by Kody Boye
You’ll be fine, Guy said as I walked out the door to our room, quick to console my ever-worrisome conscience. Besides—what’s the worst that could happen?
I didn’t bother to elaborate.
Instead, I bid him goodbye, said I’d bring back something for lunch, and headed downstairs, all the while hoping, praying and swearing to God up and down that nothing would go wrong.
My search landed me at the nearest convenience store, located no more than one or two blocks at the corner down the road. Inside, I ignored the speculation and stares of people taking notice of my arm. I’d decided to forego a T-shirt in lieu of the weather and instead wore a tank that fully exposed the ornate, tattoo-like scar running down from my left shoulder. Most were quick to compliment it and say nothing else, while fewer were interested in even approaching me.
I thought I was out of the clear until I was approached by a young woman who couldn’t have been out of her teens.
“Woah,” she said, instantly startling me but simultaneously getting my attention. “That’s wicked cool, dude. Who’s your artist?”
“Sorry?” I frowned.
“Your henna. Who did it?”
“Oh. That.” I bowed my head by reflex, but also to avoid making direct eye contact with her. “No one. It’s a scar. I got struck by lightning when I was a kid.”
“Shit,” she said, fingers flushing, eyes wide and filled with awe. “And you’re cool? Nothing more than a scar?”
“Nothing more,” I smiled, biting the inside of my cheek when she reached forward, as if to touch me. I shrugged away from her advance and took a step back, adjusting the basket in my hand. “Sorry—I gotta get going.”
“No worries,” she said. “Nice meeting you.”
“You too,” I said.
I turned and watched her leave through the reflection in the sunglass rack mirror before I stepped into the store to peruse their wares.
That had been close—really close. Any further contact might’ve resulted in a lasting impression, something neither Guy nor myself needed.
With the knowledge that my lack of foresight might draw attention, I quickened my pace throughout the aisles and tried to pick out the nonperishables I thought would be most useful. Bags of potato chips, pretzels, satchels of nuts and chocolates that likely contained less nutrients than advertised but would still offer the necessary sugars, peanut butter for protein, homemade tortillas that appeared to have gone through Hell and back—I even bought a backpack, and while I initially thought buying a first-aid kit at a different location might have been the safest, I realized they would find me wherever I went.
Security cameras were everywhere. There was no escaping that.
I kept my head down right up until I hit the front of the checkout line.
“Going camping?” the clerk asked, showing little interest as she scanned the items in my cart, her head bobbing to the music playing in her one ear bud.
“Something like that,” I replied.
“Better be careful. People’ve been getting spooked off the sites because of something that’s been up there.”
“Pardon?”
She finished bagging my items and snatched the receipt off the roller. “Have a nice day,” she said.
The burning question on the tip of my tongue was extinguished as another customer came forward.
After taking my bag and walking out the door, I turned and was just about to start down the road when I caught sight of the woman who’d been so interested in my scar directly across the road.
“Lemme go!” she said, kicking up as a female officer attempted to wrestle her into cuffs. “I didn’t do nothing!”
“Now now, Missy Sue,” the officer said, as if she’d dealt with this woman before. “Let’s not do this the hard way.”
“But I was just talkin’ to him!” she moaned. “Come on, Officer Maria. Cut me some slack!”
The lull in traffic that had provided such a natural scapegoat ended when the light turned green and the cars began to roll down the road.
The girl’s head shot across the street, eyes centering on me. “Hey!” she cried. “Hey!”
“Missy Sue,” the Hispanic officer said. “I thought I said we had to be quiet or else—”
“That’s him! That’s the guy with the funny tattoo!”
The policewoman’s eyes centered directly on me.
I swallowed, her hawkish gaze freezing me in place.
She merely shook her head, finished securing the young girl into the cuffs, and dragged her toward the cruiser where another man was speaking into a radio and looking directly at me.
I turned and started back toward the bed and breakfast.
There was no denying it.
I’d just been noticed—and by someone who would remember me.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“A bit greasy,” Guy said, licking sauce off his fingers as the barbecue dripped out of the sandwich and onto his hand. “Where’d you say you get these again?”
“Someplace down the road,” I replied. “Sorry if you don’t like it. I was in a hurry.”
“They’re fine.” He finished chewing what was in his mouth. “Wait. Why were you in a hurry? Did something happen?”
“Some girl took an interest in my arm and wouldn’t leave me alone,” I said, tucking my fingers into my armpits. “And when I came out of the store after she left, I saw her being arrested.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Really, it’s no big deal. I got spooked. That’s all.”
“Did either of the cops see you?”
I had no means to reply.
“Shit,” Guy said, shoving a fry into his mouth.
“I’m sorry. It was stupid to go out like that. I thought we’d be safe here.”
“I’m not mad at you. Really. It’s cool.”
I sighed and settled into the seat across from him. “Besides,” I said, lifting my eyes from my food. “I was more concerned with what the checkout clerk in the convenience store told me than anything Missy Sue said.”
