Run, Kat, Run and Encantado Dreams (Mortality Bites: Publisher's Pack Book 4)

by Ramy Vance

  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."

  Justin, I thought, why do you do this to me?

  "I won't go," I promised.

  But that was exactly what I did. I disappeared amidst the sounds of the water and Justin scrubbing himself clean of my magical scent.

  Wouldn't be the first time a man has done that, I thought on my way down the stairs. But of course, the first time a man had scrubbed himself clean of my scent had been for different reasons entirely.

  Chapter 8

  I shielded my eyes from the setting sun as I stepped into Montreal’s terminal. The next bus out of the city would depart in a half-hour, which meant I’d be traveling at 60 mph away from all this.

  That was probably faster than El Lobizon could run. Probably.

  I purchased my ticket to Quebec City, took a seat on one of the empty benches with my purse set in my lap. I hadn’t brought anything except my wallet, my phone, Professor Allman’s book on creatures of Amazonian lore and a single change of clothes.

  I had disappeared with less before.

  The sky shone pink and yellow through the tall windows of the terminal, and I was shivering again. At any moment I expected the glass to cave inward, El Lobizon’s giant form to come barreling into the center of the terminal and for it to sink its incisors right through my head.

  And every moment that it didn’t happen, I felt a little tighter strung, like a drum so taut it would barely produce any vibration at all.

  I pulled Professor Allman’s book out of my bag, continued reading the entry on El Lobizon. To defeat the creature, it read, the prey must find and confront El Lobizon’s summoner.

  Just as I suspected. It was as simple as that: confrontation. Which also happened to be my worst skill.

  “Anyone sitting here?” came a soft voice.

  I jumped, pulled the book to my chest. When I looked up, an old woman’s face stared back down at me. White-haired, lined cheeks, a close-lipped—sincere—smile on her face. A bulging bag hung off her shoulder.

  Not the Brazilian woman. Just an old woman.

  She was homeless. And she had deep crow’s feet at the corners of both eyes. Harmless, I thought at once.

  I glanced at the long swath of empty bench. “Please.” I gestured left of me.

  She deposited her bags, sat closer than most people would have. Except she didn’t press me for money or conversation. She just wanted to be seen, I realized. Just to be seen.

  I lowered the book back to my lap, where the dark portrait of El Lobizon stared back up at me. And then I diverted my eyes to the woman beside me. “Where are you going?” I asked her.

  “Nowhere. Just here,” she said, her hands now folded in her lap. She was staring out the windows ahead of us. “Where are you going?”

  “Quebec City.”

  “Visiting a boyfriend?”

  “Leaving one, actually.”

  “Oh.” She nodded. Something about her voice came clear and lucid and calming, which I hadn’t expected. “I did that a few times.”

  “It’s not like that,” I said quickly. “I care about him.”

  “But you’re leaving.”

  “I have to leave.”

  Her eyes shifted to me. “Why do you have to leave someone you care about?”

  “It’s hard to explain."

  “Is he good to you?”

  “Yes. But there are a few reasons I have to go.”

  She let a small exhale of amusement. “There always are, aren’t there?”

  “What do you mean?”

  She turned toward me in full. “How old are you?”

  “I, well …” How to explain my age? I had been alive for over five hundred years, though only a few as a mortal. “I’m twenty-one,” I said finally. That was sort of true, since the gods had only left a few years ago, and I had usually taken the illusion of eighteen- to twenty-one-year-old women.

  “I was twenty years older than you when I realized I was the constant.”

  I stared. “The constant?”

  “I kept leaving people behind, and I always thought I had good reasons." She pointed at herself, and her eyebrows went up. "But eventually I ended up alone, and I was the constant in every situation. Do you see what I mean?”

  I slow-blinked. “No.”

  “Once you have enough history behind you, you will."

  “Is this like that saying, ‘if everyone around you is an asshole, then you’re the asshole?’ ”

  She laughed a little. “I guess it is.”

  I sat back against the bench, staring through the windows. The sun had dropped fully out of view, and shades of blue were slowly sapping the color out of the sky.

  In my purse, my phone vibrated once. A text message. I lifted it out, found two lines from Aimee: elisa’s not around and I don’t have a key. I can’t afford a hostel, so I’m going to sleep in the lab like that one time. I’ll be sure to lock it behind me … That should be OK, right?

