Shifting. Part 28

I jumped down the porch steps but paused before I'd taken two steps. Something was missing. "No," I muttered, shaking my head and wondering if I'd gone officially insane. I squeezed my eyes shut so hard my head started to hurt, then opened them for another look. The animal skulls-the ring of protection I'd put around her house the night before-were gone.

Sick to my stomach, I ran around back and gasped. A tall, gleaming white mound of animal skulls had been piled beside the back door. All around the pile, the damp ground had been scratched up, the weeds pounded down flat.

I tried the back door, desperate to get in. It was locked, too.

"Mrs. Carpenter!" I yelled, cupping my hands around my mouth. The wind answered me, howling through the junipers and whispering past the animal skulls. If I wanted to get into the house, my house key was my only hope. Turning from the back door, I started sprinting toward the barn, but a crunching sensation beneath my flip-flops made me stop.

I stared down at the ground and wiggled my feet. Shards of gla.s.s shimmered in the weeds. I looked at the house. The window to my old bedroom was gone. Only a few fragments of gla.s.s clung to the frame. Attached to one of the shards was a clump of yellow fur.

I grabbed a fist-sized rock from the ground and hacked away the jagged gla.s.s remnants, then climbed through the broken window. Shash leaped through behind me and trotted into the house.

My feet crunched on more gla.s.s. Mrs. Carpenter's bed was trashed, with springs sticking out of the bare mattress. The bedroom door had been scratched to bits and hung lopsided on its hinges, the door frame splintered. Searching the room for a weapon, I gripped the toppled bedside lamp and yanked the plug from the wall. Holding the lamp as if it were a club, I stepped through the busted door frame.

Only the sounds of the wind and the grandfather clock filled the house. I crept down the hall and past the kitchen, my flip-flops silent on the wood floor. As I entered the living room, I paused and held my free hand up, as if catching rain. Tiny white particles settled onto it, like ash from a campfire. White dust floated through the air, trickling downward. It coated the wood floor and furniture. I glanced up and frowned. In the middle of the ceiling was a gaping hole.

I took two steps forward and pressed a hand over my mouth. My body began to convulse uncontrollably. Somehow I managed to stay standing, though my knees were knocking together.

Below the gun case lay Duke, his lifeless body grotesquely twisted, bare patches of b.l.o.o.d.y skin visible where the copper fur had been torn from flesh. Beside him lay Mrs. Carpenter, face ashen, eyes closed, a rifle in her hands. She looked like a pile of skin, bones, and clothes. Shash lay at her side, his head between his ma.s.sive paws, and looked up at me with pleading eyes.

"Mrs. Carpenter?" My voice was as shaky as my legs. She didn't move. "Please don't be dead," I whispered. Steeling myself for reality, I crossed the room and knelt at her side.

Her skin was cool beneath my touch, but not cold. "Mrs. Carpenter?" I said, patting her creased cheeks. Her eyelids fluttered open and she hugged the gun to her chest. Her lips moved, but I couldn't hear what she said.

I leaned closer, put my ear by her mouth, and waited. A spasm racked her body and she moaned. I climbed to my rubbery legs, crossed the room to the desk, and dialed 911.

After giving the operator the address, I hung up the phone and sat by Mrs. Carpenter again, brushing her tangled hair away from her face. "An ambulance is coming," I whispered, hardly able to talk over the knot in my throat.

She opened her eyes and looked at me again. Her icy hand found mine and squeezed it. "Ring. Broken." She moaned and closed her eyes again. "Shot the ceiling to get your attention," she mumbled. I looked up at the hole in the ceiling and tears found their way to my eyes. I had been so caught up in my own fear and misery, I had completely let her down. The weight pressing down on my shoulders made it hard to keep my head up.

"I'm so sorry," I said. "I never heard a thing from the barn."

Sirens blared outside and car doors slammed. I unlocked the front door and opened it. Shash jumped to his feet, growled deep in his throat, and started barking. Before I could stop him, he sprinted out the door and disappeared, his crazed bark fading the farther he got from the house.

"Shash!" I called as two paramedics and a police officer came into the house. Shash didn't come back.

I stood with my back against the wall and watched as the paramedics examined Mrs. Carpenter.

