by Jane Toombs
The quiver grew into a fluttering. Still he delayed. Just as he began to grow restless, Sherman sensed something more than the small animals close by. Something, someone approached. An animal and a man. Tensing, he stared at the tangle of vines, small trees and shrubs that prevented him from seeing more than two feet away.
A dog bayed. Too close for comfort. A deer or rabbit hunter with his dog? Sherman shook his head. Not with night coming on. Unless they hunted him.
Impossible. Wasn't it?
He glanced around uneasily, seeing the telltale glow of the rising moon above the trees. His restlessness
increased, the inner twinges grew sharper, more urgent. If he tried to run, he risked changing where he wasn't safe. What if the beast doubled back and killed the man? On the other hand, if he locked himself in the cage and the dog tracked him there, he'd be exposed.
And if the man had a gun he'd be dead.
But that presumed the dog was tracking him--and why should that be? Damn it, what should he do?
The edge of the moon rose pale and mocking over the trees and he felt the first twist of the change wrench his guts. At the same time, the dog howled, an eerie cry of terror. Though the imminent change blurred his sensing, he thought the dog had turned tail, fleeing. Not the man. To his horror, he heard the man plunging through the brush, coming closer and closer. To doom.
Making up his mind, he crouched to enter the cage, struggling for control.
"Sherman!" Dr. Kellogg cried. "My God, son, what's wrong?"
Sherman turned, fighting against the redness clouding his mind as he stared at the doctor's horrified face. It was too late. For them both.
Moonlight beamed down on him, filling his veins with silver fire, stirring a lust for the hunt, the kill. Dr. Kellogg would be his prey. As he tore off his clothes, with his last vestige of humanness he forced words past a throat already changing.
"Get in the cage," he growled hoarsely. "Set the bar. Hurry, doctor. Or you'll die."
Free! With the moon shining above, the beast savored the night sounds and smells. His hackles rose with the sense and smell of man. Where?
There. He recognized the cage for what it was--a trap. This time a man huddled inside and not him. Knowing he couldn't get at the man, he loped away toward the more promising smells drifting on the wind, the scent of red- blooded prey. The moon and the night were his, he meant to make the most of his freedom.
He ran through the darkness, avoiding the dangers of the swamp--the sucking sand, the snake with fangs of poison, the bull alligator bellowing for a mate. He'd survive the poison and could best the alligator but, held fast in the red talons of blood lust, he chose to run down his quarry and feast.
But even as he pursued his prey, anticipating the hot and salty tang of blood, he felt the pulsing pull of another need. Like the bull gator, he lusted for a mate.
Sherman roused to the disquieting hum of mosquitos. He brushed at his ears, then groggily opened his eyes to grayness. The sun hadn't yet risen and tendrils of mist curled among the cypresses. Frogs sang, birds twittered. In the distance a fox barked sharply, once, twice and fell silent. Something large splashed nearby, bringing him fully awake.
He sat up abruptly and looked around, blinking in confusion when he saw water, green with scum, on two sides of him. What the hell was he doing in the swamp? He stared at his hands, dark with crusted blood, and at his nakedness. "Oh, God," he muttered.
The beast had hunted in the night. Hunted--what? Sherman swallowed, recognizing the taste in his mouth as blood. The last he remembered was standing by the cage with the moon rising and a dog baying. No, there was more. Dr. Kellogg. And then--and then, what?
Alarmed, he leaped to his feet. Gobbets of gore and flesh led him to mangled remains. Heart pounding in panic, he finally realized he was looking at what was left of a deer. The beast had killed a deer. Not the doctor. Relief coursed through him until he began to wonder what had happened to Dr. Kellogg. The doctor had been there when the change began, he was sure. A faint recollection stirred.
The cage. Had the doctor locked himself inside the cage? If so, the beast couldn't have gotten to him, he'd have survived.
But, in that case, Dr. Kellogg knew what he was. Eventually the doctor would have let himself out of the
cage and returned to Lac Belle. Sherman couldn't believe he'd keep it a secret that a beast was loose.
Like an echo of the night before, a dog bayed in the distance. Sherman forced himself to concentrate on sensing, his ability sluggish, as always after a shifting.
