Bayou Wolf

by Debbie Herbert

  “I say the chances are slim. We need to face facts.” He took a deep breath. “If I contract the fever, I’ll change. Very rapidly. The bloodlust eventually can’t be sated by small animals. I’ll crave bigger prey.”

  Her throat went dry. “No. You could control it.”

  “Be brave, Lulu. The facts are that I’d slowly change into a monster.”

  “You could never be like Russell. Never.”

  “Yes.”

  “No.”

  He gave an exasperated sigh. “We don’t have time to argue. The worst thing about the fever is that it changes your thinking. So as the physical need for fresh meat increases, the brain starts justifying the killings. A vicious circle.”

  She wanted to clamp her hands over her ears, refuse to imagine her sweet Payton turning into a murderer with no conscience.

  Payton tapped her lips with a finger. “I’d like to think I’d never hurt anyone. Especially you. But I won’t take that chance. At the first sign of craving raw meat, I’m committing myself to treatment.”

  “But why? There’s no cure. Sounds like this treatment center is a prison.”

  “For now,” he admitted. “But the doctors are making progress to slow down the progression of the disease. One day, soon, they may find a cure.”

  She couldn’t bear the thought of him living alone and isolated in some godforsaken military-like compound. “No. Stay here. Me and the hunters can keep you supplied with wild game. We’ll make it work.”

  “Just promise me one thing. When I leave, I want you to forget me. You understand? Don’t hope I’ll be cured and return one day. It might never happen. I don’t want you waiting or grieving for me like you did Bo.”

  Too late to guard her heart. It had belonged to Payton for weeks, if not longer. She smiled through her tears, determined to lighten his mood. “Remember the first day we met?”

  “When you stood in front of my skidder and blocked me? How could I forget?” He chuckled and then sobered. “In hindsight, I might have half fallen in love with you at that very moment.”

  She hardly dared breathe. “Are you saying...?”

  “That I love you. There. I didn’t want to, but I do. You deserve to know it.”

  She kissed him, long and hard, unmindful of his injuries and the consequences.

  “Ahem.” Annie stood a few feet away, a tray in her hands. “Sorry to interrupt, but the sooner we get started, the better.”

  “Of course.” She scooted out of Payton’s lap as Annie set the tray on the coffee table. “I’ll fetch some clean washcloths and bandages.”

  “Perfect.” Annie held out a cup of tea to Payton. “Drink up.”

  He shot Tallulah a pitiful look and she snickered as she hurried to gather supplies.

  The door opened and shut and Tombi’s deep baritone filled the room. Tallulah returned to the den and stopped short at the cozy sight of the three people she loved most in the world—her brother, the only family she had left, Annie, who had come to feel more like a sister than a friend, and Payton. Her chest squeezed. This wasn’t enough. She wanted more nights like these.

  Quietly, she set the medical supplies on the coffee table and watched as Annie did her usual work, a combination of prayer and hoodoo and first aid. She lent her own silent prayers in an agony of waiting and hoping.

  After cleansing, applying an herbal salve and bandaging the wounds, Annie placed a hand over Payton’s heart and closed her eyes. Her lips moved in a silent chant. A crease formed in her brow.

  Something was wrong.

  Annie opened her eyes and sadly shook her head. “It’s not working. Not completely.”

  Tallulah rose to her feet. “Then don’t stop. Keep doing—” she waved her arm, at a loss for words “—whatever it is that you’re doing.”

  “It’s no use. It’s beyond my abilities. There’s a dark presence within him that’s blocking the saints’ healing. Too strong for the likes of me to fix.”

  “But you have to,” she cried out.

  Payton stood and extended a hand to Annie. “Thanks for all your help.” He turned to Tombi. “Thanks, bro.”

  “We can try something different,” Tombi offered. “We have a Choctaw healing man that’s exorcised evil shadow spirits. Maybe he could exorcise this fever.”

  Her heart lightened. “I didn’t even think about Nash! Great idea, Tombi.”

