Nightshifter

by L. E. Horn

  My heart resumed beating, but now at an increased rate. “Where’s the ATV?”

  He glanced toward the lean-to and his brows lowered. “I think I took it to get firewood.” His forehead wrinkled in confusion. “Can’t remember. Why would I run during the day? Someone might’ve seen me.”

  I struggled to keep my expression calm. “You’re still recovering. The doc said you might experience symptoms.” I did my best to sound reassuring, but I was totally freaked out. “Come inside and get some clothes on.”

  “But the ATV—it’s out there, somewhere. I can’t leave it.”

  “Don’t worry about the ATV.” No one would take it. There is a certain code country dwellers live by. No messing with a man’s stuff, even if it’s out in the boonies.

  “We can’t leave it out there.” Peter grabbed me by the arm, and Keen jumped up and barked, looking from me to him, which the puppy took as an invitation to play, and soon the two were rolling around. By the noises Keen made, she was less than impressed. But she cut him slack for being young and therefore an idiot.

  I was grateful the scene distracted Peter, but I was also concerned that his attention could be diverted from retrieving his beloved machine. I guided him toward the deck. “Have a shower and get dressed. I have to take that dog to Josh. You can come with us.”

  Peter followed me into the house. Once I had him in the bathroom, I raced to the suite, shutting the door in Keen’s face when she tried to follow me inside.

  “You’re on babysitting duty,” I informed her, pushing back ninety pounds of slobbering hound as I closed the door. Keen wouldn’t stray from the yard and the pup would stick with her, at least for as long as it took me to shower.

  Tufts of blond hair drifted from my coveralls as I stripped, and I sighed in relief when I stepped into the hot water. As stray bits of hair—along with sweat, mud, antiseptic and dog slobber—washed down the drain, my brain raced. Peter couldn’t remember what he’d done that afternoon. The metaphorical ground crumbled beneath me as I contemplated what that meant. Why? Why is he suddenly getting worse? He’d had minor memory lapses over the last few days, but nothing like those of the last twenty-four hours. Thoughts of Peter forgetting who I was made my stomach twist.

  My phone rang as I emerged, steamy clean. I’d left it on the table. “Clap for the Wolfman” —Chris.

  “Hey,” I answered, surprised at the relief in my voice. “Are you back?”

  “I am. Is everything all right?”

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “That’s why I’m calling. Why don’t you come over tonight?”

  I frowned. “Didn’t Josh tell you?”

  “Tell me what?”

  “I called him about an hour ago, told him I was coming there. I’m running late.”

  Silence from the other end.

  “Chris? You still there?”

  “Yeah.” His voice sounded odd.

  “Peter’s had another memory lapse.”

  “Another?”

  “Yeah. Since last night.”

  “He had one last night?”

  What the heck? Whatever he and Josh have been up to, it didn’t involve talking. I supposed Chris had been away for a while, so perhaps they’d been preoccupied with other things. “Yeah. Ask Josh about it, he was here with us.”

  “I will. You on your way?”

  “I’m bringing Peter.” I considered the behemoth outside. “And a surprise.”

  He sighed. “Lately, that’s all I’ve been getting. What’s one more? Bring it on.”

  I laughed, although it sounded strained to my own ears. “See you soon.”

  * * *

  The relief evident on Keen’s face when I opened the door would have made me laugh if I weren’t so damned worried about Peter. Her fur stuck up in wet clumps and debris covered her. I hauled an old dog kennel out of the barn and squeezed the puppy into it—it took both Peter and me to do it—before fastening it into the box of Peter’s truck.

  The tail issue dealt with, I offered to drive and received another surprise when he agreed. He must be more shaken up than I thought.

  I was pulling out onto the highway when he spoke.

  “I think the ATV is near the cedar grove, stuck in the mud.”

  He thinks? “Okay. I’ll pick it up tomorrow morning, before I go to work.” I resigned myself to another night with little sleep. If I change, I can get there fast. It meant driving the ATV back in the buff, but it would be dark. Nothing like a little nudist all-terraining to bring out the kid in me.

