A Feral Darkness Part 18

"Of that I have no doubt." Emily smiled, a real smile this time. "Thanks for understanding. We know Druid's okay, buta""

"Hey, until someone figures out what's going on, none of them is okay," Brenna said. "You know, Roger doesn't know it yet, but I'm not going to book any known biters any more. It's one thing to risk a roughed-up knuckle or two . . ."

"You shouldn't be grooming at all," Emily said. "It doesn't take a mauling like poor Elizabeth got. It only takes a scratch, and if the animal's got it and has been licking his pawsa""

"If people were dropping right and left, I wouldn't be grooming," Brenna said. "But it's not like I didn't take the plunge and get inoculated this year. And if I'm not working, I'm not getting paid. And right now . . ." She looked away, to where the driveway was if she'd had X-ray vision and could look right through the barn. To where her oh-so-solicitous brother had recently been. "Right now, I can't afford to ask favors of family."

"What is he up to?" Emily asked, crossing her arms over her chest in a most suspicious posture and giving Brenna a fess up look.

Brenna only laughed. "You're not my mother," she said. "Save that face for the girls. And whatever that third thing is that you're holding on to, give it up."

"Ah," Emily said. "The really awkward one."

Brenna made an impatient come-hither gesture. "Just give."

"It's that fellow from the store. The one I've seen talking to you? The reallya"okay, I'm a married woman. I won't go there. But you know how Sam hears things . . ."

"As if I could not know," Brenna said. But she didn't like where this one was going.

"Well, he's heard things, all right. And he won't tell me what, because it's just mutterings, expressions, and reactions more than anything. But it could be that this guy's getting in with a bad crowd, Brenna. So just . . . be careful."

Brenna hunted down her annoyance and decided it wasn't because of the warning, but what she'd been warned about. "He works at the store," she said, and the annoyance slipped out. "That's all."

"That's all I thought." Emily gave her a puzzled look, a silent what else? "But if I worked at the same store with hima"well, forewarned is forearmed, don't you think?"

Brenna sighed, already sorry for snapping, or coming close to it, and trying to look at Masera from Emily's eyesa"Emily, who would be astonished if Brenna said he's only spent one night here with the wicked impulse she barely suppressed. "Yeah. You're right. Best to know." Even if she'd already known. The clues couldn't be hitting her any harder, one after the other. "So I'll see you this weekend, and I'll leave Druid here. I even promise not to lick the girls myself."

"Oh, now that does put my mind at ease," Emily said as she headed for the door. "It truly does."

Brenna grinned at the empty s.p.a.ce she'd left behind, and yelled after Emily, "Oh, and heya"now that you've figured out how to get here, maybe you should come over more often!"

"Shut up!" Emily shouted back at her, words flung over her shoulder from the sound of it. Brenna looked at Druid and decided he was in complete agreement with her own perspective, but her smile faded quickly enough.

"Nuadha's Silver Druid," she said. "Kind of ironic, isn't it, Mister Dog with the Strange Rabies Tag? I get the feeling you're probably the only dog around that is safe for the girls to play with. Not that I understand one d.a.m.n bit of it."

He c.o.c.ked his head at her. Clueless. Of course. She might as well be making strange flying saucer noises through her lips. Which, on second thought, she decided to do, and found that it not only made him c.o.c.k his head from side to side and back again, but his big ears somehow perked so intently that they looked bigger than ever. "Okay," she said. "That earns you dinner. Let's go."

That, he understood. Five minutes later she was dumping food into his dish and sc.r.a.ping Spaghetti-Os out of a can for herself, not particularly interested in anything that took longer than three minutes to prepare no matter how wholesome it was. She slid the bowl into the microwave as she called her mother and listened to the phone ring, only belatedly realizing it was bingo night at Sunset Village. Right. Rhona and Ada cleaning up in the dining hall, faster on the draw than half the people there. When the machine clicked on, she left only a brief message, and then poured herself some soda. Druid was done eating by then, and he came into the kitchen through the half-open door from the dog room and looked at her quite expectantly, as though he hadn't been fed for weeks and she had the only food in the house. Brenna looked back at him.

