by Jae
"The council agreed with me that even one reader is one too many," Jennings said with unshakable conviction. "You know there are groups of humans out there who are just waiting for the right piece of information to prove our existence."
Is he starting to get really paranoid, or have I become too careless? Griffin wondered. "The same groups of humans who are trying to prove that pointy-eared aliens live hidden among humans and that Elvis is still alive," she muttered.
As usual, Jennings didn't appreciate her sarcasm. "I would think that as the granddaughter of a seer, you would be a bit more farsighted," he said, his sharp tone cutting to the bone. "These humans are fanatics. Remember that a bunch of fanatics almost wiped out our whole species just because they wanted to prove we're demons or possessed by the devil. It's our job as saru to err on the side of caution and make sure something like that never happens again."
The Inquisition had started a deep-rooted fear and changed their whole way of living. But now, centuries later, some Wrasa were beginning to think that their attempts to save their species would finally be their downfall.
Griffin was beginning to see their point.
Her people were teaching their children how to hide their identity and live as humans. They didn't write down their legends and their history for fear of those documents being discovered. Fewer and fewer Wrasa spoke the old language. It was just as effective in killing shifter culture as the Inquisitions had been — and this time, they were doing it to themselves.
In the past, Griffin had tried not to think about it too much. She had always preferred to stay far away from politics. Like most saru and most of the Wrasa politicians in powerful positions, her superiors held on to the old way of thinking, seeing humans as dangerous enemies and hiding as their only chance to survive. For the most part, Griffin had followed their orders without questioning them and without allowing herself a personal opinion. Oh, yeah? For someone with no opinion, you're putting a lot of thought into why you shouldn't kill Jorie, she told herself sarcastically.
"Now that we're reasonably sure that there's no traitor, no inside source — or at least none that we can find — killing the human is the simplest solution," Jennings continued when Griffin remained silent.
Griffin's teeth ground against each other. Nothing about it was simple. Jennings, in his oversimplifying wolf style, ignored all the moral implications of the decision, but Griffin couldn't. "Shouldn't we at least find out how she got her knowledge about shape-shifters?" she asked. "We still don't know that. If we kill her, we'll never find out."
"I'm not a Puwar or a Kasari. Solving the puzzle and finding answers to the mystery is not what intrigues me about this job," Jennings said.
Syak didn't like dragging out missions. They wanted fast results, not cat-and-mouse games. But this time, Griffin sensed that there was more to it. It's almost as if he's not interested in finding out the answers... or maybe even afraid of finding them. He has deliberately kept me away from Allison DeLuca so that I wouldn't find out that Jorie's book is lesbian fiction and wouldn't do anything to delay the kill order. He wants Jorie dead, no matter what.
The question was why.
"We looked into every available piece of information about Ms. Price and her book," Jennings said. "You had your sister check into the adoption, but there's nothing new. We exhausted all our options — and still nothing."
"There has to be something," Griffin said in an attempt to delay the inevitable. "We just have to find it."
"And how are you going to do that? How are you going to get the writer to tell us her source of information? Say 'pretty please'?" Jennings mocked.
Anger rushed through Griffin and made her skin itch. She forced herself to calm down. "Of course not," she ground out.
"What then?" Jennings asked. "Torture it out of her?"
Just the thought of torturing Jorie made Griffin's normally cast-iron stomach turn. "No," she said vehemently. "I refuse to do that. Torture has never been the Saru's way." At least it hadn't been part of their investigation techniques in the past. Lately, Griffin had begun to think that some saru went too far in what they were willing to do to get the job done. Griffin wasn't willing to cross that line. The end didn't justify the means. Not if the means were torturing a woman who was beginning to trust her.
"I didn't suggest that you make it part of your repertoire," Jennings said. "If anything, the Inquisition has proven that torture is not a reliable way to gain information. We both know that a tortured person will admit to anything just because he or she hopes it'll end the pain."
