I asked, “Why are they biting him?”
“They hope to force a shift on Rick.”
“Oh. Well, I’d say he’s half cat now.” And he was. He had a cat jaw. Were-fangs. Clawed paws. Human hips, knobby legs bent the cat way, human shoulders, and cat elbows, his joints not fitting together in any useful way. There was nothing human left in his eyes at all. And far too much werecat blood all over my land. I swallowed, just thinking about all that heated, powerful blood sinking in. But only a moment had passed, and I finished with, “Maybe more than half cat.”
Even over the fight, I heard Soul draw a breath. “I’ll be there in a few moments.”
Two minutes later, Soul was walking down the driveway, her gauzy clothing waving in the breeze of her passage. Rick had a tail. And there was a lot more blood on the soil and grass. Alot... of blood. I was moderately in control, but I was afraid that if I stepped onto the land, connected with it, I’d kill my friends by accident.
Soul walked up to the fighting cats, who were now on the far edge of the grassed lawn, near the graves of my dogs. She waded into the fracas, yanked Paka up by the scruff of her neck. And threw the spitting-mad cat into the woods on the far side of the road. Paka rolled in the brush and slid into the ditch before reappearing, all teeth and flying black cat hair.
Pea did an impossible high jump and landed in a tree, twenty feet above Paka. Then she dropped onto the werecat and their fight continued.
Rick... Rick had a tail. And a long, sleek body. His cat eyes were green with hints of gold. He was lying on the earth, panting. Tongue hanging out the side of his mouth like a hound.Steam gusted with each breath. He was healed. He had shifted. Rick was a huge black leopard. Occam stood and dropped to the ground, approaching Rick slowly, head down, tail high, a posture of neither aggression nor of submission. More like... curiosity.
Rick snarled, stood, and showed teeth. Occam stopped, standing still as a stuffed cat. Soul said something to them, the words lost over the distance. She swatted Rick’s ears. He growled at her and she made a fist. Faster than I could follow, Soul socked Rick in the jaw.
He flew up from the earth, landed, rolled into the ditch, and came up growling, snarling. Soul was on him and she said something else, her voice less than a murmur. She swatted his ear tips again. Rick showed his teeth, but he lay down on the ground in front of her, belly low in what looked like some odd form of submission. Occam was lying on the ground near him. Both cats facing at an angle from me. Occam belly-crawled to Rick and washed his face with his tongue. Rick didn’t look happy at the contact, but he allowed it.
The biting and fighting had forced a shift on Rick. I hoped he didn’t have to be bitten by a human before he could change back to human form. I chuckled quietly, the sound shaky.
My desire for blood had eased as the residue from the fight sank into the ground. I put away the cell and gathered up my gear in my left hand and arm, keeping the Glock in my right. Silently I slid cross the seat and opened the passenger door. Keeping the truck between the tableau and me as much as possible, I slipped through the shadows to the stairs and up. And inside. The mouser cats bounded back to the porch and raced in at my feet. I locked the door and set my gear on the desk. And remembered to breathe.
I stood so I couldn’t be seen from outside and stared through the window, my breath fogging a little circle. All three werecats and Pea were now on the lawn, rolling in play. Batting, swiping, grooming one another. Soul stood to the side, still talking to them, her body language stern. Behind me, the mousers were yowling for kibble. My need to kill my friends had subsided to manageable.
Moving through the shadowed house, I left the window and brought in wood from the back porch. With icy-numb fingers, I built a fire in the cold Waterford Stanley. Topped off the waterin the water heater with the hand pump. Got leftover soup out of the fridge and set the pot on the stove, foil-wrapped roasted pumpkin nearby. Found my winter flannel jammies. Closed the door to the second story to keep any stove heat downstairs. And heard the knock on the front door. I padded back down and met Soul with the business end of my shotgun.
The petite woman lifted her eyebrows at it, as if she found the gun and me comical. With ill grace, I stood aside and she entered, rubbing her arms as if at the cold weather, but I had seen her in her true form, and I doubted a dragon made of light felt the cold like I did. Shotgun hanging in my arms, I shut and relocked the door. Set the gun on the table where I kept it, within easy reach. Not that I needed it much these days, with the church less interested in me or my land, but old habits died hard.
Soul, who had never been into my home, turned on the lights, walking through the house to the kitchen as if she lived there, and started a pot of coffee. I frowned at her. Hard. But she ignored me. I guessed anyone who had just broken up a fight between two wereleopards and a grindylow could ignore my scowl pretty easily. As she worked she said, “We have a great deal to discuss.” She lifted the lid on the soup pot and sniffed appreciatively, then pulled the cut loaf of bread from the bread bag and hunted a bread knife. I had Wüsthof knives, which she admired before she started slicing the loaf. And I decided that nothing I did was going to send her packing. I had company for supper.
***
Dinner was actually pleasant, though Soul stopped eating several times, got up, went to one door or the other, and listened to things I couldn’t hear. She seemed alternately satisfied and concerned, but not enough of either to go back outside. As the cookstove warmed the house, I turned on the overhead fans to distribute the heat. And finally Soul turned to me, her eyes piercing. They looked black in some light, crystal in others. I figured they could look any way she wanted them to.
“I’ve read your reports. Thorough. Detailed. Succinct.”
“Uh-hunh.”How’s that for succinct?I thought.
Soul trilled a laugh. “You remind me of Jane when she is in a snit.”
“I’m no skinwalker.”
“She told you what she is. Interesting. What areyou?”
“You read the reports on me at Spook School. You know what I know.”
“No. This land sings with magic. It claims you are much more.”
I shrugged, not lowering my eyes or looking away. Not altering my expression. Remembering my body’s reaction to the were-blood on my land and the way that I had had to compel myself not to take it. Forcing my breath to stay slow and easy, I asked in return, “What are you? No. Never mind. You’re anarcenciel. Light dragon.”
Soul tipped her head in acknowledgment. Got up and poured us each a cup of coffee. It looked as if we were going to drink the whole pot. Thank goodness she had made decaf. I didn’t think I could make it through another night on little to no sleep. I accepted my cup and added cream and sugar.
“You didn’t answer what you are,” Soul said.
“Don’t know what I am.”
“The researchers at PsyLED suggest that you know more of what you are than you have said.” I didn’t reply and after several sips of the coffee, my eyes on her, Soul went on. “The land says you’re ancient. The land speaks of old times and primeval ways.”