"She's dehydrated and her hip is broken," one said. They put an IV into her arm and moved her broken body onto a stretcher. I plugged my ears to block out her feeble scream. Even muted, it was my undoing.

With my arms wrapped around my chest, I stood on the front porch long minutes after the ambulance had driven away.

"Are you all right, ma'am?" Officer Dahl asked me again. It was at least the fifth time he had asked.

Am I all right? I wondered. I hadn't been all right for days.

"Ma'am?"

"Yes, I'm fine," I lied, sniffling.

"You know, a lot of elderly women break their hips. It's the most common injury women suffer after the age of sixty. After a few months in a cast, she'll be fine," Dahl said, patting my shoulder. He probably had kids about my age. "Funny old woman. She called the station last night and said the ring of protection had been broken and a pack of cougars was trying to get into her house. Does she suffer from dementia?"

I sank down and sat heavily on the porch step. I thought if I left Mrs. Carpenter alone, so would they. I thought moving the skulls to create a new ring of protection around her house would be a good thing. Obviously I destroyed any power the ring had by altering it. A fresh sob ripped at my chest. In addition to the tigers I'd killed, I was now responsible for the death of Duke and for Mrs. Carpenter's broken hip. I pressed the b.a.l.l.s of my hands over my eyes. If I didn't figure out what was going on, who else would get hurt? I needed someone to talk to. Someone who wouldn't judge me. I needed Bridger. He had to sense my overwhelming misery. Obviously he didn't care enough to come.

I went back inside, picked up the phone, and dialed a number I'd had memorized for a long time. He answered on the third ring, his voice as familiar as my own. "h.e.l.lo, Mr. Petersen? It's Maggie Mae," I said, my voice wavering with the effort of holding back a sob.

"Maggie Mae? You only call me when you're in trouble. What's wrong? Another indecent exposure?" he asked. If only it were that simple.

"No. It's Mrs. Carpenter. She fell and broke her hip. She's at the hospital, but I'm worried about her."

There was a moment of silence. "I'll be at the hospital in three hours." He hung up without saying good-bye.

I wiped the tears from my cheeks and went back to the porch. Staring at the foliage around Mrs. Carpenter's property, I let anger fill me. When my blood was at the boiling point, I whispered through gritted teeth, "I'm all alone now. Come and get me." As if something out there heard, a low, distant howl echoed through the air.

Oh, c.r.a.p, I thought, clutching my suddenly roiling stomach. Now I've done it.

Officer Dahl blinked at me and cleared his throat. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"Never been better. Can I go now?" I asked. Panic was setting in, making me too hot, making my skin clammy and my stomach churn. I wanted desperately to be alone before I started hyperventilating.

"I just need you to sign some paperwork," Dahl said, going to his patrol car for a clipboard.

I signed the papers, though my signature was illegible.

With my arms hugging my stomach, I walked stiffly through the muddy yard and back to the barn apartment.

No matter how I tried to calm down, I felt as if the air were growing denser and denser, and no matter that I was gasping it in, I couldn't breathe. Opening my bedroom window, I gulped in a lungful of fresh air.

I fell onto my bed and tried to relax every muscle in my body, tried to become the bed. While my body gave in to relaxation, my mind refused. A name kept a.s.sailing my thoughts.

Rolf Heinrich.

Obviously he had been looking for me for a while. He was the man Jenny Sue warned me about after I'd moved to Silver City. And I was pretty sure I knew why he wanted me, well, before he'd died: my second nature.

But how did he know about it? How had he found me? And why the freak did an entire group of animals-some of them, if not all of them also human-want me dead? I was nothing! No one special! Actually, that wasn't true. I was nothing and no one important-had been my whole life. But special? I could turn into an animal at will.

I was beyond special.

I lay on my bed with my hands behind my head, feeling seconds sc.r.a.pe slowly into minutes, waiting for the minutes to pile into hours, waiting for the hour when they would come for me. Because I knew they were coming.

I don't recall feeling sleepy-I was exhausted, but not sleepy-when a noise jerked me awake. A twinkling of stars spattered the small patch of sky I could see through my open window.

