Feral Curse

  “Uh-huh,” he replies. “Well, do us both a favor and run on home. Somebody broke into the high school tonight and took something out of the trophy case.”

  I hazard a guess before he says it. “What?”

  His answer is a confirmation. “Benjamin Bloom’s football jersey.”

  Peter? Or maybe there’s a new shifter in town — one teleported by the missing cat figure.

  “You know anything about that?” he asks. “Everybody would understand if someone . . . close to the boy was looking for a memento. There was only minimal damage to the door. I don’t know that it would be worth department resources to pursue it on a criminal level, especially if restitution is made. Even if it’s anonymous.” He reaches for a clear plastic bag and holds it up so I can see the werecat claw inside. “I did find this one clue.”

  I’ve known Sheriff Bigheart my whole life. I remember him teaching me and Jess how to fish for trout on a family trip to Lake Pawhuska. He’s fishing now.

  I try to exude “clueless teenager.” I’ve never been good at that.

  “Uh-huh,” he says again. “Well, you take care, now. Don’t be a stranger.”

  I wave, barely breathing, as the squad car continues on its way.

  When I arrive at the water tower, it’s raining steadily and Darby is half hanging off the platform at the top, waving a bottle of whisky and wailing Willie Nelson’s “Last Thing I Needed First Thing This Morning.”

  Where did he get the hooch? The last thing we need on top of this mess is alcohol. I speed up and leap a quarter of the way up the tower, catching a slippery wet rail and climbing to his side as he switches to Dan Hicks’s “How Can I Miss You When You Won’t Go Away?”

  Lord, whatever I have done to have this insanity rain down on me, I am deeply sorry. “Darby! Darby!” He’s not listening. “Darby! I didn’t break up with Ben because I didn’t love him. I broke up with him because he didn’t love all of me, and because of that, his soul has been split into pieces. What you’re feeling: it doesn’t belong to you. It’s not you.”

  The Deer swings himself to stare at me, slack-jawed, as brown fur sprouts from his nose and cheeks. “Whoa!”

  He’s lost his balance. Darby’s shifting arms spin like propellers, and I stretch to latch on to one, pulling him against the tower. He can’t hang on. No hands. Hooves. He can’t wrap his arms or legs around a bar, either. Deer limbs don’t bend that way.

  From far away, I hear Peter howling again, and this time it infuriates me. So help me, Darby is going to die if I don’t figure out something fast.

  “Kayla!” It’s Yoshi and Clyde, staring at us from the cornfield below.

  “Help!” I shout, holding the Deer by one arm — make that leg. “Hurry!”

  Yoshi is there in a flash. It takes the two of us, each gripping Darby with one hand and scaling slowly down with the other to lower him to Clyde’s waiting arms. It’s right then that the Deer begins thrashing, his inner animal realizing he’s surrounded by werepredators.

  Clyde doesn’t hesitate to jab a dart of sedative into the Deer’s shoulder blade. He moans, shudders, and goes down.

  I glance at my watch, realizing it’s a quarter after 11 P.M. “We’re almost out of time.”

  A car door shuts, and a moment later, Aimee comes running. Out of breath, she gasps, “Thanks for ditching me.”

  She takes in Darby’s unconscious form as Yoshi lifts the Deer over his shoulders. “Tanya called. She and Evan are already at the park. They’re hiding out on the carousel itself, under the tarp. Junior has been working on reattaching the figures to the ‘drop rods.’”

  It makes sense that the furry kid might know a thing or two about carny ride machinery, especially his one-time guardian’s former toy. “We’re still missing Peter and whatever Cat stole Ben’s football jersey.” At their puzzled expressions, I relate what Sheriff Bigheart told me about the break-in at the high school.

  “Is the school on the way to the park?” Clyde asks.

  I frown. “It’s Pine Ridge. Nothing is that far from anything else.”

  LEAVING DARBY SECURED in the trunk of my car, we file, one after another, through the broken front door of PRHS, ducking under the meticulously tied yellow police tape.

  Kayla’s first through the door, only because she beat me there, and I almost run into her when she stops short just inside.

  “Do you smell what I smell?” she asks.

  I open my mouth and then I know. “I should’ve guessed.”

