by Ramy Vance
I came forward, paused before answering. "Katrina Darling."
"Well, Katrina Darling, ask away."
I stepped closer—so close he seemed a little uncomfortable—and leaned toward him across his podium. "Do you know about creatures of South American lore?"
I knew he did; I had been an undergraduate genetics researcher under Professor Allman for the past year and a half, and that continent was the man’s obsession. The quickest way to derail one of his train of thought was to start asking about the curupira, a small, redheaded creature of the forests of Brazil with backward feet. It liked to confuse hunters by making tracks in the wrong direction. It also had a hell of a whistle.
Even though he knew I was an Other, Professor Allman didn't believe the curupira existed. Someday, I thought as his eyes lit up, I should tell him that I'd known a whole family of them.
"Sounds like you've heard about my first love, " he said. "What do you want to know?"
"Have you heard of the lobisomem?"
He nodded at once. "A werewolf of Brazilian legend. Apparently a very unpleasant looking monkey in its human form."
“A were-monkey?”
“No, a werewolf. But yes, its other form is a monkey, and since we generally assume that werewolves are human-to-wolf and vice versa, I see the confusion.” Then he murmured to himself, “I really should try to coin a phrase—something like Monkwolf. It could become a thing. It may even … what do you kids call it?” He snapped his fingers. “Go viral.”
I had no idea what we kids called anything. If this older human was out of touch, what did it make my five-hundred-year-old self? Out of everything. This, despite my roommate’s frantic efforts to sit me in front of as many popular movies as she could. “Your education in humanity,” Aimee called it. Though I felt doubtful about Jurassic Park helping me to understand humans better.
"Werewolf," I repeated. "So the lobisomem only changes by the light of the full moon?"
"Some do," he said. "It depends on the creature, and most especially on whether it's cursed."
"What about one that can appear during the day? And has claws that can nullify magic?"
His green eyes went wide with delight. "You're referring to El Lobizon."
I swallowed. "El Lobizon," I repeated. Any creature of lore with an article preceding its name—in this case, el—meant unique power.
"A terrible, cursed creature," he went on. "You see, El Lobizon is always under the control of the master who summoned it. In that way, it can assume its deadliest form at any time of the night—or the day. And that's not the worst part."
I waited, but he only gathered up his bag and started toward the door.
"Where are you going?" I asked. "What's the worst part?"
"Come with me, Katrina," he said. "I have a book in my office that you’ll love."
Love, I thought, is one way of putting it.
↔
WE TOOK two flights of stairs, my hands shaking as we walked, and not because of the cold—well, not just because of the cold; I am Brazilian, after all.
It was because I had just burned two months of my life and, in the process, had provided a scent trail for a creature who I suspected could completely dismantle my illusions. My way of life.
Professor Allman led us into a small, single-window cranny of an office on the fourth floor. Little did he know, I'd been here many times; this was where we had weekly meetings to discuss my ongoing research on Other DNA. Here, of all places, was where I felt safest. Where I could spend hours being myself without fear of judgment or the gig being up.
That was kind of an Other thing in this GoneGod World: we were often afraid of the gig being up, the other shoe dropping, the humans around us turning murderous. It had happened quite a lot around the world since the GrandExodus—and with more frequency in recent years.
So it was saying a lot that Aimee was my best friend.
When I stepped inside, billowing warmth and the familiar scent of books washed over me. It was also profoundly quiet, which, as an introvert, I’d always found centering, comforting.
Maybe that was why I still opted for real books. Or maybe it was because I still preferred the 19th century (well, except for the whole modern medicine thing). Whichever it was, I calmed a little as Professor Allman turned on the light and gestured for me to sit in the overstuffed armchair.
"Let me see.” He ran his finger over the spines of a dozen different books on one of the shelves as I dropped into the seat, rubbing at my amulet.
After a minute, he let an "Ah," plucked a small book from the shelf and set it in my lap. "Turn to page fifty-eight."
