The Windigo

by Cynthia Carole

  “But why? You never explain. Is it this girl?” She sauntered toward him, cupping her breast, her eyes hooded. “I want your gift, mon cher. I am aging. I feel time settling on me, tugging at my bones, and whispering away my beauty. Soon I will be only a hag. Do you want to see that? Is that what you want?”

  He stared at her. “You are already a monster, Cecile. A killer. And if you don’t leave soon, you will be hunted. This territory is protected.”

  “Hunted?” She laughed. “You don’t mean those silly wolves down in the valley, do you?” She stepped closer, her musk enveloping him, burning his nose. Repulsion turned his stomach but he didn’t flee, didn’t even step back. If he showed weakness she’d pounce on him, and he didn’t want to kill her, though his blood sang at the idea.

  A chill ran up his spine and spread like fingers over his back. He had sworn never to kill again. He clutched his oath to his heart like an invisible shield. Still, his breath chilled the air around them. The balmy summer breeze became brisk.

  She must have seen him struggling, for she took hold of his hand in her strong grip—far stronger than any human’s—and put his fingers between her legs, rubbing his hand there on the soft curls and her wet cleft. “Give me what I want, and I will take care of those wolves myself. We will hunt together. You are tired of being alone, no? Of not living as you were meant to live?” Her smile was toothy, and her eyes glittered.

  Her jerked his hand free. “I am happy as I am.”

  She laughed, long and mocking. “You are a bundle of joy, yes! But Pierre, you have eternal life! Demon blood. Why not share with me?”

  “I don’t know that I have eternal life. “

  “You do not age.” She stepped even closer, pressing her nipples against his chest. He could feel them poking him through his shirt.

  “I will never give you what you want, Cecile.” He pushed her back and anger flared in her expression, her lip curling.

  “I wonder how your discipline will hold when you smell fresh meat.”

  He turned away, glancing over his shoulder as he reached his doorknob. “Cecile. Leave this territory. There are more monsters here than just wolves. Be gone by morning, or I will send them after you.”

  She shook her head. “I am so disappointed in you. We should be partners. We should be lovers.” She smiled back at him, her dark eyes like chips of obsidian. He saw something red caught in her teeth. A piece of flesh.

  He went inside and slammed the door.

  * * * *

  Arlene blinked up at the sun. Her mouth tasted funny—salty and sharp—and her back hurt. Where was she? She could see the entire valley below her. For a moment, she was lost in the view. The rolling hills to the west were grey with the distance. And the sun hung low, the sky gilding toward orange and fuchsia. How strange. I thought it was closer to noon. She frowned. Shivered. She was cold and lying on a slab of granite.

  Pain made her moan and blink the tears from her eyes. She raised her head. Her shorts were torn, her tank top splotched with blood. Along her legs, scratches and dark bruises marked her in ugly violet and deep purple. Staring, she tried to remember.

  She had fallen. Lord. The stone at her back sloped but not enough to send her plunging down to the valley. But ten more feet, and she would have slipped over the uneven edge. As she stirred, a stone dislodged and rolled down, disappearing over the rim. Hands braced, she sat up, feeling for broken bones. Though her head hurt like someone had used it for a drum solo, she didn’t think anything was broken. She had heard enough chatter from the police radio to know the basic EMT questions. Her toes wiggled in her boots and her vision wasn’t blurred. She sucked in a breath of air. No “s. o. b.” otherwise known as shortness of breath. No “perf” to her lungs. She wasn’t going to die because of her stupid accident. Okay.

  The wind blew over the warmed stone and tugged at her escaped hair, fallen free from the band at her neck. Her body trembled, and her teeth clattered. She could see the sunburn on her arms and feel it on the tight soreness of her face and neck. But she was alive. Thank God. How close had she come to tumbling over the edge? Only ten feet. She shook her head. What a stupid thing!

  A glance upward orientated her to where the trail should be, and she crawled in that direction, hands and boots bracing on the loose shale. Every part of her body ached. The scratches tore open, dripping blood onto the rock that glowed crimson in the late golden light. She caught her lip between her teeth, and tears blurred her vision. She murmured a prayer, trying to be grateful. At least she was alive.