An animal, yes, and a man. A hunter. Hunting him. Sherman nodded grimly. Dr. Kellogg, without a doubt. With a gun this time.
He scanned for other men, other hunters but located only the one with the tracking dog. It was like the doctor to hunt alone. One man with a gun was enough to kill him.
Time to run. Sherman looked around desperately, seeking the best route. Nothing was familiar, he was deep in a swamp with treacherous terrain on all sides. The water might be shallow enough to wade through but, remembering the splash he'd heard, he feared gators lurked beneath its scummy surface. Turning away from the water, he plunged into the tangled growth.
He'd gone no more than a few paces before his feet sank into ooze, into mud that sucked at his ankles as he tried to slog through it to reach solid ground. When the mud reached his calves, he realized the danger and struggled to turn back. The mud wouldn't let loose. The harder he fought, the deeper he sank.
Quicksand.
He wasn't near any vegetation that he might grasp to pull himself free. When the mud reached his thighs, Sherman stopped struggling, stopped moving at all, listening as the triumphant bay of the hound trailing him came closer and closer. Or was it the track of the beast the dog followed? When it seemed the hound would burst through the brush any second, the animal abruptly fell silent and Sherman had his answer. The dog tracked the beast and had come to the end of the trail. The scent of the beast and the man Sherman was differed.
"Sherman!" Dr. Kellogg cried from beyond the concealing vegetation. "Sherman, where are you?"
Sherman, the mud slowly climbing toward his waist, wondered if the doctor seriously believed he'd answer. Yet one way or another he was doomed. Wasn't a quick death from bullets preferable to being slowly smothered in mud?
Making up his mind, he called, "I'm here, doctor. In quicksand."
The tangle of vines and plants separating them parted and Dr. Kellogg's face peered through. He stared at Sherman for a long moment, then, without a word, he vanished, the greenery closing over the opening he'd made.
Sherman cried out in pain and fear. How could the doctor leave him to such an agonizing death when a bullet would be so much more merciful? Unable to help himself, he began to flail in wild panic, sinking faster.
"Stop that!" Dr. Kellogg ordered.
Sherman gaped at the doctor, unable at first to take in that he'd come back, much less that Dr. Kellogg was thrusting a long pole toward him.
"Grab the pole and lay yourself on the mud as though you're swimming," the doctor ordered. "I'll pull you out." With an effort, Sherman gathered his wits and obeyed. Surprisingly, once he levered himself into as much of a horizontal position as possible, he felt the clutch of the mud on his legs ease. Dr. Kellogg, hand over hand on the pole, slowly pulled him from the mire.
Finally Sherman felt solid earth under him, released his death grip on the pole and lay gasping, face pressed to the moss beneath him.
After a time the doctor spoke. "Son, you're a godawful mess of mud. I've got your clothes with me but you'll have to wash first."
Sherman sat up, glancing warily at Dr. Kellogg. "Why do you still call me 'son'?" he asked hoarsely. "I know you saw what happened to me last night."
The doctor nodded. "I don't mind admitting you scared the shit out of me. But you also saved my life by telling me to lock myself in the cage. Why?"
"I didn't want you hurt. The beast--" Sherman shuddered, unable to
go on.
"You can't control the beast you change into, am I right?"
Sherman nodded glumly.
"I'd say if any man ever needed help, you're that man. God knows I've never encountered anyone like you before but I'm willing to lend a hand. I'll do my best for you, son, though I can't guarantee a cure."
Speechless, Sherman could only stare. Help him? Was
he hearing right?
"First of all," the doctor said briskly, "how often does this change occur? From what I already know, I assume it happens near or during the full moon."
"Every full moon," Sherman said slowly, "except in bad weather. But why would you want to help me?"
"I'm a doctor, aren't I? I took an oath to help the afflicted. Besides, it'd take a damn rotten bastard to turn his back on a friend in need." He held out his hand to Sherman. "On your feet, we've got to get you washed and dressed and back to Lac Belle. Then I expect you to make a clean breast of everything you know about yourself. Everything, mind you. I can't work blind."
Once back at the house, the doctor explained to the worried Guy that Sherman had become lost in the swamps and narrowly escaped being sucked to his death in quicksand. "I need to give him a thorough examination," he added, and whisked Sherman into the surgery, leaving Guy behind.
