Moonburn (39 page)

Quick diagnosis: I couldn’t leave her like that.

With that thought, I plummeted back down into my body. It felt like jumping from a height into a cold lake. Or maybe it felt like being pushed, since I hadn’t actually made the choice to jump. With a gasp, I rolled over and crawled up to Kayla.

“My clothes … choking … help me.” Pulling out the scissors I’d brought along as a weapon, I cut Kayla free of her clothes. I’d already guessed this wasn’t a heart attack, but my suspicions were confirmed when her eyes were wide with fear and pain and something else, something that made them go impossibly round as her nose seemed to shrink in her face.

I didn’t have time to watch, because I had to slice through my own shirt and pants. A moment later, I felt the twist and pop of bones rearranging, the slide of fur over my skin.

When I looked up, I saw that winter had returned to the land.

The Grey Sisters had released my wolf. My lapdogs had each grown to the size of small ponies, and whatever had remained of dog in them seemed to have vanished. But when I looked around for Kayla, all I could see was a little barred owl, hooting softly, as if in astonishment, at all the sudden changes.

I still had the moonstone around my neck, and maybe that was why, for the first time since I’d become a lycanthrope, I could think ahead to what I was planning to do. With the moon a shade less than full, I was also not completely wolf, although this time, the difference seemed to be mostly psychological.

As Kayla flew soundlessly with low, heavy beats of her wings, I raced with my pack across the cornfield toward the opening of the cavern. She was a silent flier, and I could tell she was more than a little pleased with herself. The wolfdogs were excited as well. This felt like a chase, and they were wild now and lived for the chase.

The tall summer corn had vanished, and I was relieved to feel snow under my padded feet, and reassured beyond words by the presence of the moon. A little of my reality had returned, although I could feel the presence of the misty boundary.

I wished I had a sense of how long it had been since we’d eaten the cookie and drunk the wine. It felt like hours, but that didn’t mean it really had taken that long. For all I knew, Magda and the others might be still biding their time, waiting for us to create a diversion. Or maybe the fighting was over, and they were all dead.

As I spotted the mouth of the cavern, I paused, listening as Kayla lighted down by my feet.

“What do we do,” she said, except that it sounded like the hooting of a barred owl. It was easier to understand than Screech Owl, at any rate. Wolves understand most owls and ravens, but screech is a pretty strange dialect. “What do we do,” Kayla repeated. Or maybe she was saying something else entirely; the truth was, I’ve never been very good at languages. The wolfdogs were walking cautiously around the mouth of the cavern, sniffing it and leaping back, as though it could bite them.

I whined, telling Kayla that we needed to figure out what was going on before we stormed in. But in the end, coward though I was, I realized we were going to have to just make our way cautiously into the entrance.

Like a lot of caverns, the opening of this one was deceptively small. It appeared to be a narrow hole, barely even a cave, and it was easier going in on four legs than it would have been on two. For a few feet, it was claustrophobic, and then the walls and the ceiling opened up and we were in a huge natural amphitheater. It was dark, but owls and wolves have excellent night vision, so that wasn’t a problem. The ceiling of the cavern was an inverted cathedral of stalactite spires and steeples, and they would have been pretty if they hadn’t looked so much like spears aiming down at our heads. Kayla hopped onto my back and I started to pad across the smooth, slippery stone surface, sniffing the cool stone scent that permeated the place. The wolfdogs followed more hesitantly, Baby and Bon Bon daintily picking up their paws on the slick stone, while Shep and Hudson moved more deliberately ahead.

There was a faint breeze in the cavern, and I sniffed again: Beneath the minerals were other, familiar odors. Magda, Hunter, the brothers. Red.

“You’re too late, Doc.” I turned, and Red was walking up out of the deeper recesses of the cavern. I moved
toward that beloved voice in a low crouch, my ears pressed flat against my skull, my tail wagging in the low, submissive circle that is canid for
I adore you
.

