Captive Moon (6 page)

He reached for her before he realized he was moving, gently brushing a few strands of hair off her cheek, letting the silky strands glide over his sensitive palms. A new scent rose from the fire-colored hair. He bent down slightly and sniffed, then lifted some of the dark to his nose. How strange. The highlights had a different scent from the rest—a smoky, spicy cinnamon that was different from anything he’d ever smelled.

He was startled that touching her hair had been so unconscious, but a part of him was pleased when she sighed peacefully and dropped back into her dreamless sleep. He left the room before he accidentally woke her, being careful to turn the doorknob before pulling the door closed with barely a whisper of sound.

He turned and stood at the balcony overlooking the massive entry room. Although typical of the building practices a century ago, it still startled him that the cathedral ceiling in the entry was actually necessary when the owner of the house turned on the moon. Antoine had only seen Charles Wingate in his animal form a few times, but it had been more than a little startling—not to mention intimidating as hell. Charles was a polar bear that could stand flat footed on all four legs and look in the windows of a twostory building. Each of his razor sharp teeth was nearly as broad and long as Antoine’s forearm. But it was why Charles was the chief justice of the council, and had held that position for longer than anyone could remember.

As he started down the gray stone staircase that was flanked by banners of the many countries and cultures that the Sazi represented, Margo spoke again. “A person would think that we both spoke the same language until you open your mouth, Matty. That Australian slang is going to be the death of me. What in the world did you just say?”

Antoine stepped into the doorway of the large, lavishly furnished main room. A fire roared in the walk-in fireplace, and muted daylight streamed in from a dozen windows on the south wall. Margo was seated at a desk, her laptop computer open on several programs. Her comforting odor of… hmm, peaches with nutmeg made for an odd combination with Matty’s underlying… yes, dill weed and tomato scent. That young wolf in Chicago had gotten him hooked on this “personal scent equals food” concept, and he was finding it surprisingly true. Tony had promised to send a list of his discoveries to date for Antoine’s amusement.

Matty was—well, he seemed to be whittling. Bits and chunks of fragrant pine were flying through the air each time he stroked the wicked-looking knife blade along the length of wood.

“He said that the furniture is probably very expensive, that he’s not stupid and that Charles made him promise not to have any accidents. How are you today, Matty, and what in the world are you doing?”

Margo looked his way and heaved a visible sigh of relief. “Glad to see you alive and well, boss. You gave us a scare yesterday.”

Matty turned a grin to Antoine as well. “G’day, Antoine. I’m doing good, thanks mate! I see you managed some shonky bizzo so we could all stay over.”

Antoine walked to the couch next to the fireplace and plopped down into the soft cushions. He let out a small chuckle. “Yes, I’m quite good at wrecking the van and faking head wounds just to be a guest at the chief justice’s home. I presume that the van is wrecked?”

Matty smirked and then nodded. “Yeah. It was quite a bingle, mate! We just managed to get you back here before the coppers showed up.”

Antoine’s light mood evaporated. “The police were involved?”

Margo looked up, away from the screen, while her fingers continued to fly over the keyboard. “Only until Charles arrived. I doubt they’ll even remember showing up.”

“Speaking of Charles—” Antoine inclined his head a bit toward Margo. “Do we need to speak alone?

Where is Grand-mère?”

“Not for me,” replied Matty. “I was in the room when they yabbered, so no worries. Giselle is out hunting rabbits in the storm. You know how lynxes are—can’t keep ‘em out of the white stuff.”

Margo nodded in agreement. “We didn’t discuss any council business. It was just regarding the girl.”

Matty laughed. “Ace sheila you cracked onto, mate! She’s not a dog.”

Antoine gave him a sharp look that ended the laugh abruptly. His voice was harsh with anger. “I did not

‘crack onto’ her, Matty. She was a prisoner—first of the same men who killed Simon, and then of the police.”

The other faces showed shock, and then the scent of sorrow made him remember that they hadn’t known. Margo spoke first. Her voice quavered with surfacing tears. “So Simon is really dead! I’m so sorry, Antoine.”

Matty winced. “Your Dale is going to be mad as a cut snake that someone done him in, Margo. Probably best that he went back with the other cats.”