He belched resoundingly.

"You know," she said, smirking, "that really does ruin the hungry-dog effect. Back to the drawing board for you. Better yet," she added, pouring herself a soda over lots of ice, "come into the den with me. We can watch the news. Maybe they'll even say something about the rude Pets! manager who won't talk to them."

The microwave dinged, presenting her with overheated Spaghetti-Osa"she'd never found the just right setting for that particular comfort food, and had resigned herself to blowing endlessly on steaming spoons of pasta and burning her tongue at least once anywaya"and she took them and the soda out into the den, knowing Druid would follow. Faced with full hands, she poked the television power b.u.t.ton with her toe and plunked down into the couch, freezing at the unexpected crinkling she heard.

Emily's papers. "You touch, you die," she warned Druid, putting her bowl on the floor so she could lean forward and yank the papers from her pocket. "There. Uplifting television, educational reading, and a repaired barn gate. What more could a woman ask for?"

New headlines, for one. There they were, still leading off with the story about Elizabeth. Wait. No. Someone else.

"This man, recently found dead in the northwest area of the city, has been identified as a known felon." Cue mug shot, replacing the face of the mature, perfectly coifed anchor woman.

Mr. c.o.c.ky.

"Alarmingly, the cause of his death has been identified as rabies. Centers for Disease Control officers have no official comment on the unheard-of number of rabies cases in humans recently, although they're still unwilling to consider it an 'outbreak.' " The anchor woman reappeared, with a clever graphic on the screen to the upper left of her head shot, a big red block R with a hypodermic crossing it and a jagged, Batman-like KA-POW outline around it. "Nor have they pinned down the primary source of these infections, originally thought to be a stray doga"a theory recently dismissed when a local woman came down with the disease."

Cut to a reporter standing outside Pets!, apparently oblivious that directly behind him, a large Malamute was lifting his leg on the fake fire hydrant provided especially for that purposea"although as the seconds pa.s.sed, he moved to block the view, no doubt directed by the cameraman. Brenna, dizzily overcome with the portent of Mr. c.o.c.ky's death, imagined the cameraman's thoughts. Note to self: Avoid fire hydrant backdrop.

And then he started talking, and things got worse.

"We're saddened to report that local groomer Elizabeth Reed succ.u.mbed today to rabiesa"only moments ago, in facta"contracted through injuries sustained at this Pets! storea""

Brenna dropped the spoon back into her Spaghetti-Os, dropped the bowl into her lap. Stared at the screen, unheeding of the reporter's words, unable to hear anything but the voice in her head, the memory of a voice that had once sneaked inside her thoughts over Emily's kitchen tablea"

. . . local groomer Brenna Lynn Fallon succ.u.mbed today . . .

It was supposed to have been her. It truly was supposed to have been her.

And then Druid was staring at her with searing intensity. Whining his whine, so impossibly earnesta"

Crowded shelters, dead pets piling up faster than they could be cremated, live ones impossibly crammed togethera"

On-site reporter: "Officials are suggesting that animal lovers keep their pets indoors or under supervision at all times out of doors."

Closed schools. Special hospital wards. Children chanting rhymes over double-scotch. Emily crying. Druid whining. "Shedding Rabies is the term being used for the mutated virus, an illness which incubates more quickly in humans than the well-known counterpart, but slowly in the common carrier animals . . ."

Cut to animal control building exterior with voice-over. "The dog and cat drop-off rate has already doubled. Humane Society spokesperson Sarah Monscour suggests that this is an overreaction, and could lead to the needless deaths of beloved pets."

Conditioned pit bulls in training, ravaging a small dog, clamping down long after the victim went limp in death, blood coating its face and chest. Emily crying. Emily crying.

Sarah Monscour: "Please, unless you know your pet has been in contact with a wild or stray animal, don't abandon or give them up. If you're concerned, there's a test available through your veterinarian. It's called the Rapid Fluorescent Focus Inhibition Test and can allay any concerns you might have about your pet and rabies."

