Worlds Apart Page 7

  Clive felt his mouth twist, but he waved a hand in acknowledgment. “I'll do that. I'll try not to get hurt, too.” He walked out before his bitterness caused him to say something unwise.

  Kasia's soft oh, fuck-a-pixie was the last thing he heard.

  Chapter 10

  Damien turned the stick he held over his campfire, nostrils twitching as he watched the rabbit blacken. Almost done. He glanced upward, but clouds blocked the moon, just as they had for the last three nights.

  Not that it mattered. The moon ruled him, whether visible or not. The Change would happen tomorrow night. He blinked against the glare of the flames, a satisfied smile curving his lips. The two weeks since he’d been trapped in the Flatlands had been profitable. His travels through the forest provided opportunity to observe the humans here. There were wild animals in this forest, as well as domestic cattle and goats on scattered homesteads.

  His original plan to use the Flatland plastic as a drug source for Kaarmanesh was still a good one. He had the infrastructure in place for it, but now he considered putting the operation the hands of a proxy.

  The Flatlands offered a more enticing possibility.

  There hadn't been a werewolf in the Flatlands for centuries. The last known occurrence had been in the sixteenth century deep in the forests of Eastern Europe.

  The thrill of terrifying these pitiful, flat humans sent shivers through his body. His mouth watered as he imagined the roasting rabbit as human fodder for his wolf. The taste of raw blood and flesh filled his soul.

  Damien growled and jerked the stick out of the fire to bite off a piece of still-bloody meat. The outer layer burned his lips and tongue, but he ignored it. This close to the Change, his wolf tendencies were stronger than he bothered to fight against. Soon. Tomorrow.

  He threw his head back, howling a challenge to the moon, then laughed, a raucous, hollow sound that echoed through the trees. Not a single creature stirred in the forest. A werewolf was something outside their experience. They sensed the danger.

  “Power.” He spoke to the fire, and to the creatures trembling in their burrows and branches. He raised a hand to the fire, staring at the flickering flames that rose several feet at his bidding. Two weeks in the Flatlands had yet to drain him of power. He could still feel the energy of the magic in his soul.

  Had any of Kaarmanesh’s creatures ever been this strong? Had any of them discovered the secret of taking strength from the lives of these pitiful humans? The deaths of the three boys had fed him, their terror sinking deep within him. He still had the rotting arm as a souvenir. He laughed again. The idiot humans never suspected. They thought it was a natural occurrence, an act of God. Damien laughed again and attacked the rabbit with relish.

  Maybe I'll be a God to these people. They'll worship me. Sacrifice to me. What a game to play.

  ~~

  The Change hurt more in the Flatlands.

  Damien curled against a rock the next night, his head tucked into his front paws. This body ached, still shaking from the foggy agony of the last few minutes. Rain drenched him where he lay, but he was too tired to move.

  Panting, his eyes half-closed, Damien struggled to hold onto his human awareness. Most werewolves lost their human sense during the Change—Damien had heard of one or two who could hang on to it, but had never verified the gossip. He could do it without any difficulty. He took care to keep the ability a secret.

  Here in the Flatlands, he was finding it more difficult. To hang on to it, he thought of the boys he had killed, heard their screams again as the rocks fell. His panting quickened as the thought blossomed, pushing him to his feet. He shook off both rain and pain, his mind turning inward to the power that had filled him when he heard their bones crush. With the memory of such death, the last of his pain fled, and Damien stepped forward. There were domestic animals nearby—and humans.

  ~~

  Damien’s wolf form slipped through the dark streets, blood from a stray mutt still fresh on his muzzle. He’d left most of the carcass for the humans to find in the morning.

  The odor of burning wood and cooking meat enticed him closer to the buildings. Smoke from chimneys blended with the rain, drifting through tree leaves shuddering in the wind. He pressed against a wall, free of the rain for a moment.

  A door opened ahead, spilling light and warmth a few feet into the dark. Voices followed the figure who emerged, covered in a white slicker and hood. Damien watched as the door slammed behind her and she walked with quick steps to the row of nearby cars. His nose twitched as he sorted through her odors.