Antoine tried not to remember the scene in the forest, but they deserved to know the basic details. “As far as the police here are concerned, the girl upstairs is Simon. Well, actually, she’s supposed to be Babette.”

Margo looked at him quizzically. “So Babette is Simon!” She shook her head. “I’m afraid I don’t understand, Antoine.”

Matty showed a pained smile. “Yeah. Bit of a shock for her cubs, mate. Simon wasn’t known for his nursing skills.”

“Matty!” Margo’s voice showed her outrage at the comment.

But Antoine knew that Matty was trying to use humor to cover the pain. The big cat had been a favorite of his, too. Being the veterinarian for the troupe, he was accustomed to injuries and death, but slaughter was something else entirely.

“It’s a very long story, my friends, and I only have bits of it. The police here discovered a tiger organ smuggling operation. The police took me to the site. Simon was among the dead.”

While Matty retained his outward composure, his scent gave away his horror and anger. A small muscle at the corner of his jaw started to twitch from his clenched jaw. Margo was likewise affected, but the wet cloud of sorrow blanketed the anger.

“But I smelled a Sazi female—or what I thought was a Sazi female.” He brushed a few chips of wood from his pants. Matty’s whittling was getting more aggressive as he got angrier.

“Who is actually a Hayalet. Charles told us,” concluded Margo. “I don’t know much about their people, and I called everyone after he and Amber left, but nobody else knew anything either.”

Antoine shrugged gracefully. “I know little myself that isn’t classified. Their people live in the mountains on the Iranian/Turkish border. They were nearly wiped out by the Russians back in the 1950s, when the Caspian tigers were hunted to near extinction.”

“I thought they were hunted to extinction,” Matty replied. “There haven’t been any specimens to study since the early 1960s, well before my time.”

Margo turned her chair to face the men. The old wooden desk chair squeaked noisily with the movement. “There have been sightings from time to time over the years, but nothing confirmed. There were a few reports last fall on one of the animal channels, but nothing since.”

She crossed her arms and tipped her head down to stare at Antoine over the top of her wireless glasses.

“Charles said that we are to keep the girl here until her family comes for her. You are absolutely not to allow her to leave alone. You are not to let her family take her. We’re supposed to sit tight and ‘wait for events to unfold,’ as the chief justice phrased it.”

Antoine frowned and held up his hand. “Wait. We are supposed to hold her here until the family arrives, but not let them take her? That makes no sense!”

“Yeah,” Matty replied. “I said the same thing. But he just gave me that look with those beady little black eyes, and I did the bolt.”

Antoine ignored Margo’s confused look that always seemed to follow Matty speaking. “That look?” But then it occurred to him, and he answered his own question. “Ah! The look that says, ‘You’re barely an appetizer but keep being disagreeable and I will be more than happy to have a snack.’ That look?”

Matty shuddered and the knife flashed even more quickly. “Yeah, that’d be right. Like I’m a mozzie that needs squashing. I’ve never seen the bloke in his animal form, and don’t ever want him to bail me up. I’d mind my own bizzo on his reasons if I were you, mate.”

Several of the wood chips popped up, arched over the couch, and hit Margo in the face. She reared back when it struck her and the back of the chair slammed into the laptop screen. She stood in a rush and stalked toward Matty. “Would you please stop that ridiculous project! This whole room is going to be ruined! Just buy a boomerang and be done with it.”

“A boomerang?” Antoine asked. “What in the devil do you need with a boomerang?”

Matty apparently didn’t hear the question, or didn’t care to answer. He continued shaving chunks of wood from the rapidly slimming log and glared up at the woman. “It’s not a boomerang, Margo. I’ve told you that five times now. This is a kylie. Totally different weapon. I only have a few weeks to get everything made before I leave.”

Antoine stood up, walked over to the couch, and yanked both the stick and the knife from Matty’s hands before he could react. He threw them against the wall hard enough that the knife buried itself to the hilt into the window sill with a squealing sound.

His words took on the thick French accent that always occurred when he was angry. “Je m’en fous! I do not care what it is called! Things are happening, friends are dying, and I am being ignored! It will stop! I have very little humor left in me today, so I want to know what is going on—now!”

