Timber looked that way and shook his head. “I smelled blood and gunpowder—still smell it when the wind is right.”
Me too,Canyon said.It’s part of the trick. Scents can be faked.
From their left a high wailing sound burst through the forest. It undulated, then cut off, and a low moaning sound took its place. Canyon couldn’t tell if it was person, animal, or machine. It stopped, and then a vicious screeching sound came directly from their left.
Timber kicked a decayed log, sending it flying. “It ain’t Halloween, witch,” he shouted into the forest. “Cut that shit out.”
The noise stopped, but after a moment it started up again from farther away.
I didn’t expect Abigail White to be able to fuck with us like this. I read over Seb’s notes when we were assigned but I thought she drugged him or something.
“It’s messed up.”
What about Sage White?Think she’s involved?
Timber didn’t answer right away. They walked through underbrush, no trail in sight, ignoring the creepy-ass noises that were still peppering the area.
“She could be,” Timber said. “She probably has no idea what she is, or that her mate is awolven.”
Or a bearen.
“Fuck that,” Timber said. “Sure, Bruin’s fuzzy bear ass got a mate, but his mate is half-human, half-angel. Sage White is half-foxen,half-angel,and her mate is awolven. It just makes sense.”
Canyon thought it over.
“Gimmie Predator,” Timber said. “I want to read the rest of Seb’s notes.”
Canyon handed it over and they walked on, Timber reading silently.
“We need to get back to where we started—back to where those two rocks were.”
Predator can retrace our steps.
Canyon reached over his brother’s shoulder to tap several commands on Predator’s screen, putting a map back to where they started side by side with Seb’s investigation notes.
“Perfect,” Timber said. He walked in the direction the map said to go, still reading. “This says if you smell burnt popcorn, sprint directly into the smell, and you’ll get out, as long as you’re going fast enough.”
Burnt popcorn? Fast enough?Canyon frowned.
“That’s what it says.”
They tromped through the underbrush, Timber making turns this way and that, Canyon following.
“This is it. The boulders should be right here,” Timber said. He turned and motioned to Canyon. “Turn around. Now turn directly right.” Canyon did what he said. Timber got back-to-back with him, then said, “You go that way, I’m going this way. Burnt popcorn.”
Canyon grunted assent and moving slowly into the forest, scenting nothing but trees and dirt and bugs and—
“Here, I’ve got it!” Timber shouted.
Canyon turned and ran that way. He thought he heard his brother yell again, but it was muffled. He smelled the burnt popcorn and kept going—SPLAT—until he hit a wall of nothing. The wall stopped him, but it was pliable and yielding. Canyon dug into the ground with his boots and led with his shoulder, forcing his way out.
POP.
The invisible barrier popped wetly, letting him through, soaking him head to foot with goo, and catapulting him into his brother. Timber was standing stock-still, between the rocks and the truck, arms held out like a zombie, goo dripping from face, hands, and clothing, and from Predator, too. Canyon bounced off him, grabbed Predator out of his hands, and aimed for the truck.
“Holy shit! What the fuck is this, lube?” Timber yelled.
Canyon wiped some from his face and whipped it to the ground.