Druid whining.

Almost a bark and almost words, warm brown eyes pinned to hers, his front feet on her knees. Not caring about the pungent pasta before hima"the smell of which suddenly made Brenna ill. Truly ill, and she realized it just in time to plunge for the bathroom and flip the toilet lid up.

After she'd been sick, when she slid back on the tile floor and up against the tub, her arms wrapped around her knees, Druid crept ina"he'd always been wary of the toileta"and whined a different whine. An ordinary sound, a dog confused and worried. He squeezed in under her arm and licked her face.

"They say not to let dogs do that," she told him solemnly. "But it can't be any worse than sticking your head in the toilet."

So they sat together, and she tried to put her thoughts together. Well, her thoughts . . . and thoughts she was certain weren't hers at all.

Parker and Mr. c.o.c.ky. Rabies.

Parker's girlfriend and her cat. Rabies.

Parker's barn and Parker's dogs. Dogfighting. Small animals ravaged in training. Small animals found by the roadside.

The Sheltie mix, found mauled by the roadside and taken through quarantine, through Janean's hands and into the home of a man now also dead.

Parker and his fighting dogs and the animals he'd touched and they'd touched and rabies.

Shedding rabies.

Parker's barn and Parker's dogs and shedding rabies and the darkness-feeding force that had come from the very spring she loved so much.

And it would only get worse. She knew that from the things she'd seen . . . things somehow connected with Druid, that upset him as much as they upset her, though she couldn't fathom why or how. Maybe she never would.

Fine. She'd created that place of power; she'd started this.

She knew how to finish it.

Only then did she notice that Druid's white muzzle had an inconspicuous rim of tomato red, and that his breath smelled familiar, though that smell no longer sent her for the toilet. She gave a shaky laugh, and squeezed him in a hug until he protested. "Maybe you're a normal dog at that," she said, and wiped the corner of his mouth, coming up with a single forlorn pasta O.

But she had a feeling that was only wishful thinking.

Call animal control.

That's what she needed to do.

Masera had said they knew about it. He hadn't wanted her to call, though he hadn't come right out and said it; he hadn't needed to.

More pieces of the puzzle whirled in on her. Parker's girlfriend and Mickey the stockboy, missing dog food, Masera and Mickey, arguing, exchanging cash for dogs . . . Mickey's message to Masera about something that was happening . . . tonight.

He'd said he wasn't going to fight those dogs. He'd meant it, she knew that, and when he'd said it she'd interpreted his comment to mean he wasn't involved. But she should have known better, should have remembered how good he was at sliding past things he didn't want to reveal or discuss. Somehow, in some way, Masera was mixed up with the fighting. Even Eztebe knew of ita"he just didn't know what it was.

But Brenna did.

Wherever tonight's action was, Masera was there. Now.

Mixed up with Parker and his dogs and his rabies.

Right now.

Brenna lunged up from the bathroom, leaving one very surprised Corgi in her wake, and went tearing through her beat-up purse, hunting her wallet and the card with Masera's cell phone number. She didn't think about what she'd say, or marshal her arguments. She fumbled with phone and card until she'd gotten the number dialed and then listened to his line ring. And ring.

Answer it, you idiot, she thought fiercely at him. "I don't care where you are, answer the d.a.m.na""

"Masera," he snapped, not sounding at all glad about it. Shouts and catcalls and curses filled in the background noise, swelling suddenly to a frenzied cacophony, making her sure she'd been right.

"It's Brenna," she said, and didn't wait for a response. "Get out of there."

"Brenna, I don't have time for thisa""

"You do," she said. "You take the time, and you listen to me. Get out of there! It's not safe."

That, for some reason, amused him. He knew it wasn't safe, she realized, even as he said, "I know what I'm doing." But the noise in the background diminished; he must have been moving away from it. She at least had that much of his attention.

"You think so?" she snapped. "Did you know Mr. c.o.c.ky died from rabies?"