Under torture, some Wrasa had admitted to being devil-possessed sorcerers or demons while others had insisted to the very end that they were human, knowing that they would be killed for telling the truth anyway.
Griffin breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed Jennings hadn't given up all his principles. Or maybe he has. Griffin wasn't so sure anymore. He hadn't discouraged her from torturing Jorie because he thought it was morally wrong but because it wouldn't get them any reliable information.
"We have to face the facts, Westmore," Jennings said. "You did everything possible and still haven't found even a hint about an inside source. Maybe that means there is no traitor and Ms. Price just got lucky by guessing right. And if there was a traitor, we can be reasonably sure that Ms. Price's death will be an effective warning for him or her."
This was what Griffin had come to hate about her job. She was capable of killing to protect her kind. The nightmares still tormented her, but she had done it when it was the only possible solution. Now it seemed more like a political agenda than a way to keep their existence secret. She had a feeling that Jennings had given the council just the information that made Jorie look like a threat and her death like the only solution. The thought had crossed her mind before that Jennings wasn't just a saru because he wanted to follow in his father's footsteps. Being a saru gave him the opportunity to kill humans and avenge his brother without breaking the First Law and being sentenced to death. "But maybe —"
"This is not up for discussion, cat!" Jennings growled. "These are your orders, and you better follow them."
"Jorie's mother and the local doctor have seen me with Jorie, and my fingerprints are all over the house. If Jorie is found dead and I disappear, they'll start looking for me," Griffin said.
"We'll take all the usual precautions," Jennings answered. "Half a dozen local Wrasa will give you the perfect alibi. After you kill the human, you'll plant evidence. Use a knife and leave it at the scene. Make it look as if the mugger who stole Ms. Price's backpack broke into the house and things got out of hand. Our man in the local police department will tell the State Police that the knife points to the mugger. Come on. You know how this works. You've got plenty of experience at leading human law enforcement on a wild goose chase, and it has never been a concern before. What's going on with you?"
Was it really she who had changed or was it the world around her? Griffin rubbed her ear. "Nothing."
"So I don't need to send in another saru? You'll do it?" It sounded like a neutral question even when they both knew it wasn't. He was testing her loyalty.
"Of course I will." Griffin snarled. "I've never aborted a mission." If she did, it would be the end of her career. And it wouldn't save Jorie. They'd just send another saru.
"Let me know once the mission is completed," Jennings ordered and hung up.
CHAPTER 15
THE LAST PIN fell into position with an almost inaudible click.
Griffin's muscles tensed, readying her for immediate action. As soon as she pushed open the front door, everything needed to happen very quickly. Fighting down her rising adrenaline levels, she took a deep breath, released it — and sprang into action.
She leaped through the front door and landed silently next to the keypad, her gloved fingers already extended to type in the code that her cousin had given her.
The alarm system could beep only twice; then Griffin had entered the six digits and mad
e sure that the alarm wouldn't go off.
Wrapping her left hand around the handle of the knife, she stalked into the living room.
* * *
Jorie raced through the forest. Her chest burned. She gasped for breath. Her legs trembled with fatigue, and she stumbled.
The creature that was chasing her didn't seem to have any of these problems. Inch by inch, it closed the distance between them. Jorie heard the sound of paws hitting the ground directly behind her. She could almost feel the hunt-fevered breath in her neck.
Gripped by panic, she threw a glance back over her shoulder.
Ice-blue eyes flashed, connecting with Jorie's gaze.
A roaring "aaoom" made Jorie swivel. A second, even bigger creature was closing in from the other side. Jorie was surrounded, trapped, with no way out.
Fear froze her in her tracks. Panicking, she jerked her head back around, just in time to see the creature that had chased her leap through the air.
Jorie threw up her hands — and jerked awake.
She sat up and pressed a hand against her chest. Her heart drummed in a wild rhythm of fear. With a trembling hand, she wiped her brow. God, not that damn dream again.
Long since used to the nightly interruptions, she settled back down. Still, something felt different tonight. Her scalp prickled with unease.