  A pregnant female. But the babe was newly conceived, not large enough to make it worth killing her. He followed, curious. Her back was turned to him as she sank into the car, and he stepped closer. She saw him as she reached to close the door, her eyes widening in fear. He was puzzled for a moment as he froze in place, meeting her gaze. There was something odd about her. About the pregnancy.

  She slammed the door and put a cell phone to her ear. She spoke into it for a minute, then put it down to start the car. After one more intense glance at him, she drove away.

  He followed.

  ~~

  Tina pulled into her garage, closing the door before she left the car.

  God, that was freaky. She’d never seen a wolf in town before. There weren’t that many in the forest.

  She hoped Eddie didn't hurt the animal, but she'd felt it necessary to warn him there was a wolf outside the tavern. He'd promised to check, and scare it off.

  She switched on the kitchen light, murmuring to Beowulf as he rubbed a greeting against her leg. She turned up the heat, then did a series of stretches, holding onto the kitchen counter. Her body buzzed with restless energy. People were nervous about the spreading illness, and Eddie’s usual crowd stayed away or kept to themselves. No one wanted to dance.

  Beowulf growled, staring at the front of the house.

  “What's wrong, kitty?” Tina reached upward as she balanced on one foot, tucking her other foot into the opposite thigh. Beowulf sank to the floor and crept into the living room.

  “Do we have a mouse?” Tina whispered, dropping the pose and creeping after him. He was staring at the window, the open curtains revealing rain drops shimmering in the light of the front porch. Beowulf jumped in a fluid movement to the sill, then snarled in alarm, leaping three feet as he turned in mid-air, and dashed up the stairs.

  “Fuck, Beowulf!” Tina put a hand to her chest, then with tight lips, went to close the drapes. Her heart nearly stopped beating when she saw the wolf sitting on her porch, just a few feet from the window.

  She couldn't move. He returned her stare, his yellow eyes glinting in the porch light. His fur was dark from the rain, but she glimpsed silver along his head and legs. He tilted his head, as if trying to figure something out.

  Tina slammed the drapes closed and backed away from the window until she bumped into the hearth. She groped behind her until she found the poker and brought it forward. There was no hint of movement or sound from the porch.

  Would she hear anything, anyway?

  She glanced around the house with darting eyes, assuring herself that everything was closed. He couldn't get in. But he was big, bigger than she'd known wolves could be. If he decided to throw himself at a window, he just might break it.

  Maybe he'd cut his throat in the process.

  She fished her cell out of her pocket and pressed a button. When Eddie answered, she had to force herself to speak up so he could hear her. Even then, her voice shook. “That wolf followed me home. I know it sounds crazy, but he's on my front porch right now.”

  “You're shittin' me.” Eddie sounded impressed. “Sheriff's still here. I'll send him down.”

  “Stay on the phone with me.” She brandished the poker, her back hard against the mantel.

  “Yeah, okay, Doc. Take it easy.”

  She heard him call to Ringstrom, heard him explain, heard answering voices, and the sounds of chairs and bodies moving aro
und. Eddie's voice returned to her ear. “He's on his way with a few fellows. You all right?”

  “Just freaked, that's all. He's big. Why would he follow me?”

  “I don't know, Doc, especially with the smell of food around here. You got any interesting samples of things in your car?”

  She thought about it, but shook her head. “No, nothing.”

  A crash from the back of the house made her scream as she turned that way.

  “What?” Eddie yelled. “Talk to me, Tina!”

  “I don't know.” She kept the poker in front of her as she slipped into the kitchen. The French doors to the backyard were closed and latched, the windows still intact. “The trash cans out back, I think.”

  She forced herself to peek out the kitchen window, ducking when a silver streak touched the back light. “God, he's in the back, now. He's looking for a way in.”

  “Stay calm, Doc. Men'll be there in a minute.”