I sat up, perched upon the edge of the mattress, and listened. Coyotes were about, yipping and barking. I jumped off the bed and ran to the window, sliding it quietly shut and locking it.

In darkness I stood and listened, peering down at the shadowed ground, searching for anything that would warn me, would confirm my suspicions that the hour had arrived.

Shadows moved below my window, shapes darting to and fro, both low to the ground and standing tall. A howl bellowed through the night and I jumped.

I inched closer to the window and placed my palms against the cool gla.s.s. An inky black face appeared, peering right into my eyes. A gray beak gleamed in that horrible face and a hiss penetrated through the gla.s.s. I fell backward, scooting away from the window, my fist pressed into my mouth to hold in a scream. Earlier that day, I thought I wanted them to come for me-wanted it all to end. But now I was too terrified to face them.

I don't know how my panicked brain could register anything besides fear, but it did. My blood ran cold as a thought occurred to me. When I had come back to my room after finding Mrs. Carpenter, I had not locked the exterior barn door.

I jumped to my feet and sprinted out of my room. The barn was pitch black, darker, even, than my bedroom had been. The chickens were restless, clucking and flapping their wings. I slowed and felt my way down the steps.

Shapes-distorted and hunched and blacker than the blackness-filled all the corners of the barn. I prayed they were shadows or my eyes playing tricks on me, yet they seemed to move when I caught them in my peripheral vision. Then something did move. A long shaft of charcoal turned to a rectangle of gray as the barn door eased open. A bulky darkness stepped through and the door shut.

I could just make out the darker shape in the barn, floating toward the stairs leading up to my bedroom. The whispery sound of footfalls mingled with the chicken noises. I scuttled toward the other side of the barn.

Crouched low to the ground, I watched the shadow's progress, watched as it climbed the stairs and made it to the entrance of my bedroom, about to enter, about to give me the chance to bolt for the outside door. But it stopped, a black human shape silhouetted in the rectangular door frame. And then, as if this shape knew exactly where I was, it turned toward me.

The creature came down the stairs, strode right to my hiding place, and grabbed my hair.

I didn't scream. I couldn't breathe! My arms lashed out, scratching and clawing with nails on the brink of turning into razor-sharp claws. But then I recognized the smell of the person trying so desperately to ward off my feeble scratching without hurting me.

"Maggie! Stop it!" he hissed, clutching both my wrists in one of his hands.

"Bridger?" I whimpered.

"Shh. Yes, it's me."

I pulled my hands away from his grasp and threw my arms around him, burying my face against his bare chest. His arms encircled me with warmth and for a split second I felt safe. Until I realized Bridger was now likely to be added to my growing list of dead and injured people. My body stiffened in his arms.

"You're terrified," he stated in a whisper so soft I might have imagined it. "I'm sorry. We have to get away from here. Now. Can you walk?"

"No! You can't be here. You-" His finger was on my lips, silencing me.

"Do not make another noise." His voice was hardly louder than an exhaled breath.

I pulled his finger off my lips. "But they're going to kill-"

His palm clamped down on my mouth and his arm wrapped around my waist, pulling my back against his chest. Lips pressed against my ear. "You have to trust me. Now. Shut. Up."

I nodded and his hand left my mouth. Taking my hand in his, he led me to the barn door.

He opened the door a hair and moonlight poured in, illuminating Bridger's face, gleaming off his dark hair and bare chest, and reflecting on something long and shiny in his hand. A big, silver gun. I froze.

Bridger squeezed my hand and pulled me forward a step. He dropped my hand, held the gun by his cheek so it pointed at the ceiling, and c.o.c.ked it. His eyes were hard, his mouth set in a grim line, and the angles of his face seemed more severe in the blue moonlight.

Grabbing my upper arm, he pulled me so close that I could feel his heart hammering against my shoulder. His lips were on my ear.

"When I open this door, you run to my Cruiser, Maggie, faster than you have ever run in your life. Get in, shut and lock the door, and do not come out. If anything happens to me, drive to the Navajo reservation and tell them Bridger O'Connell sent you."

He didn't give me any warning, just kicked the door out and shoved me into the open. I hesitated long enough to see him lower his gun. And then I ran.

