Moonburn (34 page)

“Abra,” Malachy said sternly. “Can you please put that phone down and come help me?”

“Just wait a moment,” I snapped, going on to the next message. This wasn’t from Red either. Instead, it was a woman named Galina Michailovna. Just my luck, I thought; she’s probably selling something. When I listened to what she had to say, however, my chest tightened with anxiety. “Ms. Barrow, this is a friend and colleague of Lilliana Kadouri. I was expecting to see Lilli at supervision today, but neither she nor her driver were seen since they dropped you off over a week ago.”

Malachy was watching me, his eyes shrewd and watchful and touched with a faint, manic light. “Who was it? Is it Red?”

“No,” I said, closing the phone. “Not Red.” A wave of grief began to rise up, ready to crash over me. Lilliana and her driver hadn’t been seen for a week. I thought of the dirt-stained note she’d left at the cabin along with my pocketbook and clothes, and the strange, heavy places where the manitous’ reality overlapped with our own. I remembered the scent of human blood, and the dead weekender. But that woman hadn’t been the only one to die while I ran around the forest, enjoying myself.

And then, just as I began to press my nails into my
palms and bite the insides of my cheeks in a burst of self-loathing, I knew with an intuitive flash: Lilliana wasn’t dead. She was a sensitive, a broadcaster as well as a receiver. She could play men like instruments. If anyone could keep Bruin from selling his sacrifice scheme, it was Lilliana.

“Bad news?” Malachy’s voice was soft, almost kind.

“Lilliana brought me back last week. She’s been missing.” Back when we’d both been working for Mal, I hadn’t really understood why he had plucked her from the Animal Medical Institute’s social work program. Now, of course, it made sense. Lilliana’s empathic gifts would have been a great asset in diagnosis—and in political maneuvering within AMI.

“That woman is too resourceful to wind up mauled to death by a spirit bear,” said Malachy. “So what we have to do now is locate Red and begin searching.” He sounded so much like his old self that it seemed a bit peculiar that he was wearing a straitjacket.

“You’re right,” I said, drying my eyes on my sleeve.

“Of course I’m right. And now, if you’re done dabbing at the old mascara, I’ve lost all feeling in both arms. You’ve got to take this blasted thing off and do it again.”

“All right.” I had started to unfasten the strap when Malachy began cursing. “Bloody hell, Abra, what did I tell you about listening to me?”

I paused, feeling sweaty and tired and sore. “You said not to pay attention if you started to contradict yourself. But you didn’t …” I looked at Malachy. “Oh, crap. I almost fell for it.”

“Very good. You’re learning.” Mal’s eyes dropped to my breasts for a moment, then lifted. “Now, loosen the straps. We have to check on the animals and finish preparing my medicine.”

“Very funny.” I went to the closet and pulled out my
lab coat. I didn’t like the way Malachy’s eyes kept dropping to my chest. Or, rather, I didn’t like what it implied about his deteriorating condition.

“No, I’m serious, Abra. Obviously I can’t work while I’m in a straitjacket.”

I pulled my arms into the sleeves. “You’ll tell me what to do, and I’ll be your arms.”

“This was meant to be a test run, Dr. Barrow. Now, let me out of here—we don’t have much time left.”

“Sorry, but nice try.” I opened the door to the room where we kept the animals, and there was a wild sound of howling and whining. It didn’t take a genius to figure that our canine patients had just switched from the toy and sporting groups to the hunting category.

I held the door and gestured to Malachy. “After you.”

Malachy gave me a familiar look of irritation. “I’m not playing around, you stupid girl. At least let me take a piss first. Unless you’d like to give me a hand with that, as well?”

Shit. We hadn’t discussed this. “All right,” I said, coming around his left side.

“Thank you from the bottom of my bladder,” Malachy said sarcastically.

Ah, the British. None of this euphemistic “going to the bathroom.” At least he hadn’t informed me he needed to take a … my hands stilled on the straps. “Wait a minute. This is another test, isn’t it?”