  There it was. The trail. With a soft sob of relief, she pulled herself up and sat for a second, letting the cool breeze dry the sweat and tears from her face. The walk home loomed like an impossible obstacle. Just contemplating it made her long to curl up and cry. Back to Peter’s cabin? She might be able to make that—and whether he wanted her or not, she knew he would help her. A forestry road wound up the backside of the foothill, and he could call up her sister… or maybe one of the sheriff deputies. Stan owed her a favor or two. Her sister would flip out if she saw her in this condition. Perhaps it would be better to get cleaned up before going home.

  Okay. So that was the plan. She sighed in resignation and slowly stood, wincing at the pain.

  A large, hulking shape emerged from the pines at the bend in the trail.

  She froze. A bear. A monstrous bear. She had never seen one so big. It watched her with strangely knowing gold eyes. The head swayed from side to side. The enormous creature seemed to take up the whole of the trail. Teeth gleamed yellow in the open mouth, and drool dripped from the red line of gums. Arlene sucked in a ragged breath, her heart sprinting fast, her pain forgotten. Her body wanted to run, but she tried to remember every bear story she had ever been told. Hadn’t she heard that outrunning a bear was a mistake?

  Hadn’t someone told her once that a bear could run thirty miles per hour?

  The eyes watched her, and as the teeth bared, it seemed like the terrible creature smiled.

  She took a hesitant step back.

  The bear charged. It was like having a boulder tear from the hill and start rolling toward her. The animal gained speed with each step. She couldn’t move. The beast’s head swung from side to side, the awkward gait building momentum to become fluid and elegant. It roared, the horrifying sound echoing against the stone canyons of the mountains and right into her bones.

  Arlene ran. Once more she was fleeing down the trail, taking the rocky steps with a flying leap, but sticking to the trail meant certain death. She flung herself up the stone and grass slope, grabbing at the small pines and hauling herself over the boulders. Another roar shook her. She cried out loud and scrambled. Her hands slipped on the loose earth, and the grass ripped out as she gripped it, but her feet kept going, and suddenly she was up. She stumbled forward, and pushed past young pines and into a meadow. The verdant grass glowed and wild lupine gathered in blue clumps, and she ran through them, panting and crying. Had it followed her? Had she made it?

  As she turned back to see, a thousand pounds of fur and muscle hit her. Claws dug into her back and the soft, moist earth of the meadow smashed into her face. She tasted the loam as it filled her mouth. She screamed as the claws tore into her, shredding her flesh.

  The bear roared above her and she was rolled over, the sun, grass, and sky flashing before her, and then the monster’s mouth. She tried to raise her hands to protect her face but one arm didn’t move and the other came up bloody. She sucked in a gurgling wet breath. Then lost consciousness.

  * * * *

  Peter heard the roar of the bear. Shit. What was she doing now?

  He sat his book down and gazed out the window. Should he go? Or was this some kind of trap?

  She roared again and he found himself standing. That was a challenge. Cecile was hunting—and he had a feeling it wasn’t the quick brown trout from the stream.

  He burst out of his cabin and cut through the forest to reach the trail. As he ran, he became
aware of the fluttering heartbeats of the squirrels in the trees, the fast pulse of blood in the birds, the crunch of decay beneath his feet. The world became more focused and clear, like a near-sighted man donning glasses. He welcomed the chill this time as it spread out from his spine. His muscles stretched. The pigment in his skin faded, and his senses sharpened.

  The trees blurred as he ran faster, and he dodged around them easily, leaping the cluttered deadfalls and then jumping the stream without hesitation. The bear’s musky scent now filled his nose, and the smell of flesh. Blood. His hunger grew sharper, nearly painful. His gut churned with need.

  He staggered out the last few steps and stopped as he reached the meadow. Pushing through the screen of trees, he caught sight of Cecile in bear form. The sharp perfume of blood hung so strong here that he swayed on his feet. A glance down at his forearms told him that he was still changing—that couldn’t be helped right now. His flesh blanched to purest white, became transparent and icy cold. Around his feet the ground froze despite the August heat. Frost sparkled on the crushed grass like diamond dust.

