Timeless Moon

by C. T. Adams

  Josette set aside her purse, then, concentrating, shifted into her familiar furred form. With a deft twist of her body, she was on her feet, running toward the grate at the far side of the crawl space. A voice called out behind and above her. The creak of hinges drove her on. She put on a burst of speed. At the last second she turned, taking the impact on her shoulder as she burst through the grate to slam into the corrugated metal side of a sunken window well.

  The pain of her dislocated shoulder was intense. Tears mixed with the pouring rain, blurring her vision. Her left front paw hung useless at an unnatural angle. Behind her, in the dark of the crawl space she heard the slithering of scales across concrete.

  Desperate, she gathered her power and threw it behind her, hoping to buy a few minutes by freezing the snakes in place as she had done so many times before. The magic flew out—she even felt it impact against the strength of the combined force of snakes. Then a draining sensation began. Even without their caster, they were managing a rudimentary siphon spell that was pulling her own power to use against her.

  She struggled to cut off the energy drain as she forced her body up onto the grass and into an awkward run.

  Voices called out in Spanish from locations around the parking lot. They were converging on her in human forms as the snakes moved with breathtaking speed to catch up with her.

  Her body struggled to heal the damage to it even as she ran. Her shoulder moved back into place with an audible pop, and she used that new mobility to put on a burst of speed. She ran in a zigzag pattern, avoiding her pursuers. They herded her toward the wide gulley that served as a storm sewer, moving in a pincher movement. She hissed, glaring at the approaching attackers before turning and gathering herself for a massive leap.

  She nearly didn’t make it. The muddy bank on the far side gave way beneath her back paws, the water pulling inexorably at her. She struggled, digging her front claws deep into the roots of the weeds that lined the embankment. With a massive effort that tore at her injured shoulder she dragged herself out of the sucking current.

  Still they pursued, the humans running awkwardly over pavement made slick by rain mixed with oily tar. She didn’t wait to watch. Instead, she chose to dash onto the road, dodging between the oncoming cars before disappearing in the tall weeds of the empty lot across from the hotel.

  Flashes of lightning lit her way, followed by the ominous boom of thunder. She paused, listening for the sounds of pursuit. She could hear them in the distance. The rain, while cold and miserable, was serving her well, washing her scent and tracks away, so there was little for them to follow. Still, she was exhausted and injured. She needed to lose them entirely and find a place to rest and heal. The adrenaline pumping through her system kept her moving, but she wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep on. Even powerful Sazi had their limits, and she was rapidly reaching hers.

  To her left she heard the clang of metal in the distance, followed by the chug of engines and clang of the crossing alarm. A freight train was out there if she could only get to it. She couldn’t see the lights, so it had to be some ways away. But it was a chance, possibly her only chance, of escaping her pursuers.

  She turned and ran toward the distant sounds. Her muscles burned from the effort she was expending, her breathing grew ragged. She was nearly ready to give up hope when she saw the glimmer of flashing red lights reflecting off of wet pavement, heard the rattle and clank of a train moving slowly on its tracks.

  It was a freight train and a long one. Battered boxcars alternated with tank cars and the occasional flat car loaded with stacks of huge metal shipping crates, all emblazoned with identifying information, many decorated with graffiti. The air stank of oil, exhaust, and rusty metal. As Josette eased herself out of the weeds and onto the gravel next to the tracks she was convinced it was the sweet smell of freedom. She cast her gaze up and down the line of cars, looking for the shelter of an open boxcar. Instead, she caught a glimpse of her pursuers closing in. She ran, matching her speed to the nearest loaded flat car. Gathering all her strength, she jumped.

  She misjudged the jump badly. Her body skittered across the smooth metal top of the shipping container, hydroplaning on a thin film of water. Claws scrabbled against metal with a sound like nails on a blackboard. Still, she slid ever closer to the edge. She was actually falling, the rear half of her body dangling in midair, when her front claws caught purchase on the metal rim of the container.

