Silver Collar

by Gill McKnight

  It opened its eerie yellow eyes and regarded her with mute caution. She lifted a hand and delicately explored the coarse muzzle. Her fingertips itched under the scratchy texture of its fur, and she found herself exploring swirls and tufts and the crease lines beneath. Its eyes narrowed and the gleam in them softened. Fascinated with the long curve of a canine, she traced it to its razor-sharp point and rested her fingertip there in awe. Its teeth were vicious, monstrous things, and it thrilled her to touch one.

  Its gaze darted across her face, equally fascinated at this intimacy. Her touch wandered through thick fur to the next wonder to catch her attention. The left ear was misshapen by a bite taken out of it. She caressed the crimped shape and played with the tuft of crown hairs until the ear twitched and flicked her fingers away. The creature’s eye color had mellowed to warm amber, and it pushed its face even closer until the heavy meatiness of its breath blew directly into her face. Emily tried to withdraw, but the arms around her tightened until she thought the air would be squeezed from her lungs. Then the beast’s tongue swept across her cheek and forehead, washing her with lathering strokes, and she went limp. There was no fight left in her. She had seen lions do this on TV. She was being marinated.

  The arms encasing her became gentle and she relaxed into a sort of…cuddle? The creature gave a final snort and then its eyes drifted shut and, unbelievably, it fell back to sleep almost at once.

  Emily watched it sleep for a few moments more until the heat from its body became overwhelming, and the tension within her own exhausting. As she lay there, the ache in her muscles began to melt as the painkillers kicked in and she could feel her body grow slack. She was in a makeshift bed, snuggling with a werewolf. It was all too much for her brain to compute, and her chest began to pinch. She turned away and reached for the Lexotanil, then hesitated. She was sore, and tired, and warm. When had she last felt warm? She felt as if she had been dragged through torrential rain for months on end, not a few days.

  Emily closed her eyes and breathed out her exercises. She concentrated on inhalation and exhalations, slow, steady, smooth. She counted, and held, and released, and counted again. Over and over, until she found it impossible to open her eyes as sleep claimed her. The immense size of the creature cradling her was oddly comforting.

  Luc, she reminded herself, the creature was called Luc. And it was sleeping so soundly because she had drugged it. I should get out of here. Run away. Now. But her mind was a jumble of hazy, unconnected thoughts. I should be scared. I lost Dad’s good Winchester. What day is it? Is it Sunday? Her world was full of troubles and questions, but for this single moment in time, all was suspended. She stopped fighting her anxieties. She was far too tired to reexamine these old and constant companions. And she found that instead of rattling around in her head all night, her anxieties fell away, letting her tip over into dreamless slumber.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jolie was fed up. These young ones kept a sprightly step, and she was growing tired and more and more cranky trying to catch up with Mouse. Dawn marbled a pewter gray sky. In a few hours, Hope would be waking to find herself in an empty bed. A bed Jolie longed to be curled up in right now. She imagined Hope shuffling sleepy-eyed around the cabin looking for her companions only to realize she was alone. Would she worry? Would she be angry? Jolie’s ears twitched and then drooped. Hope would be livid. And who would get it in the whiskers for everyone’s disappearance? Jolie would, that’s who! Hope would assume they were all out in the woods frolicking and having werewolf fun without her. A wet branch slapped at Jolie’s face, and mud caked her fur right up to her knees. She was soaked through and miserable. Some frolic this is.

  Ears slicked tight to her head, Jolie trudged on. Behind her, Tadpole grubbed along the forest floor, sniffing at this, piddling on that, totally unconcerned that his den mother had been abandoned. Some affiliate werewolf he is. Useless mutt.

  Jolie’s huff was cut short by the rumbling of her stomach. Breakfast time. She raised her muzzle to the cold morning air and sucked in all the exciting smells of daybreak. The nocturnal animals were retiring, sleepy and sated after a night’s hunting. The day dwellers were awakening, blinking at the cold morning. Every animal was at its most vulnerable at the crossroad of night and day. Dawn and dusk surrendered the sweetest hunting. Possum musk caught at her nose. It was in the trees overhead. Jolie drew its scent in hungrily and smacked her lips. Breakfast was served.