I glanced at the cover: Creatures of Amazonian Lore. I flipped the pages, the pictures sailing by until I stabbed a finger between two leaves. I lifted my finger as the book settled on its spine, and a wolf with red eyes stared back. Cold recognition ran through me, and my eyes flicked to the name.
El Lobizon, the hunter.
"Is that what you were thinking of?" he asked cheerfully.
"Yes," I whispered, reading as fast as my eyes could process.
El Lobizon had to be summoned, and remained fully under the power and direction of his master. His greatest power—one even the angels feared—was his ability to nullify magic. His presence alone had that effect, though it wasn’t clear how large his radius was.
Thinking back, I had felt his effects from the other side of the dining hall. That had been at least twenty feet. Maybe Justin hadn’t noticed anything because of the lack of light under the table, or because a killer wolf was stalking through the building, but my illusion had definitely been affected.
I lifted my pocket mirror out of my purse, opened it to observe myself. Still Katrina Darling, right down to the freckle below her left eye. So even though I'd taken a direct wound, the magical nullification hadn’t persisted.
But as I read on, a point of greater concern leapt from the page: El Lobizon’s canines. With one bite, his venom would strip the prey of all magical abilities. Not just for hours or days, but forever.
That was what the angels feared. That was what I had narrowly escaped.
While he could hunt during the day, El Lobizon became most powerful after sundown, his night vision so potent he became a fearsome hunter. Night was when he came into his own.
And the worst thing of all: he could discern one magical scent from another—all bore a stamp as unique as a human fingerprint—and once he caught wind of his prey’s scent, he didn’t stop. Not until El Lobizon caught his quarry or his summoner freed him from his bondage.
My first thought was of Justin. We had spent the night together, our bodies enfolded about as closely as two people could be. My scent was all over him.
And Aimee. She had touched me when she was treating my wound and hugged me after.
My eyes flicked to the square window on my left, where outside the day had slipped into late afternoon. Pale light issued through the panes, and it would soon grow paler.
Someone—likely that elderly woman—had summoned El Lobizon here in Montreal, and it knew my scent with unmistakable acuteness. After all, I had just burned two months of my life to become Katrina Darling. That was the equivalent of placing a 24-hour cookie shop at the center of a college campus.
I swallowed. I had all the trappings of Katrina, but none of her monster-fighting prowess. So I did the thing I was best at. (Well, one of them.)
I leapt from the chair. "Professor, can I hold on to this book for a little while?"
"Why, sure. If you'll just bring it back to my—"
"To your office. Got it," I said, weaving past him. If I survived all this, I would eventually have to explain to Allman and all my other professors what was going on. Why Isabella Ramirez had disappeared from their classes for a few days, and why Katrina Darling was borrowing a book that Isabella would eventually return.
If I survived all this.
I hurried back to my dorm and took the most unpleasantly scalding shower of my
life. Fortunately, Aimee had vacated as I'd told her to—I couldn’t handle her questioning me right now, not to mention the danger it would put her in—and I made liberal use of her loofah to scrub myself from scalp to toes. By the time I got out, I looked pinker than some of my encantado sisters in their natural forms.
In the shower, I had used Aimee's shampoo, and afterward, covered myself in her body lotion. If El Lobizon was after me—and Aimee, by extension—then I would be both her and me.
I would be Aimee’s scent squared.
That was why, before I headed to the O3 house, I opened her dresser drawer, grabbed a pair of her jeans, a sweater and the extra coat she’d hung on the door. It was why I grabbed up her perfume bottle and sprayed myself in its mist until I smelled like a fake floral arrangement.
Like I said, this was what I did best: pretend to be someone else.
CHAPTER 7
T he massive lion’s head door knocker clomped against the wood once, twice, three times. I cringed every time, glancing over one shoulder and then the other; the thing sounded like a struck gong.
Ten seconds later, a built blond guy opened the door and looked down at me. His nose wrinkled as the perfume-o-rama swirling around me hit his nostrils, but to his credit, he only said, “Hey. Kat, right?”