“You’re testing my patience, all right.”

I still didn’t undo the strap. There was some quality of tension and alertness about Malachy that wasn’t quite right. And the image of myself, lying dead in this office, was a useful reminder to be cautious. “On the other hand, Mal, why don’t I help you undo your trousers?”

“Now, there’s an idea,” said Malachy, and his eyes were burning with a fierce green light.

Uh oh. “Mal, I thought you said we had hours left before you changed.”

Malachy frowned as if I were losing my mind. “We do. Hours and hours. Now, let’s go see about the dogs.”

I held the door for him, just like before. As he walked through, I said, “You know, Mal, something just occurred to me.”

He turned and looked over his shoulder. “What?”

I slammed the door in his face and locked it behind him.

This isn’t Northside, I told myself. It looks like Northside, and it’s laid out like Northside, but this is a brand-new town, with brand-new rules. What looks familiar is what’s going to trip you up, so use your intuition.

I really wished I’d worn a brassiere today.

There was a pounding on the door as Malachy flung himself against the wood. “Abra! Let me out of here!” The dogs were racing around, too. Somehow, he’d gotten his shoes off and unlatched their cages with his toes.

“Don’t get your panties tied in a knot,” I said, trying not to get flustered as I took out the large office scissors and cut the legs of my corduroys off at the knee.

I had wasted two of my questions, but at least my fairy grandmother had managed to give me the ability to know what I knew. No more questioning my instincts. No more waiting for Malachy to give me permission or hoping Red would come to the rescue. I knew what was behind all this, and I knew what I had to do.

“Let me out now,” Malachy said in a perfectly reasonable tone, “and I won’t fire you.”

“I’m just changing my shirt,” I replied. “Give me a sec.” Working as quickly as I could, I used two wide dog leashes crisscrossed over my chest to create a makeshift bandoleer over my silk undershirt.

“Come on, Abra,” Malachy said, coaxingly, but with
just the right hint of impatience. Whatever was behind that door had some of Malachy’s cunning, and without the moonstone, I wasn’t entirely sure that I wouldn’t have fallen for it.

“One more minute.” The tone was right, the words sounded like ones Malachy would have chosen, but the voice was a full register deeper, as if the chest around the larynx had expanded.

“Abra!!!” The door shook and the wood began to buckle as Malachy kicked it, hard. Looking at where the wood was buckling, I swallowed a lump in my throat. Crap, he was big. For a moment, I just stared at the door, mesmerized, waiting to see if the next impact would break through the wood.

You’re not watching a movie, kid. Keep working
.

Ah, the small, clear voice of my intuition. Even if it did sound a bit like my mother, I was getting pretty damn fond of it. Using a thin rope leash, I secured the waistband of my baggy corduroys. Next, I stuck the scissors in the bandoleer on my right side, so I could pull it out quickly. I grabbed two syringes of phenobarbital, still missing the secret sauce, and then quickly mixed up four syringes of Telazol, inserting one into each boot and two into my crude ammo belt. The two syringes of phenobarb went up, closer to my shoulders, because it was less dangerous if something went wrong and it went into me instead of whoever I was aiming at. I added one more rope leash, in case I needed to lasso a stray or gar-rote someone, and, remembering at the last minute that I preferred Rimbaud to Rambo, I stashed a bunch of doggie treats into my pockets.

I was loaded for bear.

And then Malachy kicked the door one last time. There was a loud crash as the wood gave way, and the wolfish dogs came hurtling out, snarling and circling as
they tried to divide their attention between me and the guy who had torn the door off its hinges.

“Oi,” said the creature as he stepped over the threshold. “I got a bone to pick with you.”

He didn’t specify which bone, but I was guessing something large enough to count as one of my favorites.

