Perfect Storm (Judah Black Novels, #0)

by E. A. Copen

  Hunter and I dragged Valentino into the clinic and down the hall, depositing him on the second bed in the exam room. The two were separated by an ugly fabric curtain that I quickly pulled back.

  Doc had Leo all hooked up to a battery-powered machine, monitoring his oxygen, pulse, and blood pressure. He glanced up at the monitor before turning to address us. “Leo’s going to make it, but he’ll need to be sent to the hospital after this once we can get him there. They both will. Take those scissors and cut off his jeans at the knee.” He held out his hand expectantly to Hunter.

  Hunter twisted around and bumped into the tray of medical instruments behind him, but caught it before it spilled. He picked up a pair of stainless steel scissors. “These?”

  “Cut his jeans at the knee,” Doc barked, his voice losing all patience. He’d busied himself getting vitals from Valentino. He held a hand out to me. “I need the bite kit. Bottom drawer over there. Hurry!”

  I rushed to the plastic, three-tiered drawer where Doc kept medical supplies and jerked open the bottom drawer. Several packages fell out and scattered on the floor as I dug through them, trying to focus my eyes enough to read. I found something with the word bite on it and darted back to Doc, depositing it in his hand just as Hunter cut away the last of the jeans, exposing Valentino’s leg from the knee down.

  Dark blood pumped out of a huge gash in his calf. The stainless steel table was already coated in it. Doc shifted Valentino’s leg with a gloved hand. “Wash up, Judah. I need an assist.”

  “What, me?”

  “I’m not about to ask a minor,” he snapped. “Yes, you! Sink’s over there. Gloves are beside it.”

  My heart pounded in my ears as I did as instructed. I’d never done more than put a band aid on Hunter’s scrapes and bruises. I didn’t know if I could help Doc. I’m not normally queasy at the sight of blood, but the idea of being responsible for Valentino’s survival made my hands shake.

  I returned only to be handed a white plastic bottle with a long spout.

  “Saline. You’re going to help me clean him up while I assess the wound. Any idea what bit him?”

  I shook my head and looked down at the wound. “There's nothing in the Concho River this big.”

  Doc squinted and then seized the saline and sprayed it over the wound, clearing away some of the blood. For the first time, we could see the actual shape of the wound. Or rather, two wounds, each one a swollen slash about six inches apart, one on either side of the back of his calf.

  “What is that?” I asked.

  “It looks like...” His head snapped up. “Hunter, go into my office. There’s a chart of phone numbers there. Call the one for the Eden hospital. We need a med evac by helicopter if the roads aren’t passable.”

  “Is Valentino going to be okay?” Hunter’s voice was small, the muscles of his face strained in worry.

  “Not if you don’t make that call right now!” Doc pointed emphatically to the door. “Go!”

  Hunter fell all over himself to get out the door.

  When it slammed shut behind him, I turned back to Doc. “What is it?”

  “It looks like a snake bite.” He shook his head at me. “But I’ve never seen one this big before, and the wound is necrotizing. He needs anti-venom and I don’t know what kind because I’ve never seen this kind of snake bite before.”

  “Anti-venom? Doc, he’s a werewolf. Won’t he heal?”

  “The wound will heal,” he answered and looked up at the monitor, “but he’s already showing signs the venom is affecting his body. I don’t know how well werewolves can fight something like this, especially since I don’t know what kind of snake bit him. I can’t save him, not without knowing that.”

  Doc looked down at Valentino and pressed his lips together. “But I can give him a fighting chance.” He picked up Valentino’s hand by the pointer finger and took a deep breath before grunting and wrenching Valentino’s finger sideways. It broke with a resounding crack.

  Valentino shot up into a sitting position and let out a roar of pain, eyes glowing gold. He looked awake, but he wasn’t. It was purely an unconscious reaction, proven by how he immediately fell back down.

  “The break will stimulate him to heal,” Doc said, wiping sweat form his forehead. “At least, I hope.”

  Hunter burst back through the doors. “Helicopter’s on its way.”

