Under the Midnight Cloak

by S. Y. Thompson

  "Cleo?" Lee asked as they walked down the path. "What's up with all the strange shit that happens around this place?"

  She didn't really expect an answer.

  Chapter Fourteen

  THE SILVERADO ROCKETED down the narrow forest trail at a speed that could in no way be considered safe. Now that Jamison had a little distance, the urge to mate with Lee wasn't as strong and she could think more clearly. Dalton said this latest attack was on the old sheep meadow just east of Meacham Lake. It was less than two miles from her own home.

  "Damn it!" She pounded the steering wheel once in frustration. If anyone should have found the rogue carnivore, it should have been her. Instead, she'd been off cuddling up to her newest neighbor.

  Her conscience over neglecting her duty warred with the memory of kissing Lee, but she couldn't feel too badly about it. Jamison felt an insane urge to purr in contentment when she thought about the time they'd spent together. It was crazy that in the midst of all this chaos, just thinking of Lee would calm the jungle cat inside.

  Her truck went airborne over the crest separating the lake from Harrison Farms. She slammed on the brakes so hard the pickup slid sideways before it came to a shuddering stop. All memories of the pleasant evening evaporated like a veil of mist. The sight below was almost surreal.

  White, fluffy forms dotted the gentle rise and fall of the pastureland, like snowflakes on a deep felt of green. Overhead, blue-black clouds filled the night sky and framed the full moon. It would have been breathtakingly exquisite had those figures truly been the product of a temperamental weather system. Jamison wanted to believe that's what it was, but the blood-drenched corpses demanded her full concession. The entire herd of sheep had been slaughtered.

  Men and women milled about the area, deputies marking each of the lifeless bodies with evidence placards. Central to the scene, three squad cars and a battered jeep with a roll bar had spotlights blazing to impose a false sense of daylight. Next to one of the law enforcement units, Jamison saw Dalton standing and talking with a much smaller woman.

  He might be a good hunter, Jamison thought, remembering Dinah's observations, but she didn't consider him a diplomat, and leaving him in charge of public relations was not a wise idea.

  She growled low in her throat as she drove down into the midst of the massacre and pulled up next to them. By the time she had shut off the vehicle and walked over, she had herself under control.

  "Sheriff," she greeted with a nod, casting a warning look at Dalton.

  "Well, looky here, if it isn't Harmon's own park ranger slash unofficial crime stopper. I'm assuming you're here representing the self-appointed Council?"

  Sheriff Samantha Macke was unequivocally human, which made it hard for the shape changers in the community to trust her. If not for extenuating circumstances, she wouldn't even know about them. Still, Jamison had always found the smaller brunette to be honest and intelligent, even if she did struggle to treat the jaguars with the same fairness she extended to the human population.

  "I guess we're here representing the Panthera," Jamison said, tipping her head toward Dalton.

  Macke looked at the man over her shoulder, the dislike in her black eyes clear to see. "Yes, well. No accounting for taste."

  "Excuse me?" Dalton started toward the sheriff with anger in his eyes.

  "Stand down."

  He pinned Jamison with a glare at the command and for a moment, she thought he'd refuse. Then he gave a disgusted snarl and stalked toward the perimeter. Jamison hoped he might use the time to cool off and search for anything that might tell them where the predator had gone.

  "Sorry about that."

  Sam shook her head. "Look, I've got a real problem with people who lack the proper training coming into a crime scene and taking over. Unfortunately, I realize that your particular...talents might come in handy this time. Just do me a favor?"

  "What is it?" Jamison asked. It was rare for the sheriff to ask anything of her, regardless of the situation and she couldn't help her curiosity. She was a cat, after all.

  "Keep that guy away from me. He gives me the creeps."

  Jamison tried to hide her smile. "That makes two of us. So, what do you think of all this?"