Guy froze. “What’d you just say?” he asked.
“I said I was more concerned—”
“No. Her name. What was it?”
“Missy Sue.”
“What’d she look like?”
I described her: short, scraggly blonde hair, pretty in a very natural way and very much like a flower child of the seventies. I then repeated what the clerk had said about something spooking the campers off at the nearby sites, only to turn my head and find Guy’s hands cupping the sides of his head.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. “There’s something more you’re not telling me.”
“Missy Sue,” Guy said, “is a regular escapee from the Fredericksburg Home for Girls. She’s known for having a knack of getting out of the tightest situations… especially during the full moon.” He lifted his head. “She’s a Wolf, Jason—a werewolf.”
“How do you know?”
“How wouldn’t I know?” he laughed. “She’s practically been terrorizing the countryside since that bitch Pierre turned her a few months back.”
“How has she been getting away with it for so long?”
“She hasn’t really killed anyone… that they know of… and her simple-mindedness tends to grant her immunity in situations where otherwise there’d be a lot of speculation. She can walk the streets naked and just be taken home. It’s that simple.”
“Does she pose a threat to us?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she caught my scent on you and got distracted by your scar. Maybe she doesn’t even run with Mardulf anymore. All I know is: if people have still been avoiding campsites because of some big animal, it means she’s still running wild. And if she’s running where I think she’s been, she’s in his territory.”
I swallowed a lump in my throat. “Guy,” I said. “If what I know about Werewolves is true… they turn on the full moon, right?”
“Yeah. Why?”
I pointed
to the nearby calendar.
Nestled directly beneath today’s date were the words Beginning of Full Moon Phase.
Guy and I looked at each other. “It’s nothing to worry about,” he said. “We’ll be fine.”
Somehow, I had reason to think otherwise.
Chapter Twenty-Six
That night, a knock came at the door just as we were about to get ready for bed.
There was no immediate sound that followed—no declaration of intent, no mistaken request for room service, no drunk man or woman trying to find their disgruntled partner behind a door number which they couldn’t remember. The complete and utter silence struck within me a primordial sense of fear I imagined hadn’t been experienced since the Stone Age.
I glanced at Guy, masked by the shadow near the far side of the room.
The knock came again. “Excuse me,” a voice which was not that of the clerk manager whom we’d frequently heard over the past few days. “Mr. Johnson? May we have a word with you?”
The shuffle of Guy’s footsteps whispered across the carpet as he disappeared from view. I didn’t bother to keep track. I merely stared at the door.
A third time. “Mr. Johnson?” the voice asked. “We’re sorry to disturb you, but my name is Detective Daniel Morgan. I’m with the Fredericksburg Police Department. I’d like to ask you a few questions about your whereabouts over the past few days.”
“Shit,” I whispered.
Guy’s hand slid around my mouth from behind, making me jump back into him.
“Quiet,” he whispered. “Start backing around the bed.”
“Mr. Johnson,” the detective said, his voice pure authority as I snatched the backpack from the foot of the bed. “I won’t ask you again. Open the door and I won’t be forced to break entry.”
The sound of footsteps coming up the stairs signaled a second presence.
Guy pulled his hand away from my mouth before reaching back and cracking the sliding-glass door.
Outside, a cold gust tore around the building and into the room.
My foot landed on cold stone the moment the door clicked into place.
“Break it down,” the detective said.
The crunch of thick wood splintering beneath a battering ram entered my ears.
I turned to look over my shoulder.
Two stories below stood a courtyard looking out into beautiful west Texas, a tiered water foundation its main centerpiece.
“Jason,” Guy said, locking both arms around my waist. “You’re going to have to trust me on this.”
“What’re you—”
I couldn’t finish.
He flung us over the railing.
We fell.
Even though it wasn’t an incredible distance from the second-floor balcony, it felt like we were falling forever. Lost, together in embrace, where death would do us part by the laws of physics—the poetry of such a situation couldn’t have been done better by Shakespeare himself, even if he were still alive. The world around us moved into a blur. Distant headlights stopped moving. Water drops whispered by our heads like fairies making their way back to the Fairyworld. And the fountain—oh, how it wished to greet us, with its stone façade and its striking self. It didn’t matter if it was filled with water—it was shallow. We’d die before we even struck.
Trust me, Guy had said, when he had taken hold of my head and pressed his lips to mine.
Trust me, he’d said, when he pressed his hand into the small of my back and sent me to a completely different place.
Trust me, he’d said, the moment before he flung us over the railing.
Trust me.
Trust me.
“Trust me,” I whispered.
The world took on a sudden chill.
I opened my eyes.
The crystallization taking place around us was like something you would only see in a chemistry lab. Spiderwebbing across the globules of water within the air, cocooning us in a fine thread of hot-white thread, expanding, then contracting as what looked like crystals bloomed and then began to thicken—the giant peaks of mountains and the great gorges of rivers formed within the crystalline surface and continued to build upon itself until they stopped no more than a few sheer inches away.
