Dark Hunt

by Naomi Clark

  We embraced carefully, wary of each other’s injuries, and I sat down next to her bed, helping myself to chocolates. She looked as battered as I was; her nose was in a splint and she had a beautiful black eye, all mottled purple and blue. Her lip was stitched and she had numerous burns and scrapes up and down her arms. “Do you remember anything about the fire?” I asked her.

  She shrugged. “Patric being a bastard. That is all, really. The nurses say you rescued me.” She smiled again, a little shy. “You saved my life.”

  I flushed. “Well, I just... Well…” I didn’t know what to say to that. She was gazing at me with a touch of awe that made me uncomfortable. “You’d have done the same for me, I’m sure. What about Thérèse?” I asked to deflect the attention away from me. “Have you seen her? Is she okay?”

  Clémence’s smile turned soft and dreamy. “She’s good, très bon. I don’t like it, but Patric saved her. She came to see me before she left and told me.”

  From her sweet smile, I guessed all was well between them despite Patric’s interference, so I didn’t press for more. I pinched another chocolate and tried to think of something else to talk about. I couldn’t help glancing around the ward for Shannon, even knowing she wasn’t there.

  “What happened to your neck?” Clémence gestured at the dressing. “This is from the fire?”

  I touched the dressing, feeling a little flicker of pain. “No, not the fire.” Should I tell Clémence? Should I tell her before I tell the police? I was a bit surprised they hadn’t visited already. Two women brought in, in the dead of night, both attacked and poisoned. Surely that was the kind of thing the hospitals had to report? Although the nurse who’d been there when I woke up had made it sound like it was up to me to call them. Maybe it was like rape cases—no complaint, no crime.

  Clémence regarded me curiously, waiting for me to go on. “Something else happened? Oh! Where is Shannon?”

  I rubbed the back of my neck. The ward was quiet, there weren’t many people in the beds and a lone nurse drifted around checking charts and smoothing bed sheets down. I shifted my chair closer to the bed and leaned in towards Clémence. I felt conspiratorial, almost guilty as I told her. “We were attacked. We—”

  “Le Monstre.” That awed look was back on her face, her voice hushed and her eyes wide. “Mon dieu, Ayla! Is Shannon—”

  “She’s here, somewhere. They’re saying it’s poison. It bit her—bit us.” I peeled the dressing back. She gasped and covered her mouth, paling. “I need to tell the police.”

  “Ayla.” Clémence held my wrist, keeping me close to her. “What is it? It is not a wolf, is it?”

  “I…” I couldn’t say vampire, even though the word was blazing in my mind. “No, it’s not a wolf. I don’t know what it is, but it’s not a wolf.”

  Clémence smiled grimly. “I knew it. I said it, all the time. But you think... You don’t think it is human? It is an animal?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. It looks human. It...” I trailed off, the memory of the creature’s hands on me, its teeth in my throat sending cold waves of fear through me. My wolf whimpered and the sound emerged from me as a squeak. “Whatever it is, my wolf is scared stiff of it. Just that scent made me want to tuck my tail up and run away.”

  Usually fear made me reckless and determined to prove to myself that I could be afraid and act anyway. With Le Monstre it was different. Last night, if Shannon hadn’t been with me, I would have run away. I rubbed my arms absently, wondering if Le Monstre would have caught me if I had.

  “So you must go to the police, non?” Clémence said, dragging me back to the here and now. “And I must also.” She sighed. “I hope they arrested the bâtard who started the fire. Now I have nowhere to sleep at all!”

  “What about Thérèse?” I asked. “I thought the two of you were moving in together?”

  Clémence growled softly, drawing a few nervous stares from the beds around us. “Not yet, not while Patric is still around. I don’t want him to hurt her because of me.”

  “Why doesn’t she go to the police? She could get a restraining order or something.”

  Clémence shrugged. “She is too soft. She wants to help everyone she meets, fix them, you know? Some people you cannot fix, I think.”

