Pyromantic Page 8

  “You could always take the floor,” I said, turning off my light and climbing in next to him.

  “Except you pitch a fit when I do that. I’ll probably end up there after you hit me a few times anyway.”

  “You know I have nightmares. And you snore.”

  “Nobody’s perfect, cupcake.” The bed creaked as he flipped onto his back. “And you snore, too. Like a congested buffalo sometimes.”

  I slapped his shoulder.

  “You’re so abusive,” he said, shoving me back. “Now get some sleep.”

  I stayed awake, listening to the night noises. Ezra yipped in his sleep a few times. Bianca muttered, and I thought I heard the thump of one of the hare’s feet. I lay there and waited, unsure if I was nervous that Lock might turn toward me and start something, or if I was really hoping he would. But of course, being Lock, he respected my space and went to sleep, just like he’d told me to do, and I wondered why I’d even considered that he’d do anything different. I listened to his breathing even out as he drifted deeper into sleep, and thought about how much I cherished that honesty and forthrightness and yet was kind of annoyed by it at the same time.

  Hey, I never claimed to make any sense.

  *

  WE MANAGED what could generously be referred to as a nap before all our phones started to go off. Bianca cursed, and in my haste to get up, I fell out of bed.

  “We would make terrible firefighters,” I said, peering out of my loft. “I’m too clumsy and the hose would knock you on your ass.”

  “Get up and get dressed or I’ll show you how I can handle a hose,” Bianca said as she sat up on the couch. Apparently Bianca didn’t wake up bright eyed and bushy tailed. I didn’t, either, so I couldn’t blame her. Ezra had changed back to human and was trying to navigate putting on trousers. His foot kept missing the hole. Sid and Veronica were already dressed and doing their best to persuade Olive to stay at the cabin. Cade, his hair sticking up and his pajama pants and T-shirt rumpled, was making coffee.

  “Olive, I would appreciate it if you stayed with me.” He adjusted his glasses so they sat more comfortably. “We can act as home base. To be honest, I need someone around who knows how to secure a location.” Olive looked torn. She wanted to go with Sid and Veronica, because she always wanted to go with them. That’s where the action was. If she stayed with Cade, there was less of a chance of that, but she would be in charge of his safety and, in her mind, in charge of a mission. She pushed her bangs out of her face with a small, tan hand. “Will you leave the Taser? I only have the blades I usually wear.”

  “No, I think we learned that lesson last time, but I will leave the collapsible baton,” Ikka said, pulling on her jacket.

  Olive scrunched up her face. “Are we still talking about that? He’s fine now.” She took the baton from Sid before studying Cade. “Will you make cookies?”

  Cade got out some travel mugs for us. “Might as well. It’s not like I’m going back to sleep anytime soon.”

  “Then your proposal is acceptable,” Olive said, slipping out to walk the perimeter.

  We were all dressed and out the door five minutes later. There were three hot spots that Alistair wanted us to check out, and he wouldn’t let any of us go alone. Bianca went with Sid, Ezra paired with Ikka, and I went with Lock. Alistair had sent only a few short sentences about what was going on.

  Lock and I were given the address farthest out, somewhere deeper inland than Currant. You know how sometimes farmers decide to raise alpacas or emus, or seemingly random creatures, even though they’re not quite in farm country? They buy a little plot of land, and if they’re responsible, they do their homework and learn about the animal they’re raising. If they’re irresponsible, they’re just in it for whatever cash might be available and don’t care too much about the animal they’re raising.

  When we pulled up to the house from the long, winding driveway and I saw the wooden fence accompanied by a secondary electric fence, that’s what I thought we were facing—hobby farmers. Emus, maybe turkeys, or I don’t know what. It wasn’t immediately clear what it had to do with Alistair and the Coterie. Maybe this was a family of sweet, nonhuman farmers that had been set upon by crazed weres or something. I thought of our earlier confrontation with Elias, and Alistair’s feeling that it was just the beginning, and prayed that we were facing something mundane. Or at least mundane for us. All I knew was that when we climbed out of the minivan and stood before the old Victorian farmhouse, the front door already stood open. When the nighttime breeze floated by, I smelled blood.

