Garoul: Silver Collar Part 8

Luc was thick with mud again, but she was certain she had dug the entire corner clean. She could now account for all of Emily's surgical instruments, including the fabric pouch. She had also unearthed a bundle of spare clothes, a whole clutch of silver arrows, and the thermos. The arrows now lay at her feet gleaming dully in the faint moonlight. She looked at the huge mound of earth and shattered cabin before her. If there was anything else left in there, it was well back and under more mud than she cared to lift.

No key though. She could have missed it, but she doubted it. She had gone through that corner of the cabin like a sieve.

Luc slouched off to the river to wash away another ton of mud and consider her next move. She lay back and let the water stream over her and contemplated the constellations, every one of them a childhood friend. She had been a clever pup. One of the smartest Little Dip ever had, in her opinion. She knew she had been Aunt Sylvie's favorite. And then it all turned to crud and they had sent her away. Sent her whole family away, and they had never forgiven her. She knew they hadn't. Her parents had soon grown ill and died, and Ren...

Well, Ren had tried her best to get away from her, too.

Luc rolled onto her belly and swam a few strokes. This maudlin behavior was not going to solve her current problem; namely, this stupid silver collar. She felt like a fool wearing it. Where was the d.a.m.ned key! Why hadn't she found it? Of course, a light item like a key and chain could be washed away anywhere. But it had last been on Emily, and Emily had been in the corner. It was also possible Emily had found the key already and kept it hidden. That's what Luc would do if the tables were turned, and Luc always deemed what she would do to be an excellent measure of others' actions. The irony was she had let Emily go. Then again, there was only one place Emily could run to.

With a grunt of pleasure, Luc dived under the swollen waters. Weed tickled her flanks and steelhead trout zigzagged before her, silver flashes through the dark current trying to avoid the lazy swipe of her claws.

Feeling totally refreshed, Luc climbed back up the riverbank. She had a brace of trout for supper and a st.u.r.dy nest to gorge them in. Full of renewed determination, she strode over to the broken down cabin and the stash she had unearthed. She scooped and clawed as many items as she could into her arms, cramming objects into an unruly heap against her wide, furred chest. It might take two runs to get all her booty back to her new hidey-hole, but with the Garouls chasing their tails to the north, she had time to settle in properly. She'd take every item to her nest and arrange her treasure all around her. Then she would eat her fishy supper, and afterward, she could give everything a well-needed lick and sniff. Some things still had traces of Emily on them.

Chapter Seventeen.

Luc was settling into her new home nicely. Her new favorite things were scattered all around her and had given her hours of pleasure examining each one for traces of Emily. Now she lay well rested and content sprawled across her nest, the morning sunlight dappling her warm fur. It was a good way to start the day, she decided. Luc could wear her wolfskin a long time, much longer than most wolven who changed back during sleep. But then she had grown up this way in the wilds of nowhere. She knew she was as good as feral. Ren was always rhyming on at her about it. Ren and her stupid traditions and stupid almanacs. Some use it had been when the virus came along and the young ones began to grow ill. Where was the mighty Garoul almanac then? Useless piece of pulp.

She scratched at the collar around her neck. It was a prime example of almanac nonsense. Emily had hoped it would subdue a werewolf. That it would make Luc weak when in fact it did the opposite. It had made her strong, strong enough to shake off the virus and escape the Garouls. Interesting.

She tapped out a little tune on the metal band. It was time she was in control of the collar. First, she needed the key, and it would do no harm to take back that almanac. Stupid as they may be, Garoul almanacs should not be in human hands. With a new plan in place, Luc stood and stretched her claws up into the heart of the tree. She embedded them in the trunk and tore at it until her shoulder and arm muscles were tight and pumping blood. Leaves whisked across her forearms and tapped and tickled at her muzzle. The smell of sap was strong and invigorating. It was a glorious sunny morning after the downpour of the last few days. The entire forest was drunk on suns.h.i.+ne. And Luc was, too.

She had survived the hunt and was holed up nice and secure, and she had a new course of action. A course of action that involved Emily Johnston, and somehow that felt right and relevant. Content she was no longer rudderless, no longer at the mercy of the virus, or fate, or the Garouls, and especially not a scrawny redheaded hunter, Luc climbed down from her aerie and struck out for Lost Creek.

