Thunder Moon (Nightcreature 8)

Since Quatie appeared a lot better now than she had the last time I’d seen her, I wasn’t going to complain. In the old days, people doctored quite a few things with moonshine—rheumatism, arthritis, toothache. They managed with what they had. I couldn’t fault Quatie for doing the same.

“How are you doing?” I took a seat.

“Better.” She took another gulp. “You don’t need to keep checking on me, child. I’ve been alone a long time.”

“Is your great-great-granddaughter still coming to visit?”

“Soon.” She laughed with such joy I had to smile.

“Where’s she coming from?”

“Not far. Enough about me. How’s your young man?”

He wasn’t my young man. But the eagerness on her face, her genuine fondness for Ian—I couldn’t tell her he was a lying, married weasel. At least not today.

“He’s fine, Quatie.”

“Very fine.” She winked and took another sip of moonshine.

“You aren’t going to take a walk later, are you?”

“No walking tonight.” She didn’t seem affected by the alcohol at all. I suppose familiarity bred resistance. “Have you read your great-grandmother’s papers yet?”

“No, ma’am.”

She seemed to think about that. “That’s probably for the best.”

“Why?”

She got up from the table and walked without a wobble to her couch, where she lay down. “They’ll just make you sad.” She closed her eyes.

The silence that settled over the room was so thick I began to get nervous. She hadn’t died, had she?

“Quatie?”

My only answer was a snore.

* * *

I went home. I didn’t have much else to do.

Heading down the highway, I let my mind wander. I’d driven these roads a thousand times; I knew how they twisted and turned. I considered ignoring my house and returning to work or maybe going to Claire’s or even—

The wolf appeared as if from nowhere, right in front of my truck. I slammed on the brakes, but it was too late. I braced for the impact, but the truck passed right through the animal and came out the other side.

I peered into the rearview mirror. The wolf stood behind me, not a mark on it. I got out of the vehicle.

A flurry of movement, the scrabble of claws against pavement, and the

animal ran through me again. Cold wind, a heavy rain, I felt thick and full, then thin and empty. I had a mental image of my body and the wolf’s melding, stretching, coming together, then suddenly flying apart.

I swayed, and when I could see clearly once more, the beast had stopped several yards ahead. She glanced back, then ran a few feet.

“If you wanted me to go in that direction, all you had to do was wait. I was already doing it.”

The wolf snorted. I had been thinking of going anywhere but home.

“You can read my mind?”