“Right. Is Justin here?”
He gestured me into a frat house out of the movies. The two-storied foyer included a wide, winding mahogany staircase. The walls had been adorned with O3 banners, each of them signifying a different class. Someone had set a pair of crossed paddles on the wall, and if I were a betting gal (which I was), I’d say they had been used for smacking.
Which was a bizarrely erotic college convention. Not that these frat guys would ever admit as much.
“Hey, Justin!” The blond called up the stairs. “Your girl’s here.”
I stood below, gripping my purse until Justin’s face appeared at the top of the stairs. He set both hands on the rail, and when his eyes found me, the look of concern and relief that swept over his brow made my heart skip.
“Hey,” I called up to him. He’d already started down the stairs toward me. “Can I come up?”
The blond cupped his hands to his mouth, let out an oooh that reddened my face. I flashed a look at him over my shoulder—my best sultry encantado glance—and he dropped his hands, cleared his throat.
“What was that, boy-o?” I said.
He could barely meet my eyes, and I knew I’d had that effect on him. He couldn’t stop smiling. “Just that you’re always welcome at the O3 house, Kat. I’m sure Justin agrees.” He fought a grin.
“Yeah, come up,” Justin said. He’d reached the bottom of the stairs on double-time, grabbed my hand.
I yanked my hand away. “Don’t.” I felt bad at once, but I couldn’t risk him getting my scent on him again. And I also couldn’t explain to blondie why that was. “It’s a long story,” I whispered.
Justin looked hurt, but like any good athlete, he shrugged it off and nodded me toward the staircase. “You can tell me all about it.”
I followed him to the second floor, watching the dictionary definition of a V-shaped back ascend the stairs ahead of me. I blinked hard, trying to keep my mind on the issues at hand: El Lobizon, and the very real possibility that Justin would soon find out I wasn’t Katrina Darling.
Justin led me into his bedroom, which I properly observed for the first time. It was surprisingly neat and austere for a frat house guy’s place: a queen-sized bed with a navy comforter as the room’s centerpiece, two windows flanking the headboard, a dresser and a lamp.
On his bedside table, a framed picture of him and Kat. It looked like she’d been taking a selfie of the two of them, and he had surprised her with a kiss. The whole thing—the print, the frame—was very retro and wholesome.
Which was why it killed me that I’d instituted a no-touching rule. All I wanted to do was throw myself at Justin Truly, to repeat last night.
“Come sit.” He dropped onto the end of his bed and patted the spot beside him.
“I shouldn’t.” I stood in the same pose I’d been in in the foyer, both hands on the strap of my purse.
He sighed, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “OK Kat, what’s up with you? I mean, aside from the fact that we were chased by a wolf the size of a mountain, and then you spent an hour in the bathroom after you knocked our coffee over and then yelled at me in Spanish."
"It was Portuguese.”
"You know Portuguese?"
Merda. The lies just kept piling up. “I’ve studied it some.”
"OK—Portuguese, then. What happened there, anyway? You just leapt up and ran off, and the noises coming from the bathroom ..."
I pulled up the sleeve of my sweater—which was much easier to do now that I was Katrina-sized—until the wound on my arm was exposed to the light. “She did this to me.”
He half-stood, but I stepped back. So he just stared at my scratch from where he was. “Who did? How?”
“You couldn’t see her—which is a long story—but there was a woman with a massive claw. The claw of that giant wolf we were attacked by yesterday in the dining hall.”
“The lobi ...”
“Not just the lobisomem—El Lobizon,” I said. “I believe she’s controlling it. And I need to deal with this situation tonight. Justin, I need you to do something right away.”
I had just thrown a ton of information at him, and he looked dizzy. But an admirable second later, one black eyebrow rose, and he waited for me to continue.
“I need you to strip off all your clothes and scrub yourself from head to toe in the shower.”
He let a bark of a laugh. “Is this some sort of foreplay?”