  “Guessed what?” Clyde asks from behind. “Can you move? You’re blocking the door.”

  I reach for Kayla’s wrist, jarring her out of the momentary surprise. “No need,” I announce. “We know where the last cat figure is.” Turning, I say to Clyde, “Can you move? We have to get out of here.”

  “What’re y’all talking about?” Aimee wants to know as her boyfriend steps aside.

  “We need to head to the old neighborhood,” Kayla announces. “And pay a visit to Lula and Eleanor.”

  The scent of potpourri was a distraction from their werecat scent at Stubblefield’s Secrets. But here at Pine Ridge High, it’s a tell.

  Seven minutes later, Kayla is rapping on the red painted door of the sisters’ two-story Victorian. When Lula answers in her robe and slippers, she yawns, takes in the four of us with one glance, and calls, “We’ve got company!” With a too-bright smile, she adds, “Would y’all like a piece of pie? Eleanor’s chocolate cream won a blue ribbon today. That one was auctioned off to charity, of course, but there’s a spare in the refrigerator.”

  God, what is it with small-town Texans and pie?

  “We don’t care that you’re werecats,” I announce. “We’re werecats, too. But we need that carousel cat figure to reverse a spell that’s been transporting shifters to the park, infecting them with slices of her”— I point to Kayla —“dead boyfriend’s spirit and chipping away at our ability to maintain and morph between human and animal forms. Or on second thought . . .” I pause, gauging the fact that Lula’s fingernails have turned to claws. “We need to bring you and the cat figure with us.”

  Lula’s looking at me as if I’ve lost my mind.

  But it’s her I’m worried about. “By any chance, after touching it, did you find yourself inexplicably and instantly relocated to the carousel? By instantly, I mean as if no time had passed?”

  “Well.” She fluffs her hair. “I don’t know how inexplicable it was. I have been known to tip a glass of wine or three in my day, and these things happen. Not often, mind you, but . . .”

  I’ll take that as a yes. I add, “And is there any particular reason you decided to steal Benjamin Bloom’s football jersey from Pine Ridge High?”

  “Oh. That.” Lula’s gaze centers on Kayla. “For some reason, I felt compelled to give it to a certain somebody. I know it’s strange. I can’t for the life of me explain why.”

  I can and do — quickly. Lending Kayla his jersey so she could wear it for the world to see . . . that was the kind of thing Ben would’ve done. Lula studies Aimee and Clyde. “Who’re ya’ll again?”

  Remembering her manners, Kayla introduces them.

  Aimee waves. “I’m not a Cat myself. I’m just Cat friendly.”

  “I’m not a Cat, either,” Clyde puts in as if anyone cares. “Or at least not technically.”

  “A Lion is a kind of Cat,” Kayla points out.

  “That’s true,” he admits. “But I’m so much more. I am a Lossum.”

  “Sounds fascinating,” Eleanor observes, appearing in spongy pink curlers beside her sister. “What is it?”

  “A leaning flower,” Aimee jokes.

  Lula scratches the dried cold cream on her chin, mindful not to cut herself. “I have been thinking about making a substantial donation to Miss Kayla’s college fund.”

  “Close enough,” I say. “Now, where’s the cat figure?”

  “Sunroom,” Eleanor says, elbowing her sister. “I warned you not to bring that dam
ned thing home in the first place.”

  “How was I supposed to know it was cursed?” Lula counters, motioning us to come in.

  “Instinct,” Eleanor shoots back. “For heaven’s sake, girl, we’re in the trade.”

  Darby’s still unconscious in the trunk, but if necessary, we can lash the cat figure to the hood of my car. I follow the ladies inside. “Do you have a blanket we could use to protect the finish on my ride?”

  Kayla personally carries the cat figure down the long concrete staircase from downtown to the riverfront park. I’m okay with that. It’s not heavy, just awkward to handle.

  She’s been steadily closing herself off all day, which makes sense, given that she’s about to literally confront Ben’s ghost — and that’s our best-case scenario.