  The house was isolated, so we didn’t have to worry too much about neighbors seeing or hearing anything. That didn’t mean the neighbors were safe from whatever creature was about. The front mat told me this was the Jeffersons’ house, and I wiped my feet even though I didn’t think the Jeffersons were going to care about the state of their floors anytime soon.

  We made our way through the downstairs quietly. While it would have been nice to call out to the family to see if they were home and okay, we didn’t know if we were the only invaders or not. So for our own safety, we kept quiet.

  The Jeffersons’ house was well put together; clearly someone cared about appearances. The paint looked new, and the wood floors gleamed. A large white area rug protected the floor and the furniture was spotless, a quilt nicely folded on the back of the couch. Big sliding doors led out to a patio, a smaller entryway led off to what was probably the kitchen. Family photos graced the walls: Mr. Jefferson holding up his catch of the day from some fishing trip. Mrs. Jefferson rock climbing with her husband. And a girl I assumed was their daughter smiling and holding up a second-place 4-H ribbon in one hand while hugging a fat, lop-eared rabbit in the other. She looked like her mother—dirty-blond hair, bright green eyes, her skin a light tan. From the pictures, the Jeffersons looked like a normal, happy, middle-class family. Which made the blood spatter on the carpet between the sliding doors and the kitchen all the more worrying. I knew, though, that being normal and happy didn’t keep you safe from violence. Somehow that made it seem worse.

  I grabbed Lock’s sleeve and pulled him with me as I followed the drops into the country-style kitchen with gingham drapes, canisters with roosters on them, and bright yellow cabinets. Normally I’d have said it was a quite cheery kitchen. Except normally Mrs. Jefferson wouldn’t have been sprawled facedown on the floor in a pool of her own blood. Lock felt for a pulse, but I knew that wasn’t necessary. The smaller drops already looked tacky. She’d been here for a while. A blood-soaked towel was clasped in her hand. She’d probably been using it to staunch the wound, which was why we only found drops in the living room and not a more extensive blood pool.

  “What do you think did this?” I asked, burying my nose in my elbow. Mrs. Jefferson, through no fault of her own, didn’t smell very good.

  Lock turned her over gently. A ragged gash tore through her shirt and into her torso. I don’t think it took her very long to die. I could see a few spots of blood on her surprised face, one right below her chin like a beauty mark.

  “I don’t know. It doesn’t look clean, like from a blade. From the ragged edges and the direction, I would say she was mauled by some sort of animal.” I handed him a towel so he could wipe the blood off his hands. “She has a smell, too. Something beyond the normal death smell. It’s almost…” He shook his head. “I can’t place it. I wish we had Ezra with us.”

  “I don’t know what it is, either, but then, I’m working really hard to not smell stuff right now.”

  Lock stood up, his gaze back on the blood. “Well, we know she wasn’t attacked here. We’re going to have to follow her trail of bread crumbs.”

  I looped my arm through his. “You shouldn’t make Hansel and Gretel references. It reminds me of that one assignment we had at the gingerbread house.” Even so much time later, my stomach still lurched at the thought. “All the tiny bones.”

  Lock shuddered. “That witch had lost her mind. To this day I wa
nt to throw up when I smell burnt sugar.”

  We left the kitchen, letting ourselves out the sliding doors and onto a small patio. There was a modest yard and a rickety shed off to the left. At the edge of the grass, I could make out more of the fence I’d seen before, and what looked like a gate. Lock pulled a small Maglite out of his pocket, and we headed over to the fence. It didn’t take us long to determine that Mrs. Jefferson had come through here. The latch had blood on it. So whatever had attacked her was probably out in that pasture.

  “I feel like we should take bets now,” I said. “What are you thinking? Mad cows? Killer were-sheep? Chupacabras?”

  Lock swung the flashlight beam out into the field. “We’re too far north for chupacabras. They prefer warm climates.”

  He flipped the latch.