  Cecile stood over the girl, her maw bloody and her fur dripping thick and viscous crimson. Her black eyes flashed panic, and she turned, lumbering away.

  “Cecile,” he whispered her name. The words came out long and hoarse, like the sound of bare branches rubbing together in the winter wind. The frost at his feet spread outward, crinkling and cracking over the grass and flowers, leeching all color beneath a silvery onslaught. “Cecile…” he said again, drawing her name out as his kind did. It was the call of death. She froze. She had no choice.

  He shook his head, struggling between self and instincts. He wasn’t there to kill her. He had sworn an oath. But she had to be stopped.

  Human blood churned his stomach with hunger. He could hear the faint, weak heartbeats.

  The girl on the ground still lived, at least for now, and though he had to fight through the gnawing pain of his hunger, he knelt at her side and caressed back the tangled, wet strands of her pale hair.

  Shock gripped him. Arlene. Sweet Arlene. He had thought she would be long gone by now. It hadn’t even occurred to him.

  He could see her muscle tissue through the tears in her skin, and her rib bones gleamed white in the bloody mess that was once her chest. Ropes of her intestines glowed in muted rainbow colors. She sucked in a wet breath, blood leaking out from the corner of her mouth. Her eyes widened on him in wonder though, as if seeing an angel instead of a demon.

  “Don’t speak,” he said to her as her lips moved.

  “Silver angel,” she said softly, more blood bubbling up and running down the side of her mouth.

  He glanced up at Cecile, but she had broken free from his spell—something no human could have done—and was gone from his eyesight. He could still hear her, crashing away through the trees, and he knew he could pursue her, but then Arlene would die alone.

  And this is my fault.

  What had Cecile been thinking? That he would smell flesh and lose his mind—and she would be there with him, ready to join in his madness. It wasn’t such a bad plan. He shook his head to keep memories of his father and brother at bay. Not now. He wouldn’t think of them now.

  As the sun slipped behind the row of trees to the west, the meadow fell into shadow and his power grew. But healing was not his gift. He was a predator and nothing more. He stared down into Arlene’s face and watched as she struggled for another breath. She was failing. Her eyes stayed on his though. Wide and blue and innocent. He remembered all the times this summer she had come into his tower with her happy smile, her awkward flirting, her sudden laughter. How she had lit up his life these last two months!

  Was he going to watch her die? He knew he should. But the agony that clenched him at that thought was far greater even than his hunger. He caressed her cheek. “Arlene,” he said her name, the wind carrying the raspy chill of his voice, sending the sound through the trees like a murmur from the mountains. “I can save you. But you will pay a price. A terrible price. And if there is a Heaven, it awaits you now. Should I let you die or should I save you?”

  Even the words were hard to say. Part of him, a strong part, didn’t want to give her a choice. How could he watch that light leave her eyes?

  Her lips moved. “Help…me…”

  Sucking in the warm air he breathed out arctic chill, frost coating Arlene’s thick fan of lashes. The meadow glittered with cold, the trees hung with ice, and Arlene’s blood froze to the ground. Her heart faltered.

  Could he do it? He only had moments to decide. Her breathing stopped.

  He yanked out his knife and cut into his flesh.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Arlene lingered somewhere between. She was neither awake nor asleep, and the world was a hazy blur. Was she dying? If so, it wasn’t so bad. The pain had receded, like the ocean being pulled back by the tides, leaving bare rock and sand behind. That was what she felt like—exposed and stripped.

  Memories bubbled up into that stretch of emptiness. Five years old and standing by the swings while the other children took turns. Her mother’s goodnight song involving Jesus and an old rugged cross. The smell of her father’s cologne…

  The bear.

  She moaned, surprised that she even made a sound. It reverberated in her ears.