  I worked out the scenario. “So, you got stuck and shifted to come home?”

  Peter squirmed in his seat. “Yeah.”

  Okay. Made sense.

  “I can’t remember shifting.”

  The words dropped like a bomb between us.

  “Not at all?”

  He shook his head, a movement I caught out of the corner of my eye as I focused on the road.

  “I remember getting the ATV out to go work on that big cedar that came down over the winter. Hit a muddy patch in the bog and the machine sank. That’s all.”

  If the vehicle had become mired, Peter might have shifted to tap into the strength of his wulf. Although he wouldn’t have needed a full shift to accomplish that.

  “Maybe you did a partial shift to get the ATV out?”

  He scowled. “A partial? I don’t do partials.”

  “Never?”

  “Never been very good at them,” he confessed. “And it got ugly once. Was enough for me. I’m either wulf or human. None of this in-between stuff.”

  I considered what I’d done earlier that day with Buster. “I’ve found it useful.”

  “You’re doing partials?” The alarm in Peter’s voice surprised me.

  “It’s no big deal.”

  “Does Chris know?”

  I frowned, suddenly annoyed. “Chris isn’t my keeper. He told me about the risks. I’m careful with my visualization and manage the emotions. It works for me.”

  “Did he mention you could die?”

  “Yes, but I’m careful.”

  “Liam, you’re very new to this. Partials are more dangerous than you know.”

  “Okay, I get it,” I said, wanting to calm Peter down. We had enough to worry about, without him concerned for me.

  “Promise me you won’t do more partials.”

  “I can’t promise that. I saved a horse today by doing it.”

  “You did it today?” Peter’s voice almost squeaked in disbelief. “And you’re still upright?”

  “I told you, I’m careful.”

  “Careful has nothing to do with it. Partials are very hard on your body. The few times I managed it, I passed out afterward. Slept for days.”

  “I’ve seen Chris do them. They don’t wipe him out.”

  I glanced at him. He regarded me with wide eyes.

  “Chris doesn’t do partials unless he absolutely has to. No one does.” He sounded incredulous.

  “Yes he does. His teeth, his claws.”

  He scoffed. “Those aren’t partials, not really. Those are parlor tricks.”

  I considered. Chris had talked of partial shifts and I’d made assumptions. He’d mentioned that doing partials involving the body core was dangerous, but I hadn’t realized he didn’t do them.

  “You’re not doing just teeth and claws, are you?” he guessed. “Can’t see them helping a horse.”

  I sighed. “No.”

  “Liam, you’re playing with fire. Please talk to Chris about it.”

  He seemed concerned enough that I relented. “Okay, I will.”

  “Promise.”

  “I promise.”

  He subsided at that, gazing out the window at the farms we passed by. “Where’d you get the puppy?”

  “Whiterock Dairy. Barb picked him up on the highway.”

  “He’s already a monster. You hoping to pawn him off on Chris and Josh?”

  “Yep.”

  P
eter smiled, and something inside me unwound a little. Keen stuck her head between the seats and nudged his elbow with her nose. He stroked her.

  I looked back to the road. Peter had to be okay. Nothing else was acceptable, and certainly not the consequences of being unable to control one’s wulf.

  19

  Josh and Chris came out of the house when we pulled up with the truck. Over the last few weeks I’d seen Chris angry and worried, but I’d never seen him on edge. Always in control, the enforcer handled whatever life threw at him. Yet there was a haunted look in his eyes that added to my angst. But when he slapped Peter on the shoulder and made a crack about getting old, and Peter smiled and told him where to stuff that idea, I guessed he wanted to play it cool for now. So I walked around to the back of the truck, dropped the tailgate, and released the hound.

  Josh’s face looked drawn and there were still dark hollows beneath his eyes, but he smiled when Keen wiggled at his feet. Mr. Ginormous bounded over and all but flattened him, whereby my dog threw herself on the puppy, pinning him to the ground.

  Of course, if the pup wanted to object, she wouldn’t have been able to move him, he already outweighed her. But he submitted, lying limp beneath her paws.