  Sam walked toward one of the dead sheep while Jamison followed quietly in her wake. The sheriff tucked her hands into her jacket pockets to ward off the chill and stood staring down into sightless eyes. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

  "Honestly? I could give you details on the scent of the monster who did this. I could even describe what my eyes are able to discern about the wounds, but that wouldn't help and you wouldn't be able to sleep for a week. I'm asking what your impressions are, from a law enforcement standpoint."

  "You mean, how would I profile someone who had done this if they were strictly human?"

  Jamison hadn't expected Sheriff Macke to be so perceptive or quite so direct and her respect for the woman went up a notch. There was no horror or denial in her voice, only a quiet sadness at the reality before them.

  "Yes. What would you say about his psyche?"

  Sam frowned. "How do you know the killer is male?"

  "I don't," Jamison said, shaking her head. "I'm using the pronoun in the generic form."

  Sam nodded in understanding. "For what it's worth I think it is a man."

  "Care to elaborate?"

  Jamison had investigated the sites of both killings and for all the myriad of scents, she couldn't state the gender with certainty. The hunter hadn't sprayed urine to mark territory on any of the kills, so how could a human with so little understanding of feline ways begin to make such a declaration?

  "Psych 101. I can rattle off statistics, but let's just say that the vast majority of serial killers are white males in their late twenties to early forties. They usually start by torturing animals." Sam made a sweeping gesture with one arm to encompass the meadow. "Of course, you and I both know this wasn't the work of a human. There was no reason for this except the thrill of the kill."

  Jamison looked around and couldn't deny it. These defenseless animals had been torn apart, some with their throats ripped out, others gleefully dismembered. None of them showed signs of being eaten. Whatever had done this had done it for fun.

  "What are you going to tell the owner?"

  Sam looked at her fully for the first time. "Answer one question for me first. Was this one of yours?"

  "No. Absolutely not."

  "But you weren't surprised that it happened." Sam pointed over to Dalton. "You had a team standing by ready to go. Want to tell me why?"

  "What if I say it's Panthera business?"

  Sam's eyes narrowed in challenge. "Then I tell Bob Harrison the truth."

  "And incite mass hysteria?" Jamison grinned a little, but there was no humor in it. "I don't think so."

  Jamison could feel the anger radiating off the sheriff and relented slightly. "It won't come to that. I can tell you that for the last few weeks a carnivore of some type has been prowling the woods around Harmon."

  "The last few weeks?" Sheriff Macke's voice rose and several heads revolved in their direction. "You're just now sharing this with me? Don't you think my office should have known?"

  "Maybe," Jamison allowed, projecting calming thoughts toward the other woman, "but all of the attacks have been against livestock and a single wild hog. I will grant you nothing that happened before was on this scale though."

  "Are you sure your people have nothing to do with it?"

  Jamison nodded. "I investigated each of the previous attack sites and there is no indication of Panthera."

  "What then? What did this?"

  The question wasn't unreasonable, but Jamison had been hoping the sheriff wouldn't ask. With a shrug, she answered, "We think it's a rogue lion."

  Sam stared at her for a second and then one corner of her mouth curled in a smile. "You're kidding me, right? I'm expected to believe that a lion escaped from the circus and did all this?"

  "La
ugh if you want to, Sheriff," Jamison said seriously, "but this thing isn't from any circus and he sure as hell isn't any lion you would recognize."

  Sam shook her head in resignation. "I knew I should have stayed in Manhattan. All right, if you know so much...What does he look like?"

  "We don't know."

  "But you just said--"

  Jamison held up a hand. "Please, bear with me. None of us has seen this creature. We only recognize it from the scent and that seems altered somehow. It's like it's mutated or something."

  "Great," Sam said sarcastically. She tossed her hands into the air and spun away with her back to Jamison. "I can see it now, 'Mutant Big Foot Lion Crossbreed Roaming Adirondacks'."

  Jamison grinned at the mumbled comment the sheriff hadn't intended for her to overhear. The situation wasn't funny, but at least the sheriff had a sense of humor that would help see her people through this nightmare. She showed adaptability and a willingness to listen. Jamison thought she'd make a good ally as long as she could be convinced to keep the public in the dark about what was really going on. To do otherwise would incite mass hysteria. If the human populace learned of the shape changers, they'd start carrying guns and neighbors would be shot just on the suspicion of being Panthera.

