by Joe Augustyn
She stared at herself in the mirror. She looked like an actor in a goofy comedy sketch, with seven-inch fangs drooping down past her chin.
My God, you look like a dingbat. I sure hope it’s worth it.
She hadn’t intended on attempting this change for quite some time. She’d planned on continuing her smooth succession of gradually larger wildcats; becoming a lioness… then a Bengal tiger… and then a snow white Siberian tiger.
But with no time to paint her face and two boys who were probably armed and setting some kind of trap, she had to gamble on taking a giant leap.
She had researched the prospect online, and pondered her odds of success. Would it even be possible to transform into a long extinct species like the Smilodon? The last sabretooths were killed off 10,000 years ago.
On one hand, that seemed like an insurmountable length of time. But they had roamed the earth for two million years, so their extinction could be considered quite recent, when put in relative perspective. And unlike lions and tigers, they were native American species, so maybe that would help the transformation.
The biggest question was whether she could transform without painting her face. There were no fossil records, no remnants of sabretooth hides to indicate what the actual colors of their fur had been. According to her research the sabretooth fangs could grow more than a foot and their bodies over half a ton. But that was for Smilodon Populator, the largest breed. If she transformed into such a large cat, she’d never make it out her bedroom window without a great deal of noise and property damage. Her parents wouldn’t be happy about that.
She settled on Smilodon Fatalis with its smaller fangs and body. It was still massive. As big and powerful as a Siberian tiger. Just big enough to fit through the open window.
She stared at her reflection in the mirror, focusing on her eyes so she wouldn’t get distracted by how silly she looked with the monstrous faux fangs. If the transformation failed, she’d feel doubly idiotic. And she’d still have to do what she could to rescue Crystal, using only her human resources.
Oh my god… A disturbing thought hit her as she glanced at the oversized fangs. What if I misjudged this whole thing and I turn into a frickin’ walrus?
Jesus, no! Stop worrying about stupid shit. It’s cats only, remember? That’s your totem. Remember what Ruta said. Intention and will power. You have to stay focused. Besides, it’s too late to back out now.
As the sun dipped past the edge of the earth and the last rays of sunlight faded, Felicia felt an unprecedented rush of power shoot up her spine and her body started expanding with the energy. The change was happening fast. Much faster than normal.
She hopped off the vanity stool before her weight could collapse it and landed with amazing grace for a quarter ton beast.
In the living room below, her father glanced up at the ceiling, wondering what the loud thump was, and thought about going to investigate. But before he could bring himself to put down his martini, his favorite weather girl appeared on TV, and he settled back to enjoy her full figured forecast. Felicia must have knocked something over. She’d call out if it was anything serious.
Padding across her bedroom floor as slowly and quietly as she could, Felicia approached the window and peered out into the night. Primitive longings stirred in her breast. It was as if she was seeing the ancient stars for the very first time.
With a mighty flex of her haunches she flew through the open window and pounced down hard on the lawn.
Sucking in a massive lungful of air she lifted her head towards the sky. Intoxicated with life and power, she was tempted to announce her presence to the world… but stifled the mighty roar she longed to unleash.
359
The Nine Lives of Felicia Miller
80
“W-where are you t-taking me?” Crystal was growing nervous as Nelson accelerated towards the edge of town. “This isn’t the way to the mall.”
“Screw the mall,” Nelson said in his silky voice, “The mall will always be there. I thought we’d take advantage of this lovely Spring evening to enjoy a bit of nature. You don’t have anything against Mother Nature, do you?”
“No,” said Crystal meekly. Inklings of distrust welled up deep inside her. She knew something amiss was in the works, but couldn’t bring herself to challenge Nelson’s control. For better or worse, she was going along for the ride.
“Relax,” Nelson reassured her. “You’re safe with me. There’s nothing to be worried about. I’m very respectful of women.”
No sense in stirring up her emotions. Not until we hook up with Wally and she gets a look at his rifle. Then we can put the barrel right between her eyes, and the scent of her fear will draw the big cat right to us. Right into our gun sights where we want her.
As he made the last turn out of town towards the woods, he thought about how it would go down.
There’d be no problem to take down a big cat with the rifle Wally was packing. They’d had no luck trying to get a gun in Riverside. While they were driving down to meet Wally’s connection, the idiot was shot during a botched home invasion.
But Wally was too stoked on the plan to call it off. He had another option and was quick to act. He simply cut the padlock on his dad’s antique gun rack and helped himself to a 30.06 with a scope.
He knew his dad would be royally pissed when he discovered the broken lock and the missing rifle, but figured his anger would blow over, sooner or later, depending on the outcome of their hunt.
“He’s either going to be proud that I showed some initiative and killed the devil cat,” he told Nelson as he showed off the spit clean rifle, “Or he’s going to try to arrest me. Which will be his final regret.”
359
The Nine Lives of Felicia Miller
81
Owen turned down East Oak Lane and cruised past Felicia’s house. He was on his way to answer a call from her neighbors down the street.