Was there some noise in the living room? Something that woke me? Jorie wasn't sure. She lay still and listened into the darkness.
Nothing. The house was silent.
Next to her, Will lifted his head but didn't seem alarmed.
You're imagining things. You have an alarm system, remember? If there was a noise, it was probably just Agatha or Emily, who knocked over something in the living room. Go back to sleep.
Her breathing slowed, and with the comforting warmth of Will's small body next to her, she went back to sleep.
* * *
Griffin's muscles vibrated. They demanded action even as her mind hesitated.
Move!
She tilted her head and listened once again.
Soft, almost inaudible footsteps padded over the carpet. They were headed directly for her.
Griffin's heartbeat doubled. A surge of blood warmed her muscles. Her eyes pierced the darkness and connected with another pair of cat eyes.
It's just Agatha. The cat had probably come in through the kitty door in the basement.
Griffin tried to get her body to stand down from its alarmed state, but the adrenaline kept pumping through her veins. A warning itch tingled along her forearms. Get a grip. Signs of a big cat in the house will alert the State Police that this was more than a simple burglary gone wrong.
Agatha stopped when she caught Griffin's scent in the living room. She flattened her ears against her head, puffed out her tail, and retreated.
With the patience of a predator, Griffin inched closer to the bedroom door. Even through the thin fabric of her gloves, the handle of the knife felt cold and foreign in her hand. Her fingers trembled as she reached for the door handle.
Slowly, she moved the door handle down and pushed the door open inch by inch.
The creaking of the door interrupted the silence of the night.
Griffin froze, her hand wrapped around the knife.
The blanket-covered figure in the bed didn't move, but the cat that lay curled up on the end of the bed lifted its head.
Shit! If this is Emmy, she'll wake up Jorie with the ruckus she's going to make when she realizes it's me.
A quick sniff revealed the identity of the cat.
It's only Will. Griffin breathed a sigh of relief.
When Will saw her, he squeezed his eyes shut in a cat grin and purred.
Griffin's relief faded. Guilt knotted her stomach.
Jorie mumbled something but didn't open her eyes. Her chest moved in the soft rhythm of sleep.
Still lingering in the doorway, Griffin gazed down at Jorie, then at the knife in her hand. Am I really going to do this? She hit herself in the thigh with the knife's handle. I'm a Wrasa and a saru. This is the job I was trained to do. It's for the good of all Wrasa, she told herself, but this time, she couldn't make herself believe it. Even if I spare her, others will come and finish the job. They won't hesitate.
Jorie moved a little, sticking one bare foot out from under the covers and wrapping her arms more comfortably around the pillow. The sleeve of her pajamas was pushed up and revealed a fading bruise.
Griffin's fingers tightened around the knife until her knuckles hurt. Get yourself together. They sent you to Osgrove to spy on and to manipulate Jorie, and now she's manipulating you. She's clouding your judgment. With your damn hesitation, you're endangering everything you worked so hard for. You're endangering your species. Sudden anger at herself, at Jorie, and at the whole fucked-up situation overcame her. She took a step forward.
* * *
The big cat stared at Jorie and stalked closer.
Jorie stood frozen. She couldn't move, couldn't run away. All she could do was stare back, terrified and fascinated at the same time.
The predator crouched down. The powerful muscles of its hindquarters bunched and shifted under the golden-red fur as it got ready to pounce.
Jorie yelled at herself to duck, to flee, to do something... anything, but her fear kept her rooted to the spot. The decision to attack flashed through the cat's whiskey-colored eyes. Jorie screamed.
The sound of her own voice woke Jorie. She sat up and pressed both fists against her eyes, groaning. She was used to vivid dreams, but rarely did she have more than one per night and not all of them ended with her almost being eaten.
Getting more sleep seemed impossible tonight, so she decided to get up and work on her latest scene. As she reached for the laptop she had placed next to the bed, she lifted her fists from her eyes — and froze.