  She found Mouse half a mile away. She had stopped to examine a clearing and was so confounded by the complexity of odors that she didn’t hear Jolie approach.

  Lesson number one, Jolie snarled, and flung a hank of possum meat at her feet. Mouse jumped back, startled. Always guard your back. Lesson number two. She hunkered down to examine the mishmash of muddy footprints Mouse had been so engrossed in. Eat well and often. Keep your energy level up. Remember, you burn hundreds more calories in Were form.

  Mouse fell on the food. She was ravenous and had not had much luck in feeding herself. Jolie watched her gorge.

  Lesson three. Jolie’s ears twitched in amusement as Mouse suddenly stiffened, then gagged. Don’t eat the musk glands. They stink.

  That was mean. Mouse huffed, her muzzle twisted and sulky.

  That was a learning curve. Now you know, never eat an animal’s ass. Jolie turned her attention back to the footprints. Tell me what you think is happening?

  Mouse had only ever played in the Singing Valley back home. This was a whole new formidable world for her, but she had to learn how to keep safe. Jolie watched as she circled the clearing following her nose. The scent she was tracking was faint and played tricks even on Jolie’s sensitive snout. It drifted in on the rain, flat and lackluster, only to fade away on the next twist of breeze. She watched Mouse stumble forward a few steps, zigzagging this way and that, chasing the elusive odor until she caught it again. To Jolie it was a soft and sticky scent, layered with pine and wet loam.

  From where she sat, she could easily pick out Luc’s scent. It was strong and purposeful. There was almost a cocky gleefulness to it, which surprised Jolie. She had expected a furtive anxiety. Luc knew she was being hunted. Whatever she picked up, Mouse found, too, and it jangled her nerves. Jolie could see it in the hunch of her back and the nervous flick of her tongue across her muzzle. Something significant had happened here, but Mouse couldn’t read the underlying story.

  Jolie joined her. Werewolf footprints churned up the mud, and a curious wire hung from a tree limb. Nearby, a small fire had been stomped out. Rain pelted down on the drab little tableau, and Mouse hunkered down beside Jolie, unsure what to do.

  Humans. Do you think she scared them away? Mouse looked worried. As a pack, the Garouls taught their young Weres to avoid humans at all cost. This was a lifelong lesson. But then, as far as Jolie was concerned, Luc had never learned the lessons, and she certainly had little regard for the rules. She was a rogue werewolf who would put her whole pack, her whole species, in peril through her irresponsibility.

  Well, Mouse would definitely learn the rules if Jolie had anything to do with it. She turned her attention back to the cub. For her age, Mouse may be able to change super fast, but she had no idea how to timestamp a scent or read its narrative. Jolie roped in her impatience and began to teach.

  One human. Luc may have scared her, but she didn’t run away. See how she followed Luc out of here? She left Mouse to examine the markings and went to examine the wire hanging from the tree. She hadn’t seen anything like it before but had a good idea what it was.

  How do you know it was a she? Mouse asked, twisting and turning around the prints, trying to make some sense of them.

  Jolie gave an exasperated snort. Look at the size of the boot prints. You need to learn to use your brains as well as your snout. She gave Mouse a rap between the ears with her fore claw to emphasize her point.

  There’s a wire in the tree, high up. See? She pointed it out, as Mouse had not looked up even once in her investigations, only c
oncentrating on the forest floor. It’s a trap. Luc got away. But barely. Jolie was worried. This hunter was clever and determined. And as far as Jolie could tell, she was still snapping at Luc’s heels.

  It was close to daybreak and time to turn back home. Jolie had done all she could do. She would return Mouse to Little Dip safe and sound and report Luc’s latest shenanigans to Marie as soon as possible. Finally, she had the situation under control. Jolie breathed a sigh of relief as much as tiredness. All she wanted to do was go home to Hope and curl up in bed for a big sleep. It took stamina to remain in Were form all night without a decent kill for energy. The possum she caught for breakfast barely filled a fore claw, never mind her stomach. And she’d had to share it.

