Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Four
My head erupted with a pain so great I fell to the floor on my hands and knees, writhing as the agony continued. I tried to call for Murphy, but the only sound I made was a feeble, animal-like whimper that was drowned out by the distant bong of a clock striking midnight.
I couldn’t catch my breath; every inch of me was on fire. I wanted to press my cheek against the cool tile of the bathroom floor, but when I did it was as if something lay between my skin and the smooth surface, preventing me from touching it.
Another wave of pain hit, and mercifully I passed out.
I awoke in an alley. Every voice on the street echoed in my head; every scent made my nostrils flare. I stared at the full moon framed by an ebony sky. The shiny silver disk seemed to ebb and flow, both sound and light; I heard its song in the pulse of my blood.
And speaking of blood…
I breathed in deeply. Somewhere nearby, there was a lot of it.
Slowly I rose and saw the dead man only a few feet away. Something had torn out his throat. My stomach rolled, making a gurgling growl of hunger. Why did I suddenly smell meat?
I felt so strange, both dizzy and uncertain but at the same time stronger and ultra-aware. My limbs didn’t want to obey my mind’s commands. I could do nothing but crawl on all fours.
I tried to remember how I had gotten here, and the pain flared. I hung my head, shut out the bright moonlight until the agony receded and I could open my eyes.
Only to stare at the bloody paws on the ground in front of me.
I glanced up, expecting to come face-to-face with a leopard. But I was alone in the alley.
Once again I looked down. The paws were facing in the wrong direction to belong to anyone else but me.
I tried to laugh—I was dreaming again—but the sound that came out of my mouth was the furious call of a wild cat.
I backed away from the man—tempted to smell him, taste him, and that just wouldn’t do. For all I knew, one little taste could make this dream real.
But wasn’t that what I wanted?
I forced myself forward. The thought of what I was about to do excited and disgusted me. I was both leopard and woman. Priestess and Jäger-Sucher. Two natures, one mind.
As I lowered my head, my nose brushed the body, and the click of a gun split the silence.
I glanced up; a man stood at the entrance of the alley. The streetlight cast him in silhouette, but I knew who it was.
Edward didn’t wait for me to explain—as if I could with my snout problem—he just shot me.
However, I’d started moving the instant I recognized him, and the bullet that had been meant for my head plowed into my shoulder. The sharp, slicing pain made me stumble, but since I didn’t explode, I kept running.
I was down by the wharf, not too far from home. I kept to the shadows near the buildings, zigging right, zagging left, leaving Edward behind with ease.
People brain, cat body—if it weren’t for the blood-lust, this wouldn’t be so bad.
Moments later I reached my shop and jumped in through the open back window—a lot of things were much easier on cat legs.
Murphy was gone. Thank goodness for small favors. Because as soon as I was inside, I passed out again.
I awoke to the sun streaming across my face. The birds were chirping. I had feet, not paws. Life was good.
I rolled my shoulder—not a twinge—felt for a bullet hole, found nothing. Not only that, but the arm I’d slashed with a silver knife yesterday sported no bandage, no scab, not even a scar.
I rubbed at my forehead and something crackled. When I lowered my hand, dried blood marred my fingers.
As I ran into the bathroom, I kicked something small and hard beneath my bed. I didn’t have time to wonder what it was; I barely reached the toilet before I threw up.
When I was through, I took a shower, brushed my teeth. Even before I looked into the mirror I knew what I’d see. My eyes had turned green, and they hadn’t turned back.
The phone shrilled; my sharp, shocked intake of breath sounded like a shriek. I hurried into the bedroom and grabbed the receiver before it could ring again. The shrill sound made my head ache.
“I know what’s wrong with your python.”
I’d forgotten the problem with Lazarus when I started having problems with humanity.
The vet continued speaking. “Yesterday a technician forgot to put back one of the patients. Said patient wandered near Lazarus, and the snake flipped out.”
“I’m not getting you. What patient?”
“Oh.” He laughed. “A cat. Some snakes hate them. Lazarus seems to be one.”
This news coming so soon after my nightmare that wasn’t exactly a nightmare explained a lot of things.
“I don’t have a cat,” I said numbly.
“Maybe you held one? Then you’d smell like one. Snakes can be very perceptive.”
Lazarus certainly was. He’d figured out what was happening before anyone else had.
My eyes had become greener even in Haiti, but I’d blown off the change as too much reflective, magical jungle.