  She said it so wistfully, I wondered if she meant Patric or Thérèse. We fell into silence, picking at the chocolates and watching nurses and patients go back and forth, until I lost my patience and grabbed a nurse to ask if I could see Shannon. With Clémence’s help, I managed to persuade the nurse to take me to the intensive care ward and my heart leapt with gratitude and anxiety.

  “I could come with you?” Clémence offered. “I would like to be out of this bed.”

  I hesitated. “I’d rather see her alone, if that’s okay?”

  She patted my knee and nodded. “But you will come back to see me? Maybe they will discharge us?”

  I promised I would and followed the nurse.

  ***

  I was relieved to find the ward mostly empty. A young man wrapped in plaster from neck to knee occupied one bed; apart from him it was just Shannon, tucked away in a corner, machines around her beeping softly. Every note told me that yes, her heart was still going. My muscles uncoiled, the tight feeling of a rope binding my heart and lungs faded away. She was okay.

  Shannon was alive, but she was so pale. There was a greenish tinge around her eyes and lips, but she was chalk-white everywhere else. Her chest rose and fell slowly. A drip line fed clear liquid into one arm. She looked so small and fragile, like a gentle hug would snap her in half. I sat in the chair next to her bed and took her hand. Her skin was icy to the touch and she didn’t stir. I bit my lip, trying not to cry. I’d built up this stupid romantic fantasy that I’d take her hand, kiss her lips and she’d wake up like a princess in a fairy tale.

  She didn’t, she just lay there, pale and lost to me. They’d cleaned and bandaged the wound at her neck, but I was sure I could smell pus and rot underneath the sterile cloth. Germs, I thought again. Who knew what infections and bacteria were creeping through her? Who knew what else that thing had fed on before attacking us?

  I cleared my throat, tears threatening. “Well,” I said thickly, “this hasn’t been quite the holiday we planned, has it?” My voice sounded too loud in the close silence of the room and I felt guilty for talking at all. If I didn’t talk I felt I’d just bawl my eyes out, though, and I really didn’t want to do that. There was a chance Shannon could hear me—they said coma victims often responded to voices of their loved ones—and if she could, I didn’t want her hearing me weeping and wailing.

  So I talked, slowly and carefully to keep my voice even and calm. “Maybe we should have gone to Spain or Italy instead? Maybe even Scotland? We could have spent the week drinking whisky and taken walks on the moors. I would have liked that. We’ll probably need another holiday to get over this one, anyway.”

  I pulled at the scar tissue on my lip, forgetting for a second there was no ring there to play with. Had she twitched? I was sure she’d twitched, sure her eyelids flickered. I held my breath, studying her face intently. “You have to wake up, Shannon,” I told her, my voice finally breaking on her name. “We haven’t been up the Eiffel Tower yet. You haven’t seen your gargoyles and I haven’t seen a single bloody mime.” I scrubbed my tears away, not wanting them to fall on her, and held her cold hand tighter. “Please Shannon, please. I love you.”

  “Miss?” a kind voice said in my ear. “We must check her now, please.” The nurse who had brought me here hustled me out of my seat.

  “No, I just want to sit with her,” I pleaded, refusing to release Shannon’s hand. “I just want to talk to her, in case it helps her...”

  The nurse’s smile was heartbreakingly gentle. “She will be fine. But you must rest too. You can come back later.”

  I didn’t want to come back later, I wanted to stay now. I opened my mouth to tell her, then changed my mind. Kicking up a fuss when th
ey wanted to treat Shannon didn’t seem very clever. Instead, I bent down to kiss Shannon’s dry lips. She still smelled like herself, under the odors of hospital, salves and ointments. Still my Shannon, delicious and soft. “I’ll come back,” I promised her. “You won’t even know I’m gone.”

  ***

  For lack of anything else to do, I went searching for Clémence and found her checking herself out at the main entrance, loudly and angrily. I didn’t need to understand French to know the argument she was having with an exasperated doctor was about to turn nasty.