"Sit down and begin at the beginning," Dr. Kellogg ordered.
Sherman took a deep breath. At last he'd found someone to tell the complete truth to, someone who knew what he was and didn't turn away in fear and disgust. He began with the beach in California, admitting he didn't know who he was, where he came from or how he came to be on the beach. He told of the Californios and what had happened to him because of the bruja and how he came to New Orleans. The doctor listened, obviously spellbound.
"Now you know why I can never father a child," Sherman finished.
"I understand why you're afraid to, certainly. Yours is a fascinating case. Fascinating."
"Not to me."
The doctor shrugged. "I suppose not. You say the moon causes this shapeshifting. Have you ever changed otherwise?" "Once, in a fight to the death--but the moon was near full at the time."
"I've thought of a plan to cage the beast when he emerges--assuming that's what you wish."
"God, yes!" Sherman exclaimed fervently.
"There's a small brick-lined wine cellar under part of this house. I'll have the wine removed, the door strengthened and a sturdier lock put on. You'll spend tonight and the following three nights there." He smiled at Sherman. "One problem solved, at least temporarily."
"If any of your slaves learn I'm in the cellar, what will they think? Especially if the beast howls."
"We'll take care no one sees you enter or leave the cellar. As for any howling, I'll blame it on a dog I'm experimenting with. Don't worry, no one will discover your secret."
"I'm not so sure. Did you see the picture Guy painted of a loup-garou outside the garconniere at night? He claims I inspired the painting. He also did a sketch of my face that hints at the beast inside."
Dr. Kellogg frowned, sitting for a time in thought. Finally he sighed. "Guy dreams of sailing to France and becoming a great artist. Perhaps it's time I let him try his wings. Much as I hate to admit the truth, it's clear to me that he's not suited to be a doctor. The La Branche cousins in Paris will keep an eye on him."
"I wouldn't want Guy sent away on my account," Sherman said. "But I know he longs to go."
"Then he will. It may be he has the ability to be an artist. I'm no judge. Speaking of loup-garous, though, what you changed into was no wolf."
Do I dare ask what the beast looks like? Sherman wondered. Or is the beast too repulsive to be described?
As if reading his mind, Dr. Kellogg said, "You've told me you have no memory of what the beast does--that implies you've never seen him." At Sherman's nod, the doctor went on. "He's larger than you, more massive, though I don't understand why. But then I've never come up against a shapeshifter before.
"He has taloned paws instead of hands but is able, like a bear, to walk on his hind legs as well as all fours. But he doesn't look like a bear any more than he does a wolf.
The face is a predator's muzzle with fanged teeth. The short, curly fur is black. Only the eyes remain the same as yours--golden yellow. He didn't come near the cage, you know. He looked at me and I swear he knew he couldn't reach me so he didn't bother to try. That marks him as an extremely intelligent beast."
Listening to the doctor's description, Sherman suddenly wondered if the beast within him also heard and understood what was said. "Do you suppose he knows what I know?" he asked.
"That's one of the things we'll try to discover. Along with probing for the various ways in which you differ from a normal human. Don't take offense--I'm sure you realize you're not normal. It doesn't make you less of a man, never believe that. Think of yourself as having unusual abilities that a normal man lacks." Dr. Kellogg rubbed his hands together. "I can't wait to get started. Because I already know how rapidly you heal, I think we'll begin with an attempt to ascertain what might be lethal to you. I have a feeling you'll survive what would kill an ordinary man."
It was at that moment, grateful as he was, that Sherman began to wonder exactly what he was letting himself in for.
Chapter 11
Sherman woke in darkness, wearing only his trousers.
For a moment he couldn't recall where he was. Sensing a man approaching, he leaped to his feet. Feeling the cool brick under the soles of his feet, he remembered he'd been locked in the cellar shortly after sundown.
"Sherman?" Dr. Kellogg called. "It's morning. Are you all right?"
"Yes, sir."
"Who is the President of the United States?" the doctor asked.