The moon-drenched night throbbed with shadows. I hadn't taken two steps when I heard the sickening sound of a gun with a silencer going off at close range. My arms flew protectively over my head but my frantic pace did not falter. A cougar crashed dead at my feet. I leaped over it and kept running.

Parked in front of Mrs. Carpenter's front porch, the SUV reflected moonlight. My bare feet hardly touched the ground as I sprinted toward it. I heard another m.u.f.fled shot, barely audible above my panting. A sharp yelp met my ears as a giant Doberman fell to the gravel beside me.

And then I was at the car. I yanked open the door and slammed it shut so hard behind me, the car shuddered.

With my nose pressed against the window, I stared through the blue night at Bridger. Shadows flitted about, hugging the ground so I could just catch them out of the corner of my eye. Bridger wasn't fazed. He strode away from the barn and into the midst of the shadows, his shiny gun swinging back and forth, seemingly unaware of his dire circ.u.mstances. Calm as a summer morning, he walked toward me, gun ready, face intent.

One thing was obvious, though-the shadows were scrambling away from Bridger and his big, shiny gun. They feared him. Yet one shadow, hiding in the darkness below the porch, was braver than the others. As Bridger walked past, the shadow wormed along the gravel drive and lunged for his unprotected back. I started to scream a warning, pounding my balled fists against the window. Either he heard me or he heard the creature, because he turned and fired his gun just as a ma.s.sive silver wolf collided with him.

As one they crashed to the ground, a heap of motionless fur. Then something moved. The wolf rose and was thrown lifelessly aside. Bridger scrambled up from the ground, his chest smeared with blood, and aimed his gun toward the crooked pines at the edge of the yard, as if he hadn't almost died a second before. The shadowy creatures went crazy, scrambling away from Bridger, no longer hiding where the moon did not shine. And finally I saw them. Animals. Lots and lots of animals.

Bridger ran to the car. I unlocked the door and he climbed in, slamming the door before handing me his heavy gun. He smelled like blood and gunpowder.

33.

The engine revved to life and the SUV lurched forward.

"Seat belt," Bridger snapped, buckling his without taking his eyes off the road or his foot from the gas pedal.

As we sped away, I peered out my window. The night seemed like any other summer night-innocent, starry, warm.

"Who the h.e.l.l messed with the ring of protection?" he snapped.

I looked at Bridger. Obviously I wasn't very coherent, because the only thing I could think to say was, "Where are your shirt and shoes?"

He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. "I didn't have time to put them on," he said, as if this should have been obvious. "I would have been too late. And why wasn't the barn locked?"

"W-what?" I couldn't think. My body temperature was plummeting, my teeth chattering uncontrollably.

"Maggie?" Bridger grabbed my hand. He swore under his breath and sped up, his SUV practically flying down Swan Street, till it skidded to a stop at the gated entry to his house. He pushed his gate remote control and the wrought iron parted. The car lurched forward, then slammed to a stop just past the gates.

Silently, he took the gun from my lap, c.o.c.ked it, and got out of the car without shutting his door. On a keypad beside the gates, he typed in a few numbers and I felt more than heard the sudden hum of electricity. The gates slid shut and Bridger waited, gun pointed at the gates till they closed completely. When he climbed back into the car, I stared at him wide eyed.

"I'm so sorry. I thought if I left you alone, they'd stop hunting you," he said. "Pretty brilliant." My mouth fell open with shock, but he didn't notice.

Bridger stopped the car in front of the mansion and got out. He pulled his phone from his pants pocket and hit speed dial. Even though the car doors were shut, I could hear every word.

"Alex. We need help. My house." Bridger glanced at me and caught me listening, so continued his conversation in Navajo. "Ho-nez-da. Al-tah-je-jay yea-go. Yeah. Lots of them." He put the phone back into his pocket and walked around to my side of the SUV. I stared at him blankly. He opened the door.

"Maggie?" he prodded gently. When I didn't respond, he reached across my lap and unhooked my seat belt. "Come on."

He took my hands and helped me out of the car, then wrapped an arm around my shoulders and guided me toward the house.

It wasn't until we were on the front porch that I snapped out of my trance. I stopped moving, refusing to let him guide me a step farther.

"What is going on?" I asked shakily, trying not to look at the wolf blood drying on his chest.