  She saw me and her eyes lit up. Grabbing me, she dragged me over the doctor. “Aha! This is my friend. I can stay with her, d’accord?”

  “What?” I jumped, feeling like I’d missed something crucial.

  Clémence gestured disparagingly at the doctor, who scowled at her. “This...man says I cannot leave unless I have somewhere to go. I am telling him, what business is it of his where I go? But he is un imbécile. So I tell him, I will stay with you, yes? We can look after each other.”

  “Well, I don’t...” I started, then stopped myself, Pack instinct overriding my objections. Was I going to kick her out on the streets, with Le Monstre and her girlfriend’s psycho ex? “Yeah, of course. Of course you can.”

  Clémence turned on the doctor in triumph and another hot argument broke out. Finally he agreed that if I was discharged, then Clémence could check out as long as she was definitely going to be staying with me. I think he just wanted rid of the argumentative Clémence. I didn’t object.

  ***

  Half an hour later Clémence and I escaped the hospital and holed up in a café nearby. I was desperate to get home and pack some clothes for Shannon. In her haste, Sun hadn’t packed any of Shannon’s jeans or skirts, and nothing of mine would fit her., But I could tell Clémence wasn’t as keen. Maybe it would have been too sharp a reminder that she didn’t have anywhere to go herself.

  So we huddled together at a tiny table; Clémence with an espresso, me with a hot chocolate that I really wished had been laced with rum. I picked idly at a slice of raspberry cheesecake and wondered how soon I could go back and see Shannon. From the wistful look on Clémence’s face, I guessed she was thinking about Thérèse. I couldn’t help asking, “So are things going to be okay with you and Thérèse?”

  Clémence shrugged, stirring her coffee absently. “I think so. I don’t know. She and Patric were together a long time. I think she worries about leaving him. She worries about being out with me, you know?”

  “This is her first lesbian relationship?” It wasn’t any of my business, but talking was better than moping silently into my cheesecake.

  “Oui. I think she is scared what the Pack will think, you know? She has plans...” She waved her hands vaguely, as if Thérèse’s plans were just too mysterious to even contemplate. “And maybe she thinks being with me will stop them.”

  I got that. It hadn’t been a problem for me and Shannon, but I knew that Shannon had dated a girl who’d been paranoid about people finding out. Shannon had been her guilty secret. Me, I’d always dated people who weren’t afraid to hold my hand in public. Coming out to my parents had been hard enough, coming out to the rest of the world had been easy in comparison. I told Clémence as much and she nodded enthusiastically.

  “Oui! Exactement! My mother cried for days. ‘Where will my grandchildren come from?’ But Thérèse wants children, also. We think maybe one day, when she’s qualified and I have a degree and a good job, perhaps we will adopt or she will have you know...” She made a few more vague hand gestures, which I interpreted as artificial insemination. She chattered excitedly then, eyes glowing as she talked about their plans for the future, the degree in business management she wanted to do. I listened, letting her happy babble push away my gloomy thoughts. By the time we’d finished our drinks and cake, I couldn’t help but feel more positive. When I went to see Shannon again, she’d be awake and she’d tell me my vampire theory was ludicrous and everything would be fine. It had to be.

  “Shall we go?” I asked Clémence. “I really need to pack some clothes for Shannon.”

  She nodded. “You have a washing machine, maybe?” She raised the hem of her t-shirt, sniffed it and grimaced. “All I had was at Loup Garou.” A quick flicker of sadness passed over her, then she smiled brightly, if falsely, again. “I do not wish to stink up your house!”

  I looked her over. She was shorter than me, but about the same build. “You can borrow some of my clothes. I’ve got stuff that will fit.” I showed her the bag Sun had packed.

  That earned me a real smile. We threw some money down on the table and headed for home.