Emily rose early after a night of violent dreams that left her feeling rattled. Her mind was muddled with images she could no longer fully recall, but which left a jagged imprint on her nerves.

Sometimes her medication did that to her, made her hyper alert so her subconscious became a churning mora.s.s of anxiety. At other times, the blessed times, it knocked her flat out, pus.h.i.+ng her down into a dark, dreamless pit, asphyxiating in its stillness, as cloying as black tar when she reemerged to face the morning. She was far too agitated after these last few days to even hope for a decent night's sleep. Her skin felt tight with worry, and fretfulness furrowed her brow and crawled across her scalp.

Emily tossed aside the twisted bed sheets and headed straight for the shower. A blast of hot water would revive her and get her brain working again. A long day stretched ahead of her. She needed to get back to her books and see what she had overlooked or miscalculated. The silver collar had not worked as expected. In fact, it had been a complete failure. She needed to bury herself in Garoul lore, as if she hadn't spent enough time there already, and try to understand where she had gone wrong.

Emily's bedroom window overlooked the woodland to the rear of the house. This side of the forest was the last to catch the morning light. It lay in shadows until the sun crested the roof of Uncle Norm's house. Now the dawn mists swirled and eddied around the trees as fluid as tidewater. Dew still clung to the stems of low-lying wiregra.s.s waiting for the sun to burn it off. It would take maybe another hour before sunlight would penetrate the gloom. Meanwhile, a soft, soapy brume curled along the forest floor. Slender aspen and s.h.i.+vering ash rose eerily out of it like the ghostly masts of sunken s.h.i.+ps. Chokeberry and bitterbrush lurked in incoherent, menacing silhouettes at the base of trees.

From the corner of her eye, Emily noticed an uncommon movement. She hesitated by the window and gazed out at the hauntingly distorted woodland. What had she seen? Her gaze flickered over everything. Apart from the drifting mist, all was still. And then it rose from out of the vaporous mire to stand upright a full eight feet or more. A huge, s.h.a.ggy werewolf. It had been hunkered down examining the earth and now stood to sniff the air. The creature looked up toward the house scanning the windows, and Emily stepped back out of sight. Its amber eyes glowed bright in the dark density of its fur. Wide-eyed, she took in its stance, the curve of the muzzle, and the short ears. Then it turned and melted into the surrounding forest as if it had never been there at all. As if such things did not, could not, exist. But Emily knew they did. And she knew that this werewolf was not Luc.

Had it come for her? Or was it the almanac it wanted? At least her questions about Luc's safety had been answered. She must have been captured, and the silver collar would have told them that a human had access to the Garoul magic, the Garoul world.

What could she do? She had brought danger to her own front door. Would Uncle Norm be safe? If she took the book away from here, would they know? Would they follow her? Either way, she had to remove the bait from this house, whether the bait be the almanac, or her.

Her shower forgotten, Emily threw on some clothes and grabbed a grip bag and crammed the almanac and several of her notebooks into it. She had to get this material out of the house and as far away from Uncle Norm as possible, and hope for the best.

She pounded down the stairs and made a grab for her light raincoat from the hall coatrack.

"Where you going this early?" Norm emerged from the kitchen. "And you don't need that raincoat. It's gonna be a sizzler."

She slung the coat back on the rack. "I need to get to the post office at Covington," she lied.

"What about breakfast? I was doing us some pancakes." Norm sounded very put out at this change in plans.

"I'll grab something at the mall." She headed for the door, bag in hand.

"What about the dog?" Norm called after her. "Ain't you taking him to the pound today?"

She hesitated for a split second. "I can't today. I'm in too big a hurry." She didn't even look back. His hurt expression would have only compounded her guilt tenfold. But she needed to do this to keep him as safe as possible.

"Okeydokey then." He sounded positively cheerful. "See you later, Em." And with a chirpy whistle, he went back to the kitchen. "Just you and me for pancakes, Wilbur," she heard him tell the dog.

