Rick screamed again, the sound ululating, his limbs twisting and stomach muscles rippling. He panted through it, repeating, “Please, please, please, please,” begging for help, for surcease from pain. Big Evan’s face softened and his lips tightened, as if he were fighting with himself, unwilling compassion against anger and flint-hard judgment. The witch pursed his lips and said something under his breath. But he went to work.
He took two cases from the twins and shouldered the men out of the way. He knelt at Rick’s side and opened them on the ground, revealing wind instruments, which he studied carefully. Big Evan lifted a wooden flute out of one case, sat on the ground near Rick, and started to play. He was an air witch, his power traveling through air as sound. The mellow notes filled the clearing, magic in the melody. Instantly, Rick’s spasms eased. He curled into a fetal position, gasping. Moments later, Rick relaxed into a limp mass.
One twin opened out a fleece blanket and covered Rick. Another twin placed more deadwood on the fire, which crackled and sent sparks high into the air. Evan played on.
At the melody, even Kemnebi relaxed, the were-cat staring at me, hatred on his face. I grinned at him, tapping my gun with a forefinger as a reminder.
The twins opened chairs for themselves and their master, and produced a picnic and several bottles of wine, as if they had come for a show. Not that I could complain. They had gotten me here, and then picked up Big Evan. Maybe even convinced him to come.
Grégoire passed me a glass of wine. Confused, I took it and followed his pointing finger to Rick. Ah. Not for me. I held the delicate, crystal wineglass to his lips. Rick drank, sighed again, and closed his eyes. The night passed slowly after that. I left Rick’s side only to relieve myself deep in the woods and—because I was feeling guilty—to cut the round out of Kemnebi’s knee. I had aimed just above the joint, and was able to palpate the flattened round easily. It had formed a pustule on the inner side of his thigh, which made the butchery disguised as surgery easy. I used steel instead of a silvered blade to cut him—I was feeling magnanimous. Kem screamed long and loud, drawing out the note, the sound half cat, half human, and if the sign of his pain gave me pleasure, I kept it off my face. For the first time in my life, I felt entirely inhuman. And yet Beast was gone. I was totally alone.
I tucked the bloody silver round in my pocket and removed the silver cuff. Under the force of the full moon, Kem shifted instantly, gray energies playing over his form as he sprouted black fur. His bones snapped like dry sticks and reformed as his body shifted, able to heal the silver poisoning now that the round was gone. I clicked the cuff around his back leg the moment he was fully cat and before he could gather himself to bound away. The were-cat was not getting out of my sight. He wasn’t hunting either. He’d go hungry. I leaped away.
Golden-green eyes stared at me across the dark. Kem-cat growled, showing his teeth, promising my death. “Get in line,” I said, turning away from him. I took Rick’s hand again, his flesh
Evan’s large fingers were strangely delicate on the flute, moving with a syncopated, almost disorganized beat, but one that was organic and melting, with his lips relaxed on the mouthpiece. The music continued with only short breaks for Evan to drink and rest, the tones low and melting, limpid and crystalline and somber. After long hours, when dawn was near, I felt the magic of the notes change, smelled them shift into something tart and spicy. No longer a calming sound, the mournful melody altered and sped, and I realized that Big Evan was attempting something beyond simply stopping Rick’s pain. His eyes were on the mound beneath the blanket, and Rick rolled over, focusing on Evan. The two men held gazes as if they were newly met combatants assessing one another’s strengths and weaknesses.
Rick sat up, the blanket falling away to bunch in his lap. His chest and arm muscles were harshly defined in the shadows; his black hair had dried in the passing hours, standing stiff; his beard had grown out, rough and scruffy. And he was still the most beautiful man I had ever met. He pulled his hand from mine and my palm felt the chill, deprived of his heat.
The music stopped. Evan set the flute in his lap and said, “I think I’ve got a handle on the spell woven into your skin. I may have figured out how to craft a counter-spell melody for it. It won’t stop the pain or the moon-call, but it might keep both to manageable levels. If it works, I can make a CD and you can load it in a player and keep it with you. You’ll have to play it all night during full moons.”
“And if it doesn’t work?” Rick asked, his voice raspy from screaming.
“You might go insane tomorrow night.”
Rick chuckled, the sound conveying anger and self-loathing and resignation. “Well, what’s not to like in that scenario? Go for it,” he said. I lifted a hand to stop him, but Big Evan put the flute to his lips and began to play. The notes were haunting and trilling, rising and falling through the scales, part gypsy, part western Indian—Hopi maybe—part tribal African, part Middle Eastern. Rick’s eyes started to glow, a pale amber light. The notes warbled. Rick growled. A bi
Chill bumps rose along my legs and arms. Rick looked at me and pulled his lips back, exposing human teeth, but the gesture was pure cat. His eyes glowed golden, the gold orbs on his shoulder grew bright. The music dropped low, and the growl tapered off, disappearing entirely. Rick’s eyes returned to his Frenchy-black.
