Descended by Blood (27 page)

I slipped out the metal door and pushed it closed behind me, making sure it clicked. A few yards to my right, a streetlamp cast a yellow beam onto the asphalt, but I turned left, towards the bus stop, and into the darkness that was my shortcut. I walked slowly until my eyes adjusted and then picked up the pace. The dark didn’t bother me; I’d made this shortcut dozens of times. The parking lot coming up on the right was free parking and I used it more than the meters out front whenever I came to this part of downtown. I passed the lot, wishing I’d driven separately so that my hand-me-down Honda – and its wonderful heater – would have been waiting for me, instead of the drafty city bus. Matter of fact, I wished I hadn’t come at all. George’s tardiness would’ve been the perfect excuse to change my mind. Especially when we both knew our relationship had already hung in the balance, precariously leaning towards ‘breakup’ before we’d even made it out tonight.

It was quiet and my boots thudded loudly against the asphalt. I hurried to reach the bus shelter, hating the bite of the cold air, and glad that the surrounding buildings were high enough to keep the wind to a minimum. I drew my coat tighter around my neck against the chill that seeped its way into my skin, giving me goose bumps from head to toe.

I hated goose bumps because it meant the hair on your legs grew back twice as fast. And I was always getting them, because of some weird cold chill that would come over me. Even in the summer, when everyone was wearing shorts and bathing suits and having shaved legs was sort of a priority. When I was younger, I complained to my mom about it a few times and she would always say that Godfreys were thin blooded and easily chilled. Then she would stare at me, with an odd expression, and disappear; either into the backyard, to weed the flowerbeds, or the pantry, to reorganize the canned goods.

The tingling of the goose bumps subsided and my thoughts wandered back to George, and all the history between us. Like in sixth grade, when he’d tried growing his hair out, saying he’d wanted a surfer look, but really, I’d had no choice but to tell him he just looked… grungy. Back when grungy was NOT “in”. And seventh grade, when he’d shaved it all off again, after we’d watched a video on career day, about the army. He’d talked about joining for months afterward; talking about how cool it would be to shoot guns for a living. Then, in eighth grade, we’d each had our first kiss, though not with each other.

George had fallen hard for the girl until her family had moved away. She was military and her dad had gotten re-stationed. He’d changed his mind about enlisting after that. Ninth grade, he’d gone out for football, and made Junior Varsity MVP. He changed a lot that year, gaining a self confidence that wasn’t there before. By the end of sophomore year I’d started to notice him as more than just a friend. Last summer had been awkward between us. I’d spent the entire time stressing over the uncharted territory of having feelings for him, and whether he might have feelings for me.

I’d never even questioned being with George. It felt natural and right. He was my best friend for so long that the only thing dating had really changed was adding kissing into the mix. Not bad, as perks go.

Up ahead, a movement caught my eye, pulling me out of my thoughts. I stopped short and felt my pulse jump at the unexpected company. I didn’t usually see anyone else in this part of the cut-through but just past the next dumpster, a girl with long blond hair and pointy-heeled boots stood in the center of the alley, shaking uncontrollably. I took a step towards her, wanting to help in some way, and then stopped again, at the look on her face. She was glaring at me with a look of hatred so raw that it sent a shiver down my back.

“Um, are you okay?” I called out, still trying to understand why she was basically convulsing. Was she having a seizure? But she was managing to stay on her feet. Her gloved hands were balled into fists at her sides, and she was breathing heavy now. I tried again. “Do you need some help?” Something about the way she looked at me was making my skin tingle and crawl. I shivered again.

“Help,” she repeated, through clenched teeth. “Right.” Her words dripped with sarcasm and unconcealed malice.

Then, before I could think of something to say to that, her shaking reached its crescendo and then she … exploded. There was really no other word for it. With a harsh ripping sound her clothes disappeared, scattering into the air in tiny pieces. In the same second, her body seemed to waver and then morph, leaving in its place the largest wolf I’d ever seen. I felt my jaw drop. Was I crazy or had that girl just turned into a giant dog?

I had a split second to stare at her and then she charged. The brown fur became nothing more than a blur as she rushed forward, teeth bared and claws extended. In that moment, I was completely sure that I was going to die. I didn’t even have time to be afraid; it would all be over too quickly.