I'll never peel that dog off him. Emily started the RV and did a neat reverse turn out of her parking s.p.a.ce. The bag sat on the pa.s.senger seat beside her as she made her way through the quiet, early morning streets of Lost Creek, heading for the main road out. The sun was already beginning to heat up the day, but to Emily's eyes, for every patch of sunlight, there was a darker, more ominous shadow.

Luc found Emily easily.

The faintest scent caught her as she skirted the small town. Even if she hadn't been looking for it, it was impossible for her to slink past it. Normally, she would avoid places like Lost Creek in daylight, but she was on a mission, and a sickly sweet chemical smell tugged at her snout and drew her in. Her brain registered the odor as the flowery detergent that clung to the clothes Emily wore. All it took was that precarious link to make her lope toward the town's western outskirts. If she stuck to the tree line and waited her chance, she might just get lucky and see Emily. And if I see her, I'm grabbing her and making her take off this collar and give me the d.a.m.ned book.

Lost Creek was a desolate, rundown place, but it was an easy town to negotiate, being so close to the forest perimeter and with not much to keep its residents on the streets for any length of time. Luc vaguely remembered it from her childhood, before her family had been packed off to Canada. She shook that particular memory from her mind. It always made her heart harden, and she did not need that now.

She avoided the main street, keeping to the alleyways and abandoned backyards. There were many of them, overgrown with weeds and screaming of neglect. The few dogs that were out in the early morning heat stopped barking as soon as she drew near, and they cowered in corners until she pa.s.sed. Cats too, ran for safety and hunkered down to watch. She made her way across town, yard by yard, alley by alley, street by street, dragged along by her nose.

In no time at all, she'd zoned in on laundry flapping on a clothesline behind Johnston's General Store. With a quick glance and an even quicker sniff to make sure no one was around, Luc vaulted the fence.

The air was alive with the smell of Emily. Her dirty boots on the back stoop were delicious. The cus.h.i.+ons of a porch chair where she had rested stank of her freshly washed, coconut-scented hair. Even a dishtowel looped over the porch railings smelled of her...and some nondescript ca.s.serole. Luc was thrilled. This was Emily's den.

From the front of the house, she could hear a radio at high volume blaring out the morning news and weather reports. A screen door creaked and Luc slid around the porch corner, her back tacked to the siding. She heard an old man's voice muttering and then the clip of claws on the porch boards. Luc's ears flattened. The screen door slammed shut again, and around the corner trotted a small dog. Luc stood still, her claws ready to gut the animal if it so much as squeaked. Instead, much to her surprise, the dog wagged his tail excitedly on seeing her and came over for a friendly sniff. This was strange. He should be alarmed. Luc didn't have time to ponder; she had to get rid of him before his master came out to join him. Beside her foot lay a florid pink, well-chewed tennis ball, she lifted it and flung it as hard as she could across the yard. The little dog took off after it, his short legs a blur. By the time he returned with his prize, she'd be long gone.

The pa.s.sageway upstairs was in darkness. The window shades had been pulled against the harsh noontime sun. In three silent strides, her long legs swallowed the staircase and she was on the landing. Downstairs, the radio continued to blare, and outside, the little dog barked in disappointment.

Which room was Emily's? Luc gazed along the narrow corridor with its closed doors. The whole house reeked of her, but one area drew her attention in particular. Here the scent of coconut was strong. It was either the bathroom or Emily's own room. Luc pushed at the door.

She slid into a bedroom. It was cozy, with a single bed, warm pine flooring, and walls painted a soft b.u.t.tery yellow. She was a.s.saulted by the smell of Emily, hard and fresh. It made her so giddy she feared she'd sink to the floor. Luc sucked in all the scents through greedy, quivering nostrils, and soon realized Emily was not wholly embedded in the room and its furnis.h.i.+ngs. Not like in the little RV, for instance, where her perfume clung to cus.h.i.+on covers, and curtains, and even the plastic tableware. Here it was present, but fainter. This was a temporary lair, but then Emily had said she was visiting.