  Doc nodded once. “Good, now help me prep them so we can roll them to the roof.”

  ~

  The medical helicopter arrived not ten minutes later. By then, the storm had mostly let up, leaving us to bring them to the roof in a light, misting rain. Hunter and I stood back as Doc and the EMTs loaded Valentino and Leo into the helicopter.

  I shivered. All I wanted was to go home, fall in a hot bath and then crawl under my blankets for a week, but that wasn’t going to happen. Whatever had bitten Valentino was still out there, and it might be connected to the strange, thirty-foot waves that had nearly wiped the town off the map. Catching it might also be the only way to create an anti-venom for Valentino.

  Hunter intertwined his fingers in mine and squeezed. “Is he going to make it?”

  Doc backed away from the chopper and put his hands over his ears after giving them a thumbs-up. The wind picked up as the chopper took off, threatening to push us back. We stood and waited until it was far enough away the sound didn’t drown out our conversation. Then, Doc turned to me. “We’re going to need to catch whatever is out there to make an anti-venom.”

  I chewed on my bottom lip. “How much time do we have?”

  Doc shook his head. “The break bought him some time by the looks of it, but they can’t keep breaking bones forever. All it’s doing is slowing the progression. If we don’t find an anti-venom in forty-eight hours, Valentino is a dead man.”

  I stepped up to the edge of the roof, looking out over the town. Already, the water had begun to recede a bit. The river in the streets had been reduced to a shallow stream. People had come out of their homes to assess the damage and watch the chopper take off. The Concho River flowed in the distance, still out of its banks. No giant waves rose, and the water looked calm and still. Thunder rumbled behind me.

  “We’re going to need help. Someone who knows a lot about snakes.”

  “A park ranger?” Hunter volunteered. “Maybe freaking National Geographic should come out here if that snake’s that big.”

  “No,” I said, crossing my arms. “I was thinking more like a wise old Indian.” I turned to Hunter. “My car can't make it through the high water. We’re going to need to hitch a ride.”

  Hunter’s face lit up. He knew exactly who I was going to call.

  Chapter Three

  Saloso Silvermoon was my neighbor. He was also the second highest ranking werewolf in the local pack and Hunter’s sponsor inside the pack. More importantly, he had a truck and he’d come if I called him.

  Hunter and I stood under the small awning out front, watching the last of the clouds dissipate from the sky. The rain had cleared up completely, leaving behind a dark, star-speckled sky and a sliver of crescent moon. The loud rush of water racing toward the storm drains filled the air along with low voices as people came out to survey the damage.

  With the power out, the only light in the whole town was that bright red neon cross above our heads, and even it had begun to flicker because the clinic’s backup generator wasn’t that great. Doc had left the clinic unlocked and gone out on foot to coordinate relief efforts with the local police and reservation council. I hoped that didn’t mean Chanter Silvermoon wouldn’t be at home. He was the one I really needed to talk to.

  A beat-up old red Ford truck pulled up to the clinic. The passenger side window rolled down and the driver leaned over. The trained law enforcement officer in me flashed through a series of useful descriptors: six and a half feet tall, two hundred seventy-five pounds, all super dense werewolf muscle, dark coppery skin, long, black hair that blended into the black, sleeveless top he wore. A
half-smoked cigarette hung from between his lips. He plucked it out and pressed the lit end into the old coffee cup he kept on the dash. “Good to see you, Kimosabe. Hey, kid.”

  Hunter darted forward and threw open the passenger door before hopping in. “Hey, Sal!”

  I came forward a little more reluctantly. I wasn’t that excited to be riding in a cab that smelled like cigarette smoke and wet dog.

  Hunter scooted over to sit in the middle, making room for me, and strapped himself in, still bouncing with excitement. I sighed and climbed in next to him. Yep. The cab smelled exactly as I expected. I don’t know how their sensitive werewolf noses could stand it.

  “How’s Valentino and Leo?” Sal asked, taking off the brake and pulling back out onto the road. I’d only given him the short version over the phone in the interest of speed.