  ***

  Summery RnB music pumped through the hallway when we reached the flat. Sun’s front door was open and she was squatting on the living room floor, digging through a suitcase. “You okay in there?” I asked, poking my head round.

  She jumped, then turned to smile at me. “I’m just sorting through Mike’s things to send back to his folks. I thought I’d get upset again, but actually it’s nice.” She lifted up a pinstripe shirt and inhaled the fabric. “Everything smells like him.” Her smile turned sweet and sad and I suddenly felt awkward and intrusive.

  “Well, if you need me...” I started.

  Sun dropped the shirt and eased herself to her feet. “Oh my God, I’m being so rude! Are you okay, Ayla? How is Shannon?” She glanced at Clémence and took in her disheveled state. “Clémence! Are you okay? I saw on the news this morning about the fire... I can’t believe so much bad stuff is happening all at once...” She pressed her fingers to her lips then, flushing. “I mean—”

  “It’s fine,” I said. “Why don’t you come and have a cup of tea with us?”

  She laughed. “Right. The English cup of tea cures everything, right?”

  Personally, I thought, if I was going to turn to drink to solve my problems, tea would be my last choice. It nothing else, alcohol might dull my ever-pressing need to shapeshift. Maybe Sun would lend me some of her dogwood tea? Whilst Sun and Clémence made themselves at home, setting the kettle to boiling and searching for biscuits, I went to the bedroom to check my assorted wounds. All the bruises and scrapes were healing fast and the gash on my cheek would soon be nothing but scar tissue. The bite of my neck and the burns on my legs were still nasty-looking though and I reluctantly decided shifting was out of the question for at least another day. I sighed as I pulled my jeans back on.

  “How do you stand it?” I asked Sun back in the living room. “I mean, when was the last time you shapeshifted? Isn’t it driving you mad?”

  “It did at first,” she replied, handing me a cup of watery tea. “For like, the first three months I was just crazy, even with all the herbal supplements they give you. All I wanted to do was hunt, you know? But then my doctor told me if I shifted in the first trimester, I’d have to stay as a wolf for the whole pregnancy.” She sniffed. “Well, that’s fine for ferals, but I need manicures, you know?”

  Clémence and I both laughed. Although checking out Sun’s lime-green nails, I had no doubt she was deadly serious.

  “One of the local alphas, he says it is good for us to be as wolves when we have cubs,” Clémence said. “He says there would be more cubs if we lived more like wolves.”

  It wasn’t a new idea. Plenty of wolves and humans alike believed our declining birth rates were down to us becoming ‘too human’. I’d done Lupine Psychology for a term at school—until I realized Drama wasn’t as much work and switched—and I’d read all the essays on how we’d mentally separated from our wolf side over the past hundred years or so, to fit in better with humans. How that ‘coming out’ on our part was the start of our falling numbers. I wasn’t sure how much I believed that particular theory. We’d been living side-by-side with humans forever, after all. Just because one day they realized it, didn’t mean we stopped having cubs.

  Clémence and Sun happily chattered away about pregnancy and cubs, while I sipped my tea a
nd thought about the secrecy wolves had lived in throughout history. We’d hidden away, living by night, holding our Lupercali ceremonies in secret, our hunts in the dead of winter in the thickest forests where no humans would see us. We walked as men under the sun, as beasts under the moon. We’d endured witch hunts, Inquisitions and Satanic panics before our secret existence was revealed to the humans we’d been lying to for so long.

  It added up to about two million years or so of living undetected. It made me realize that it wasn’t that much of a stretch to imagine that something else could be out there, hiding right under our noses.

  Twelve

  With Clémence and Sun sat at the kitchen table discussing baby names, I grabbed Shannon’s laptop and logged onto the internet. My head was swimming with images from the werewolf museum; pale-faced, seductive vampires plunging elegant fangs into naked flesh. It hadn’t been like that; this creature wasn’t like that. There was nothing beautiful or romantic about Le Monstre.