  No, I thought. No, no, no. Walking between Elisa’s and the lab where I did my research would take Aimee through Old Montreal, by the river.

  that’s not far enough, I texted back. where are you?

  walking back from her place. will be there soon, came the reply a minute later.

  She was already outside, walking through the campus in the dark. I mentally traced the route from Elisa’s to the lab; as I’d thought, the walk would take her right along the river.

  get to the nearest underground entrance, I texted, and stay down there until I find you.

  I threw my phone and the book in my purse, looked over at the woman beside me. “I’m the asshole,” I said as I stood.

  She watched me stand. “What?”

  I grabbed my wallet, pulled out all the cash I had—about fifty dollars—and handed it to her. “I’m the asshole,” I repeated. “Please, find some place to sleep tonight.”

  She stared at the money, then at me. “Do you think I’m homeless?”

  I half-lowered my hand. “Uh, well, I … ”

  She let a bark of a laugh. “Oh, dear. You’re very sweet, but I have a home. I just like to people-watch.”

  Tinder sparked in my chest. “So even though you were the asshole, you didn’t end up alone.”

  “No,” she said. “I had to work very hard at changing, though.”

  I nodded. “I’m going to try to do that tonight.”

  “You’re going to stick around?”

  “I’m going to confront the woman who summoned El Lobizon, and I’m going to protect my friend from being attacked or killed by his deadly claws and canines.”

  She nodded, and her eyes took on a particular glaze. “That’s good, dear. Be safe walking outside in the dark.”

  She thought I was drunk or high. Maybe both.

  I smiled down at her. Before I turned and darted through the terminal doors, I set my hand over hers. “I’ll do my best.”

  ↔

  I set out into the night, my phone clutched tight in my hand, waiting for Aimee’s text.

  My breath came in white puffs, and tiny flakes of snow began to fall on the already frozen earth. Above me, the sky had turned to the deep azure preceding nightfall.

  I walked fast through the campus toward the biology building. If I took the right route, I might be able to intercept Aimee on her—

  A howl pierced the night like a knife. I froze in place. Around me, nothing had changed: people walked huddled on the sidewalks, cars left slushy tracks in the street, and the moon cast its yellow glow over the city.

 
The moon. My eyes lifted to it on the horizon, where it sat as round as an orange, and I wondered if it was all just coincidence.

  Becoming Katrina Darling. El Lobizon. The Brazilian woman who wanted me dead. All of it converging on this night, when the moon happened to be as round as an eyeball.

  The howl had come from the east—the direction of the river. That was where I needed to go, but I remained stuck in place. If I went that way, I sensed everything would happen quickly. And I might not survive the night.

  After all, I wasn’t Katrina Darling.

  I wasn’t a fighter. I was a runner.

  My phone buzzed, and I lifted it to find a text from Justin. everything ok?

  I stood on the sidewalk, yanking off my glove to write back. yes. did you leave town?

  Almost instantly, the reassuring triple dots popped up. I couldn’t. kat, I heard the howl. tell me where you are

  what?? just go! I wrote back.

  if you don’t tell me where you are, I’m going to drive in the direction i heard it with your hat on my head and the windows down

  I had forgotten my hat? My hand went to my head, where I found only Aimee’s earmuffs. I had put on my own beanie when I left the dorm, and then left it sitting in Justin’s bedroom like a doofus.

  you wouldnt, I wrote. it’s dangerous, justin

  i love you, kat. i couldn’t just leave you here alone, knowing what you’re facing

  He loved me? He loved me. Well, he loved Katrina, but the words struck me with the same resonance as if he had written my own name. Because right now, I was Kat.

  i’m walking to Old Montreal, I wrote. Aimee is by the river.

  A few seconds later, a one-word reply: coming.

  He was coming. The knowledge terrified me as much as it warmed me. Now, the two people I cared about most were in the exact place I didn’t want them to be.

  I pulled my glove back on and started into a jog down the street, staring at every face I passed in the hope that it would be Aimee’s. But none were her, and it wasn’t until I neared the river that I heard a scream.

  Her scream.

  Followed by a snarl.

  I came around the bend, and the scene before me couldn’t have been more nightmarish.