  “I’m really hoping Chanter can give us some insight. I’ve seen more than one snake bite, and that’s the biggest one I’ve ever seen. Too big to belong to anything that’d naturally be in the river.”

  “Hm,” said Sal, which meant more than you’d think. I’d been around him and Chanter long enough to know when they knew more than what they were saying.

  I turned in my seat. “Sal, what do you think?”

  “Nothing. Nothing helpful, anyway, except that I should’ve been there. I might have been able to help.” He sighed.

  I winced. It’d been bothering me ever since Valentino called me. Why had he called me instead of Sal, who lived right next door and might have gotten there faster? Sal could shift into a four-legged supernatural wolf in the blink of an eye, and Sal could swim. On top of that, Sal was the better choice to call because he also had healing magick. He’d done a stint as a medic in the army, too. If anyone could have helped with the bite, it was him. So why had Valentino called me?

  “I’m going to drive out to the hospital after this to see if there’s anything I can do,” Sal continued, easing the truck into a turn onto the main road through the rez. “Although to hear Doc tell it, you did a respectable job yourself resuscitating Leo.”

  I crossed my arms. “This whole thing is strange. Valentino said Leo wandered out to the river after waking up from a nap. I’ve never known Leo to wander like that. Then there’s the fact that he called me instead of you. And then there’s the thirty-foot waves in the desert and Valentino’s weird snake bite. The whole thing stinks of supernatural.”

  “Well, this is a supernatural reservation, babe. Supernatural’s gonna happen.” Sal grunted and applied the brakes as we came to the exit of the reservation.

  A tall concrete wall stretched in front of us to the edges of my vision, with guard towers spread out every few hundred feet. Armed guards patrolled the nearest towers, and another pair stood at the only exit from the reservation, monitoring who came and went. He gestured for us to stop, even though we already had, and stepped up to the truck. “Identification, please,” he said after Sal had rolled down the window.

  “There’s less than five hundred people here,” Sal grumbled, fishing out his wallet and handing over his ID. “And I come in and out every day. You’d think you’d know me by now.”

  “Just doing my job, sir.”

  Hunter leaned forward. “Your job sucks.”

  “Hunter!” I put my hand on my son’s arm and gave him a scolding look.

  The officer looked up and shifted his flashlight from examining Sal’s driver’s license into the truck. I squinted and covered my eyes. “Special Agent Black. Sorry, didn’t see you there.” He handed the driver’s license back to Sal. “Be careful with the high water out there.”

  Sal rolled up his window. “Fucking border patrol. They always harass me except when you’re in the truck with me. Surprised he didn’t make me get out so he could search the vehicle.”

  I frowned at the border patrol as they lifted the arm blocking the road and waved us through. The walls around the reservation and the security were supposed to protect the supernaturals from troublemakers who wanted to go in, not keep them from going out. Some days, living in the rez felt more like living in an internment camp.

  Once we’d pulled out of the reservation and onto the highway, Sal continued, “Anyway, it’s easy to explain why Valentino would call you instead of me. He knows the first thing I’d do is tell Nina. She’d freak the hell out and fly home if she knew.”

  Nina was Valentino’s wife and Sal’s cousin. Another werewolf. She was in Dallas at a makeup and beauty seminar, part of her business as a cosmetologist. And yeah, she’d rip Val a new one if she thought he hadn’t been watching their son. Her picture was in the dictionary right next to overprotective mother.

  “Doesn’t explain the rest of it,” I said, “but I’m hoping Chanter can fill in some of the blanks.”

  The highway wasn’t completely washed out, but there were several places where water stretched over the road. We passed a wreck on the right side, but a tow truck and the highway patrol were already on the scene so we drove on by.

  Chanter lived in an old two-bedroom house down a long road outside the reservation. Hunter had asked him once why he lived all the way out there instead of on the reservation with the rest of the werewolves. Chanter being Chanter, he had skirted the question. I’d always believed it was because of the walls. Chanter lived in a place where there were no walls, no boundaries and no borders. Behind his house, the desert stretched on for miles before rising into blue hills in the distance. It was the only place the werewolves could run free and hunt. The very nature of that made it beautiful, even if the house wasn’t much to look at.