The magic of the song danced along my skin like the fingers of a lover, the touch featherlight, delicate as falling rose petals, but electric and full of power. Somewhere deep inside me, I felt movement, the faint click of claws on stone. An uneasy sound. I eased away from Rick. The song played on, but I didn’t feel Beast again.
An hour later, the melody came to a close and Rick smiled at Big Evan. Both men looked exhausted and drowsy and oddly content. “Thank you,” Rick breathed.
“Don’t thank me,” Evan said. “Thank your fanghead here. He offered me a year’s wages if I found a counter-spell for your tats. My kids now have a college fund.”
I turned my head slowly and found Grégoire’s eyes on me. His blue gaze held the memory of my healing. Memory of the time in bed with me. Memory of . . . His lips curled up, his boyish face transforming into something like pure joy. Oh. Crap. “I can’t be bought,” I said steadily, challenging.
“I did not think that you could, mon coeur.”
Rick looked back and forth between us. “Did I miss something?” I didn’t answer.
“It is nearly sunrise,” Grégoire said, his eyes on me still.
The twins started packing up their cases, Big Evan lumbered to his feet, all the grace in his melody and his fingers gone. Grégoire, lounging in his chair, still watched me, I could feel his gaze though I kept my eyes on Rick’s catlike beauty. “I’ll help you get dressed.”
I walked Rick through the dark to the tent site in the campground, Kem at my side, stalking on the leash. The cat tried to scratch me once and to get away twice, but the leash and the rattling of his silver cuff was enough to ensure good behavior. He might be near the top of the food chain in Africa, but in a lot of ways, he was more human than I was. Tonight had proven that to both of us.
At the campsite, I spotted the white wolf in his cage. I’d forgotten all about Fire Truck, and wondered if he had been the dog I’d heard howling. I jerked the lead on Kem-cat; the were turned slit eyes to me and hissed, I mimed shooting him and blew on the tip of my finger, to remind him who was in control. He sat down with a huff and started to groom his front paws. I hugged Rick to me, feeling the weariness in his body, a fine tremor thrumming though him. “Eat. Drink a lot of water.” I gave him the gun loaded with silvershot. “Shoot Kem-cat if he tries to eat you.” The cat ignored us both, which I thought was a good sign. “I’ll check on you tonight.”
“I’ll record the spell-song and send it to you later this morning.” I jerked around to see Big Evan standing in the moonlight behind me. I hadn’t heard him follow us. Hadn’t heard him at all. My surprise seemed to amuse him, or maybe he just wanted me to see his pearly whites. “Come on Yellowrock. The fanghead and his dinners are waiting for us.”
Silent, I hugged Rick and followed Big Evan up and down the trail—mostly up—to the new landing site. We made the bone rattling, noisy ride to Big Evan’s front yard where we touched down only long enough for him to jump free and lumber to his house. Molly and Angelina stood in the doorway, and I could make out Angie Baby’s lips move in the porch light. “I wanna ride in the helicopter with Aunt Jane!” I waved as we lifted off, hand against the smoked glass. I made it to my bed, alone, after dawn, and fell asleep, fully clothed, so tired my bones ached.
I woke an hour after sunset to the buzzing of my phone. It had been going off for quite a while, if the number of messages was anything to go by. Molly had called, so had Bruiser, Rick, Derek, and others. Shaddock’s blood-servant and lawyer Adelaide Mooney had left several messages and one succinct text: CALL ME.
Though business concerns were pending, I called Molly back first, asking about Evangelina.
“We’ve been trying to track her,” Mol said, her voice sounding tired and wan. “She’s got something hiding her, a spell or the blood-diamond. We don’t know. But we’re pulling out all the stops after the sun goes down. We’ll set a circle under the full moon and try to track her that way.”
“I’m sorry, Molly,” I said.
“Not your fault, Big-Cat. Not your fault at all.”
Uncomfortable, I floundered for a less painful topic and asked, “Did a check get delivered today?”
Mol chuckled, sounding relieved. “Yeah. A cashier’s check by way of a messenger service. And Big Evan told me you were responsible for it. Thank you.”
A half smile played over my mouth, and my mood lightened. “He gave me credit for something good? That’s a first.”
She laughed softly, “Yeah. It is. He’s been in his man-cave over the new garage all day, working on a music spell for Rick, working out specific notes, recording it, while my sisters and I work on finding Evangelina. Hmm?” she said, drawing her mouth from the phone. “Gotta go, Jane. We might have something.”