"Mr. Who?" And then, barely m.u.f.fled, he shouted to someone, "Yeah, yeah, I'll be right there."

"That guy who chased us off Parker's drivewaya"you know, the guy with the I'm-hip walk and the sleazy attempt at a beard."

"He's dead?" Masera asked, checking to make sure he'd gotten it right; the background noise faded a little more.

"He's really dead. And they say it was rabies. Listen, every animal and person who's gotten rabies has a connection to Parker. And you're there at a dogfight, aren't you?"

"Don't bea""

"No, you 'don't be.' Parker's running dogfights and he's got his own dogs and at least one of them is spreading a new variation of rabies. I don't care what you're doing there, just get out! With all the blood and dog spit being slung around at a fight, you think you're not in danger?"

"I've been inoculated," he said, and she could tell she was losing his interest, could hear someone calling his name in the background, rising above the general hubbub of the place.

"Well whoop-di-do, and so have I. So had his girlfriend's cat, and Elizabeth's dead. And the Sheltie mix made it through quarantine and still wasn't showing signs of rabies after pa.s.sing it to two people who are also now dead. Aren't you listening? It's a new strain."

There was a pause; in the background she heard a purely human scuffle break out and quickly subside, and she hated to think of the men who could quell such a thing so quickly in that charged atmosphere. What they'd do to Masera if they even guessed what he was talking about. Then Masera said, "She's dead? Elizabeth died?"

"Yes," Brenna said in misery. "I'd really rather you didn't die, too."

His voice got quiet and intent; she could tell he was holding the phone close to his mouth, and probably had his hand cupped around the receiver. She could also tell immediately that he was going to do his own thing no matter what she said. "Okay, Brenna. I hear you. I'm not in that sort of danger here. I'm strictly back row right now. But I can't leave. And I d.a.m.n sure can't spend time on the phone and then leave. Parker's tight, and he's careful. I'll never get back in."

She didn't ask why the h.e.l.l he wanted to get back in, and she didn't care. "You want to talk trouble?" she said, her voice dropping low and shaking a little from the very nature of the exchange, from what she knew she was about to saya"knowing that deep down, no matter what she called him, no matter how he alternately hid himself from her and shoved himself into her life and annoyed the h.e.l.l out of her, she didn't want to push him away for good. "Here's trouble for youa"you have this nice long talk on the phone and fifteen minutes later the cops arrive and break up the party."

"The h.e.l.l you will," he said, and every bit of the anger she expected was there. "You stay out of this, Brenna. You have no idea what you're meddling with."

"And I don't care. It's your choice. I see you here within ten minutes, or I call the cops. I don't even care if you're not at Parker's. It'll mess up your secret little plans just as much if they storm his training barn."

He reacted with such utter silence that she knew he didn't even trust himself to respond to her. Then he muttereda"no doubt through clenched teetha" "It'll take me more than ten minutes. Fifteen."

"Fifteen," she agreed.

He hung up on her.

She wasn't surprised. She couldn't even blame him. She put the phone down on the cradle and looked at Druid, ever attentive Druid. "He's mad."

Druid, well-ensconced in normal-dog mode, c.o.c.ked his head, and his intent was plain enough; he might as well have spoken English. I really liked that bowl of round things. I'd like more.

Brenna laughed, a shaky laugh, and crouched to put her cheek against his gently domed head. Then she looked him in the eye and said, "Not a chance."

Sixteen minutes had pa.s.sed when she heard a vehicle turn up her driveway. At seventeen minutes she would have called him again, another warning. And then she would have called the cops.

Her relief upon hearing the car, upon knowing she wouldn't have to make either call, was immense. It lasted only long enough for her to realize she was now going to have to face Masera in his anger. She went to the back door and waited, the screen propped open with one foot, the porch light beckoning.

The SUV came to a hard stop before the barn; she could hear him yank on the parking brake through the open window. He closed the door with a solid swing, though not with a slama"she supposed that was gooda"and walked toward the house with big angry strides, coming right up to the door, right up to her.