  "So, what's your cover story?"

  "Give me a minute, will you?" Sam asked, turning back toward her. Anger still simmered in her coal black eyes, mixed with a quiet thoughtfulness. "You're a park ranger. Maybe we can use that."

  "How?"

  "We could say it was a rabid mountain lion and that we killed it tonight, out here."

  "If you use the word rabid, all the tourists are going to run screaming out of these mountains," Jamison warned her. "The Adirondack's tourism trade could suffer a major setback that might affect the economy."

  "Fine, we'll say it was a rogue."

  Jamison nodded. "It might work. Do you think Harrison will buy it?"

  Sheriff Macke shrugged. "If it comes from me he will and it'll keep him from suing the city, or the Council, for damages."

  "Thank you, Sheriff. How long do you think your people will be out here?"

  "For a few more hours at least. We've got a wagon coming to get all these animals and I'm not leaving until the scene has been secured."

  Jamison nodded. She and Dalton's team would be scouring the woods and it was nice to know they'd have back up if they needed it. "All right. I'm going to talk to my team now."

  Sam cast a disdainful look at Aaron. "Good luck with that."

  Dalton squatted down over a crimson streaked carcass near the edge of the tree line. He didn't bother to stand as Jamison took up a position behind him though he could easily sense her presence. Jamison started to reprimand Dalton for his behavior with the sheriff, but he spoke first.

  "Hot date? I can smell her all over you." Aaron looked up and his incisors were white spikes in the darkness against his lower lip. His voice was as rough as stone.

  "Shut up," she enunciated sharply. "And control yourself. What I do is none of your business."

  He stood quickly and moved into her space, but Jamison refused to give way. "Even though this happened right in your back yard? You were off with your girlfriend when that thing butchered a whole field of animals. Do you have any idea how long it took to do something like this?"

  Jamison ignored the stab of guilt and focused on his insubordination. "Your team was the one on patrol, or have you forgotten about that? Where were you, playing poker in Jim Glasgow's kitchen? I can smell the whiskey on your breath."

  He leaned even closer and Jamison felt her cat strain for freedom. Her features sharpened as bones slid over one another and took on new dimensions. Claws erupted from her fingertips and her own incisors flashed. A constant, low-pitched growl rumbled from her chest. Had she been in the company of humans rather than the darkness near the edge of the woods, Jamison wouldn't have allowed even that much of a change but she couldn't let his constant challenges go unanswered.

  "It would be a shame to lose a good hunter," Jamison said through thickened vocal chords, "but the next time you push me, you'll not walk away. Find your gang and tell them to concentrate on the area from here to Mafdet through the eastern woods."

  Dalton's eyes blazed gold under the moonlight, but he directed his gaze to the ground. She could see his jaws working and knew he was fighting the urge to have a confrontation with her. He was a dominant cat and it was natural for him to stand his ground, but he would lose. He knew that and would comply, for now. Lee was certain the time was coming when that changed. He would gleefully release his inner beast, with no restraints and no guilt.

  When that happened, she'd have to kill him.

  "Is your team in skin or pelt?"

  Dalton took a breath, fighting to control his tone. "Pelt."

  "Good. Their senses will be sharper. I'm going to Hank's and let him know what happened. He can update the rest of the Council. Then I'll patrol around the park's visitor center."

  "Do you think the...elder...will be awake?"

  He looked south toward the park headquarters, instinctively seeking out the direction in which Hank lived. He could never hope to see that far, but the actions were rote. Hank lived less than a mile from where they stood. The realization made her frown and she began to wonder why he wasn't here.

  "Has anyone tried to call him?"

  Dalton shrugged. "Not that I know of." He still refused to look at her.

  In other words, he hadn't bothered to try to contact the elder even though Hank lived right over the ridge. She remembered Dalton's words at the morgue, how useless he thought the other man. Dalton would never have considered informing him.