Tired and cranky after a long busy shift, the last thing he felt like doing was spending an hour with two old gay guys. He hadn’t gotten much sleep since Wally had his run-in with the mysterious wildcat. The town was a pressure pot of tension and paranoia. The Sheriff station switchboard lit up every time a stray cat crossed someone’s yard.
The men were waiting on their doorstep when he pulled up. Owen nodded politely as they anxiously waved him in. A few years back he might have been less friendly and slower to respond to their call, but as he matured in his world view he came to realize that the men deserved as much respect as any in the county.
Descended from some of the area’s oldest families, they kept a low profile and never caused any trouble. They seemed content to live their lives quietly and discreetly, like any old married couple. They never made moves on the local boys, or on anyone else for that matter.
In fact, the most controversial thing they ever did was to cover their house with flamboyant holiday decorations, which bothered an old busybody who lived across the street, whose sole purpose in life seemed to be finding new things to complain about. And in that conflict, Owen was secretly on their side.
“Good evening, Sheriff. Come on in,” said Jonah. “How about some coffee? I made some fresh kona. I can make you a better latte than Starbucks.”
“No thanks anyway. I’ve had my fill of caffeine for today,” Owen said quietly. He didn’t know what kona was, or latte either. But as tolerant as he wanted to be, he wasn’t about to risk drinking anything they offered that might have cream in it.
“Well thank you for coming,” Vincent said. “We hope you’ll find this interesting, if not helpful.”
A minute later they were seated in the living room of a surprisingly modern and stylish home, more impressive than the nicest homes Owen had yet seen in town. Hell, he thought, nicer than most homes I’ve seen on TV.
Jonah switched on the huge flatscreen Sony and clicked the remote to change inputs. The screen displayed a recorded security video.
“We set up security cameras after
our Christmas display was vandalized.”
“Someone moved the carrot from our snowman’s face to—I’m sure you can imagine.”
“And don’t even ask what they did with our light-up reindeer.”
“Here it comes, Sheriff. There, look!”
Vincent paused the image and pointed to a shadow creeping across the lawn. A slinky four-legged shape that looked unmistakably like a full-sized leopard.
“Jesus. Is that what I think it is?”
“What do you think it is, Sheriff?”
“Well, I’ll be damned. It looks like a fuc- er… full grown leopard.”
“That’s what we thought.”
“And this was taken outside your house here?”
“Yes, sir. That camera covers the side yard right out yonder,” he pointed. “That hedge runs along our property line.”
The Sheriff stared at the frozen image onscreen.
A chill went up his spine as he thought of the attack on his son and Sparrow. He had doubted his son’s account but there was the supporting evidence right before his eyes.
A leopard, just like Wally claimed. A goddamned African leopard.
“It’s pretty scary to think that thing came prowling right down our street,” said Jonah. “And nobody even suspected it was out there.”
“Come to think of it, we caught this video the same night our dogs were acting up on their evening walk,” added Vincent. “Remember how crazy they were that night?”
“Oh my heavens, you’re right. We might have been cat chow.”
Owen looked at the date stamp on the video. The same night the boys were attacked.
“I hope this was helpful, Sheriff.”
“Yes, it was.” Owen thanked them for their vigilance and asked them to keep a lid on it. “We don’t need any more panic in this town. If it gets any worse someone is bound to get their head blown off. We’ll have hunters coming in from all over the state and beyond. Not to mention the kooks it’ll draw. Wouldn’t be very good for property values, in any case.”
“We understand, Sheriff. You can count on us.”
***
A minute later Owen stood outside Felicia’s house, gazing up at the tree. The tree he’d heard Friday night drunks refer to as “the leopard tree.” His eyes tracked up the trunk to its spreading branches. He followed one large branch towards the house. It stretched to within a few yards of an upstairs window. A window that now stood open, wide open, with no screen to block an intruder. Or something trying to get out.
Owen felt an ominous tingling in his bones.
Now why would a thought like that pop into my head?
He took a step and nearly turned his ankle. Looking down he was shocked by what he saw. There on the lawn was a set of fresh paw prints. Huge paw prints. The impression they made was deep. Like whatever made them landed hard.
Those aren’t leopard tracks.
Based on their angle and position there was only one place they might have logistically come from. He looked up again at Felicia’s open window.
A chill ran down his spine.
359
The Nine Lives of Felicia Miller
82
Felicia wasn’t sure what Nelson was up to, but she was certain that Crystal was in danger. I should have killed him when I had the chance.
Racing madly through the woods, she made a beeline for Andersen’s Bluff, a wooded plateau sixty feet higher than the forest below. In a matter of seconds she clawed her way up the bluff and climbed the tallest tree on its edge, stopping halfway up when the tree started creaking under her weight.
Digging her colossal claws into the trunk she froze to listen in silence. A breeze whispered past her, tickling the soft hair of her ears. A million leaves shimmered in the evening wind. Tiny chirps and snapping twigs and multitudinous animal sounds echoed from the forest below. Nature’s muted symphony.