  The house was made of stone and treated wood. Two dusty old rocking chairs sat under the covered porch with an overturned crate between them. Another truck, a replica of the one Sal drove, sat in the driveway with one of the front tires off. He must’ve been working on it before the storm blew in because there was a red toolbox on the porch. Behind Chanter’s truck was a 70s model Ford Thunderbird with a red body and a bird painted on the hood. I’d never seen the car before, so it didn’t belong to anyone local, at least not anyone from Paint Rock.

  Sal parked behind the Thunderbird and frowned.

  “Someone you know?” I asked.

  Sal turned off the engine. “No, and that’s what bothers me."

  He ought to, I thought. Chanter raised Sal after his mother committed suicide and his dad went MIA.

  “Might be trouble. You two stay here.” Sal got out of the truck.

  Hunter looked at me and then slid over to the driver’s side door to follow Sal.

  “Hunter, wait!” I called, but he was already gone.

  He slammed the door and raced up the stairs behind Sal.

  I sighed and opened my door. If everyone else was going in, there was no reason for me to wait. But first, I wanted to check out the car.

  I touched the trunk and ran my hand along the back of the Thunderbird. I’ve got a thing for classic cars. Mine might not have been much to look at, but I was proud to own it. When he was alive, my husband used to work on them in his off time, fixing them up for the local car club. Maybe that’s where I’d developed the fascination, or maybe I just always liked them and never knew until I saw so many of them. I’d always wanted a Thunderbird, but could never find one in my price range. This one wasn’t in great shape. The dust and rust told me she’d seen some road and the dents in the back said she’d had her share of rough times, too.

  I passed the back end and stepped up for a peek at the interior through the passenger side door. A big German Shephard lunged at the window on the inside. I stumbled back, fighting not to fall as the dog barked repeatedly.

  “Her name is Bolt.”

  My head snapped toward the side of the house where a man stood. He wasn’t as tall as Sal, but he had some of the same features. High cheekbones, bronze skin, dark hair that he kept in twin braids. He wore an American flag bandana and a light brown jacket. What struck me most, though, was his voice, which was strangely deep.

 
I turned my back to the dog in the car and folded my arms. “And you are?”

  “My name is Logan Creed.” When he stepped forward to offer his hand in greeting, I took note of the handgun he wore at his hip. He must’ve seen me looking at it, because he stopped and smiled. “Would you like to see my permit, Agent Black?”

  “You know who I am?”

  He chuckled. “You might be surprised at how easy it is for a stranger to learn about you these days. It’s all a matter of perspective. You assume we haven’t met before.”

  I kept my arms folded, even as he held his hand out to me. “Pretty sure I’d remember you if we’d met. You have a memorable face.”

  Logan lowered his hand. “Do I?” He shifted his head downward as a flashlight came through the curtains and swept over us. The light caught his eyes, making his blue eyes glow.

  The front door opened and Chanter stepped out. His silver hair shone like a beacon in the dark. “Judah, this is Logan Creed.”

  “We’ve met.” My answer was terser than I’d intended, bordering on a growl. Something about this stranger rubbed me the wrong way, even though I knew nothing about him beyond his name.

  Chanter said something quick in his native language and then followed it with English. “Be nice, Judah. Come inside. We have things to discuss. Logan?”

  Logan turned his head slowly to regard Chanter with one eyebrow raised.

  “You would honor me by coming inside as well.”

  Who is this guy? I eyed Logan one more time. Chanter was universally grumpy and short with people, even Sal who was like a son to him. I’d never heard him speak like that to anyone, least of all some stranger.

  “May I bring Bolt in as well?” Logan asked, inclining his head.

  Chanter nodded and held the screen door open wider, giving me a firm glare. That was my cue to either get in or get out, so I scrambled up the stairs and into the house.