"General Zachary Taylor," Sherman replied. Though Dr. Kellogg was all but positive the beast couldn't master words, to be certain it was safe they'd agreed that Sherman would have to answer a different question each morning before the doctor would unlock the door.
The door swung open. Aided by the dim light slanting down the wooden steps from the outside entrance, Sherman found his scattered clothes and slipped them on.
"I didn't change," he told the doctor in a low tone. "I felt the urge and started to undress. But it didn't happen." The doctor clapped him on the shoulder. "Good, good. It's too early to be sure but maybe all we'll have to do is keep you from the moonlight on your susceptible days."
Even while he hoped they had the answer, Sherman doubted it was that easy.
"I found a surprising amount of information about shapeshifters in the La Branche library," the doctor confided as he shepherded Sherman up the steps. "I imagine much of it is superstitious nonsense but we can't afford to dismiss anything without a fair test. After all, I still wouldn't believe a man could change his shape if you hadn't done so right before my eyes. We'll begin our investigations after breakfast."
Guy was waiting in the dining room. "Has papa told you?" he asked Sherman excitedly. Without waiting for an answer he flung his arms wide. "I'm sailing to France!
Think of it, Tanguy La Branche Kellogg on the boulevards of Paris."
"I'll think of Guy Kellogg working to learn his craft," his father said dryly. "That's why you're going, if I'm not mistaken."
"Not merely to learn art, papa, but to experience life." His warm smile embraced both men. "In moderation, of course."
"Of course." The doctor's tone was even dryer.
"Ah, but you don't know I promised Sherman I'd never get drunk again. I intend to honor that promise--even in Paris." Sherman hadn't realized Dr. Kellogg would act so quickly. Guilt that he was at least partly the cause of the doctor losing his son's companionship mingled with happiness that Guy's dream of studying art in Europe would come true. Guy struck a pose. "When I reach the pinnacle of success, when I'm acclaimed as the world's greatest artist, I'll insist I owe it all to my far-seeing and understanding father and my good angel, Sherman Oso."
Sherman grinned at him, kno
wing he'd miss Guy.
"Before I leave," Guy went on, "we must have a farewell party at Lac Belle, don't you agree, papa?"
His father nodded. "By all means. If we have time to organize one before your ship sails."
"Sherman needs to meet people," Guy persisted. "You can't keep him closeted with the sick and injured all the time. At the party, he'll have a chance to get acquainted with some of my friends--male and female."
"We'll see."
Guy raised his eyebrows at Sherman, who shrugged. Since he didn't dare pursue any friendships, he'd as soon not meet Guy's friends, especially the women.
Guy rode off to town immediately after the meal, intent on visiting his tailor to be fitted for new clothes. His last words were, "I devoutly hope he's au courant with the latest Paris fashions."
Dr. Kellogg immediately swept Sherman off to the
surgery where he handed him a dozen or more cloves of garlic strung onto a cord. "Put this around your neck," he ordered. Grimacing at the strong reek of the garlic, Sherman obeyed.
"Feel anything?" the doctor demanded.
Sherman shook his head.
"Wear it a while longer just to be sure. The books I found lump vampires with werewolves, both being shapeshifters--vampires, so they claim, turn into bats. In any case, we must test everything mentioned in the books as repellant to vampires and werewolves. I realize you're neither but we can only work with what information I'm able to unearth."
"I don't think your patients are going to appreciate the smell of my necklace," Sherman said.
"I'm not seeing any patients this morning. With the many doctors available in the city, they won't suffer. It's not every day a medical man gets a challenging case--and yours is the most unusual I've ever seen--or ever will see.
I intend to devote most of my time to it."
"I never believed anyone would want to help me. I can't begin to tell you how much I--"
Dr. Kellogg waved his hand. "Don't thank me. I'm glad to have the chance to work on your unusual problem. The older a man gets, the more bored he becomes. You and your shapeshifting, son, are the most exciting thing to come down the pike since I met my wife-to-be in '04." Dr. Kellogg leaned back in his chair and looked off into the distance. "The night we met Madelaine wore a green gown that set off her black curls and sparkling brown eyes. She was the most beautiful girl at the ball. Creole, of course, while I was American. The United States had just taken over Louisiana from the French and we Americans were not popular in New Orleans. It took me years to win her."