“Waz tha’ a choo choo? Fel’ like a choo choo.”
“Galahad! Look out!”
Galahad swivels on his knees at Desdemona’s shout. He sees a shape silhouetted against the lights, twirling something in the air, then tossing it. Galahad throws up a defending arm as the net falls. A weight attached to it slams against his temple and knocks him flat. Color flickers through his vision. He hears Desdemona’s rapid breathing as she tries to push the net away with the pitchfork. But the damned net pins them both to the floor. Galahad closes his eyes and plays possum while Desdemona, unknowing, provides distraction as she flails at the net.
“Whazz tha’?” Nick slurs.
A voice dry as straw, a voice Galahad hasn’t heard before, says, “I suggest you take the pitchfork away from her.”
“How?” Eddie asks, anxious.
“Figure it out,” the new voice replies. “And get more bins. You’d better hope that the boy’s still alive, Alan.”
“He ith! He ith!” Alan says, ragged fear and a broken nose chewing up his words. “The girl even thaid tho.”
“Get away from me!” Desdemona shouts. The net shudders and vibrates as she kicks and twists away from Eddie’s attempt to grab her pitchfork.
“Goddammit, just give me that thing! No one’s gonna hurt you. Well. Not much, anyway.”
“Come here and take it then, big man!”
Galahad decides, What the hell. He can’t leave Desdemona to fight alone while he waits for his perfect opportunity. Maybe this is his perfect opportunity. Opening his eyes, he reaches up and grabs double handfuls of net. Eddie, looking grim, hoists the edge of the net in an attempt to kick away the pitchfork from the punching, slapping woman.
Desdemona lands a wild roundhouse punch into Eddie’s gut; he doubles over. But Alan quickly steps in and seizes her by the hair. Yanks her back.
Galahad narrows his eyes, wishes his ears would lay flat. Stupid useless ears. Yearns to twitch his tail. Stupid tailless body. He uncurls, rising to his knees, and throwing back the net. Standing, he leans over Desdemona and jabs Janitor Man in the throat with a rigid knife hand. Alan lets go of Desdemona as he clutches his throat, gagging and gasping for air. He falls to his knees.
Galahad pushes Desdemona away from him. “Run,” he says. “Go!”
“Louis . . . Hal—”
“RUN!”
Desdemona spins and sprints toward the pot fields. Eddie staggers after her, his arms pressed against his belly.
A loose-limbed figure steps in front of Galahad, a sinister smile stitched across its face in big, black Xs. Its eyes gleam like shiny buttons, and in one straw-stuffed hand, it holds a steel scythe—which it swings through the air.
Galahad dances backward, sucking in his gut as metal whispers against silk and parts it. He feels cool air on his chest. His mouth dries. He refuses to look down to see if he is bleeding. The scarecrow grins. Of course, it couldn’t do anything but grin. Galahad decides to literally wipe that grin from its face—pluck it off thread by thread if necessary.
Motion beneath the net tells Galahad that Nick has regained his senses and, hopefully, his feet. Stepping forward on his toes, Galahad sways from side to side, luring the scarecrow in. He throws fast rights and knife hands, mixing it up.
Nick comes up from behind the scarecrow and clobbers it with both hands locked together, slamming down on its head with all his thick-muscled strength. The scythe clatters to the tunnel floor and the scarecrow drops like a bag of wet sand.
Galahad kicks the scythe out of reach. He looks at Nick, heart pounding. He winks. Nick grins. The scarecrow was fast, scary fast, but not fast enough. Teamwork. Brawn and brain—a winning com—
Something slams beneath Galahad’s chin. His teeth click together. He catches a glimpse of Nick’s widening eyes, along with a hint of a black stitched-on-forever grin, then an even better look at the ceiling as it drops on him.
Lights out.
* * *
So, Galahad reflected, head still throbbing, he could blame his lousy condition on an evil, animated scarecrow and a recycle bin, but not Hal’s whole milk. Peachy. Just plain peachy. He imagined the others were all in the same peachy predicament.
Galahad squirmed. His shirttail dangled in his face, tickled his nose. He sneezed. He tried to twitch his tail in displeasure, then remembered he was still in two-legged form. His mood darkened.