  Luna knew how Mouse still held her wolfskin. She was one tough little cub, Jolie grudgingly conceded. With a paw planted firmly on Mouse’s shoulder, she turned them toward Little Dip.

  Come on, whelp. We need to tell Marie about this. She’ll know what to do. She was relieved when Mouse fell into step beside her without complaint. She had expected whining and tantrums, but Mouse was as exhausted as Jolie was. It had been a long night for both of them.

  Where’s Taddy? Mouse asked, her question bringing them up short. A quick glance around the clearing showed no sign of the dog. In fact, Jolie wasn’t sure of the last time she’d seen him. She prodded at a nearby bush.

  Tadpole? She growled, hoping he would snuffle out from the undergrowth.

  Taddy. Mouse yipped. Here, boy.

  He didn’t appear. Nothing moved in the forest except the breeze.

  Stupid mutt. Jolie’s heart sank. Hope would kill her. There was no going home now. Not until all their party was accounted for. No Garoul was ever left behind.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “What’s for breakfast?” a voice murmured close to Emily’s ear. “Better be something good or it will be you.”

  Emily opened her eyes and stared straight into Luc’s wickedly teasing gaze. The dawn light shone across the velvety curve of her shoulder. She was in human form and they were both naked. Emily felt only relief. She doubted she could cope lying nose to nose with a werewolf in the brash light of day.

  “W-why don’t you just kill me and go?” she asked. She was exhausted, mentally and physically, and sick to death of the whole accursed plan. She had been crazy to think it would work.

  Luc lifted a lazy finger and tapped the collar around her neck. “Until you find the key, I think we’ll be spending a lot of time together.”

  That was an unpleasant thought. Emily decided not to dwell on it and changed tack. “What’s this?” She indicated the blankets balled up around her.

  “It’s a bed.” Luc looked around her, very satisfied with the setup.

  “It’s a nest, you mean.” Emily wriggled uncomfortably, then pulled a budding twig from underneath her. “It’s even got leaves. What are you, a big chicken? Since when do werewolves sleep in a nest? Shouldn’t you burrow or something?” She had no idea about werewolf sleeping arrangements. She heaved to her feet and pulled on her clothes using the idle chatter to hide her embarrassment.

  “I’m a werewolf, not a meerkat. We make nests when we’re on the move.” Luc began to dress as well, dragging her sweats out from the mess surrounding her.

  “Oh,” Emily said. “I tend to make up the couch bed when I’m on the move.” She looked pointedly at the rear bench seat.

  Luc wiggled her fingers.

  “Claws. Last night I had claws. They tend to rip the stuffing out of things.” She gave Emily a narrow-eyed look that reminded her how lucky she was her stuffing was still intact. “Now.” Luc tapped her collar. “Get me the key and maybe, just maybe, you won’t be breakfast.”

  “This is your breakfast.” Emily opened the small cupboard over the sink and tossed a chocolate bar at Luc. “It’s all I have left.”

  Luc regarded the bar with suspicion. “No dope?”

  “No dope.” Emily unwrapped her own bar and bit into it. Partly because she was starving, partly to prove she could be trusted, on this occasion at least. Luc copied her.

  “Key?” she asked with her mouth full, still determined to get an answer.

  Emily sighed. “I told you before. The key was on a chain around my neck, but it’s gone. I think I lost it in the mudslide.”

  “Okay.” Luc finished her breakfast in one more bite and tossed the crumpled wrapper toward the sink. “So we dig.”

  “Dig?” Emily picked up the wrapper and put it in the trash, frowning with annoyance. “There’s a ton of earth out there. No way will we find a necklace.”

  “We know roughly where you were standing and where you ended up. It has to be in that corner.” Luc was on her feet. “Come on,” she ordered and stepped outside. With a heavy heart, Emily followed her.