The window was open to the sun-filled day, and cream curtains billowed dreamily in the breeze. There were books everywhere, some piled in high, unsteady stacks, others lying open, their pages occasionally fluttering in the breeze. Books smelled of books and not much else. Luc clawed through them all and didn't find a Garoul almanac. That was disappointing, but as she was here, she might as well explore. She turned away eagerly, glad to leave the teetering piles of books behind.

The pine dressing table caught her attention first. She lifted a hairbrush and stuck her snout deep in the bristles; the smell of shampoo and human scalp a.s.saulted her, along with that underlying sourness of anxiety she had come to expect. The brush oozed it, and it vexed her that Emily was so haunted. She set down the brush, discontented.

The bed, however, drew her like a devotee to an altar and cheered her up immensely. She fell flat on her back onto its soft blue coverlet and wriggled in delight as her fur grabbed Emily's sleep scent. The little bed squeaked under her writhing weight, but she did not stop until she was satisfied enough of her own musk had been left on the sheets for Emily's own delectation. The bedside table held a paperback, hair clips, a box of tissues, and more of Emily's pills. Luc sniffed them all, intrigued, trying to build up a mental picture of Emily's bedtime rituals. Then something else caught her eye. Shoes.

She picked up a dress shoe, buried her snout inside it, and inhaled deeply. First one shoe and then the other. She licked the leather and rubbed it all over her muzzle. She nipped the heels. Nursing the shoes to her chest, she decided to investigate the dresser drawers. She hooked the handle with her fore claw and clumsily slid the top drawer open.

Inside was a scented treasure trove. Soft sweaters in all colors tumbled toward her and snagged on her claws. She sniffed a few then jammed them back in any old way. The next drawer held underwear that ripped to shreds at her slightest touch no matter how gently she pawed at it. She slammed the drawers shut, hiding the carnage.

She moved away from the dresser. It was too dangerous to play with, but the laundry hamper was another thing altogether. It was pay dirt. She tossed the contents on the floor and rolled on them, growling softly, throwing towels and T-s.h.i.+rts playfully in the air, enjoying her game. In her ecstasy, it took her a moment to realize the house had become very quiet. She stopped throwing around dirty linen and listened. The radio had been turned off, and her sensitive hearing could pick out the creak of the staircase. Someone was coming upstairs. Luc's ears flattened. This was not good.

Lying p.r.o.ne on the floor, she could make out the shadow of approaching feet under the door. And now she could hear an old man muttering to himself. The shadow moved on along the landing. Luc relaxed. It had been a close call, and now it was time to go. She decided it best to slip out the window rather than go through the house. Even as she looked toward her escape route, the window blind lifted and the curtains whooshed in a blast of wind, and a precariously balanced book toppled to the floor. It landed with a hard slap on the bare pinewood. Luc froze.

The shuffling footsteps halted and then came back.

"Em? You in there, Em?" an old man asked.

Luc flung herself under the bed as the door handle began to turn. Slow footsteps entered and moved toward the bed. Luc heard the book being lifted with a fussy tutting and replaced on the desk.

"Look at the state of this place." The tutting continued.

If he finds me, I'll have to eat him. Luc barely breathed as slippered feet shuffled inches past her snout. I bet he's all gristle.

The old man turned to go. Luc watched his feet move away.

"I never raised her to be messy," he continued grumbling to himself. "She needs a good talking to, that girl."

The laundry basket was pulled upright and the scattered laundry shoved back in it.

"There's rules in this house," he grumbled on, "and she best remember them." He moved off, dragging the basket with him. "Better wash this load now. It'll dry by lunchtime in that wind." And the bedroom door clicked closed behind him.

Luc slithered out from her hiding place and bolted for the window. She perched on the sill and took a last lingering sniff. Emily. But she needed a souvenir! She couldn't just leave without one. She scanned the room and made her selection. She grabbed the dress shoes and, clutching them to her chest, scooted out the window onto the porch roof. An excited bark greeted her from below. She looked down to see the stupid ginger dog barking happily up at her.

p.i.s.s off, she hissed, but he barked back, if anything, even happier. Didn't he know she was a predator who ate his species as appetizers?

"Wilbur?" the old man's croaky voice came from downstairs. "What's wrong, Wilbur?"

Any minute now, he would come around the corner and see her stuck on his roof like a freakin' weather vane, and all because that stupid dog wouldn't shut up.