  Meanwhile, Clyde has the stirring Deer draped over his shoulders, and I’m hauling down a roll of industrial chains in case we need to restrain Tanya. Aimee is wielding her tranq gun in one hand and a Taser in the other. Lula promised she’ll be here on time but flat-out refused to leave the house with gunky moisturizer all over her face. Her exact words? “If I’m going to die, you can bet your last penny it’ll be with my lipstick on.”

  My saber teeth are still extended, and I can’t for the life of me retract them. My ears are pointy and cat-shaped. My finger claws slipped out on the drive over.

  “You’re sure Lula is going to show?” Clyde asks, not for the first time.

  “Her word is gold,” Kayla insists. “She may keep secrets, but she never lies outright.”

  “You’re sure you’re not projecting?” he presses.

  An argument could be made that, for most shifters, our whole lives are lies, but there’s a difference between what we hold out to a world that fears us and what we hold out to each other.

  When I duck under the heavy tarp draped over the antique carousel, I’m not surprised to see Evan and Tanya in partial shift, standing on its base.

  Junior puts a furry white finger to his lips, though I’m sure the rest of Pine Ridge is asleep by now. Anyone inclined to make it a late night was chased off by the weather. However much Texans may pray for rain, they don’t seem to know how to function in it.

  Wrench in hand, Junior doesn’t look like he needs my help or Kayla’s. He’s got some kind of leather tool bag hanging diagonally across his broad chest, and he’s already managed to reattach almost all of the carousel animal figures. I can almost imagine him as a younger fur ball, learning how to do that as the carnival traveled from one dusty town to the next.

  Tanya and Evan are holding up flashlights for him to see by, and there’s a small camping lantern hanging from one of the bighorn sheep figures.

  I turn to lift up the tarp for Kayla to join us, but at the sound of Tanya’s growl, I drop the plastic and chains. Tearing off my clothes, I shift from partial to full Cat in a heartbeat, putting my body between the two weregirls. I feel my animal instincts clawing at my mind, eager to take over once and for all. I can’t use human words in animal form. I’m past talking.

  A Cat is no match for a Bear. But if Tanya moves an inch closer to Kayla, I’ll kill myself defending her. Whatever it takes.

  “Help me with this,” Kayla scolds, still trying to maneuver the cat figure under the tarp. She ignores the danger, fully focused on the reversal spell and pending deadline.

  But I can’t right now. Evan approaches us first, and I can smell the desire on him.

  It’s nothing to bat away one horny Otter.

  The Bear is something else. She’s breathing heavy, hampered by her shift, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t still strong, pissed off, and deadly.

  “Tanya!” Clyde shouts, slicing through the tarp with Lion claws. “Remember yourself.”

  Two big Cats are more formidable than one, especially when — though it pains me to admit it — one of them is a Lion. Or Lossum.

  Clyde dumps the Deer and moves to stand, mid-shift, by my side. He’s working the full-blown mane around a mostly human face, and, I’ll admit, it’s intimidating. Tanya’s inner Bear hesitates, its sense of self-preservation battling with its irrational anger at Kayla.

  I can hear Kayla herself whispering outside with Aimee, who must’ve pulled her back.

  “You get in the middle of that,” Aimee warns, “and you’ll make it worse.”

  Meanwhile, Tanya charges me, more vicious from the pain and awkwardness of the ongoing transformation. She’s not waiting for her bones and muscles to reknit. She doesn’t seem to realize that her organs are still rearranging.

  I glimpse Junior scrambling in the opposite direction and of the tarp being pulled away. I leap clear of Tanya, landing behind her, and decide to let the King of the Werebeasts get his furry ass clocked.

  While they brawl, a noisy blur of fur and claws, I center myself to pounce on Tanya’s back. I pause. This isn’t her fault. I don’t want to hurt her, but I can’t let her kill Clyde.

  Can I?

  Nah. It’d break Aimee’s heart. I make my move, grab hold with my toe claws, and cover Tanya’s eyes with my hands. Clyde keeps her front paws busy — at least until she knocks him into the snake figure, which, in turn, breaks out of alignment.

  My head turns at a snick noise to see Aimee standing with the tranq gun pointed at Tanya as the remainder of the tarp folds onto itself on the damp ground.

  Tanya wavers. She goes down slowly, onto one knee, then the other.

  I release her, circling behind the pony figures positioned in front of the wagon.