Except that all that came out was whimpering and puppy eyes, as is so often the case, even when the guilty party walks on two legs. He had a wistful look on his face, and he was wearing old jeans and a soft leather jacket that clung to his lean form, and I felt I had to smell him, really smell him, so I stuck my muzzle into his face and breathed him in, all the clean, kind, goodness of him, the animal scents that told me where he’d been, the level of stress in his sweat.

Red reached up and gently pushed my head away. Something was making him very tense. I shoved my muzzle closer, wanting to read him some more. “That’s enough, girl,” he said, and there was a note of steel in his voice I hadn’t heard before.

He was still angry with me.

Kayla hooted again, and hopped onto Red’s arm. He looked at her, his solemn expression cracking into a smile for a moment.

“Good lord,” he said, “what happened to you?”

Kayla ruffled her head feathers and turned her head nearly 360 degrees to look at me.

I gave a low woof, the best I could do under the circumstances. I was relieved to see that Red looked unharmed; after hearing Bruin was using him as a punching bag, I’d been braced for the worst.

“And I see you’ve got some new friends, too.” Red nodded to the gigantic wolfdogs, and they looked on in curiosity as Red put his hand out onto the ruff of fur at my neck. “I guess we’ll save the big speeches for later,” he said, and I felt such a wave of relief and love that I wanted to roll over and over, the dog pantomime that said, if happiness were a scent, I’d be covered in it.

But Red’s hand held me in place, moving to the scruff
of my neck. And then he did something so unexpected that I had to fight the urge to shy away.

He pulled the belt out of his jeans. Seeing my reaction, he gave a dry chuckle. “Aw, you know me better than that,” he said. Then he looped his belt through my necklace as though it were a collar, and led me deeper into the recesses of the cavern as though I were a dog.

Or a prisoner.

When Red had showed me the cave last fall, he hadn’t taken me all the way into the room people called the Chapel, because I hadn’t liked being so far underground. But as we walked along the subterranean river formed by the dripping stalactites, I knew that was where we were headed.

What I hadn’t been expecting was light. As the path sloped steeply downward, there were torches planted along the path, but they glowed a phosphorescent green. I thought of Malachy for a moment, and Red glanced at me as though he could read my mind.

And then we reached the Chapel. It was a large, bowl-shaped room, with stones that seemed to have been carved into seats. The torches illuminated this room so that I could see a stone that looked like a face hanging over a large slab of rock that looked like an altar. The face was the kind of thing people always claim looks like Jesus. It didn’t look like Jesus to me.

“Well, well, look who’s come to join the party,” said a short, muscular, sloe-eyed boy lounging on a rock. If I hadn’t been wearing the moonstone, I might not have realized that this was Rocky. He had a clever, predatory face and thick, bristly hair that looked as though it had gone prematurely gray. He was playing with Red’s silver switchblade, flipping it open and shut with a mischievous smile. On second thought, maybe I
would
have guessed that he was Rocky.

It would have been harder for me to identify the lovely young woman with the straight, proud nose and shoulder-length auburn hair artfully falling over one eye. As I watched, she lifted her chin and arched her back, as if showing off the scoop-necked black dress she was wearing. Which was mine. She’d gone into my clothing, goddamnit.

I would have figured out how she felt about Red, since she made no effort to hide it, tracking his every movement and giving me dirty looks. I curled my lip at her, and Red gave a sharp tug on my leash.

I hated to repeat something Hunter had said to Magda, but we were really going to have to discuss my role in this relationship.

And speaking of Hunter, where was he? I caught the scent and sniffed, straining at the leash as I realized that he and Magda and her brothers were tied up and gagged in a corner of the room. Unlike me, they hadn’t shifted; maybe they’d been too close to the manitous when the moon had reappeared. Or maybe they’d been distracted by the fighting.

As far as I could figure, you had to tend your reality like a lawn around these guys, or else they would take over like a bunch of dandelions.

There was no trace of Emmet anywhere in the Chapel. Of course, he smelled kind of like wet stone himself, so it was hard to be sure.