Then, somehow, though my conscious brain had nothing to do with it, my body reacted. Just before impact, I twisted aside, dodging her. Using my body’s momentum, I brought my hand around and swung. I hadn’t even realized I’d made a fist, but my knuckles connected and I heard the crack of bone as my hand slammed into the wolf’s cheek. The hit drove it - her? - back a few paces but then it straightened and seemed to right itself. Its yellow eyes locked onto mine and it came again. I shed my jacket, and let it fall next to me on the asphalt; some hidden part of me knew I needed better use of my limbs.

Three more times I managed to dodge the wolf as it lunged. On the fourth, its claws caught on my shirt and raked down my abdomen on either side, driving me back. I stumbled and fell. My back slammed onto the pavement with a hard thud. Again, I accepted my inevitable death. I watched as she continued to come at me, slower and more confident now that I was on the ground. All I could see were razor canines aimed straight for my throat. I cringed and turned away, unable to look into those bright yellow eyes, knowing what was coming. When I turned, a glint of slivered moonlight caught a piece of piping nearby; probably meant for the dumpster but somehow landing here.

Again, subconscious reasoning took over and I felt myself reaching for it, my hand closing around the cold steel. With a grunt, I swung out.

I hadn’t expected to actually land the blow or for the crack to be quite so loud. I felt the vibrations from it all the way up my arm but I managed to hold onto the pipe until I felt the wolf’s weight go slack and it crumpled in a heap, half on top of me. I pushed it aside, which wasn’t easy, and scrambled to my feet. After that, I just stood there, staring down at the giant mass of fur and wondering how in the world no one else had noticed what just happened.

As I stared, the wolf’s form began to shake and then shimmer around the edges, going hazy, and then finally – it was the girl again. Her long hair covered her face in stringy waves, matting to her head on the side where the pipe had made contact. Blood seeped slow and steady from the wound to the pavement. Her body was naked and curled together, almost fetal, except for her knee wedged at an unnatural angle. I could see that her eyes were open and staring vacantly but I didn’t linger on that. I couldn’t. My eyes were wide and disbelieving as I gaped at what lay in front of me. I struggled to accept what I was seeing. No way. It was impossible. People couldn’t be … wolves. That was a myth. A way for Hollywood to cash in.

But there was no mistaking it. The girl lying in a heap in front of me was definitely the same girl as before. And she smelled, distinctly, of animal.

I kept hoping she’d move, or at least groan, from the pain of the head trauma. Ignoring the feminine details of her bare body, I stared hard at her shoulders and chest, looking for any sign that might indicate breathing. I didn’t see any. And I knew, deep down, that I wouldn’t.

My hands began to shake. Maybe from the cold, but I was too numb to feel the temperature against my skin. I took a step back and stumbled.

Hands closed around me, keeping me upright. I jolted and tried to jerk away from the unexpected contact. A strangled scream escaped my lips as the hands whirled me around to face my attacker.

“Whoa. It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you,” he said.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t really remember how to speak at the moment and if I could, it would’ve been a scream anyway. My breath came in uneven gasps and he waited until I got myself under control.

There was concern in his eyes but that didn’t go very far with me. I noticed vaguely that his eyes were the same exact color as his hair, a sort of bronzed brown. The color was fascinating; unlike anything I’d ever seen, and they seemed to hold some dark edge that hinted at danger, no matter how gentle they got. The rest of him wasn’t bad either. His face matched his eyes, rugged and hard edges from his cheekbones to his jaw. When he’d spun me around, I’d grabbed out to steady myself and even now my hands still rested on his shoulders, where I’d first gripped. Underneath my fingers, and the leather of his jacket, was solid muscle.

The fact that I was actually checking him out – just moments after killing a girl - was my first clue I was in shock.

“Are you alright?” His gaze swept over me without waiting for an answer, critically inspecting the rest of my body, not unlike the once over I’d just given him.

It dawned on me that he was trying to help, and thankfully, that dialed back my panic enough for me to find my voice. Then again, now that my brain was convinced the danger had truly passed, some switch seemed to release, giving me permission to officially freak out. “I think so.” I answered automatically, without really knowing if I was or not. I felt numb and strange inside my own skin.