  “I wish y’all would behave so I wouldn’t have to keep doing that,” Aimee says.

  Kayla sidesteps Darby, who’s sprawled on the carousel platform. “Junior!” she calls over her shoulder. “Get a move on! There’s a snake to fix and one last cat to reattach.”

  Kayla hesitates as Lula marches onto the ride and makes herself comfortable in the wagon. The elder Cat woman promptly draws a romance novel from the deep pocket of her long denim skirt and attaches a tiny light. “Spell, schmell, it’s just like flying on an airplane. Tell me when we’re on the ground!” With that, she opens the book and begins to read.

  Whatever gets you through the incantation, I suppose.

  “Junior!” Kayla peers out at the yeti lumbering toward the cover of woods. “Where the hell does he think he’s going?”

  Evan is propped up on one elbow. “Hey, sexy lady! Want to stroke my fur?”

  Kayla points at him with one clawed finger. “Shut your hole or, so help me, your future husband is going to”— she gestures vaguely at his junk —“suffer without.”

  From the expression on his face, the threat is enough to quell even magical desire. He twitches his long whiskers, assumes the lotus position, and begins meditating to calm himself.

  Aimee raises the snake figure so it’s upright, and Kayla takes over where Junior left off, affixing it in place around the circle.

  Partly forcing back my facial shift, I grimace in pain. “Kayla, hang on! I’ll be right there.”

  “I’ve got this!” she says. “I can put this right.”

  I hesitate, compelled to help her, to prove I can do it as well as she can. Better, even.

  What’s more, I want to be the one who reverses the spell and saves the day. To be the hero of Operation Carousel — provided I don’t kill us all in the process.

  But that’s what Ben did. That was his mistake, putting himself in charge of her situation. That’s him inside of me, making me feel this way. I won’t do that to her.

  Am I affected by what’s happening? Sure, my life, maybe even whatever makes me more than an animal is on the line. So what? This is her fight to lead. She spoke the words that started it when she revealed her secret, and she’ll speak the words that end it, too.

  I glance at my watch. “Three minutes, thirty seconds, people!”

  LIGHTNING SHATTERS THE CRYING SKY. I have to hurry.

  No, I have to think.

  We don’t have Peter, but I can’t worry about that n
ow. Maybe the part of Ben’s soul that’s in Peter doesn’t deserve to go to heaven. Maybe it’s the part that hated me.

  God, I hope Peso is okay.

  Focus. I click through the spell ingredients.

  We have multiple images of Ben, the gigantic photos of him dressed as the quarterback, the pitcher, the graduate, and as Jesus. I move to stand next to the cat figure and tie Ben’s necklace so it hangs from one perched ear. It’s something that was his but connects us.

  I remember setting the gemstone in the center of his palm.

  I remember him saying, “That’s it? I was worried you were going to break up with me.”

  Those words sounded ridiculous, but the next morning I did just that, and look where we are now. Ben, where are you? How did we get to this awful place?

  With shaking fingers, I tear a match from the Lurie’s Steakhouse pack, cupping my free hand sideways to protect the flame from the wind, and light one of Junior’s votive candles.

  “Clyde!” hollers Yoshi, in mostly human form again. “Aimee, get clear! Now!”

  Good call. We don’t want to screw up and accidentally suck them into the spell.

  Clyde, still rocking a full Lion hairdo, swoops up his girlfriend and leaps all the way to the teeter-totter. Then he takes off running.

  I pull the folded printout of the spell from my jeans.

  I’m annoyed that Junior bailed on us and wonder why. Then again, this really doesn’t concern him. The fact that he pitched in doesn’t make it his responsibility, and he would’ve needed to clear out by now anyway.

  I memorized the words, but just in case reading the damn thing matters somehow, I’ve got it in front of me. With my Cat eyes, the candlelight is enough.

  “Blessed is the whole, unto whom God gave an image like His own.

  “Blessed is the uncorrupted, he who is not soiled by the Beast.

  “With these words, the demon shall be cast out.

  “With these words, the soul shall be cured.

  “With these words, the angels shall bear witness and deliver paradise.”

  Nothing. Yoshi coughs. Lula yawns and fans herself with her romance novel.