“I still don’t understand what you ever saw in her,” said the auburn-haired woman, glaring at me. “And who’s that new slut on your arm?” she added, pointing at Kayla. “She doesn’t even know how to tuck her wings properly.”

Kayla hooted at her and adjusted her wings so they fit more smoothly at her sides.

“Just lay off it, would you?” Red brushed past the woman, who reached out and tugged at my tail. I turned
and snapped at her, and Red tugged my leash, hard. “You leave her alone, too,” he told me. I felt crushed.

Then I heard a low, rasping growl that was almost a laugh, and saw a great, honey gold bear standing at the entrance on two legs. Bruin. He landed heavily on all fours and as he lumbered in, I saw that Lilliana was walking by his side.

She was wearing a pair of men’s jeans and a button-down collared shirt two sizes too large for her slender frame. Her hair, normally worn in a sleek French twist, was frizzing a little at her temples, but she still looked as regal and composed as an ancient Egyptian queen, not like my image of a hostage. She met my eyes for a moment, a cool, level look that I could not quite read, and I reminded myself not to go by appearances. She might not be on my side anymore.

Bruin looked at me, grunted, and gave a little shrug, and his bear skin slid off, revealing his human form. Unlike lycanthropes, he wasn’t naked after the change, which I thought was a real advantage. Running a hand through his thick, golden brown hair, Bruin crouched down beside me, putting my nose level with his calf-high moccasins.

“Your woman, she is persistent,” said Bruin.

“She ain’t my woman.” Red looked at me with what I thought might be sadness. “But she is a fighter.”

“It seems a shame, my friend,” said Bruin. “After all you sacrificed to get her back, too.” His smile was unpleasant. “Agreeing to trade your own long life for a measly mortal span of years, throwing away your position and power—and all for a woman who does not remain faithful.
Quelle dommage
.”

“Knock it off,” said Red, clearly annoyed. “You don’t need to grandstand.”

“But I think it’s amusing. She doesn’t even know what
you’ve gambled and lost, does she? You didn’t want to influence her decision.”

“Just shut it,” said Red. I had never seen him so angry. But underneath, there was something else; embarrassment, I thought. Maybe even shame. I was beginning to get an idea why; clearly, Red had never been Bruin’s prisoner. He had tricked me, that much was clear. What I didn’t understand was the reason why.

“Bruin,” said Lilliana, touching him gently on the arm. “There’s no need for all this,” she said, and her voice was a balm, soothing and soft.

“I would think your friend might want to know why Coyote decided to betray the town, after all.” Walking over to me, Bruin crouched on the ground beside me. “You do want to know, don’t you? Because it is curious, after all Coyote did to negotiate for your town, why he handed everything over.”

“I’m not Coyote,” said Red, just as he had told Magda so many times. He was a red wolf, and it drove him crazy when people confused him with a coyote.

Bruin frowned, then nodded in acknowledgment. “Not anymore.” Eyes slitted, Bruin reached out and grabbed me by the muzzle, pinning my jaw shut. “You know what he traded for you that day? What he gave up so he could find you and take you to safety?” Bruin gave my head a shake. “Do you have any idea?”

“Let her go,” said Red, sounding more tired than angry.

“Bruin, please.” Lilliana’s voice was pitched so low I had to angle my ears forward to hear it better.

Bruin looked over his shoulder at her, and this time, the anger in his voice was tinged with anguish. “He is—he was—Coyote. Of all of us, he has always been the one to walk easily between our worlds. Because he is a Trickster,
tu comprends?
He has no way of his own, so he can borrow any way he likes. And unlike the rest of
us, he can die and be born again and again. But what he does not have, cherie, is an immortal soul.” Bruin’s hand squeezed my muzzle, hurting me. But his words were hurting worse. “He sacrificed that existence for you. Because he thought you loved him truly. And if you mated with him, pledging yourself completely and remaining faithful, you would have given him the protection of your soul. You would not have lost your soul, but a piece of it, a fraction of it, would have grown to become his soul.”