He kicked against the bin’s plastic interior. Kicked again. Almost as good as twitching his tail. Almost. He kicked as hard as he could, kicked until sweat trickled into his hair and his shirt clung to his chest. Kicked until he panted for air. Kicked until orange, red, and gray spots flecked his vision.
“Hal!” he yelled. “Nick!”
Silence. No answering shouts. No admonitions from bad guys to knock it off. Just silence. And that scared him.
Drawing in a deep breath of stale air, Galahad closed his eyes and forced himself to settle into the bin. He listened to the drumming of his heart, to the blood pulsing in his temples. He wished he could groom himself.
As his breathing evened out, dreams threaded through his mind, intertwining with memory—a yellow-feathered bird beneath his claws; Hal’s fingers, smelling of wood and dogs, stroking his fur; Nick chasing his squeaks, fur gleaming in the moonlight, legs loping through yellow-feathered grass . . .
Galahad cat-napped. The pounding in his head lessened and his heart rate calmed. The jouncing movement slowed, but continued. He felt several twists and many turns, then a hard jolt thumped his head against the bin. The movement stopped.
He opened his eyes. Listened. He heard a car door clunk shut. Heard a second clunk. Heard the scrunch of boots across dirt. Heard muffled voices. Galahad tensed. When they opened his bin, he’d lash out with his feet, then tumble and somersault his way to freedom. Once free, he’d find a way to rescue Hal and Nick and Desdemona. Oh. And Louis. Of course.
Galahad sucked in a breath as his bin was grabbed, jerked forward, then spun around. Lifted. Thunked down onto the ground. He winced as his head and neck slammed into the bin. Little blue stars flitted across his vision. He blinked them away. Tensed his thighs. All he needed was one good, solid kic—
Galahad was dumped out of the bin and onto the ground. He landed headfirst, his shoulders taking the main brunt of his impact. His breath whooshed out of his lungs. Gasping for air, he squinted in the daylight that seemed way too bright after the dark bin. He rolled onto his side, then jumped to his feet. Or tried to—that was the plan, anyway. Instead, he managed to turn over, butt up, chin down.
Someone laughed. A dry laugh. Dry enough to spontaneously combust.
Stupid scarecrow.
Galahad struggled to his knees with as much dignity as he could muster. He blinked, taking in his surroundings. Trees stretched up into the twilight-faded sky, the sunset streaking a rosy color across the horizon. The air was scented with pine. Shadows lay long on the land, merging to form a mini-nightfall across the twigs and undergrowth.
Galahad’s body tingled. Not due to circulation returning to his bound hands or his long motionless legs. No. Excitement blazed through him. It was nearly time for his Shift back to True Form. He lifted his gaze. The scarecrow stood in the shadows, the last fiery rays of the dying day shimmering against the scythe in his straw-plump hand. His black button eyes, unlit and cold, held nothing.
“Want all of ’em dumped out?” Eddie asked.
“Yes.” The scarecrow’s button-eyed gaze remained on Galahad. “All of them but the boy. Take him to Selene.”
With an acknowledging grunt, Eddie wheeled one of the bins beneath the trees and deep into the shadows.
Galahad shivered as the fire of Change raged through his veins. He squeezed his eyes shut against the muscle-tearing grip of Shift.
“I hope you have a few lives left.” A voice as dry as ashes.
/> Galahad’s eyes flew open. The scarecrow stood in front of him. “I’m looking forward to killing you,” he said, “on a semi-regular basis.” The scythe swung down.
Galahad threw himself hard to the left and rolled. Red-hot needles seared him from the inside out, skewered every cell of his body. He screamed, the sound a cat’s wounded yowl. The zip-ties slipped from his wrists. Change convulsed through his body. He came to a rolling stop as his clothes flopped and tangled around his shrinking mass.
Another whoosh and the scythe’s edge sliced through his silk shirt and leather pants, but he was no longer inside them. Tail low, Galahad bolted from his clothing, darting in between the scarecrow’s legs.
The scythe whistled through the air, a pulled blow. Galahad dashed through the underbrush to a twisted and moss-furred old oak. Dug his claws into the bark and climbed. He clung to a limb high up, his heart thudding against his ribs. Peering through thick green leaves, he looked down.