  It took every last ounce of her strength to pull herself up to safety. She collapsed, panting and weary. It was cold, wet, and uncomfortable, but she was alive. Eventually exhaustion and the rocking motion of the cars lulled her into an uneasy sleep.

  She dreamed of Rick. It was summertime, and the warm sunshine caught all the colors in his long blond hair. His beard was a little darker, with just a hint of red. His skin was bronzed from the time spent outdoors working in the fields or on their cabin during the day without his shirt on. It was hard work, and his body was rock solid, every muscle well defined.

  The humans who were their nearest neighbors were several miles away. French settlers, they farmed the land using plow animals that the Sazi couldn’t. Horses and cattle were wild-eyed with terror even if they approached at a distance. Naturally, they didn’t socialize much, which was just as well. It would be hard to explain why she and Rick never went hungry, no matter how harsh the weather.

  The nights were filled with hunting and making love in the moonlit meadows or in the still pool where the two of them would bathe and fish. The French Territory of America was an amazing place. The rich black earth would grow nearly anything. Deer and rabbits were plentiful, as were nearly every other kind of prey. Oh, the winters were cold and wet with snow, but she’d loved the changing of the seasons, the bright reds and golds of autumn ceding to the glittering diamond white of winter.

  She remembered this particular morning with great joy. It had been one of the happiest of her life. At last their home was finished. The sun had barely cleared the horizon when she and Rick had carried the bedding and the belongings they’d brought west in from the leaky lean-to they’d been living in.

  She was so proud of him. The house was small, but perfect. He’d worked hard, never cutting corners. Every chink in the logs had been carefully filled, every stone of the large fireplace laid to fit together. The chimney drew perfectly. Not a bit of smoke entered the house when the fire was burning.

  She’d been carrying in the last bundle of clothes when he’d come up behind her. Laughing, he scooped her into his arms, carrying her up the steps and through the doorway. He’d stopped her half-hearted protest with a kiss, his warm tongue parting her lips, exploring her mouth as his hands explored her body through her coarse woolen dress.

  His skin was so warm beneath his homespun shirt. She slid her hands over the muscled flesh and coarse hairs, tracing the fingers of her right hand lightly over the raised scars until they found the hard flesh of his nipple. He groaned then, pulling away from her mouth to press a trail of kisses along the line of her jaw to her throat as his hands struggled with the fastenings of her dress. She, meanwhile, had used her left hand to unknot the tie at the waist of his trousers so that she could reach inside and stroke the long, hard, length of him, feel his throbbing need as his breathing grew ragged.

  “Je t’aime, mon couer. Je t’aime,” he whispered the words in French. It wasn’t his language, but he was struggling to learn it—in part because many of the locals used it, but more as a gift to her. It was a small thing, but it and dozens of other small things were in part why she loved him so very much.

  He slid the cloth away from her body, leaving her lying bare atop the homemade quilt, warm sunshine playing with the dark gold curls of her mound. He tossed her clothing aside without so much as a glance. His gaze was all for her, golden eyes gone dark and knowing as they explored every inch of her body. His callused hands were both rough and gentle as they cupped her breasts. He teased her nipples with his thumb and foref
inger as he moved his head slowly downward. Warm wet kisses and the rough scrape of his beard over her tender flesh made her ache with the need to be touched. She whimpered, writhing, her hands clutching at the quilt, her back arching as his tongue traced lazy circles around the core of her, never quite touching what she wanted, needed, most.

  Over and over he brought her to the edge, pulling back at the last, breathless instant until she screamed with frustrated need. Only then did he part her lips with his fingers, slowly sliding the long hard length of him inside her, so that each glorious inch dragged against her inflamed clitoris.

  The pleasure built and built, their combined powers building with it until the room swam with warm, flowing energy. Rick’s shields vanished, so that as he moved within her she could not only feel his flesh in hers, but her flesh squeezing his, welcoming each thrust. They climbed together, each feeling and feeding the other’s need in a breathless spiral until a single massive orgasm exploded through the two of them leaving them breathless, exhausted, and shaken.

