Faith Hunter - Blood Cross

The tree I’d stood on to wait for the young rogue had been left in place, a convenient seat, though its branches had been cut away, leaving only piles of sawdust and the mixed smells of many humans in their tangled stead. I liked the spot and I set the steaks on the bent arch of tree, removed my weapons. And my new butt-stomper boots. Folded my clothes over the trunk.

Standing barefooted on the loamy ground, I breathed deeply, centering myself. Taking in the park and the dense, ancient trees. The scents came alive, small animal smells, individual tree scents, the tang of something blooming and oily. The sounds became a racket now that I listened: shush, slither, slide, tap, and patter of animal movements. The nearly soundless flutter of owl wings. The sounds of man faded into the background, the gift of the forest’s peace sliding under my skin.

I needed to shift. Needed senses that I didn’t have in human form. I needed Beast’s night vision, her acute hearing, her keen sense of smell, because, like the sites around Sabina’s chapel, there would be more than one grave site in this forest, and I had found only one. It meant leaving behind weapons I could wield only in human form, like guns and knives, but the trade-off would be worth it.

Holding the fetish necklace, I sat on the tree and closed my eyes, letting the forest soothe me. It wasn’t my forest, but it was still earth, living things with roots pushing deep, soil rich and fecund with years and seasons and the power of the moon, animals to inhabit it. I was so tired and woozy from lack of sleep, I felt as if the ground were tilted beneath me. But Beast had slept more than I, and I’d be refreshed as soon as I shifted.

Beast rose into my eyes, pressed against my flesh. It was the full moon and she was ready to hunt. To kill. To be Big Cat.

When I was centered, my beast close to the surface, our minds mingling and twining like our souls, reveling in the coolness, I checked the zippered leather bag and made sure my stakes, derringer, cell, and lightweight clothes were there. This time, instead of hanging it on my neck, I tucked it into the larger zippered bag, and added my vamp-killers, several more stakes, and a vial of holy water to it. Pushed the GPS device and the velvet bag containing the sliver of the Blood Cross into pouches. When I closed the satchel, I was doubly careful to make certain that it would stay closed, keeping my treasures safe.

I had never hunted with such a large bag on my Beast back, and wasn’t sure how this was going to work. But I hadn’t ever fought three sane witch/vamps either, and I needed all the help I could get if I found them and was forced to act alone. I adjusted the bag, the gold nugget necklace, and the new silver chain with the rune around my neck. This could get awkward. I had a mental image of Beast tripping over the bag strap and going for a tumble.

Beast snarled, miffed that I’d think she would be so clumsy.

My bare bottom on the rough bark, my feet shoved into the damp soil, I gripped the gold nugget, holding it firmly, thinking of the rocks in the garden of the freebie house. Thinking of Beast.

I held the necklace and closed my eyes. Relaxed. Listened to the wind, the pull of the full moon, high above me. I listened to the beat of my own heart. Beast rose in me, silent, predatory. Crouched, claws out, eyes staring at the world.

I slowed the functions of my body, slowed my heart rate, let my blood pressure drop, my muscles relax, as if I were going to sleep. I lay forward on the tree, breasts and belly scraping on the rough bark in the humid air.

Mind slowing, I sank deep inside, my consciousness falling away, all but the purpose of this hunt. That purpose I set into the lining of my skin, into the deepest parts of my brain, so I wouldn’t lose it when I shifted , when I changed .

Kits. Find the kits. Keep them alive.

I dropped lower, deeper, into the darkness inside where ancient, nebulous memories swirled in a gray world of shadow, blood, uncertainty. I heard the memory of a distant drum, smelled herbed wood smoke, and the night wind on my skin seemed to cool and freshen and whirl about me. As I dropped deeper, memories began to firm, memories that, at all other times, were half forgotten, both mine and Beast’s.

As I had been taught so long ago by my father, by Edoda, I sought the inner snake lying inside the bones and teeth of the necklace, the coiled, curled snake, deep in the cells, in the remains of the marrow.

Vaguely, I thought it felt easier since I went to sweat, and went to water. Much easier to find the snake, even at a distance from my mountains and my natural hunting ground. The snake opened before me, thousands, millions, all alike, caught in the cells of the fetish necklace.

I took up the snake that rests in the depths of all beasts and I dropped within it, like water flowing in a stream. Like snow rolling down a mountainside. Grayness enveloped me, sparkling and cold; the world fell away. And I was in the gray place of the change.

My breathing deepened. Heart rate sped up. My bones . . . slid. Skin rippled. Fur, tawny and gray, brown and tipped with black, sprouted. Pain, like a knife, slid between muscle and bone. My nostrils widened, drawing deep.

Jane was gone. I hunched on downed tree of former hunt. Found balance. Night came alive—wonderful, new scents, heavy on air, thick and turning, like Jane dancing to drums and music. Soil, birds, prey smells, trees—many more-than-five trees—but forest was still small; not like my hunting ground in mountains. Only tiny patch of hunting ground here. Too close, I smelled humans. Rabbit. Opossum. Mold. Blood . I panted. Listened to sounds—cars not too distant, music closer, voices talking, muffled.

Gathered limbs beneath, lithe and lissome —always remembered her words for me. Good words. I liked.

No ugly man-made light here, no shadow-stung vision. Clear night and moon, bright. More stars above than at her den. Good place to become Beast. I stretched. Front legs and chest. Pulling back legs, spine, belly. Delicately, with killing teeth, lifted necklace she dropped. Fetish. Bones of a big cat. Set fetish on her clothes.

Hopped from tree. Landed, four-footed, stable. Studied forest in night. No predators. No thieves-of-meat. Sniffed food. Hack of disgust. Always old meat. Dead prey. Long-cooled blood . Tip of tail twitched, wanting chase. To taste hot blood. But stomach rumbled. Always so, after change. Hunger . She left this, an offering to appease Big Cat.

I ate. Long canines tearing into dead meat. Filled stomach. Cold food did not satisfy need to hunt, but more important things now than deer or rabbit, more important than blood and killing joy. Hunt kits. Save kits. Kill vampires. I ate for strength. For speed. For killing. Afterward, licked blood from whiskers and face. New pack and gold and silver chains in way, but . . . needed things. Her things.

Hunt , she called. Hunt for kits.

Delicate nostril membranes fluttering, expanding, relaxing. Many new smells, some with value, some without. Most important . . . smell of witches and vampire on the wind. Raised nose to dancing wind. Opened mouth. Long screee of sound, pulling scents in. Sought place of vampire smell.

Long moments later found trail of wind, of scent. Padded through trees, into small forest. Soil was damp and rich with living things. Birds called in small forest. Padded, silent, following scent of magics and vampire. Jane had come this way before. I found path that wasn’t, winding between trees.

Smells grew stronger, humans and vampire and magic. Good smells for hunt. Good prey. Light in trees ahead. Felt thumps in earth, vibration, sound. Like heartbeats, but not. Hunched low, I cat-pawed closer, back paw into place of front paw. Saw through trees. Same place young rogue rose.