  She pivoted around without another word and walked back to her pickup. A few minutes later, she was driving up the private lane to Hank's home. The white paint stood out even under the canopy of trees, and lights burned toward the rear of the house. The wind had begun to pick up and leaves blew across the windshield, a sudden gust buffeted the vehicle before moving on to toss the heavy branches.

  Jamison was less than a hundred yards from the house when something darted out of the tree line directly in front of her and she jumped in surprise. Even in the headlights, it was only a dark hulking shape between her and the front door. She stomped down hard on the brakes and came up sharply against the restraint.

  At first, she thought it was a bear. Jamison never considered she'd actually run into the predator so quickly on her own. Then the thing turned its head and she knew beyond doubt that it was no bear, nor was it any other natural wilderness creature. Silver eyes blinked at her, a solid sheet of light uninterrupted by pupil or iris, and then it was moving. Not away, but right at her.

  It scampered quickly on all fours like an ape even though the tawny color was all lion. Massive front paws kicked up bits of turf. Malicious intent flowed from it like a shadow and she could see its claws as it rushed forward. They were large, powerful and curving; the perfect instrument for ripping deep and perforating organs.

  Fangs flashed as a red tongue rolled out, sampling the crispness of the night breeze.

  Jamison could see scarlet gore splattered over its chest and muzzle. Her heart thundered and adrenaline flooded her system as her inner beast clamored to tear into the creature, but she wrestled it back under control. There wouldn't be time to get out of the truck before it pounced. With no chance to change, she'd be nothing but another victim. Her higher reasoning quickly assessed the situation and she came up with the only possible solution.

  She was sitting behind the wheel of a one-ton deadly weapon.

  Rather than wait sedately for it to rip her head off, Jamison slammed the accelerator to the floor. For an insane instant, the tires spun uselessly, giving her the impressing of existing in a real-life episode of The Flintstones. Then the tires dug in and the Chevy shot forward, engine straining. She watched as the demented cat's eyes widened in brief surprise, evidence of a reasoning side.

  The truck didn't hav
e enough distance to gather much momentum and couldn't have been going very fast, but when they collided, the sound of the impact was deafening. There was a loud thump followed by the shriek of twisted metal. Both headlights blew out and the creature was thrown over the hood, smashing into the windshield. The tempered glass crunched and cracks spider-webbed across the surface, obscuring any view of the monster.

  Jamison slammed the pickup into park and reached for the door handle, shifting while in motion. She heard the seams at her shoulders rip and the top button of her jeans flew away. Razor sharp claws tore out of her fingertips and her incisors erupted as midnight pelt raced down her arms and the center of her abdomen. Out of the truck and partially shifted, she prepared to meet the lion in combat, but it was already entering the woods. Jamison thought she saw it limping slightly, but there wasn't any other indication of injury.

  She started after it, a blur of motion, but stopped abruptly when she saw the front door of Hank's home standing ajar. Her cat raged and howled for a chance to continue the pursuit, but her worry for the elder gave Jamison the strength to battle the change. She looked briefly after the lion, but it was gone.

  The night was suddenly quiet; even the wind had died away, and if not for the condition of the truck, it could all have been a dream. Except Hank's front door stood open in the middle of the night.

  Instinct urged her to cock her ears forward, alert for any signs of life inside the house, but her human physiology wouldn't allow for directional hearing. She scented the coppery taste of blood even from a distance, and knew something was very wrong. With her gaze pinned to the front door and all of her other senses straining, she walked quietly toward the entrance. There was the possibility the monster had a companion still inside and she didn't want to alert anyone or anything to her presence.

  Her foot had just touched the bottom step when a chill raced through her that had nothing to do with the cool evening air. She looked around quickly, sure she was being watched, but nothing moved in the shadows. Jamison climbed the four wooden steps, slowly placing each foot before shifting her weight onto it to reduce any noise she might inadvertently make. Although the killer had vanished into the woods, he could always change his mind and circle back around.