Anthony Francis - Frost Moon

She rolled over again, looking up at me at an angle. "Yah," she said. "I won't lie to ya."

"Then you know I'm in a world of shit," I said. "It isn't safe for you to be around me right now-"

"You just wants to get rid of me," she said, sniffing. "Oh, boo hoo-"

But she really did sound wounded. "I do not-" I began.

"You were happy to ditch me last week," she countered.

"If you're going to cost me a hundred bucks a week-"

"Hey," she said. "I'm no bloodsucker. I still gots half that."

"Cinnamon," I said. "Go home. Stay safe until the full moon is-"

Then my blood ran cold.

"Cinnamon, aren't you about to change?" My eyes narrowed. She'd actually grown whiskers, huge catlike whiskers. I hadn't seen them before. "You are, aren't you?"

"MaaaayBE," she said petulantly. "Tomorrow night, day afta. I won't lie to ya-I gotta be back to the 'house by nightfall 'morrow to make lockdown."

"They lock you up?" I said. "That's horrible-"

"It's a service, not a sentence," she said. "This ain't the country. In the city if you can't control your beast, you die. At the 'house, they cages it, calms it down. You can even go on hunts, supervised like, if they gots a strong alpha on deck."

I just stared at her. It was such a different world.

"So anyway… I tolds 'em you were s'posed to take me today," she grinned, leaning back over the seat a little more to look me in the eye. "You gonna rat me again, you big were-fink?"

"No," I said, rubbing my brow. "Actually, wasn't I supposed to take you today?"

"Next Friday," she said. "But they don'ts needs to know."

"No, the last thing I want is to get you in trouble," I said. "But I don'ts supposes-I don't suppose there's any chance of you going back for your own safety?"

"With like twenty hours freedom?" she said, rolling her eyes. "You just wants me gone."

"No," I snapped, "But neither do I want you shot."

"But I'm bulletproof," she countered.

"And I'm busy," I replied. "I've got to get ready to do Wulfs tattoo-"

"I wants to see that," she said, turning round in the seat to face me over her folded arms. "I bets you're a hell of a lot nicer on your canvases than the fag. When are you gonna do it?"

"Tomorrow, I hope," I said.

"You gots a hope?" she replied. "Why you gots a hope and not a time?"

"I can't find him," I said. "Spleen… Spleen is dead, Cinnamon."

"The little weasel?" she said. "No! Was it Trans-"

"He was mauled," I said. "Like by an animal."

Cinnamon sat there frozen. "It wasn't me! I liked the weasel!"

"I didn't think it was you," I responded. "I think Philip suspects Wulf."

"Do you?" she said, looking at me coolly. "Just because he's a were?"

I suddenly realized that I had just shifted in the conversationfrom her 'in' group to her 'out' group. "No," I said, disgusted. "He had means and opportunity, but where's the motive? Spleen was his contact. And I got him on the phone, so obviously he hasn't already turned."

"Okay then," she said, still wary. "So what's the holdup?"

"He won't return my calls," I said. "He's chickened out, says he wants to 'protect' me."

"Maybe he is," she said. "Maybe he did gut Spleen and wants to keep you out of it-"

"Or maybe he's just a pussy," I said, and her eyebrows shot up. "I get this all the time from people who book an appointment with me. 'I've decided it's too dangerous.' Or, 'It's too expensive.' Or, 'I remembered an appointment.' There's a thousand excuses and only one translation: He may have gotten cold feet. He's scared to sit in my chair."

"Ya thinks?" she said, grinning.

"Either that or he thinks he'll eat me alive," I replied. "Regardless, he called from a payphone and won't pick up when I call back. And my so-called boooyfriend was no help either-Wulf bailed out of his lair. Neither of us can find him. If he doesn't call me-I'm shit out of luck."

Cinnamon suddenly yawned and stretched, then sat sideways in her seat so her head rested on the glass, feet kicking out over the end of the double bench. She inspected her claws lazily, and said: "If only you knew someone who was, like, the bestest at tracking people."

For one brief moment I wondered about the wisdom of involving a minor in this horrible mess-and then I told myself: hey, At least she's bulletproof.

"So, Cinnamon," I said, leaning back so my head mirrored hers. "Wanna go for a ride?"

"This is a bad fucking idea," I said, having severe second thoughts as I pulled at the grimy door to the stairwell leading to the lower levels. "Why'd I let you talk me into this?"

"Don't lie, you were gonna ask," Cinnamon countered. "I just spat it first."

Going back to the Krog tunnel in the darkness had given me the shakes-I kept imagining Transomnia or werewolves or whatevers were going to jump out at us at every moment. But Cinnamon just swaggered through, all the way from the well at Wylie down through the sewer tunnels, tail switching, long, clawed hands at the ready. But when I pried open the door to the stairwell, even she quailed.

"Wheeew-stinks, I won't lie to ya," she said, turning her head, though for me the garbage we'd just crawled over coming out of the well had smelled ten times worse. "Rot and rats and weres and… vamps and… other things." She stared back into the darkness, and then looked at me. Her irises had widened to huge, eerie ovals, making her seem alien-but her voice was still Cinnamon. "Not too late to find out you're a were-chicken, is it?"

"And you?"

"I'm a weretiger," she said proudly. "I soaks bullets up like sugah. Not scared of nuthin. But if you chicken out, naturally I'd go with ya- like, to protect you, o'course."

"O'course," I said, turning on my Brinkman five-cell. "Lets-"

She reached out with her impossibly long, clawed fingers and snapped the flashlight off. "Save the bats on your club," she said. "Your eyes will adjust. Just stay behind me, K?"

"K," I said in resignation, following her down into the dark.

In the blackness, the journey down the stairwell was even scarier than it had been with Spleen and his yellow fluorescent. The cinderblock shaft faded into the darkness until it was just a rough presence around us, a grimy touch that occasionally brushed my shoulder as I bumped down the narrow switchbacks.

"For the love, keep quiet," she hissed. "Clumping like a cow."

I pulled out my cell phone and thumbed the screen twice, creating a ghostly nightlight that gave me enough to see the floor. She was right, my eyes were adjusting, but there was just no light at all here for me to pick up. Finally we got to the bottom of the stairs and exited into the wider, vaulted tunnel where Spleen had first taken me to see Wulf.

"Great," Cinnamon said sarcastically. "Doesn't think to mention I'll hafta track through water. By the way, could you tattoo my name on my pet jellyfish? Thanks."

"Don't think so," I said, shining the light around. "They only have one outer cell layer."

"Zactly," she said.

I stared at her. "That's pretty smart for an illiterate uneducated werecat."

"One of the house weres is a librarian," she said. "She's been sneaking me audiobooks."

"Fast," I said.

"Whatever. You looking for that?"

She pointed, and I turned to see the boat. "Yes. We'll take it to the landing where I last saw Wulf-and then you take over."

"Okay, DaKOta," she said, in the same singsong voice, but quieter than normal. She kept looking around the tunnel abruptly, twitching her nose and tail, as if she was hearing things. When I asked, she shrugged it off. "Just night noises. Fuck! Let's get this over with."

We boarded the boat, and I rowed us awkwardly out into the tunnels. I'd forgotten how much a maze they were. We had to go through at least half a dozen turns, each tunnel getting smaller and narrower and older. Glowing phosphorescent mold curved over the walls, and occasional runes provided weak light, but it was very difficult to see. Every once in a while a surge of air washed back over us, confusing Cinnamon's nose until she admitted she was completely turned around. I was growing more and more confused myself-my memory of the waymarks Spleen had used grew fuzzier until I started to fear we were lost.