  Payton shrugged. “Guess it’s worth a shot. Although I have to be honest. I don’t have much faith in that kind of thing.”

  “You don’t need to have faith for it to work,” she said.

  “A shaman might not want to help me.”

  “He’s not exactly a shaman,” Tombi explained. “He learned a variety of techniques from his grandfather before the old man died. Draws on different traditions of several nations, depending on what he’s led to try.”

  “Why do you think Nash wouldn’t want to help you?” Annie asked.

  Payton shifted uncomfortably. “Well, I’m not, you know...one of you.”

  Tallulah wrapped an arm around his waist. “You are at one with us in our hearts.”

  “Doesn’t matter to Nash who seeks his help,” Annie assured him. “I’ve sent him several people from all walks of life. He helped them all.”

  “Okay, okay,” he conceded. “I’ll give it a go.”

  Tallulah nudged him. “Werewolves shouldn’t be so cynical about the supernatural.”

  “Got me there.”

  Tombi and Annie took their leave. As soon as the door shut behind them, Tallulah stepped into Payton’s open arms, burying her face in his wide, strong chest. “You can’t leave me, not like everyone else, Payton.”

  “I won’t unless it becomes necessary.” He rubbed her back and kissed the top of her scalp, sending a bittersweet longing through her body.

  Bo would always have a special place in her memories, but Payton’s love brought out the softer, gentler side of her. Bo had always been in full warrior mode, a fierce and uncompromising shadow hunter. With Payton, she could relax. He made her feel confident and vulnerable all at the same time and he trusted and respected her—always encouraging her to follow her instincts, just as he did with his werewolf nature.

  She lifted her face. “I’ve been wanting to tell you for a long time. I love you, Payton.”

  His eyes softened and he raised her hand to his lips, tenderly brushing a kiss against her skin. “I already knew that, even if you didn’t.”

  She laughed and hiccupped at the same time and swatted his chest.

  “Ouch.” He stumbled backward, a hand over a bandage.

  Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oops, sorry! Did I hurt...?”

  He laughed.

  “Not funny.” But her mouth and lips betrayed her and she laughed along with him.

  It was better than crying.

  Chapter 19

  If the fever didn’t kill him, this sweat lodge would, Payton thought. It was hot enough in south Alabama without entering an artificial sauna.

  And he had to sit in this primitive contraption for an entire hour? Payton guessed that only five minutes had passed so far. If this heat was supposed to draw him closer to his spiritual center, it was failing miserably. Right now he’d trade his soul to jump in a pool of cold water.

  He drank greedily from one of the water bottles Tallulah had supplied and glanced around the wood-framed dome structure. In the center, hot rocks steamed in an earthen, dug-out pit. Nashoba Bowman had promised to come in periodically to check on him and to pour water over the rocks.

  The man inspired confidence. He promised no miracles and was very matter-of-fact about explaining the healing ritual and why he practiced the traditions he’d be using. Payton had no worries he was in good hands, if still skeptical of th
e notion of a spiritual and physical cleansing. Tallulah off-handedly mentioned that Nash’s name meant “wolf” in their language. Nashoba’s grandfather had held him in his arms, outside, on the day of his birth, and had a vision of a wolf.

  Payton wasn’t sure if he believed in such a thing as spirit wolves, but he’d felt an immediate connection with Nash.

  Lethargy swept his already weakened body. In the space of twenty-four hours since being bitten, he’d observed a few subtle changes—irritability, fatigue and a slight ache in his stomach, no matter how much he ate at a meal.

  The bent tree limbs that framed the leather coverings looked too fragile to lean against and bear his weight, so he laid on the dirt. He’d expected the ground to be a few degrees cooler, but the sandy soil was baked hot. But he needed to lay down. A nap would be so convenient. Maybe if he could manage sleep in the heat, he’d wake up and the ordeal would be over.