  She woke when her head slammed against the metal crate. She almost lost her balance. Only instinct and the reflexes of her cat form kept her from sliding off the edge to fall beneath the wheels of the train. It was slowing, preparing to stop. At the slower speed the rocking seemed even more pronounced. Josette shook her head, trying to clear it of the cobwebs that seemed to have formed between her ears.

  Her mind lingered over the dream, unwilling to let the moment go in favor of harsh reality. But like all dreams, it faded. With a sigh, she took a look around.

  It wasn’t particularly encouraging. The rain, at least, seemed to have stopped, although the sky overhead was uniformly overcast and gray, giving her no clue what time it might be. She didn’t panic. Not knowing when, or where, she was had become an all-too-familiar sensation after years of dealing with her gifts. She stretched, arching her back to ease her sore muscles before jumping nimbly onto the gravel area between one set of tracks and the next.

  She’d have given a good deal for a cup of steaming coffee right now. She was cold, tired, and her body ached. That was just…wrong. She had been resting for hours, granted, not under the best of conditions, but resting. Her body should have healed itself to the point where she felt fine. Instead, exhaustion dragged at her, making it hard to focus her mind and keep moving.

  Picking her way across the railroad yard she avoided all of the workers with ease. They were bustling about, doing their jobs, calling to one another on handheld radios as they dealt with their usual routines. A few yards away she could see an Amtrak train, stopped in front of the station house, its passengers already loading. Signs near the red-roofed station house told her she was in Albuquerque. She began wending her way inexorably toward the station house, using what little energy she could muster to cast the illusion of a kitten. If she was lucky, someone would slip her food. If not, she would be forced to resort to digging in the garbage. Because if she didn’t eat soon, she was going to collapse. She couldn’t afford that. Lives were at stake. Somehow she had to meet up with Rick and get to Grodin. She just didn’t know how.

  With fierce determination, she stumbled forward, but walking was harder than it should be. Every time she raised up a paw, it felt like lead. By the time she reached the back door of the station, her head was swimming and her movements were wobbly. Even inhaling was difficult. She’d just stepped behind a tall bush to catch her breath for a moment when without warning, the ground suddenly raced toward her head and darkness enveloped her mind.

  Chapter Thirteen

  RICK PACED OUTSIDE the small white building that served as the terminal for the Grodin Municipal Airport. Back and forth, until Bruce made an exasperated noise in the back of his throat and went inside rather than watch and feel the unending, panicked guilt that rolled from him in waves.

  She wasn’t here. She hadn’t been here. They’d checked every inch of the airport grounds, including sniffing around the various private hangars. Nothing.

  When he’d returned to the motel and discovered the struggle that had occurred—her room broken into through the bathroom ducts, the scent of a dozen vipers that had touched every surface, and another dozen scenting the grass outside, he’d gone nearly insane.

  How could he have doubted her? If this was what her life had become, no wonder she’d hardened. What sort of person would he have become if every dawn brought a new battle, and it was the same people over and over?

  Something was obviously wrong. The drive from Pony to Grodin should have taken only a little over an hour. Her car had been gone when he arrived, so she must be driving. She should have arrived here long before he did, considering that the snakes had gone long before he arrived back. But neither the secretary, nor the airport manager had seen any sign of her. Nor had the man working on the engine of a plane in one of the private hangars.

  It wasn’t like there was anywhere she could hide here. The airport was a small affair: single 5,005-foot asphalt runway with a parallel taxiway, a few private hangars, and the terminal. They were lucky that the management had fuel available for private jets.

  Still, he couldn’t fault the place or the people. The little white terminal building was only the size of a one-bedroom house, but it was clean, well-kept, and had modern equipment. The scent of fresh coffee filled a lounge area packed with vending machines and comfortable furniture.

  Rick checked his wristwatch again. It told him that precisely two minutes had passed since the last time he’d looked—ten minutes since he’d arrived.

