John Levitt - Unleashed

Rolf stroked his dreadlocked beard, obviously impressed. “Let’s give them some privacy,” he said, moving off farther under the bridge. Cars rushed past on the bridge access ramp high overhead, sounding like far-off surf. The figure in the shadows followed us, coming closer, soundless and menacing. Rolf turned toward him, his aspect changing in an instant, revealing the gnarled and leathery troll-like persona that was always lurking right below the surface.

“No,” he said, in a thick guttural voice. “Not for you. Nor the other.” The figure drew back, disappointed.

“Who is that?” I asked. “Or maybe ‘what’ is a better question.”

“Vlad,” he said. “He’s almost all the way gone. Soon he’ll be too dangerous to be around, even for me.”

“Vlad? Is he Russian?”

“No.”

We turned and watched Sherwood and Richard Cory, deep in conversation. Several times, Sherwood nodded her head, and once she shook it, definitively. After a while, they stopped talking, and Richard Cory leaned forward, put his hands on either side of her face, and stared intently at her.

“Uh-oh,” Rolf said.

Lou appeared from the other side of the fire, circled around, and started creeping up behind them, moving one paw at a time, slowly, like a stalking cat. Sherwood reached up, gently took Richard’s hands from her face, and held them for a moment. Then she patted him on the shoulder and stood up, motioning to me. Rolf whistled, or he tried to. It sounded more like a horse with asthma.

“That’s quite a woman,” he said.

Rolf walked us to the gate and again made a bow to Sherwood, but this time it was very short and not at all mocking. Sherwood’s expression was grim.

“Did you learn anything?” I asked, as we walked back to the van.

“Quite a bit. More than I wanted to, actually. Richard Cory is an interesting… person.”

“Could you get a read on him?”

“Not really. He’s hardly human anymore, just like you said. There’s just enough left to be able to communicate with him. He’s not an evil person by any means, but he is spooky.”

“How about Rolf? Can he be trusted?”

“Depends on what you mean. He’s basically okay, but he has a different idea of right and wrong than we do, I think.”

“That much I’m aware of,” I said.

“Yes, I would think so.” Sherwood stopped for a moment, thinking. “I think the best way to put it is this: if he thought he could gain some personal advantage by pushing you into a raging river, I don’t think he’d do it. But if you fell in on your own, and that benefited him in some way, I’m not sure he’d try to pull you out, either.” That sounded about right.

“And Richard? What did he have to say?”

“It’s not good. You were right; there was another creature that came from the energy pool. And what it needs to survive is life force-it kills people and devours all their internal organs. Then it’s fine for a while, until it has to feed again.”

“Sounds like a bad horror movie.”

“It gets worse. It’s protean-the creature that attacked you is its natural form, but it can shift and imitate almost anything.”

“It’s got to have a tell,” I said. “I can’t see how anything like that could fool Lou.”

“Yes and no. If it copied someone you know, a friend, it wouldn’t be totally effective. It could fool you for a while, but you’d catch on sooner or later. And it wouldn’t fool Lou for a second. But when it kills someone, I think that’s a different matter. It absorbs their essence, somehow.”

“The brains.”

“The what?”

“The brains. It cracks open the head and sucks out the brain tissue, leaving an empty skull.”

Sherwood shuddered delicately.

“How delightful. But however it does it, it can then replicate its victim right down to the last detail. Appearance, memories, skills-in essence, it can become its victim. I doubt even Lou could see it wasn’t the original person.”

“So if it killed me and took my place, would it be able to play guitar?”

“Apparently. It might lack your creative spark, but it could play.”

“Could it use talent?”

“That he didn’t know, but it’s not unlikely. It is a magical creature itself, after all.”

“And Lou would never know the difference? That I don’t believe.”

“Well, that’s different. Lou’s almost part of you; there’s no way he wouldn’t figure it out the moment he saw you. But if it were me who was being copied? Or Victor or Eli? I’m not sure he could tell there was anything wrong.”

A sharp clatter from right behind us made us both jump and spin around. Talking about this had set our nerves on edge. A metal garbage can lid was lying on the sidewalk, knocked off a can next to a doorway. Lou had scented something he thought might be edible. He poked his head around from the back of the can with a sheepish expression and a slight tail wag that meant, “Oops, sorry.”

AFTER I DROPPED OFF SHERWOOD BACK AT VICTOR’S, I went home. But on the way back to my flat, I started thinking. If there was a shape-shifter out there, it was targeting not only random victims to keep itself going. It was also targeting those who might threaten it. Like Ruby. And me. And people who might be able to help track it down. Like Morgan.

That was why we’d warded her house, of course. And that was why we’d told her not to let anyone in that she didn’t know. But what about someone she did know? Or someone she thought she knew. Someone who looked like me, for example. Like a shape-shifter.

I made a U-turn and headed toward her house. Chances were she was fine, but I had a bad feeling. Warding her house was not enough; she was going to have to get out of town for a while. A nice return visit to her parents might be in order.

There were lights on at her house, so she was home. When I rang the bell, deep woofs came from the other side of the door. Beulah was standing guard, in her own ineffective way. But Morgan didn’t answer the door. I rang the bell again and knocked loudly. The woofs turned into whines. Maybe she was afraid to answer the door. Maybe she’d gone out for a moment to the store. Maybe she had been taking a nap and didn’t want to get up. And maybe it was something worse.

Lou was standing very still, never a good sign. I got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I didn’t bother trying the door to see if it was unlocked. Victor’s useful wards were great protection, but they’d keep me out as surely as they would anyone else. But I had warded the backyard, including where it touched the back door. I should be able to get in there.

As I edged my way to the back, along through the narrow gap that separated Morgan’s house from her neighbors, I hoped no one would see me and call the cops. That would be all I needed.

My own wards were solidly in place, but since I’d made them, it was no trouble to circumvent them and create a small opening by the gate. I slipped through into the garden, and looked up at the back deck. The door to the deck was open, making entrance easy. Beulah had come out onto the deck and was staring down at me. She saw me and started up whining piteously, bobbing her head up and down and throwing in an occasional bark. Worse and worse.

She backed away as I came up the back stairs but kept whining, wanting help but also afraid of me. I tried to pet her as I passed by, but she ducked under my hand and retreated into the house.

In the kitchen I found a plate with a half-eaten sandwich on it. The water in the sink was running. I turned it off, and when I called to Beulah again she screwed up her courage and crowded up against me as if I were now her best friend. “Morgan?” I called out. Nothing. Beulah bolted suddenly, running to the bottom of the stairs that led to the second floor, and then started barking again. Lou joined me at the bottom of the stairs, glanced up, then glanced back at me. He showed no fear, but no inclination to go upstairs, either.