  Tina sank to the floor, squeezing her eyes shut. She was shaking so hard, she had to hold the phone with both hands, even though it made the poker bounce against her head. “Everything's closed up. He can't get in here, can he? God, Eddie, I'm so scared.”

  “No, of course he can't get in. Wolves can't open doors.”

  The air outside exploded into a siren, then squealing tires and honking horns. Tina jumped to her feet. “They're here!” She raced to the living room, pushing aside the curtain. Three cars blocked the road between her house and the office, the blue and red of Ringstrom's light flashing color over the men fanning out into her yard. Headlights were angled in three directions, but all of the men were focused on the forest behind the clinic. Ringstrom had his gun out and dropped three shots into the trees. The men shouted curses as Tina turned back to the phone. “I think they chased him off. Let me go talk to them.”

  “Okay. Call me back.”

  She hung up, at last able to let go of the poker. She grabbed her jacket just as steps pounded on her porch, and she opened the door to see Jake Wilson's anxious face. “You all right?” he asked.

  She nodded, stepping onto the porch. “Did you see him?”

  “Hell yeah, we saw him. Headed into the forest. I don't think we hit him.”

  The men had turned back, heading for her house. She brought them inside.

  “Think we scared him off,” Ringstrom told her. “I doubt he'll be back.”

  “I didn't know wolves got that big,” Tina said. “Could he be a different breed? Something more dangerous?”

  They all shook their heads. “He's big, but I doubt he's anything special.” Ringstrom patted her shoulder. “I'm sure we convinced him this isn't a great spot to hang out. You just stay inside tonight. In the morning, I'll have a team over early to check around before you have to go out. You're not on call, are you?”

  “No.”

  He nodded. “Call if you have to go anywhere.” He glanced around, then turned a piercing gaze on her. “Will you be all right? Need someone to stay with you?”

  “No, no.” Tina chuckled nervously, embarrassment beginning to tickle her brain. “I'm fine. You're right, he probably won't come back. There's no food in the trash cans, so he probably lost interest.”

  “Okay. We'll be out here early, then.”

  “Thanks, you guys.” Tina passed around hugs. “You're all my heroes.” They returned her hugs and turned to their cars. She made sure her door was shut solid, and locked, then watched from the window as their tail lights vanished up the road.

  ~~

  Clive shifted in his dream. Tina’s weight was a warm softness as she straddled him. She gazed at him out of the darkness, her eyes bright with contentment and love. He couldn’t see her body, but his hands brushed over her slender waist and tickled her ribs as they glided up to cup her breasts. They filled his hands as full as love filled his heart. Her lips parted and she leaned toward him, seeking his mouth. Just before their lips touched, a sudden light behind her stabbed his eyes.

  He raised an arm to block it. The dream vanished into wakefulness, replaced by a shower of muddy pebbles falling on his face. A glance showed him the ground he lay on was covered with them. His muscles protested when he stood. He swiped a hand down his side and chest to clear the grit away. Dried blood covered most of his right arm. It was easy enough to find the injury—a bite just below the shoulder. His back and neck stung, but he ignored it for now. At least he could move.

  He turned in a circle, trying to get his bearings, stopping with a jerk as a nude, gray-haired woman appeared from behind a bush. She gasped when she saw him, but looked away and continued past him through the bushes. He averted his eyes and let her go, but took note of the sagging breasts and tanned, wrinkled skin. He wondered how long she had been a werewolf. Then he wondered if they had mated during the night. His injuries indicated he'd fought another wolf. Was it over the she-wolf? As usual, the night was a blank to his human mind. All he had were injuries and pain as proof anything had happened at all.

  He followed the woman, keeping a safe distance from her. He heard water, and soon came to a stream. A short distance down the ravine, he reached an outcrop he recognized. He paused for a drink of water, and to give the woman a chance to gain more distance. People didn't like to talk after they first woke up from the Change. Too many unknowns. Too much shame.

  He was about a mile from the enclave gate. His left leg hurt, although he could see no injury. He'd have to take his time. As he walked, his dream came back to him.