  No. She didn’t want to remember the bear. The claws had dug into her belly, and the jaws had risen from her flesh, the pointed teeth gleaming crimson. No. Isabel. She clung to the thought of her sister. Isabel had violet eyes and high arched eyebrows. She was small, but a powerhouse. Not a woman taken lightly by anyone. At least not more than once. This thought made Arlene smile. Isabel had always been her defender.

  If only she had been with her on the trail. No bear would have dared to take on the Witch of Cedarville.

  Arlene turned her face to one side. Isabel. My beautiful sister. She was going to die from a stupid bear attack. God. Poor Isabel. She would be furious.

  Light moved past her eyes. Silver shining illumination streaked through the dark tunnels of her vision. Was he back? The angel that had come to her side?

  She didn’t want to die alone. Her mouth was full of blood, but she tried to call to him anyway. Don’t leave me alone!

  She fought for breath, but it wouldn’t come. Liquid warmth filled her throat. Pale spots danced in the darkness before her eyes.

  And then cold fingers pushed into her mouth and something was shoved into the back of her throat. She tried to shake her head, tried to be free of this last assault.

  Hands worked on her neck and she choked on the cold thing. It stuck like a block of ice. Her body struggled, though she knew she was dying. The world darkened to nothing. But in the darkness, a tidal wave of anguish hit her. It swelled out from her belly and then through every nerve of her body.

  * * * *

  Peter watched her flesh heal. Her bones disappeared as her skin and muscles knitted together and within moments her wounds were gone without a scar. Her body lay nearly naked and exposed.

  He tore his eyes away. Her clothing lay about her in tatters, bloody and reeking. He stripped her of the crimson-soaked, shredded pieces and lifted her in his arms, uncaring about the blood that still clung to her. Her cream-colored skin grew piebald with shifting patches of silver-white. The transformation was upon her. She trembled, and her eyes rolled back beneath her lids as she seized. He frowned, clutching her closer. Blood dripped out of the corner of her mouth, mixing with what was already drying there.

  Her eyes flew open and widened. In the pupils he saw gleams of silver and gold. Gold?

  One of her pale hands pushed against his chest, and he held her tighter.

  All of sudden she shoved. He flew backwards, losing his hold. She fell, and twisted like a gymnast, landing in a crouch. Her hair fell in wet, crimson swathes in front of her blood-smeared face.

  He shook his head, sitting up. What was happening? This was not how he remembered his own transformation, nor his b
rother’s.

  He still felt the mark on his chest where she had shoved him. She was strong… Great Spirit, she was strong. The twilight glowed about them with grey light while the shadows darkened beneath the trees, and her skin changed, seeming to blend with the grey light.

  She lifted her head as he took a step closer. Gold glittered in her eyes.

  Whatever was happening to her, he had to help her. Guilt and grief gnawed at him. He shoved them aside. This was not the time to wallow around in self-pity.

  “Arlene,” he whispered her name, pushing his power into the single word. The summons wrapped around her, took hold of her aura. Her stare grew blank, and her face slackened.

  A memory of his own first calling roused in the back of his mind. Names whispered on the winter wind, calling them out of their cabin. The black sky, the bare branches, the snow flying… He shuddered with these memories, as he hadn’t done in a long time.

  Light came back to Arlene’s eyes. She threw off the hold he had on her mind with a snarl and ran. She leapt into the young trees, and disappeared into the twilight.

  He chased after her, following her wild heartbeat more than her fleeting shadow. That fast pattering aroused his hunger, and his instincts quickened, his nails lengthening on his hands until they were black claws. He ignored them. She was so fast!

  Rage chewed at him, roiled in his gut. Cecile! She had forced this upon them. And for what? Because she wanted his power over death? Shape shifters aged, slower than the general population of humans, but still, they were not immortal. So was it only vanity that motivated her? A fear of growing old?

  The sputtering heartbeat drew him on through the woods even as he turned his head in circles wondering about the werebear’s motivations. He wanted to sit down and think, but he had no time. Whatever Arlene was, he could not let her flee in madness and wake alone. If she woke.

  Arlene stayed ahead of him. Her pale figure darted like a light calling to him, a will o’ wisp that he must follow.