Shadows swallowed the world as day morphed into night. The scarecrow strode back and forth, scythe at his side. Twisting his neck, he turned his head completely around. Galahad’s hackles raised. Although night veiled his face, Galahad knew he was staring in his direction. The scarecrow sensed him, maybe, but couldn’t find him.
Couldn’t take the time to find him.
Andy picked Galahad’s clothing up from the dirt. He stood beside the scarecrow as Eddie up-ended a bin. Desdemona, her hands zip-tied in front of her, tumbled to the ground in a disheveled, yet still lovely, heap. Galahad’s heart fell. He didn’t see any other bins and he didn’t see Nick or Hal.
A plaintive howl rose into the air, ascending with the moon and the evening’s first winking stars. Galahad swiveled his ears toward the sound. Below. In a large pet-carrier beside a truck. A black nose pressed against the metal-screened door.
Stuffed in before Change, Galahad wagered. His tail twitched. Could he sneak down and free Nick without being seen?
Eddie walked over to Desdemona, grasped her upper arm, and hauled her to her feet. The scowling one-shape promptly kneed him in the family jewels. Gasping, Eddie fell to the ground and curled up like a pill bug, his hands between his legs. Desdemona whirled and ran.
Ears pricked up, tail swishing back and forth, Galahad watched as she plunged into the woods. Alan, face furious, started after her, only to halt in his tracks when the scarecrow uttered one dry husk of a word, “Mine.”
With a curt nod, Alan turned his attention to the groaning Eddie.
The scarecrow stalked past both men and into the dark woods, moonlight glinting from his scythe. Galahad hoped with all his heart that Desdemona was running as fast and as hard as she could.
With Alan busy with Eddie and the scarecrow gone, Galahad didn’t pause. He climbed down from the tree, sprinted through the underbrush, and into the clearing. He tippy-pawed his way to the kennel. Pushed the lever. Nothing happened.
Nick sniffed him eagerly and licked him with the tip of his pink tongue. Heart sinking, Galahad realized he needed to both push down and squeeze the lever—a job requiring opposable thumbs. Which, currently, he lacked. Stupid thumbless body.
Galahad crouched in front of the kennel, tail lashing, as he considered his options. He could abandon Nick until he Shifted again—which wouldn’t be until daylight. In two-legged shape, it wouldn’t be easy to sneak into a guarded camp during the day. Night would be best, but then he wouldn’t have the required thumbs. His tail lashed faster.
What had they done with Hal? He missed his friend and his catch pole. Worried about him. He only had one life . . . Maybe Hal had come to and escaped the tunnel. For all he knew, Hal was already on his way, an ass-kicking cavalry of one. Hope sparked.
But in the meantime . . .
Galahad sprang on top of the kennel. From the woods, he heard the sharp crack of breaking twigs and the crashing rustle of one-shapes blundering through the underbrush, heard shouts. All of it headed away from the clearing. But the thing that concerned him was the scarecrow. Looking for Desdemona? Or waiting for him?
The full moon lit the sky, a halo of silver encircling it. Inside the kennel, Nick panted. Craning his head down, Galahad peered into the kennel. Nick’s upside-down gaze met his, gleamed gold.
“Mew.”
“WhoooOOOOooo,” Nick replied.
Galahad backed up. A decent plan. Their only option, really. He’d drop down on the latch with all his weight and Nick would push at the door at the same moment. Hopefully, between the two, they could work the latch like a pair of opposable thumbs.
Galahad arrowed himself at the latch and hit it with his front paws. Nick pushed. As the door popped open, Galahad pirouetted to the ground. Bounding out of the kennel, Nick dashed madly into the woods.
Galahad leapt, intending to follow, but someone snatched him up, in midair, fingers squeezing the kitten-fold at the nape of his neck. Jerked him back. He laid his ears flat and hissed. Hot breath dampened his fur. He went still. Curled his body. Not fingers at his neck, no. Fangs.
A strong, musky, female odor enveloped him. Musk and, underneath, the faint, night-sweet scent of violets. A lycan held him in her mouth. She carried him to a trampled down spot of grass, then dropped him. Galahad swiveled and crouched. Froze.
A goddess sat on her haunches before him. Moonlight glimmered in her eyes, rippled along her sleek, tawny hide. Her tail swept back and forth through the grass. She opened her mouth, huge fangs catching the light. And screamed.