My senses had sharpened. I’d healed a little faster. Of course nothing good genes and healthy living couldn’t explain away.
Until last night.
I must have made the appropriate responses to the vet, because he said good-bye, and I hung up, then sat heavily on the side of the bed.
I’d hoped I’d had another dream, but what about the blood, the speed-of-light healing of my arm, if not my bullet wound? Had there been a bullet wound?
I slid from the bed and crawled underneath, fingers reaching for something small and hard, the something I’d kicked as I ran. It didn’t take me long to recover the silver bullet. Obviously my body had expelled it when I shifted back into a woman.
“A handy talent to have,” I murmured, tossing the thing onto my nightstand.
Looked like I didn’t have to become a shape-shifter; I already was.
But how? I hadn’t been bitten.
“Neither was Henri.”
The sound of my own voice made me jump. Talking to myself probably wasn’t the best idea, but I had no one else. If I told Diana what I suspected, she might tell Edward, and we already knew what he’d do about it.
“Shoot me with silver, although that doesn’t seem to work.”
There were still some holes in my logic. I’d thought I’d been unable to raise a living zombie because I wasn’t a shape-shifter. Yet I was. So what had gone wrong at the cemetery?
The doorbell rang, and then it didn’t stop. Either the thing was stuck or there was an emergency, either of which had to be dealt with, so I threw on some clothes and hurried through the store.
Since I figured the culprit was Diana, I threw open the door, flinching at the sight of Edward. I had expected him to shoot me again, but he was unarmed. How strange.
“Renee just called.” He shoved past me without being invited. “People are still disappearing in Haiti. I thought you said the bokor was dead.”
“He was. Is,” I corrected.
“You checked?”
“Uh—”
“You didn’t check?” he shouted.
“Not me personally.” I’d been a little freaked over killing a man. “Murphy.”
Edward scowled. “Did you at least shoot him with silver?”
“Shoot, stab, same difference, right?”
One of the first things Edward had taught me—silver works for man and beast. Although it didn’t appear to be working on every beast.
“He did not explode?” Edward pressed.
“No.”
“Men like the bokor never die easily. Especially when they are not men.”
“You don’t think he was a man?”
“Do you?”
“He wasn’t a werewolf.”
Edward stared at me for a minute, then murmured, “I shot a leopard last night, which didn’t explode, either. The animal had just killed a man.”
I made a soft sound of distress. The animal was me, and I had killed that man—though I didn’t remember doing it. I didn’t remember a lot of things lately.
Edward cast me a harsh glance. “You cannot be squeamish if you are to work for me.”
I nodded and said nothing, but he didn’t require any commentary. “We can’t be sure that the victim won’t rise. I shot him with silver, but that will probably not work. I am thinking wereleopards need to be shot with something other than that.”
I was thinking the same thing.
“I will call Renee, set Diana to the research.” He opened the door, and sunlight streamed over us both.
With a scowl, he grasped my chin and lifted my face. “Your eyes. They were blue.”
Son of a bitch! It wasn’t easy being green. I’d forgotten my sudden change of shade, which was understandable. I didn’t suddenly see everything through green-colored glasses instead of blue.
“My contacts,” I blurted.
He squinted, peering at my irises. “You aren’t wearing any.”
“You rang the bell before I could put them in.” I stepped out of his grasp, his clawlike fingers seeming to leave a dent in my flesh. “You know I’m in witness protection.” He nodded; he’d known. “I started wearing blue lenses, figured it couldn’t hurt.”
Edward grunted and left, but he’d be back. Probably with twenty rounds of whatever it took to kill a wereleopard.
I had to sit down, so I stumbled to a chair, fell into it, then put my head between my knees and tried to breathe. Sure I’d wanted to be a shape-shifter, so I could shift the shape of my child from dead to alive.
However, it hadn’t occurred to me that in doing so I’d be changing the shape of countless others— from alive to dead.
I shuddered at the thought of killing someone, then drinking their blood, eating their flesh. If I was really a wereleopard, shouldn’t I like it?
Werewolves turned evil when they turned. Why hadn’t I?
The front door opened. Edward returning, no doubt, with second thoughts on my blue-contacts explanation. I was surprised he’d bought it in the first place.
I really should have gotten out of New Orleans while the getting was good, but now it was too late.
I lifted my head, prepared to explain everything, but the words froze on my lips at the sight of Jacques Mezareau.
***