  Tina was so warm and giving. Could he go back? He could never tell her what he was, but he could tell her he had to travel for business. That was true, after all. He could always arrange to be gone during the full moon. It could work. He’d make it work.

  The daydream kept his mind off the pain until the gate came in sight, with two witches standing guard. Through the gate, he saw the woman standing at a table, collecting her clothes from the bin assigned to her as another witch inspected her strap. Two other people were dressing. Clive glanced at the sun. He'd slept late—most people would be gone by now.

  He avoided the stares of the guards and approached the witch on bin duty. “Clive Winslow,” he said, pointing at the bin with his clothes. He didn't look at this guard, either. He never did, even though he'd been coming to this enclave for years.

  The witch put the bin on the table, grabbing Clive's strap from the top. He inspected it to make sure Clive was who he said he was. “You must report to your supervisor within thirty minutes.”

  He always spoke as if Clive were a child, or a criminal. Every fucking month, he said the same thing. Clive shuddered under the grating humiliation the words gave him. Because it was a game. One he'd learned the hard way that he had to play.

  Jaw tight, he held out his hand. “I'll do that. Thank you.”

  The witch nodded once, and dropped the strap into Clive's hand. This was the signal for Clive to retrieve his clothes and move away to dress. Clive had noticed that the witch never did this to the other people leaving the enclave. Just him. And he knew why.

  His strap told them he was a Portal Enforcement officer. Most people didn't think a werewolf had any business with a job like that. They wondered what he'd done to get it. They were certain he didn't deserve it. They thought Clive didn't know his place. This witch just wanted to make sure that Clive was reminded.

  Clive had argued about it once. The witches on guard were happy to remind him what wands could do to naked human flesh. They had that right, if a werewolf gave them trouble. So he played their game, and considered himself lucky they'd never changed the rules.

  Chapter 11

  Tina focused on her phone, the text message wavering into blurriness as she stared at it. The clinic.

  She glanced across the church's aisle to Will, who was also holding his phone. When he looked at her, she pointed at herself. He gave a brief nod. She picked up her purse and stepped into the side aisle as the priest made his way up the center, trailing a cloud of incense smoke.
>
  Les’ family was Catholic. Jason and Pete had belonged to the Methodist Church, so their funerals had been more straightforward. Tina thought the pomp and ritual of this service provided more time for thoughtful grieving. The important thing was comforting the family.

  Tina wasn’t comforted at all.

  At the door, she whispered her errand to Mike Ormand, who had stepped out for a smoke. He promised to give the family her apologies, although Tina knew that Will would take care of that, too. She cast a last glance into the church. Not more than twenty people had made it, and they were scattered throughout the building in clumps of two or three. Everyone was nervous about the spreading illness.

  Tina jogged the two blocks to the clinic. Sharon, on duty as head nurse, motioned Tina around the corner as soon as she came through the door. Tina followed her into the triage area. She told herself it was the smallness of the room that made it look crowded.

  Sharon began strapping a blood pressure cuff on Jake Wilson's arm, but she pointed Tina down the hall. “Bishop Carmichael,” she said. “Room two.”

  Tamping down on her dismay, Tina donned a mask, lab coat, and gloves before entering. The eight-month old baby lay still and quiet on the bed, his parents on either side of him. Sharon had already started an IV.

  Nodding to the parents, Tina stepped up to the bed, taking in the flushed face and clammy, pale skin. As she watched, a stream of diarrhea covered the pad Sharon had placed underneath him. His mother gasped in dismay, grabbing some wipes and a clean pad. While his parents cleaned him up, Tina looked into his eyes, ran her hands over his skin, and palpated his stomach. She read Sharon’s notes and added her own to the chart.

  “We'll keep him on fluids. This illness seems to run its course in a week or so. Is he still breastfeeding?” His mother nodded. “Good. I'd like you to continue doing that, if he'll nurse at all. The breast milk is the best thing for him. I'm also leaving orders to watch his fever. I don't want it to get too high, but fever is part of the body's defense. He can handle it if stays around a hundred one or so.”