drag me off my feet. I planted myself, the grocery cart giving a screech, and was thinking furiously about how to defuse the situation when three things happened.
One, the sky darkening in the west rumbled. It was a long menacing roll of thunder, and it scraped along my nerve endings like a wire brush. Every hair on me tingled like the lightning was going to strike right at me. The second thing was pure bad luck—a county sheriff’s car bounced into the parking lot, its springs groaning. The man behind the wheel saw us just as Ash dropped his half-gone Charleston Chew and—this was the third thing—launched himself at Piggy Eyes Lyle so fast the pale streak in his hair seemed to stretch like taffy.
Ohshi—I dropped down, knees loosening and my free hand flashing out. I hit harder than I intended to, a flat-palm strike with almost every ounce of the aspect behind it. It sank into Lyle’s middle with a meaty crunch lost under the roll of thunder, and the fat man flew back. His fingers ripped my T-shirt as they tore free. Then I was airborne, springing like a jack-in-the-box and colliding with Ash just at the top of his leap. We hit the ground hard, pavement cracking as quarter-sized spatters of rain hit the dusty earth.
I found out I had my right hand clamped at Ash’s nape. He was growling and struggling, but I had a good grip, just like with a disobedient puppy.
“No,” I said sharply. “No. NO!” I braced my foot, my other knee grinding into a hollow in the pavement. No—not a hollow. It was the dent I’d made while landing. The aspect flooded me, smoothing down my skin in a wave of sweet heat. My fangs tingled, and the bloodhunger woke in a sheet of red. It pulled against every vein in my body, turned the entire back of my throat to a desert, and the anger woke up.
I didn’t need rage to trigger the aspect now. But it was kind of a habit, and besides, it felt so good. Like I was in control of the whole stupid, tangled situation.
Like I finally had a clear-cut problem with an easy solution in front of me.
Ash struggled. I was grinding him into the concrete, and I didn’t much care at the moment so long as he stayed still. I glanced up. The county sheriff’s car had jounced to a stop, and the man inside was staring so hard his eyes bugged out, visible even through the windshield and the gloom under his ten-gallon hat.
Uh-oh. Think fast, Dru.
Luckily, the Sav ’n’ Shop was our first stop. We could easily leave the two bags of groceries if we had to. I’d paid with cash; there was no trouble there. How to get out of here without John Law following in his car or calling in a plate number that wouldn’t match the Subaru because I’d switched them out . . . Christ.
The biggest problem, and the one I had to solve right now, was the werwulf growling and scrabbling, his bones crackling as the change tore through him.
If he goes into changeform, will he be able to come back? I didn’t know. Clear plastic goop started hardening over the world, which meant I was using superspeed even while standing still. Raindrops flashed, caught in stasis, and the sheriff’s car door made a groaning sound as it was slowly, slowly levered open. He’d grabbed a frigging shotgun, I could see the shape through the windshield, and things were about to go critical.
Think, Dru. What would Dad do?
Every muscle tensed. I dug into the pavement and pushed myself aside, whipping my right arm back. The aspect flared, my mother’s locket a spot of molten heat. Ash went flying, fur running up over his flesh in liquid black streams. The silvery stripe on his head flashed once before the darker clouds swallowed the sun completely. Thunder boomed again, distorted because I was already moving, flashing through space to slam into the cop car’s door. Pulled the force back at the last second, but I still heard snapping bone.
Gonna hurt someone if you’re not careful, Dru-girl. Dad’s voice, calm and clinical. Get that gun away from him. Make sure he’s down. Then get the hell out of here, and take your damn groceries with you.
The car door came off like peeling a strip of birch bark, hinges squealing, a fountain of sparks as the wiring for the windows and locks tore. I brought it up and spun, drove it through the windshield. Safety glass imploded. The cop was down—an older man with a high hard gut, his hat blown free and skipping across the parking lot in slow graceful arcs, his eyes bugging and his mouth wetly open. His left leg bent at a funny angle inside his regulation-issue pants. He was older than Dad, and the look on his face was pure terror.
He was afraid. Of me.
I bent and grabbed the shotgun, a flicker of my hand. It was so easy to bring it to my shoulder, brace it, and—
What am I DOING?
He was scrabbling away, too weak and slow to be a real threat. My head snapped up, scanning the parking lot. Not a soul to be seen. Ash lay on top of an old Buick, the hood dented and windshield cracked. I’d flung him pretty hard. He shook his head, melting back into boyform, and I pursed my lips, let out a high piercing whistle.
It was Gran’s “call the hounds” sound; it was instinct, and it worked. Ash’s chin came up, and he looked at me. His eyes glowed orange.
We need to get the hell out of here. Now. I jerked my head, the touch an invisible rope pulling at the meat inside my skull. He clambered down off the car in weird, stuttering fast-forward and bounded across the parking lot on all fours even though he was boy-shaped again. Toward the Subaru, thank God.
I hope they don’t have security cameras here. I glanced at the cop. The shotgun whirled in my grasp; he was raising his hands like he was going to plead with me not to hurt him. I socked him, once, with the shotgun’s butt, a nice clean hit gauged on the soft side. His head snapped back and he slumped, eyes fluttering closed. For a moment, standing outside myself, I was horrified.
The world jolted back up to normal speed, achingly slow. Ash skidded to a stop in front of the Subaru, looking at me. His irises were still orange, still glowing, and his gaze was utterly blank.
Waiting for the next command. My next command. Nausea rose deep and hot inside me. Had he looked at Sergej that way?
I am so not ready for this.
I snapped a glance at Piggy Eyes Lyle. He lay, head cocked at a weird angle, up against two dented, broken newspaper boxes. Bile rose in my throat. I’d hit him too hard.
Was he still alive?
Yes. I heard his pulse, faint and weak. A thin thread of blood slid down his chin, and as the wind veered, I could smell it.
It smelled good. The bloodhunger woke up, the dry spot at the back of my throat opening like a flower.
Walk across the pavement, step by step, bend down. Grab him, push his arm up to lock the joint so he can’t struggle, and tilt the head back. There will be a nice big throat, with a nice big jugular. Bury your fangs. And the moment his heart stops, you know he’ll never watch a teenage girl walk through the supermarket again. It’s yours. Your power. The blood will slide down your throat, it will be sweet and smoky, and—
I knew that tinkling, sweet, girlish voice. It was Anna. A warm place dilated behind my breastbone, and I heard her laugh. Whispering, taunting, cajoling.
I thought I’d gotten her out of my head, that I’d burned through the blood I’d taken from her.
I was wrong. And what would Graves think of this, if he could see it?
What would Dad think, if he was still alive and not just zombie dust? Or Gran?
Time snapped, stinging, like a hard elastic band against flinching skin. I had the two plastic-and-paper grocery bags in my free hand. Threw them in the backseat as Ash cowered.
Like he was afraid of me. Hunched down, his entire body the picture of submission.
“Get in!” I yelled, the shotgun held loosely. Nobody in the parking lot. The rain began to slant down in earnest, dark drops on the dusty ground merging. It didn’t cut the smell of blood. My entire body shook, jitters racing through me.
Ash scrambled into the car. I swept the parking lot again, shotgun held ready. Lightning sizzled overhead, photoflash-searing the entire scene into my head. I dropped into the driver’s seat, braced the shotgun. Sparked the car and laid rubber out of the parking lot.
Some shopping trip.