  “Hey, it’s okay, Keen!” Josh leaned to pet her, and she backed off. The pup continued to lie there, but now he rolled to present his stomach.

  “Who’s this?” he asked as he rubbed the puppy’s belly. The dog flipped over and gathered himself to fling his body onto Josh, but Keen fastened him with a stony stare, so he wriggled instead.

  “His name is up to you,” I said. “But I have a few suggestions. Like Godzilla. Or Kong. Anything that wraps considerable size together with mayhem.”

  “This is your surprise?” Chris struggled for a stern expression, but I could tell the utter delight on Josh’s face was melting his resolve. “How old is he? And what is he, other than hellhound?”

  “About six months. He’s just getting his adult canines. As to breed, I’m not sure,” I confessed. “Wolfhound or Dane, mixed with lab?”

  “Obviously not Chihuahua,” Chris pointed out, running a hand through his hair. “He’ll be bloody huge. And am I the only one appreciating that part of him might be a breed designed to hunt wolves?”

  “As long as he doesn’t catch any,” Josh said, laughing, “what does it matter?” He staggered as the pup ignored Keen’s warning growl and jumped up on him. On his hind legs, he already stood almost the same height as Josh.

  Chris shook his head. “He sleeps in the barn.”

  “I’m putting an old quilt on the floor in the bedroom,” corrected Josh.

  Chris sighed and looked at me. “I hate you.”

  I grinned.

  The puppy spun, his paws digging up chunks of manicured turf and his tail whipping around to clout Chris across the upper thighs. He winced and hunched reflexively at the near miss, before glaring first at me, then at the dog.

  “Total havoc. Just what we need.”

  Josh laughed. “Havoc! Perfect!”

  Havoc? Thinking of the battering ram tail, I had to admit the name suited.

  When Peter, Josh, and the dogs headed to the house, Chris cut me off. “Liam and I will be in the barn,” he called to them.

  Peter spun and fixed me with a stern look. “Talk to Chris about the partials.”

  Figures he wouldn’t forget that. “Yeah, okay,” I said, aware Chris stared hard at me.

  “What was that about?” Chris asked as we walked to the barn.

  I debated dismissing the entire thing. My main concern was Peter. But knowing my old friend, he wouldn’t let this go. Unless he forgot it.

  “Liam?” Chris drawled the name, with that enforcer tone that said, don’t mess with me. “You haven’t been experimenting with partials, have you?”

  “I’ve got questions about them,” I admitted, and I did. “But can we talk about it later? I think we have bigger worries right now.”

  Chris nodded and didn’t argue, which added to my sense of unease. We reached the barn and he diverted us to a long bench that ran along a wall, beneath their version of a lean-to. The plant pots and bags of earth stacked to one side revealed that Josh had been using it and the table nearby for mixing soil. Chris sat down and I joined him.

  “So did you get the story from Josh about last night?”

  Chris looked away. His reaction confused me. After a moment, I asked, “Is something wrong?”

  His mouth twisted before he spoke. “When I asked Josh about last night, at first he said nothing happened. Then he told me maybe he’d gone over to your place. Then he remembered you’d eaten Chinese takeout. When I asked if he stayed for a run, he said he thought he did.”

  Thought he did? What the hell?

  “Josh brought Lee’s takeout,” I said. “We went for a run and Peter flushed a hare and killed it. When Keen sniffed at it, he tried to attack her. Josh knocked him away, and we both faced him down. Peter took off. When he got back, he didn’t remember any of it.” My confusion showed in the rapid-fire recounting of events.

  Chris glanced at me, his eyes bleak. “Josh has no memory of that.” He looked away.

  Peter was getting elderly for a wulfan and had been through a terrible attack that almost ended his life. There were explanations for what might be happening to him. But Josh wasn’t old. What the hell was going on?

  “Josh didn’t remember me calling to say I was coming over, did he?”

  “No.”

  “Chris, what the hell?”

  He sighed. “There are things . . . you don’t know.”