I turned to look at Guy’s face.
His eyes glowed like an aurora borealis on the coldest night of the year.
The crystals closest to our bodies chipped away, fell just above Guy’s head to collect upon the bottom of the structure, then swirled around us, smoothing the ice like snow.
The whole sight was almost too much to behold.
Sadly, I had not the time to revel in such great magic.
We hit.
The jarring impact was nothing compared to what we would’ve experience had we not been encapsulated inside the crystal. Contoured around our bodies and angled just perfectly, we hit the second level of the fountain and then slammed into the bottom before the crystal flipped and finally struck the ground below, the sound of streaming water and rolling concrete deafening in the enclosed space.
“Keep your head down,” Guy said.
I bowed my face to his chest just in time for the crystal to explode, depositing Guy on the dirt ground with a grunt and me with a near-senseless breath of relief.
“Come on. We can’t stay here.”
Upstairs, the door cracked open.
I took Guy’s hand as he dragged me to my feet and kept a tight hold on the backpack filled with our lifesaving supplies that thrashed behind me.
The trees on the opposite side of the fence seemed too far away.
We’d never make it.
Never—
Guy slammed the brunt of his weight into the flimsy wooden gate and snapped it free of its hinges. I jumped over it and ducked just in time to avoid a lingering branch before we darted into the copse of trees before us.
Gasping, I took a deep breath.
Where the hell were we?
“We can’t stop,” Guy said, dragging me by the wrist. “We have to keep going.”
“How far?”
He lifted his eyes, which had still not lost their shimmering translucent hue. “A mile or two,” he said. “Then more hill country.”
“Can we avoid them?”
“We better hope.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The roads were easy enough to navigate. Filled with empty spaces and shadowed by the darkness which had not been held back by the streetlights, we ran through the far end of Fredericksburg without pause and broke out onto the opposite end of town just in time to hear police sirens rev up.
Talking was too much of a waste of energy.
Instead, we ran.
Scattered tree lines and fenced-off sections of farmland made for tricky maneuvering. The obvious inclination was to continue forward and bounce from copse to copse, hoping that in the meantime the cops wouldn’t catch up or a police helicopter wouldn’t swoop in and spot us in its headlights, but Guy’s face said otherwise. His eyes scanned the distance for what I hoped would be a possible escape—searching, constantly, the woods to our right, the distant north. His mouth curled into a frown and his hand balled into a fist just in time for another series of sirens to go up.
“Guy,” I said. “What’re you doing?”
“Looking,” he said.
“For what?”
He didn’t respond. Now that his eyes had returned to their usual, albeit-strange color, he resembled more of a human than he did one of the Kaldr, but nonetheless appeared just as troubled.
Standing there, clutching the backpack in my hand to the point where I thought my fingers would go numb, I was just about ready to take off on my own. Let him deal with it if he was just going to stand there like an idiot.
I expelled a breath, bull-like in my unease. “Guy,” I said. “What’re you waiting for?”
“I don’t want to lure them north.”
I frowned. “Why?”
“My father—”
“W
e don’t have time for that!” I grabbed him arm—monolithic in structure and stone-solid in weight. “Come on! Even if we don’t end up going to your father, we have to go. Now.”
“Jason—”
I tore my grasp from his arm and slung the backpack over my shoulders, grimacing from the dull but still-familiar pain in my back. I glanced once, then twice out the tree line, both ways, before taking off.
Away from him, my heart hammered in my chest.
What the hell was I thinking? I was a goner without him.
The crunch of earth beneath my heels was a horrible reminder of how fragile this entire situation was. The heat painstaking in its intent, globs of sweat ran down my face and fogged the lenses of my glasses. Twice I had to reach up to wipe them clean with my thumb, and even then that did little to prevent them from fogging up again.
Something shot into sight.
I backpedaled and attempted to screech to a halt just as something entered sight.
The backpack, bloated with supplies, sent me forward.
Its glimmer, its teeth, materializing from the darkness—
A hand snared around the back of my shirt and caught me just before I could land face-first into a barbed-wire fence.
“I got you,” Guy said.
I took in a deep breath of lost air as Guy pulled me back and thanked whatever merciful God was out there that he’d shown up.
“Shit,” I breathed. “I didn’t think there’d be fences out here.”
“City boy, I take it?”
I nodded—even managed to smirk, given the slight drawl that his voice had taken on.
“There’s people all the way through here,” Guy said, pointing to the distance beyond the fence. “We’ve been lucky in that we’ve missed the pastures and peach farms so far, but this is it from here on out. We’ll have to climb these fences and make sure we don’t spook any of the cows while we’re here.”
“You have anything to weigh this down?”
Guy’s method was meticulously straightforward and worked based only on the fact that certain sections were graced with the unfortunate ingenuity for practical stupidity. After snaring his belt through several loops of wire, he passed the leather strap to me before pulling his shirt free of his body and draping it over the wire.