I wished. “No,” I said. “This is something I need you to do to protect yourself. The thing is, that wolf has my scent. It’s after me, and you have my scent on you.”
It wasn’t the whole truth—I had left out the part about my magical scent—but some part of me still felt unwilling to tell him everything. I had burned two months of my life to be Katrina Darling, after all.
I wanted him to believe I was this brave. That I would confront the creature.
“How can I still have your scent on me?” he said. “I showered this morning.”
“We touched after your shower, too, and it can smell that. Imagine a regular wolf’s scenting capabilities, and then square that. Twice.”
He looked confused. “Uh, that makes…”
“It means anyone I’ve touched since he was summoned, he can smell the residue of that touch. And he won’t stop until he gets his prey—and any other creature that smells like his prey.”
“Well then.” He stood. When he pulled off his shirt and the swath of his chest came into view, I had to set a hand on the dresser. I quickly snatched it away; I’d just introduced more of my scent in his room. “How did you become that thing’s prey, Kat?”
“It’s a really, really long story,” I said. “And I can’t stay right now to tell you the whole thing.”
He unbuckled his belt, and I tried desperately to keep my eyes on his face. I failed. “Where are you going? Does it have something to do with where you’ve been?”
I’m going to run away, I thought. I’m going to hide, to evade, do like I always do: slip into the shadows until the problem goes away.
But I was pretending to be Katrina Darling, so I said, “I can’t tell you where I’m going, but I can say I’m going to fight it.”
He stepped toward me, and I stepped back with clenched teeth. “What’s your plan?”
“I’m going to find El Lobizon’s summoner, and I’m going to defeat her. Preferably with words. Maybe baked goods.”
I could tell he wanted to be amused, but he was too worried. Which was quite a contrast with his actions, which were to take off his pants, and then …
Que bonito! I turned away, shielding my eyes.
“Nothing you haven’t seen before, babe,” he murmured. “Talk
to me while I’m in the shower, OK?”
Oh, that was going to be so much easier than talking to a slowly-stripping-to-nude Justin. But I dutifully stood in the doorway while he showered, the only things blocking his bits from me a plastic curtain with blue squares and a whole lot of steam.
“Kat, take me with you,” he said over the water. “I know last time turned out terribly, but I don’t want you to do this alone.”
Last time? I wondered what he meant by that, and I thought back to how he had listened to me when I’d asked him to leave me alone in the bathroom of the cafe. I’d only gotten glimpses of what had happened between him and Kat—not enough to do much more than speculate. And I didn’t have time to ask him right now; I just needed to disappear for a few days until I got this whole situation under control.
"I'm sorry, Justin," I said, "but I can't bring you along. I need you to go to your parents’ house for the weekend."
He turned toward me in the middle of scrubbing his hair, white foam dripping onto his face. “Leave Montreal? Seriously?"
Good—his parents weren’t in the city. “Because El Lobizon might come after you in an effort to get to me.” And because I wouldn't be in Montreal myself. I would be gone, gone, gone, and when I reappeared—whenever that would be—I would have found a way to slip the noose.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not letting you go after that creature alone.”
I sighed. “I’m Cherub, remember? It’ll take more than an oversized dog to put me down.”
Oh, how I wished I were actually Cherub.
“I know you’re tough. A lot tougher than me,” he said, still rubbing at his scalp, “but it seems so wrong to let you do this by yourself. What about Deirdre? Egya?”
Deirdre. That was Kat’s roommate, who I also hadn’t seen in weeks. And I had no idea who Egya was.
“I don’t want to endanger anyone else,” I said. “Just make sure you pack a bag and head to your parents’ tonight, OK?”
He plucked a triangle of curtain aside to stare at me. "You're sure you can deal with this?"
I nodded. "I'm sure."
"OK." He closed the curtain and turned toward the shower head, dousing his face in its spray. "But don't go before I get a chance to say a proper goodbye. I won't touch you—I just want to be out of the shower before you leave."