  “Are you talking about the mutant wulfleng?”

  He looked startled, soon followed by resigned. “Sam.”

  “She told me about the two that died in wulfleng form, and how the wulfan examiner found anomalies in their bodies. She said you guys were worried about a new strain of the virus.”

  Chris’s expression was grim. “The examiner sent the samples to experts on the wulfan virus, to a lab in Winnipeg.” He shook his head. “You should have seen those wulfleng. They were hard to put down. It took four of us, and we’d never have done it without guns. We’re hard to kill as wulves, but a bullet to the brain works.” He sighed. “When you’re fighting, you focus on the battle, on accomplishing the goal. When I saw the bodies on the table, I realized how lucky we were. These guys were huge, bulging with muscle, and with oversized teeth and claws.”

  “Like Dillon.”

  Chris nodded. “We didn’t see it, not at first. But after Sam pointed it out, we realized she’s right. Other than hair color, they’re just like him.” He looked at me. “You probably don’t realize how strange that is. Each of us appears different in wulf form, just as we do as humans. I can pick Josh out from a thousand black-haired wulfan. The variations in our human bodies translate to that of the wulf, everything from coloring to leg length.”

  I nodded. As an artist, I possessed a good eye for proportion, and I’d seen the differences he spoke of. “But these wulfleng didn’t take after their human selves?” I asked. “How do you know, if you didn’t see their human side?”

  “Because they could have been cookie stamped, they were so much alike. And so much like Dillon. Uncanny. Freaked me out.”

  I didn’t think there was much on this earth that freaked Chris out. “So, they might have been infected with a mutant strain of the virus. You think Dillon was infected by the same one?”

  “We don’t even know if the mutant virus is real,” he conceded.

  My stomach muscles tightened. “Someone deliberately infected Dillon with this new strain?”

  “An excellent question, for which I have no answer. Not yet, anyway.” He hesitated and looked at me again. “Sam told you we got two bodies to the examiner—well it’s because they were so big, we couldn’t hide all five under the tarp, so we only took two. When Matt and I went back to collect the other three, they’d vanished.”

  “Like Dillon and Chloe.”


  He nodded. “Someone is interested in these wulfleng. And it looks like they might have access to military-grade equipment. But it gets worse.”

  Of course it does, I thought. I had a strong, sudden desire to halt and even rewind time, as I sensed my life unravelling, and me having no control over it. Maybe it would be better if the last two months had never happened. But I glanced at Chris and realized I’d gained more friends in that time than I had my entire life. And Sam . . .

  Chris’s brows lowered, and he tightened his mouth. “If Dillon was infected with a mutant strain—and that is still a big if—the infection didn’t end with him.” He looked at me, and a world of pain lay in his eyes.

  The revelation slammed into me. Dillon had bitten me. And Peter. And he’d been with Chloe, so he’d likely infected her. And she’d bitten Josh.

  Oh my God.

  “We’re infected?” I could barely voice the words. “Will we become like Dillon?”

  “I don’t know.” Chris grimaced, revealing strong white teeth. “Peter and Josh weren’t bitten on a full moon. The normal wulfan virus only becomes reproductive and circulates into the bodily fluids every twenty-nine days, for a twenty-four-hour period. The rest of the time, it hides. But if there is a mutant virus, who knows how it cycles and transmits? Does it affect wulfan? One might think wulfan should be at least partially immune to it since they already possess the original strain.”

  Immune? Yet neither Peter nor Josh acted normally. And I wasn’t wulfan . . .

  “How long would I have, before I show signs?”

  “If Dillon was infected when we thought, this last full moon would have been his second,” he said.

  Crap.

  “But he was erratic almost immediately,” Chris pointed out. “If we’re off with our timing for his infection, he may have held on longer. And from what we’ve determined, he had issues as a human, before he ever became a wulf.”

  I stared out across the immaculate lawn and gardens. “How will I know when I start to lose it?”

  “So far, you aren’t showing signs of trouble. Your wulfleng form looks nothing like Dillon or the others in Brandon.”