Finally she heard what she was hoping to hear. There was no mistaking it, even filtered through a mile or two of dense forest. The smooth putter of the well-honed German engine. The slight squeak of a neglected bearing.
She retracted her claws and dropped to the top of the ridge beneath the tree. She descended the cliff in three mighty leaps.
She knew right where Nelson was taking his intended victim. A place she knew all too well.
359
The Nine Lives of Felicia Miller
83
Owen was surprised to find the house empty when he got home. “Wally?” he called out… and called again, louder.
No answer. The house was quiet as a tomb. I guess he’s finished with his pity party. Those pills must have finally wore off.
Unbuckling his gun belt he hung it on the hat rack. I just hope he’s not out there already looking for trouble. He wasn’t anything to be proud of up there hiding in his room, but at least he wasn’t running around town, shaming the family name.
He stepped into the dining room to settle in with a glass of his favorite bourbon. He had a lot on his mind, and bourbon had a way of making things simpler. Of clarifying his options.
The townspeople were in a paranoid uproar these days. They were angry at him for not having ended the mystery cat’s reign of terror. He couldn’t even enjoy a relaxing drink at the local taverns without catching acrimonious slings. People threatening to vote him out of office. Comparing his performance unfavorably to his old man’s.
He poured a hefty shot and raised it to his lips… then froze.
He turned and looked at the gun rack. The padlock hung askew, its steel hoop sliced cleanly through. The locking bar hung open. A rifle was missing.
Oh Jesus H Christ in merciful heaven. What is that little bastard up to now?
It took him half a minute to recall which weapon was missing.
It figures the dumb ass would take that one.
The Legacy Sports 1500 wasn’t his most prized possession, but it was a reliable shooter… at least until he’d dropped it down a ravine, knocking its scope out of whack. He’d meant to repair it, but after a season or two it was still untouched. With half-a-dozen rifles in his collection, he’d had no urgent need for the gun.
Now that idiot’s out there traipsing around with a high-powered rifle and a faulty scope. Who knows what kind of trouble he’ll get into?
He imagined Wally taking aim and firing, only to hit something he thought he wasn’t aiming at. That would be so typical. The boy’s a natural fuck-up.
He threw back his glass of bourbon, and thought of the oversized paw prints he’d discovered outside Felicia’s house. With a lawman’s sense of intuition he started piecing together a jigsaw of possibilities.
He poured another shot and threw it down, then turned back to the gun rack. Trying to decide which weapon would serve him best.
359
The Nine Lives of Felicia Miller
84
The Sheriff drove slowly down the moonlit forest road, peeking down every access road for the fresh imprint of a motorcycle tire. Wally’s dirt bike had been missing when Owen checked the garage. It was clear he stole the rifle and rode off to hunt for the animal that had attacked him.
As Owen drove he thought of Felicia. He couldn’t get the girl out of his head. It wasn’t just the strange animal tracks he’d found outside her home. It wasn’t the fact that she’d befriended the town witch. It just seemed he couldn’t think of his son these days without thoughts of Felicia popping up.
Owen felt compelled to compare the two. It was a perverse form of self-torture. Borne of guilt, he knew. Guilt for being a lousy father when his son had needed him most.
I should have taken more time with him after his mama died. That’s when he started acted up. But I was too dumb and self-centered to notice. Too busy having my own pity party.
The Sheriff couldn’t admit to himself what he knew deep inside. He’d always blamed Wally for his wife’s death. She’d had a hard labor, and her health was never the same after giving birth. She never recovered her stre
ngth and was dead a few years later. A slow painful decline for a once vital bastion of energy and joy.
He knew it was silly to blame the boy.
He didn’t choose to be freakishly large at birth. Didn’t choose to make his earthly entrance tangled in an umbilical cord. He wasn’t to blame for destroying his mother’s health.
She had serious issues that the doctors should have discovered. If the bastards had paid as much attention to her care as they did to her insurance forms, she’d be alive today.
It was silly to blame the boy. But it was easy.
Headlights flashed ahead, blinking through gaps in the woods before they finally swung into view. The Sheriff glanced at the approaching car to see who was driving in such a desolate area at this time of night. Hoping he might see Wally.
In the dim glow of their passing dashboard lights he recognized the driver. One of Wally’s friends.
The boy was easy to remember. His presence had always puzzled Owen. The clean-cut, well-dressed boy looked too wholesome to be hanging with Wally’s gang of metal-head misfits.
A girl sat beside him. She looked a bit uncertain. Timid. Possibly frightened.
If Owen hadn’t been busy with the mission at hand he might have stopped them to check on her. But he knew the boy saw him eyeing them. He’d be stupid to try anything improper.
359
The Nine Lives of Felicia Miller
85
“Come on, loosen up. It’s just a beer.”
“I d-don’t l-like b-beer,” Crystal said.