The sound echoed throughout the woods, powerful and hungry—challenging. Galahad, heart thumping, flattened himself on the grass.
The cougar regarded him for a long moment, then confirmed his suspicions.
“Yowrr.”
Queen of the Night. Lady of the Green Woods. Sister to the Moon.
Selene.
18
CHEW TOY
Selene’s ears pricked up and her eyes dilated. Her attention fixed on something beyond Galahad. A dry laugh rustled through the woods. A sudden snarling, ripping, shrieking noise boiled up out of the underbrush.
Nick! And it sounded like he’d found the scarecrow.
Galahad sprang up and darted through the brush toward the ripping, snarling, shrieking chaos. A golden blur leapt over Galahad; Selene jumped over him like the mythical cow over the moon. She vanished from sight.
But not from hearing. A cougar screamed and every living thing in the green woods froze. Willed themselves invisible. Death padded through the night on four paws, tail whipping back and forth, a pendulum marking the minutes remaining in their lives.
The snarling-ripping-shrieking stopped. Galahad paused, listened, strained to hear beyond his hammering heart.
A low growl rumbled into the air, intensifying into a slavering snarl. Selene answered with a screeching yowl that reverberated through the night, primal and merciless. Galahad ran, mewing, hoping Nick would hear him and turn tail. No matter how powerful, how fierce, a wolf was no match for a cougar.
Still mewing, Galahad zipped out of the underbrush, past a grumbling Selene to Nick. The wolf’s yellow gaze never wavered from the cougar in front of him. He snapped and snarled, saliva dripping from his fangs. The source of the fight—the laughing, evil scarecrow—was nowhere in sight.
“Yowrr,” Selene demanded, tail lashing, her gaze fixed on Nick. Give him back.
Only then did Galahad realize that the scarecrow wasn’t missing, he was still very much present—beneath Nick’s paws. Pieces of cloth and straw were scattered on the grass and in the underbrush. The scythe gleamed in the dirt beyond the scarecrow’s reach. One of Nick’s front paws rested squarely on the scarecrow’s stitched-on grin.
Galahad looked at Nick and gave him the slow blink of affection. The scarecrow was now little more than a black magic chew toy and Desdemona was no longer being pursued. She was safe.
“Mew.
”
“WhoooOOO,” Nick agreed.
Only Louis remained to be rescued and, hopefully, they would have that accomplished before Hal turned up with both his catch pole and his woman at his side.
Nick’s tongue lolled from his mouth, but his gaze remained locked on Selene.
“Get. Off. Me.” A muffled whisper. Dry as August heat. Dead as sun-curled leaves.
Galahad glanced at the scarecrow’s face. Batted at one of the black button eyes.
“Stop that!”
Galahad batted, plucked, batted some more.
“Yowwrrr,” Selene said. Yes, stop that before I make you stop.
“Mew.” Fine. I’m bored anyway.
Tail lashing, Galahad plucked the button free from the scarecrow’s face and tossed it up into the air. It bounced into the dirt. Then he pranced away from the scarecrow and sat primly in the dirt, tail curled around his feet.
Selene fixed him with a baleful glare. Her tail whipped back and forth. A low growl rumbled in her throat.
“Mew,” Galahad said. A simple trade. The scarecrow for Louis.
Selene pricked up her ears. Blinked. Lifted a paw and licked it.
Bluffing, then. Galahad extended a leg and groomed. Two could play that game. He licked and plucked at his fur, the familiar movements soothing. His tongue scraped foreign oils from his fur, washed away the unwanted scents of others.
“You’re dead, dog,” the scarecrow mumbled around the paw Nick’d planted on his mouth. “Dead. You and that mangy cat.”
Nick panted, tongue lolling. Shifted his weight. Straw crunched.
“Mmmppfff!!”
“Um . . . Selene?” Eddie ventured, his tone respectful. “I know you said not to interrupt you when you’re grooming and all, but I thought you might want to know that the magic kid woke up.”
Galahad paused, tongue in his fur, and lifted his gaze. Selene stared at her minion with a gaze as hot as a branding iron—one that’d sear the word IDIOT across the one-shape’s forehead. Backwards. So he could read it every day in the mirror.