  He closed his eyes, feeling and thinking of nothing but the sweat pouring out of every pore on his skin. The science behind sweating out toxins was controversial, but he’d try anything to get rid of the lycanthropic fever. For Tallulah’s sake, he’d tried to minimize his fear and downplay the danger, but contracting the fever was a death sentence.

  So sweat it was. He licked his parched lips and raised up on one elbow for another swig of water. Sighing, he laid back down and closed his eyes.

  A gentle touch on his shoulder roused him. He bolted upright and looked at the unfamiliar surroundings, the smoke so thick he felt he couldn’t breathe. “What? Where am I?”

  “All is well, Payton. It’s me, Nashoba. You are here for a healing, remember? Drink more water.”

  His heart rate returned to normal and he accepted the cup of water Nash held out, drinking deep, long draughts.

  Nash had his fingers pressed against a pulse point on his wrist. He nodded. “You’re doing fine.”

  “Is it time to come out?” Payton asked hopefully.

  Nash’s lips softly curled. “It’s only been fifteen minutes.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “Nope. Tallulah’s sitting outside the lodge. Yell out and let her know you’re okay. She’s worried.”

  “Hey, Lulu,” he said in a loud voice. “You been hanging around?”

  “I’m here. You doing all right?”

  “No. Your friend’s trying to kill me,” he joked. “Wish you could join me in the funhouse.”

  Nash had explained the need for the treatment to be private. The healer found this to be more effective for those in need of intensive intervention.

  That would be him all right. He laid back down, watching as Nashoba exited. For two seconds, the cooler breeze from outside washed over him like a balm. Cooler being relative—after all, it was summer in the deep south. The only good thing this lodge had going for it was that the smoke and heat kept the bugs far at bay.

  Again, he closed his eyes and drifted into a void. Time had no meaning. Three minutes or thirty minutes might have passed. Mind and body acclimated to the intense heat. He was past the discomfort, past the ties that bound him to the earth and to the living. Every sense was amplified—the perspiration dripping on his skin, the shuffle of feet from outside, the wind rustling through pine and magnolia.

  He was wolf, and yet he was not. He was human, and yet not completely. He was in a between realm of sensation and spirit. A loud flapping of wings erupted nearby, yet it didn’t scare him or seem unusual.

  All is well.

  Nashoba’s deep voice echoed reassuringly in his mind. He was floating, the air cushioning him, and it felt as natural as walking on ground. A white owl screeched and flew away, chased by a golden eagle.

  He laughed, the sound reverberating in his brain. If the herbs he’d ingested earlier were hallucinogenic, they’d produced quite the show. The eagle returned, its large wings spread in glory as it glided on the wind. Payton stared into the eyes of his protector. A wise, powerful intelligence bathed him. Someone close by spoke in a foreign tongue, but he couldn’t understand a word they said.

  His body lightened and he, too, flew, gliding in the bayou breeze with a freedom that transcended anything he’d ever experienced.

  “Payton. Payton? Payton!” A voice called from below. A familiar, beloved voice.

  He had a choice to make. Fly with the eagle, or return to Tallulah.

  Brain and body whirled in a downward spiral—falling, falling. Her voice pulled at him, tethering him from air to land. Hold on, hold on, hold on. A chanting began, still in the foreign tongue—a promise, a lifeline.

  Down, down, down, returning him to his body and awareness.

  “Payton? Are you all right? Talk to me.”

  He struggled to open his heavy eyelids. Two blurry faces hovered nearby, male and female. Brown eyes filled with concern drew his attention.

  “Lulu,” he said weakly.

  She gave a shaky laugh. “That name’s never sounded so good to me.”

  From the side, strong arms pushed him upward to a seated position. Tallulah held out a cup of water.

  “Drink.”

  “Always bossing me around,” he joked, licking his parched lips.

  The lukewarm water revived his sense of lucidity. It was Nashoba behind him, supporting his back. Payton tensed his body and rocked forward, preparing to stand. Nash and Tallulah went to either side of his body and supported him by the arms. He stood, a momentary blackness arose, and he swayed.

