Connie Hall - The Guardian

“Sorry, I, uh— What happened to him?” Brower pointed a beefy finger at Joe.

Fala stood up. “He had a run-in with a wild dog.”

Brower’s forehead wrinkled on his bulldog face. “That was no freakin’ wild dog, Fala. Good God, if you could see what it did…” His words trailed off as if he were remembering the attack. He glanced down at the dark urine spot on his pants. He grew self-conscious and turned sideways out of Fala’s direct view.

“I saw.” Fala heard the sirens surround the building. “The cavalry has arrived. You’ve got to get yourself together.”

“I’m trying.” He gripped his fists to make them stop shaking.

“The captain is going to be down our throats for letting an animal overtake the station.”

“What could we do?” Brower shrugged his tree-trunk-size shoulders. “It took us by surprise. Bullets didn’t stop it.”

“Save that one for Internal Affairs and the tabloids.”

Brower shook his square head like a lost bull. “You’re right. No one will ever believe that story. But that thing, that god-awful thing.” His face twisted. “It tore people apart. I just let that thing back me into a corner. If you hadn’t lured it away from me…” His voice broke with self-recrimination.

Fala couldn’t help but feel pity for him. A full frontal with a demon wolf would give anyone nightmares for years. She knew from experience. She’d faced her first one at twelve and had bite marks on her right thigh to prove it. “You were traumatized,” she said. “No one saw what happened in there but you and me. Let’s stick to the story of a rabid animal.”

“I don’t know.” He rubbed his wide forehead with indecision.

She could tell him the truth that the werewolf was an evil sorcerer who was trying to kill her before she became the Guardian. Nope, that would blow his mind. And she couldn’t trust anyone with the truth about being a shape-shifter. Heck, it would be easier just to erase his memory of Tumseneha’s attack. It wouldn’t be the first human memory she’d erased.

She reached over and touched his beefy shoulder. Power flowed down her arm and into him. She watched as the look in his eyes turned blank and she spoke in a low hypnotizing tone, “Listen to me, Brower. It was a pack of pit bulls that attacked the station. Strays roam the city all the time. Now what was it?”

“Pit bulls,” he answered in a vacant, parroted tone.

Fala dropped her arm and knew she’d have to wipe away the memories of the SWAT team guys and anyone else still alive. Mortals tended to think along concrete references, a small little world of their own making. If they only knew what powers awaited their discovery in the metaphysical world, it would knock them on their asses. Better they remain in the dark. Brower would still have nightmares about it, like Joe. Nothing she could do about that. But at least they could wake up and realize they were only bad dreams. And Freud thought the libido controlled humans’ dreams. A lot he knew.

Joe moaned, finally stirring.

Fala heard frantic voices coming from behind the door. She envisioned the faces of the rescue squad workers and a battalion of cops as they found Processing.

“Look, take care of Joe.” She turned and ran down the stairs.

“Where are you going? Don’t leave me here alone.” He sounded like a child who’d just had his nightlight turned off.

Fala almost smiled. “I’ll be back.”

She ran down the stairs, wondering at her last statement. If Tumseneha was lying in wait for her, she might not come back. But she couldn’t risk anyone else getting hurt because of her. What had happened to the SWAT team? She couldn’t hear the gunfire outside.

Her cell phone rang. She continued down the stairs and pulled it from her pocket. Urgent flashed on the caller ID. Must be Winter. Great. The last person she wanted to talk to. More than likely he called to grill her on what had happened at the station. Why did she sense he knew more about her than he had let on? And why had her insides somersaulted around him? Men didn’t do that to her—none had made her body tingle like he had. Definitely someone to keep at arm’s length. She caught sight of a text message that flashed, Answer your phone. Urgent.

She slapped the phone closed and slid it into her pocket as she reached the exit door.

She stepped outside and grew aware of the stark emptiness of the alley, the tight air breathing down her neck. The sky was changing, black melting into purple, hints of morning sun burning away the night. The row buildings on all sides blocked her view of the moon, yet she felt the pull of it still there, grasping at its last few moments of power, losing the eternal war with the sun.

She glanced past the Dumpsters, toward a security light still humming at the back of Burney’s. Many of her coworkers’ birthday parties had been thrown at the bar. Fala had lost count of the rounds of beer she and Joe had bought each other there. Its dim swatch of light hardly pierced the alley’s darkness, but it afforded enough glow to scan the immediate shadows as she advanced slowly down the alley.

The trail Tumseneha had left stirred every nerve and flashed neon warnings to be careful. Was it a former trail, or a more recent one? Was Tumseneha lurking, waiting? She didn’t dare believe he’d given up so easily. She slowed her stride, eyes darting at every shadow.

Suddenly a hand snaked out from beside a Dumpster and clamped over her mouth, another around her waist. Before she could react, her back hit a solid chest. The flash of familiar silver eyes burned in her retinas.

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