  “Do you ever stop and think we’re becoming like soldiers who’ve seen too much? I mean, you didn’t even blink when I mentioned chupacabras or were-sheep.”

  Lock grabbed my hand. “I’ve never met a were-sheep. Met a were-goat once. Nice lady. Lived in my mom’s woods one summer.” Lock kept swinging his flashlight, but we weren’t spotting anything.

  “Wait,” I said, stopping him. “What was that? Over there. I thought I saw a blur.” Lock dutifully swung his flashlight to the left. At first all we saw was the reflection of eyes. Just a glow of green when the beam of the light hit. Then more eyes. Lock tilted the light, and we finally got a full view of what we were looking at.

  “Is that what I think it is?” I whispered.

  “Were you thinking that we’re looking at a herd of peryton?”

  “Well, I was thinking winged deer, but that was because I couldn’t remember the actual name.” I’d never seen a peryton live before. They aren’t very common and usually only breed in remote locations. It’s pretty difficult to keep a herd of winged deer hidden.

  The body of the peryton is deer-like, but it’s closer to an elk in size. They have big, broad chests, and the males have impressive antlers that would make a hunter drool. I’d only ever seen pictures of a typical North American peryton, which has the coloring one would expect to see in, say, a white-tailed deer. The wings and trailing tail feathers resembled those of an eagle. They were majestic, serene creatures.

  These peryton didn’t look like that. Based on their plumage, I was sure they were imported. They were stunning—closer to parrots or peacocks than eagles. The male nearest to us had a brown speckled chest, but his sides and wings were a smear of blues and greens with the tips a deep iridescent purple. He spread his wings out in warning as he hissed our way. Lock turned and looked behind us. We hadn’t noticed the second fenced-off area when we came in, but I could see it now. It held a handful of does, their coloring much more subdued.

  “Ava, do you see that large oak off to our left?” Lock held my hand tightly.

  “No,” I said. Being half dryad, of course Lock knew where all the trees were. But all I saw was darkness. “What else do you think is out here? I mean, what attacked Mrs. Jefferson?” I didn’t know a lot about peryton, but I knew they were herbivores. They ran or flew to avoid predators, and they didn’t fight unless attacked. The only time they were remotely dangerous was during rutting season, and that was in the fall.

  “You’re looking at it,” Lock said, his voice low.

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “Nope. I don’t know about the does, but the bucks aren’t acting right. There’s definitely something wrong. So when I yell ‘go,’ I want you to haul ass for that tree. I’ll be right behind you, okay?”

  “Still don’t see the tree,” I said, starting to back away from the peryton. They were all hissing now, their heads low like geese, their wings spread wide to make them look even bigger. I couldn’t remember if they had claws or hooves for feet. I wasn’t sure which would do more damage.

  Lock pointed into the dark. “Just run that way. We’ll get to high ground and reassess.” He pulled a handful of seeds out of his pocket and tossed them at the peryton. “Go!”

  I ran like, well, like a herd of giant deadly peryton were chasing me. I could hear Lock’s footfalls behind mine, so I didn’t worry about leaving him behind. Moonlight was minimal, and I couldn’t see the ground very well. Which is how I tripped over Mr. Jefferson. I screamed as I fell, catching myself with my hands as I toppled, my legs awkwardly draped over the gutted, bloated corpse of Mr. Jefferson.

  Lock dragged me to my feet. “Puke later. We’re almost there.” He glanced back. “Haul ass, cupcake.”

  Unlike me, Lock actually jogged on a regular basis. I do a fair amount of running, but usually it’s away from things that want to kill me, or toward things that I have to kill first. I’m not what one would call athletic. I don’t jog unless Lock makes me, and I don’t do hurdles or climb ropes for fun. And since I hadn’t been around Lock for weeks, I hadn’t been running at all, and it showed. I got to the tree and I had nothing left. I looked up at the trunk and said, “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

  “Nope.” Lock grabbed my waist. “Alley-oop.” I shrieked in surprise but managed to grab on to the lower branch. Lock could toss me because he also did things like lift weights. But there was no one left on the ground to lift him up. Luckily for my companion, trees are overly fond of him, and this one was more than willing to dip a branch for him to climb. He scrambled up like a monkey, urging me to go up a few more branches. The peryton milled about below us, staring up and hissing. Except a few on the outside who were strutting, their chests out, their tail plumage spread and shaking for all to see.