  The mud felt cold and gritty between her fingers. Several yards to her left, Luc was hacking at the dirt with a broken plank. Emily dug with slow deliberation, though her mind was working furiously. If they found the key and she was forced to unlock the collar, she would be dead in seconds and Luc would be halfway to Canada in her RV. Emily had no doubt about it. Not that she was exactly sure how the collar was keeping her alive. Her earlier assumption that it “froze” a werewolf in beast mode had proven untrue. If anything, it seemed to be improving the creature’s health. Emily considered the state of the woman digging beside her. She had been such a grubby, wretched specimen only a day ago. Now she was just grubby. Did the collar somehow regenerate a werewolf’s health? Wouldn’t that just be typical of her crappy luck to give the damned woman a cure-all instead of a curse?

  “Ah ha!” Luc cried out. Emily looked up sharply, heart in mouth, to find Luc holding aloft a sodden arrow quiver. There was only one arrow left in it and Luc was examining it closely.

  “Vicious little thing,” she said, looking at Emily. Emily felt her face heat. Then Luc said, “Hey, this tip is hollow. Is that where you put the drugs?” She sounded genuinely interested.

  Emily turned away and didn’t answer. She went back to digging in the mud and watched out of the corner of her eye as Luc placed the quiver on top of the pile of crap she had pulled out of the mud.

  “More treasure,” Luc said, sounding pleased with herself, and she patted her latest find. So far, she had collected a boot, a crushed bottle of water, the forceps from Emily’s surgical pack, and now the quiver with its arrow. She was the strangest creature, Emily decided, and thought of their nest and the little pile of objects Luc had piled beside it to comfort Emily and aid her recovery. And despite her bed companion being a werewolf, Emily couldn’t remember the last time she’d had such a sound sleep. It just goes to show how cracked I am.

  “You’re not putting all that crap in my RV.” She pulled her thoughts in a more practical direction. Best play along with this ridiculous Canada road trip until another avenue for escape opened up, and it would. One look at the mud-splattered packrat opposite her confirmed that Luc was not used to playing captor and prisoner. She probably ate her prey rather than try to preserve it. “Why are you going to Canada anyway? Isn’t Little Dip your home turf?”

  “I’m sort of persona non grata at the moment. Well, at most moments.” Luc grinned at her. She was having a good day grubbing about in the mud. “Moments that roll into years that roll into a lifetime.”

  “Why’s that?”

  This got no answer. Luc had located an item of particular interest under the dirt and was trying to work it free. She ignored the question.

  “What did you do?” Emily asked again.

  “Nothing.” Luc’s voice was harsh. “Aunt Sylvie had to get rid of me in case the police came along with questions. She said I was too wild to talk to any police. There’d only be social services and stuff. She sent me and my family away.” Then she fell into a brooding silence still working away in the mud. Emily was unsure of this sudden mood switch, and worked on in silence herself. What had Luc done that made as secretive a family as the Garouls have t
o hide her away? And why was Luc so upset at their protection? Because it was more of an expulsion than anything? It sounded like it had happened some time ago.

  “What age were you when you went away?” she tried for one more question. It felt important to know.

  “Nine,” came the clipped response. “Hey!” Luc sprang upright, triumphantly waving a scrap of fabric. “My backpack.” Her mood had flipped to happy again in a second.

  “My backpack. Well, some of it,” Emily said, making out a flap of Gore-Tex with a buckle attached.

  Nine. They sent you away when you were nine years old? It was easy to imagine that child. In a way, she stood there before her, even now. Hurt and bitter, and still as wild. Luc set the tattered mess with the rest of her booty. What possible use can a scrap of backpack be? Luc’s attachment to the backpack was perplexing. Emily had noticed the surreptitious sniff she had taken before laying the rag with the rest of her “finds.” Well, she is a werewolf. Why should I expect anything like normal?

  Emily nearly missed the glimmer of gold as it slid through her fingers and slithered back into the mud. She plunged her hands in after it; careful not to let Luc see she had found something. After a frantic grapple, she unearthed the broken chain. The key was still attached. Quickly, she dropped it into the top of her boot and felt it slide down to her ankle. Relief poured through her. She had the key. She was still in control.