Reluctantly, she lifted one of the shoes, her prized possessions, and hurled it as far as she could in the opposite direction. As she had hoped, the mongrel went after it full tilt. Luc leapt from the porch and ran for the fence in the opposite direction, keeping the billowing clothesline between herself and the house. She cleared the fence in one leap and was bounding into the depths of the forest before the mutt had even s.n.a.t.c.hed up the shoe.

Chapter Eighteen.

Emily came to the fork in the road where the signpost for Covington pointed off to the right. She turned left.

Sure, she could sail on down to the Covington Post Office and mail the books to her address in Chicago and get them safely out of the way. But part of her could not give up on her almanac. It was perhaps the only bargaining chip she had, and something told her to hang on to it. She had waited too long, searched too hard, and probably paid far too much for the tatty old thing. No way was she just going to hand it over to the Garouls unless there was some sort of deal involved. She was not going to give it up, at least not yet. Instead, she was going to hide it well. Somewhere that would not endanger her uncle. He was her only family, and she had to look out for him. She would surrender the book only after she was a.s.sured of his safety.

If the Garouls were watching her house, it was a reasonable a.s.sumption they were watching her, too. She had to act like she was unaware of their presence. First, she would go out and examine her old traps. Luc had all but obliterated them anyway, so she could make a reasonable pretense of cleaning them up. It would give her an opportunity to wander in the woods and stop by one of her old hunt stashes. She would hide the almanac there. Her stash holes were st.u.r.dy, weatherproof places, and a book could easily be hidden there for a short period of time. As for her notebooks, those she would burn. She had computer backups anyway.

One shoe was not enough.

Luc begrudged having to share her souvenir with the dog. She hunkered down in a quiet glade and brooded. Her fur was thick with pollen from the flowers she had brushed against or ploughed right through, and bees hummed around her, crawling through her coat. She hardly noticed them. Sunlight illuminated the forest in rich, golden swaths that in turn cast soft-edged shadows. Plant life unfurled and stretched toward the gentle rays, and insects droned drowsily. The noontime was heavy with a lazy, luxuriant heat. Birdsong thrilled high in the leafy canopy, and the breeze idled by, filled with bittersweet scent and the heady promise of summer. Luc didn't give a rat's a.s.s. One shoe was not enough.

That bedroom had been a treasure trove and she wanted more. Why hadn't she grabbed all she could while she'd had the chance? Luc carefully dug a shallow hole between her feet and buried her shoe. She thumped the earth back in place with her claws until she was satisfied it was well hidden. Then she stood, flung her arms wide, and roared, shaking the bees violently from her pelt. Luc bounded back the way she had come with grim determination and angry buzzing all around her.

The white picket fence loomed ghostly in the dim forest interior, and beyond it, the sunny green lawn with its thick, colorful flower borders s.h.i.+mmered like a distant fairyland. Luc stopped several yards back and approached cautiously. She didn't want to run into the little yap-bucket again. If she did, she would stomp on him this time and see how he yapped then. She crept in, watching out for the dog, when a ginger flurry caught her eye. He was in a central flowerbed digging like fury. Muck, flowers, stems, and roots flew through the air. Luc noticed with disgust he was burying the shoe she had tossed him. Stupid mutt. Burying a perfectly good shoe. Burying her perfectly good shoe.

Now that she had a fix on him, she could orchestrate her entry point. She needed to be obscured from the house and also from the dog, and that meant using the neighboring outbuildings. It was not the most direct route, but it would have to do. Luc hated being out in the open any longer than she had to. Her plan involved a quick dart across the lawn and then a run alongside the clothesline, using the clothes to hide her. Then with a quick hop onto the porch roof, she'd be through Emily's bedroom window in a jiffy.

Her sprint across the garden was powerful and swift. Her leap to the porch roof flawless and clean. Her fumbling with the locked window was time wasting and pathetic, her huge claws were useless with such fiddly things. The window had been locked since her last visit, and she had neither the time nor the privacy to break the gla.s.s or rip the wooden frame from the wall. The old man and his crazy mongrel could come along and spot her at any moment.