He didn’t often let his Sazi magic leak out accidentally, even this close to the moon. But he could tell by the flinching from both of his human employees, and the sharp scent of their panic that he had done just that. Their eyes were too wide with white showing. He put fingers to his temples and closed his eyes. Then he bowed his head, took a long deep breath, and let it out slowly. By the time he had finished counting to ten, his magic was safely tucked back inside his own skin and the scent of terror in the room was a bit less.

He sat down on the couch next to Matty, who didn’t move a muscle. Antoine placed a hand on his shoulder and was pleased that the vet didn’t try to pull away. “I apologize, mon ami. I did not mean to press my anger on you.” He turned his head to include Margo. “On either of you. But the last two days have given me many questions and few answers. Before we try to learn the meaning of the Hayalet or of the workings of our chief justice’s mind, let us start in our own house. Matty, why are you carving a kylie and why are you leaving in a few weeks? Where are you going?”

Margo and Matty looked at each other in surprise. From their expressions, he should know what was happening, which meant that he’d been ignoring, or forgetting, things he’d been told. But with the unscheduled trip to Chicago for the council meeting, the thing they killed there, and the loss of Simon, he hadn’t been paying proper attention. He was about to correct that oversight.

After a few moments, Matty laughed. “Strewth! No wonder you’ve been staring at us like we had kangaroos loose in our top paddock! Yeah, well, this will take a minute. Charles put some VB in the fridge for us to watch the footy match this arvo—if we can get a signal. Care to share a slab?”

Antoine nodded and Matty rose to go to the kitchen. Margo called after him. “And while you’re in there, could you maybe figure out how to tell your story in English for those of us who don’t speak Australian?”

Margo turned back to Antoine and had just opened her mouth when he put up a sharp hand to stop her, and then a finger to his lips. He heard movement, and it was coming from the stairs. With all the stealth and grace of the cat inside him, he stepped to the doorway. He could tell who it was by scent, and by the shadow she cast on the floor. How long had she been listening?

Margo remained frozen in her chair as he stilled even his breathing. For a few long seconds, the only sounds were the crackling of the fireplace, the raging wind outside, and the sound of clinking glass in the kitchen. Then there was a quiet footfall as the person listening outside stepped a bit closer.

He stepped around the corner with supernatural speed. “Would you like to join us?”

“I’m sorry!” Tahira exclaimed. He could hear her heart pound frantically. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I woke up and just wanted—”

She wasn’t faking her fear, that much was obvious. The clothing she was wearing seemed too large for Amber, but might well be left over from Fiona’s last visit. She had a healing cut on her arm, but the angry bruise on her face faded so he could finally notice her eyes. They were hazel, flecked with gold and green. Warm, intelligent, and quite lovely.

He swept down into a deep bow and gently took her hand. “My humblest apologies, dear lady, for frightening you.” He very lightly kissed the back of her hand and then stood. Her face showed confusion, but the tangy scent of her fear was dissipating. “Please, join us near the fire, and allow me to pour you a glass of wine to settle your nerves. One of my employees was about to tell us about a trip he’s taking.”

Tahira stood silently for a moment, her mind reeling from the roller coaster of emotions that were battling for dominance. Fear, anger, embarrassment—combined with a warm spot in her stomach from his smile and the feeling of his lips on her hand. But which was the lie and which was truth?

Antoine held her hand and smoothly led her farther into the brightly lit room. When he stepped away to remove a glass from a heavily carved wet bar, she glanced out the frost-edged windows. The raging blizzard she’d seen from her bedroom window looked even worse at ground level.

She thought of Rabi lost somewhere in this storm and tears again threatened. She had to find him. But while she should be able to track in snow, she didn’t know how. Their kind came from a line where fierce winters were common, but she grew up in California. She had no skill, only instinct. Grammy hadn’t gotten that far in training before she had gotten herself… captured.

She still couldn’t believe that she had no memory of an entire month, but bits of things kept popping into her head and she couldn’t ignore the implications. There were too many memories of rancid meat being shoved through cage bars, memories of chains on her wrists and ankles and around her neck as a tiger. There were too many fragments to have occurred in one day, or even a week. She had no choice but to believe what the Sazi had said.