  “Sit back down,” Tallulah ordered. “You’re going to fall.”

  “Sassy woman. I’m fine. Ready to get out of here.” He turned to Nashoba. “No offense. It was an amazing experience.”

  Nash nodded. “It worked. I felt the fever lifting from your body. The eagle took it away when he chased the white owl from your spirit.”

  “Wow,” he breathed. How did Nash know the details of his vision? He had the utmost respect for the man.

  “We’re not done yet,” Nashoba cautioned. “The fever is gone, but now we need to finish the ritual by restoring your strength and offering protection from further evil.”

  What new torture did they have in mind? Payton squelched the thought immediately. He was cured. It was worth whatever discomfort lay ahead.

  “Are you sure he’s really cured?” Tallulah asked.

  Nashoba nodded at Payton. “Let him tell you.”

  “Is it true?” she asked.

  “It’s true.”

  The tension in her face melted and she closed her eyes for a moment. He suspected she had realized all along the danger posed by the fever.

  With their help, he walked out of the lodge and into the cool of night. He lifted his chin, savoring the breeze on his face. His sweat-drenched body felt renewed and he walked without assistance, not the least bit dizzy.

  “This way.” Nash directed him to a large circle bordered with seashells. Tallulah had explained earlier that this was a medicine wheel blessed by Nashoba and consecrated to the four elements, the Great Spirits and the four spirit animals—the bear, the buffalo, the eagle and the mouse.

  Inside the circle, Nashoba commenced to brushing the outside of Payton’s body with a large brown-and-white turkey feather. This, he’d been told, was the final cleansing aspect of the ritual. Nash replaced the turkey feather with a red cardinal feather.

  “For vitality to all your blood cells and to boost your energy,” Nash said.

  Whether it was from the feathers or just plain relief from being outside the sweat lodge, Payton felt his strength rapidly returning. The mental anguish was gone, too, replaced by the peaceful certainty that all would be well, just as Nash promised.

  Nash removed a seashell necklace from around his neck and placed it on Payton’s. “Wear this for the next forty-eight hours. It will continue to invigorate and
protect you. For the last step, we offer tobacco to the spirits to thank them for their goodness in answering our prayers.”

  They all took a pinch of tobacco from a leather pouch and threw it in the air. Tallulah and Nash spoke something in Choctaw.

  “Thank you,” he chimed in.

  The faintest rustle of wings sounded from far away, an acknowledgment of his gratitude.

  Nash faced him. “It is done. Go home tonight and drink plenty of water and get lots of rest.”

  That part sounded like a typical doctor. Payton took Tallulah’s hand and they silently exited the sacred circle. Once out, he felt free to speak. His old friend had weighed heavy on his heart. Russell and every other infected wolf out west needed the same help he’d received. “Nash, they sure could use you in Montana.”

  “It was a near thing with you,” Nash said soberly. “If you don’t get help quickly—”

  “Right.” The others had been in darkness too long.

  “It’s not just the physical progression of disease,” Nash explained. “It’s the spiritual darkness that often descends at the same time. I believe healing comes when both physical and spiritual are addressed together. Not only that, healers like me draw power from the land itself and our work is also stronger when we treat people that also have that same connection to our land.”

  “Like me,” Payton agreed. He turned to Tallulah. “Bayou La Siryna feels like home.”

  “It can be your home,” she said simply.

  It was. But he wanted that conversation for when they were alone. He extended a hand to Nash. “Thank you isn’t enough.”

  “Thank the spirits, not me.” Nash briefly clasped his hand. “Be well, my friend.”

  Tallulah insisted on driving and he didn’t put up a fight. He reclined in the passenger seat, letting the air-conditioning chill his sweaty skin. They were both silent, consumed with their own thoughts and processing tonight’s miracle. They arrived at her cabin, where a light left on glowed from within, cozy and welcoming.

  He pushed out of the car and took her hand. When she started past him to open the door, he tugged at her arm. “Let’s sit on the porch for a bit.”