Luc retreated, slinking down into the shadows of the porch. This was most unsatisfactory. She would have to go in through the back door as before, except this time, she knew there was an occupant, and she had no idea where he was. Her muzzle twisted with discontent. Just then, she heard a familiar click-clacking on the porch boards and her heart sank. The stupid dog was coming back.

Luc opened the screen door a sliver, took a quick peek, and sidled inside. The kitchen was bright and cheerful, if a little dated. Spotless Formica surfaces held gleaming chrome appliances. The wooden cabinets were painted a jaunty primrose yellow with white trim, and gingham curtains fluttering at the window matched the tablecloth on the dining table in the center of the room. There was a cozy smell of b.u.t.tered toast and good coffee. A dog bed and water bowl sat in the corner, but Luc was confident her furry friend could not get in through the screen. There was no sign of the old man.

A sudden metallic rattling came from the room to her right and startled her, but it was only the utility room with a creaky old washer working through its cycle. The old man had taken the laundry hamper with him, and now Luc watched mesmerized as Emily's clothes swished around the circular gla.s.s door, but soon she shook herself out of it. She needed to secure the surroundings before she helped herself to anything. At the back of the utility room stood another st.u.r.dier door. This one had locks and bolts. It was currently unlocked, and Luc carefully pushed it ajar. From her viewpoint, she could make out rows of shelves filled with cans and boxes of food items. There was a strong smell of fresh coffee and baked bread. A shop? A diner? Then she picked up the moan of old men's voices, and in particular the old buzzard she had heard this morning. She grunted happily. The old man must work in the shop. The rest of the house was hopefully clear of people. With a little more confidence, she slipped into the hallway and upstairs to Emily's bedroom.

She made straight for the dresser and opened the top drawer, pulling out a pretty pastel sweater. Next she swiped a handful of underwear. More shoes! She definitely needed those. She went to inspect Emily's footwear. There was nothing quite as exciting as the dress heels she had stolen earlier, but a slipper would do. And the hairbrus.h.!.+ The glorious hairbrush. She couldn't help but bury her snout in it again. She was busy sucking in the powerful smell of Emily's scalp when she heard a vehicle pull up. A quick glance out the window confirmed the RV had returned. Luc was as upset as she was excited. She didn't want to go just yet, but she did not want to be seen with her booty either. She was confused at this urge to steal Emily's stuff. Not that Luc didn't steal. A hen, a pig, anything bright she liked the look of. Luc stole from all over the place, and always had. She acted on her urges, but this one was different, and she needed to think it over more, but this was not the time or place. She had to get away before old men, small dogs, or Emily spotted her.

She hesitated long enough to see what path Emily took. It looked like she was heading for the shop. Good. That meant the back was clear.

On her way through the kitchen, she grabbed a few other random items from the countertops. It all added to the excitement. Outside, the dog was nowhere in sight, but she could hear his barking from the front of the house. He had also spotted Emily's arrival. Having Ratty running around her heels should slow her down some giving Luc an extra minute or two to get away.

Luc loped past the laundry and s.n.a.t.c.hed at items from the clothesline. She recognized a s.h.i.+rt Emily had worn yesterday. She grabbed that, too. And weren't those her jeans? She yanked them off the line as well.

Heaped high with plunder, Luc leapt the fence and thundered into the woods panting with excitement. There was no having to share this time. This loot was all her own.

"I'm home," Emily called. The shop bell tinkled, and she entered carrying a squirming Wilbur in her arms. A chorus of hiyas from Norm's buddies greeted her. As usual, they were sitting around sipping on c.o.kes and coffees.

"Did you catch it in time?" Norm said.

"Catch what?" she asked.

"The mail." He gave her a funny look.

"Oh," she said, relieved. At first, she thought he was referring to werewolves. "Yeah. It's all okay," she answered then swerved for the connecting door to the house.

"Here." Norm reached out his arms for the dog.

"You can't have a dog in a food store," she said.

"It ain't a food store. It's a general store," he said.

"You serve food, so no dogs. In fact, you need to get a No Dogs sign," she said and kept on walking. "I'm grabbing a shower then I'll start on lunch. See you soon."