  Where the hell is she?

  “She hasn’t been here.” Bruce reappeared in the doorway carrying a pair of Styrofoam cups filled with hot black coffee. He passed one over to Rick, who accepted it with a nod of thanks. For just a moment Rick wished Lucas had been able to come with Bruce as originally planned. Unfortunately, something had come up. Which left Rick in charge.

  “I know.” Rick resisted the urge to take out his aggression on the nearest wall. It wouldn’t do any good. Still, it was getting harder and harder to control his aggression. They were only a few days out from the full moon, and he was feeling the effects.

  “So.” Bruce dug in the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a plastic packet of trail mix he’d bought from the vending machine inside. “You’re the boss. I’m just the wheel man. What do you want to do?” Setting his coffee cup carefully on a nearby porch railing he pulled the packet open.

  Rick took a sip of hot coffee as he pondered his options. Lucas had been unable to come down. Raven wouldn’t be here until tomorrow. He and Bruce could stay here and wait, but there wasn’t much point to it. If Josette only hadn’t destroyed her cell phone this morning. Rick stopped himself right there. Indulging in “if only” scenarios was an exercise in futility that would only frustrate him further. Whether Josette had car trouble or something more sinister had happened didn’t really matter. She wasn’t here and the clock was ticking.

  Rick drummed his fingers on the side of his cup. “All right. This is what we’ll do. You stay here, keep an eye out for her. I’m going to head back to the motel in Pony. If she gets here while I’m gone, call me on the cell to let me know and then take off. We want to get out of here before the weather system hits tomorrow.”

  “And if she doesn’t?” Bruce tore open the bag and tilted it upward, dropping the fruit and nut mix into his mouth.

  “I’ll call you with status reports every half hour to let you know what I’ve found.”

  Bruce nodded and swallowed the bite in his mouth. “Sounds good. I’ll wait outside so I can keep an eye on the plane.”

  “Good idea.” Rick moved past him and grabbed the handle of the terminal door.

  Bruce didn’t say another word, simply waved the hand holding the snack bag. Rick watched him stroll across the parking lot to where they’d left the plane before and mounted up. It was a straight one-hour drive down the highway. Simple enough that it would almost take effort to get lost. Yet another reason to worry abo
ut Josette. He drummed his fingers on the handlebars. The wind tugged at his leather jacket, still a little damp from scrubbing off blood and bile. It was still warm, too warm for the heavy jacket really, but it hid the gun and holster he had tucked into the small of his back without making it clumsy and slow to draw. After he saw the condition of her room, he decided it was time to arm himself. Glancing up he saw that clouds were moving in. Apparently the weather forecast was going astray again—unless it was Josette brewing it up. In either case, it was the kind of thing that would make flying damned tricky, particularly in a small craft. According to Amber, Josette was afraid of flying at the best of times. She’d be a wreck if they wound up going through heavy weather. He’d try to calm her as much as he could, but there was only so much he could do in the face of a full-blown phobia.

  It was a slower drive than he would have liked. Major sections of the highway had been designated “safety zones” and were under construction. Traffic moved at a painful crawl. Still, the slow speed allowed him more than enough of an opportunity to scan the gas stations, rest stops, and road shoulders for stalled or wrecked vehicles.

  Nothing. There was no sign of anyone having had any trouble, and he couldn’t smell her on the breeze. Rick drummed his hands against the brake lever in an uneven rhythm. Shit, shit, shit. Where was she? He wished he could drive faster, but it was impossible. With every mile he grew more irritable.

  By the time he reached the motel, it was all he could do to pretend the calm he wasn’t feeling.

  He pulled into the lot of the Shooting Star Motel and looked around. The air was still heavy with mist, not rain yet, although that would probably start soon. Dark clouds hung low and ominous in the sky. He took a deep breath, trying to gather what information he could through his nose. Very few smells remained. The driving rain of the storm, which had apparently already blown through, had washed away nearly everything.