Her barely calmed heartbeat started to race again.
Someone was in her bedroom. Someone big.
Jorie scrambled out from under the covers, hoping to make it to the door.
"No!" a familiar voice roared. "No, don't run! If you run —"
"Griffin?" Jorie hesitated with one foot out of the bed. Was she still dreaming? Griffin hadn't slept on her couch tonight again, had she? She searched her still sleepy and panicked mind for an answer. Her eyes adapted to the darkness, and she could make out Griffin's large form looming over her.
She stared down at Jorie exactly like the predator from Jorie's dream. She even has the same eyes. The thought flashed through Jorie's mind. For a moment, she wasn't sure whether she was awake or still dreaming. She told herself it was just a figment of her overactive imagination, as she had done all her life, but this time, the voice in the back of her head was stronger. Her instincts told her that Griffin wasn't here to admire the wallpaper in her bedroom.
Jorie's gaze fell on the object that was lying on the carpet right in front of Griffin's feet.
A knife! What is she doing with a knife?
She saw Griffin's gaze follow hers. One long arm reached out to pick up the knife.
She's going to kill me! Jorie scrambled back in panic. One foot got caught in the blanket, and she stumbled and went down. She landed on the floor next to the bed. Pain flared through her arm when the edge of her laptop crashed against her elbow.
"Jorie!" Griffin's steps made the floor vibrate under Jorie as Griffin crossed the room to her side of the bed.
Her panicked gaze flitted around, searching for an escape route, a weapon, or a place to hide. There was none.
"Jorie, I'm not —"
Jorie didn't wait for her to finish or to attack. When Griffin reached for her, Jorie's fingers closed around the next best weapon — her laptop. She got to her feet and swung the laptop up with both hands, using it like a club.
With a dull sound, the laptop hit Griffin's head. Her momentum made Jorie crash into Griffin too, and they both went down.
An angry roar, sounding like that of an animal, rumbled up from Griffin's c
hest and through Jorie. The hand that had reached for Jorie widened into a paw. The seams of the thin gloves strained and then burst, giving Jorie a glance at reddish fur that spread over Griffin's skin. Griffin groaned as her shirt ripped and her spine contorted.
What the hell? For a few moments, Jorie could only stare, still lying half on top of a dazed Griffin. Thousand questions shot through her mind, but she knew she couldn't stay around to get the answers.
When Griffin moaned in pain and tried to get up, Jorie jumped up and ran for the door.
* * *
Griffin found herself naked in Jorie's driveway, with just the remains of her clothes hanging in tatters around her. Blood from a laceration on her forehead was dripping onto the gravel.
Slowly, the haze lifted, and Griffin glanced around.
Jorie's car was gone. The stinging scent of her panic trailed off, replaced by burned rubber and exhaust fumes as Jorie had sped off as fast as her old car would take her. Apparently, Griffin's cat form had given up the chase when she lost sight of the car.
Damn!
The front door was still standing wide open, and she hastened back into the house before an insomniac neighbor could see her standing naked and bleeding in Jorie's driveway.
The house was a mess. In the living room, a chair was tipped over, and shoes, newspapers, and other objects were scattered all over the hall, probably because Jorie had frantically snatched up a pair of shoes and her car keys on her way out the door. There was no sign of the cats anywhere. Griffin was almost sure that Will was under the couch, his favorite hiding place, but she had no time to check.
She ignored it all and stormed into the kitchen. Pain flared through her forehead as she pressed a tea towel against the wound. With her other hand, she opened the fridge and started gobbling down some leftover dinner. After shifting twice in rapid succession, hunger clawed at her belly.
Her thoughts were not on food, though. How could I have let this happen? At the very last moment, she had dropped the knife. Not because she'd lost her nerve. It had been a conscious choice. She had known all along that killing Jorie would have been a mistake, and standing in front of a peacefully sleeping Jorie with a knife, she had decided that it was a line she didn't want to cross.