“Did she bite you?”

His voice seemed to come from inside a tunnel. I blinked to try and clear the fog. “What?”

“Did she bite you?” His voice was firmer now and his hands pressed down on my shoulders, trying to keep my attention.

“No,” I answered, finding it easier to concentrate if I stared into his unwavering, gold flecked eyes.

“Good.” A look of genuine relief passed over his features before his eyebrows arched downward with new worry. “Are you alone out here? Do you have a way home?”

“I-” I struggled to remember and kept my eyes fixed on his while I waited for the answer to come. “I was taking the bus. My ride left earlier.”

His brows curved deeper at that and he shot an almost imperceptible glance at the exposed body lying behind me. His hands finally dropped away from my shoulders. “Well, I’m not going to just leave you here,” he mumbled, almost to himself. He seemed to debate something a moment longer and then pulled a phone out of his pocket, hitting a single button.

“Jack, its Wes. We’ve got a situation. Liliana’s dead.” There was a pause as he listened to whoever was on the other end. Then, “No, it wasn’t like that. It was a girl but it’s … confusing. I can’t get a read on her at all.” Another pause and then, “I’m in the alley behind Fleet Street. She’ll be in the dumpster until you get here… No, not the girl, Liliana.”

I blanched at that and felt new panic rising as he finished his call. Whatever else he said didn’t make it past the warning bell ringing in my ears. He must’ve seen the look on my face, though, because he quickly put his hands, palms up, in front of him, and spoke soothingly. “I meant her- the girl you fought with. I didn’t mean you.”

I nodded, inhaling deeply to wash away the adrenaline that was coursing through me. I really needed to get a handle on myself. This was ridiculous. I probably looked and sounded like a moron, and the fact that I was shivering didn’t help, either. It reminded me of the way the girl had been shaking, right before she-

“What’s your name?”

His voice snapped me out of it, cutting off the replay my brain had been about to give me. “Tara,” I answered in a voice that sounded much weaker than I’d intended. “Tara Godfrey,” I repeated, louder.

“Tara, I’m Wes and I’m going to help you, if you’ll let me. Can I give you a ride home?”

“A ride? Seriously?” I gaped at him. “I just killed that girl. We need to call the police, a coroner, somebody.”

“I made a call and someone is on his way to take care of it.”

I shook my head. “Yeah, that didn’t exactly sound official. And you called her by name. Liliana. You know her? What’s going on?”

“Look, obviously you saw what’s going on,” he said, a little impatient. “That girl wasn’t human. And I don’t think either of us wants to answer the questions that would come with admitting that to the police. Not that they would believe you in the first place. So, I’m taking care of it - discreetly. And unless you want to end up in a padded room, you’ll do the same.”

Okay, he had a point – especially about the padded room part. I mean, I saw it with my own eyes and I was still having a hard time with it all. I could guess how it would sound, trying to explain it to police or doctors.

It didn’t feel good, lying about something like this, though. I’d just killed a girl – or dog – or whatever. But, maybe I’d be willing to deal with it – if I had some answers about what the hell was actually happening.

“Fine, I’ll do it your way. But you have to give me something in return,” I said.

He eyed me, wary. “What?”

“Answers. An explanation. I mean, seriously, this kind of stuff isn’t real. Or isn’t supposed to be, but here it is. And you seem to know a lot about it, so what’s the deal?”

He sighed in response but didn’t argue my demand. Maybe he’d been expecting it. “I’ll tell you in the car. For now, we’ve gotta’ get out of this alley before someone sees us. Come on.”

“No way. We talk here and then I’ll take the bus, like I planned.”

He glanced down at my shirt with a wry half smile. “I don’t think that would be wise. You would draw a considerable amount of …attention.”

I glanced down, too, and noticed for the first time that my shirt was all but destroyed. It hung off me like a rag with long slash marks running up both sides of my abdomen, along my ribs. Underneath the fabric, I could see shallow slash marks on my skin. The wounds were raised and red and looked like I’d faced off with a cat. Oh wait. Dog.