My first impression was that there was a definite market for Malachy’s new version of the lycanthropy virus. A lot of guys would give their left testicle to achieve the kind of hulking, muscular physique that Malachy now possessed. He was still fully human, or at least he wasn’t part wolf, but his massively muscled arms looked a bit long for his body, and there was a demonic light in his heavily lidded eyes that didn’t bode well for my immediate future. The remnants of the straitjacket clung to his thick neck and heavy shoulders like a bizarre poncho, but he carried himself like a street fighter, on the balls of his feet, and as he approached me, his white teeth showed in a feral smile.

“That was very naughty, tying me up like that,” he said in a thick Cockney accent. Typical upper-middle-class English class prejudice, I thought, giving his savage alter ego a working-class burr.

“You did ask me to do it,” I pointed out, taking a step back and trying to calculate how long it would take me to get out the door.

“Me? I didn’t ask you, love—that was fucking Malachy, the junkie wanker. You can call me Knox.”

Oh, perfect. I didn’t know much psychology, but I figured that this kind of splitting wasn’t a sign of mental health. “I’m sorry, Knox, I made a mistake,” I said, trying
to remember everything I knew about multiple personality disorder. I’d seen a TV movie once,
Sybil
, about multiple personalities. Sally Field had played the title roles.

Turns out I didn’t really know anything about the disorder. “Sorry, Knox,” I said.

“It’s all right,” said Knox, shrugging. “Happens all the time. What I don’t understand is, how can folks confuse us? It’s not like we look the same. I mean, do I look like that fucking nancy boy? Do I?”

I shook my head, but Knox did look like Malachy’s younger, healthier, lunatic brother. His hair was still the same wild mass of black corkscrew curls, his nose was still a sharp blade, but his brow ridge seemed more pronounced, and his eyes glowed the way wolves’ eyes do at night. Still, the intelligence that filled them was unmistakably human, although there was an element of animal cunning and impulse in there as well.

Ah, the ability to think in the abstract without any conscience to direct it. The definition of a sociopath. I was so glad that I had a moonstone necklace welded around my neck, so that I could really understand how badly I was screwed right now. “I must have made a mistake,” I said.

“Indeed you did. And you hurt my feelings, see? Because Malachy is a sick old fuck. I don’t like being confused with a sick old fuck. You can understand that, can’t you?”

I nodded. Maybe if I just kept going along with whatever he said, it would all be all right.

“The way I sees it, you need to make it right.”

“What can I do to make it right, Knox?”

“Let me think … ah. Got it. You can let
me
tie you up.”

So much for going along with him. “Sorry,” I said, wishing I could have laid my hands on a tranquilizer
gun. “I can’t do that. Listen, Malachy, I don’t know how much of you is in there, but I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Already told you, darlin’—not Malachy. And how about being on the receiving end of some hurt?” said Malachy, smiling a very unpleasant smile. His canines were very sharp. “How does you feel about that?”

“I feel pretty negative about that, Mal.”

His green eyes flared with fury. “Call me that again,” he said, “and I’m going to make you very sorry.”

Shit. He sounded so much like Malachy, and I was used to being with a man who looked like a beast on occasion. It was hard to believe that we couldn’t work this out in words.

Then that’s the role you have to play
, said my mother’s voice.
It’s your only advantage
. And even though I had never tried to manipulate a man in my life, I realized that this really was the only way I’d get close enough to use my weapons. In a straight fight, Tall, Dark, and Hairy here was going to beat me.

By rights, I should have been able to go at least partially wolf, because the moon was still more than three quarters full. But something was wrong; either I was too nervous to access that part of me, or something else was interfering with the usual lunar cycle. But with the moonstone around my neck, I knew with certainty that there was almost nothing of wolf in me. I felt the way I did during the darkest day of the month, when the moon was entirely in shadow.

I was going to have to rely on my human talents, such as they were.

“I don’t think you really want to hurt me,” I said optimistically, as if I believed it.

“Of course I don’t
want
to hurt you,” said Knox. A wolfish dog made a sudden lunge for him, and he knocked it aside with a careless flick of his wrist, sending
it crashing against the wall. “But, you see, I seems to lack a little fine motor control.”