  I held on to the branch with a death grip. “What the hell just happened?”

  Lock put his hands over mine. “First, I’d like to remind you that when you get stressed, your body has a certain response.” His voice was low and soothing. “And that you’re currently holding on to a tree, which is the only thing between us and a certain, antler-filled death. Do you understand?”

  I nodded and tried to think calm thoughts. Kittens. Puppies. A nice, well-done peryton steak, fresh from the grill.

  “How did we manage to outrun them?” I asked.

  Lock adjusted his perch on the branch so he could get a better look at our pursuers. “I threw some heavy-duty vine seeds at them and did a fast grow. It didn’t slow them down much, but it got us here.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I don’t fancy becoming peryton chow.”

  They milled below us, hissing and strutting. As I watched, two of them reared up and hurled themselves at each other. Their antlers crashed together, the noise making me want to inch back.

  “Something is very wrong with them,” Lock said. “They’re acting like it’s rutting season, but it’s not. And I got the sense that they thought we were standing between them and the does. Peryton are smart—they must have seen people open the dividing fence before, and they’re pissed that we aren’t doing just that.”

  “So they killed the Jeffersons because they were keeping them separated? Harsh.” A few more of the males lost interest in us and started doing their very romantic head-butt thing. “Well, we’d better think of something before the mosquitoes eat us to death.” That made me think of something. “Wait, why aren’t the peryton up here gnawing on us? They have wings.”

  “I think they’re clipped.” The clouds moved, and a little more moonlight crept in. I couldn’t see Lock, but I could make out a faint outline. “What could screw these guys up so much? They’re acting unnatural.”

  “We’ll figure that out later,” I said. “Right now we have to work out how we’re going to get away.” I dug my cell phone out of my pocket, but the screen told me there was no service to be had. “Crap. I guess it’s just us, then. Do you think Alistair wants us to try to contain them for later, or is this a mission of destruction?”

  “I don’t think we have much choice,” Lock said. I could hear the regret in his voice. Nature spirits really don’t like destroying nature. As we watched, one of the males hurled itself at another one, bu
t instead of ramming his horns, he lashed into the other’s chest. The injured peryton screamed in pain. I couldn’t tell in the low light, but I was willing to bet that the wounds on that peryton matched the ones Mr. and Mrs. Jefferson had. “I don’t think they’re coming back from this.”

  “Suggestions?”

  “You take one half. I’ll take the other.” Lock dug through his pockets, no doubt digging for seed packets.

  I see a lot of things in my line of work that I wish I could unsee. If I made a physical list, I would need a ream of paper. My brain isn’t going to run out of nightmare fuel anytime soon. But I can honestly say I’ve never blown up deer before. I guess it was more like spontaneous combustion, really. Lock threw seeds and grew plants that captured, twisted, and crushed the peryton. It sounds torturous, but we didn’t have a more humane option, and I could tell Lock was throwing in as much energy as he could so the process would be as quick as he could make it. Mine wasn’t much better. The peryton screamed while they burned. As the internal pressure built, a few of the cooking peryton exploded. Bits of flesh and blood flew through the air, covering us and the tree in fat, muscle, and skin.

  When it was finally over, we climbed out of the branches. I rubbed Lock’s back as he threw up next to the tree. It was one thing to hunt someone down for the Coterie, but a whole different thing to be forced to messily put down a whole herd of animals that didn’t know any better. When he was finished, he straightened up, and I used the sleeve of my jacket to wipe the tears and what might have been brain matter off his face. Totally romantic.

  “This is the second time in the last few days that I’ve been covered by cooked fat and flesh. I’m beginning to question my life choices.” That got a hint of a smile from Lock, but it was weak.

  He brushed my cheek with the heel of his palm. “Looks like blood, too.”

  “Huh. So it was literally raining blood? Slayer would be so proud.”