Thinning the Herd (5 page)

She poked the unconscious lump beside him with one end of the pole. “You stalking him too?”

Hal laughed. Her sense of humor was an unexpected delight. He climbed to his feet. “No,” he said. “Only you, my love.”

Rolling her eyes, Desdemona handed him the catch pole. “You must
want
to be eviscerated,” she said.

“By you,” Hal murmured, “anything.”

“See?” she said. “Total fruitcake.”

Hal realized Goth Dude stood just behind her. Saw the imprint of his kiss upon Desdemona's cheek. Hal straightened, bringing himself up to his full five eleven and one quarter. Goth Dude eyed him with green, kohl-lined eyes, his expression thoughtful.

Hal thrust out his hand, “Rupert—Hal Rupert,” he said. “Pleased to meetcha.”

Goth Dude's eyes widened, and Hal was pretty sure he saw a flash of recognition in those dark emerald depths. He grasped Hal's offered hand and shook it.

“Louis Dark,” he said, his voice lightly accented.

Spanish? French? Italian? Southern? Hal wasn't sure, but at least Goth—
Louis's
—grip was strong. A smile curved his pierced lips. An amused smile that reminded Hal of Galahad.

Releasing Hal's hand, Louis cupped his around Desdemona's ear and whispered something that made her giggle. But her gaze lifted to Hal's, incandescent once again.

And Hal understood. Their romance was forbidden according to strict Goth doctrine; their love needed to remain secret, hidden. A clandestine whisper between them. A furtive touch of hands in passing.

A bonfire blaze torched Hal's heart. He smiled his understanding. “I'm only here to guard you,” he said.

“Guard her?” Louis asked, a smile lingering on his lips. “From what?
Other
stalkers?”

Hal thumped the ground with the end of his catch pole. “There's a shifter serial killer working the fair. I'm here to take the bastard down.”

Louis's smile vanished. He sucked in a sharp breath.

“See?” Desdemona said again. “Total fruitcake.” But Hal heard tenderness in her voice. Just like he saw fear in Louis's face.

Louis
believed
him.

Desdemona looked Hal up and down. Pushed silky purple hair back from her face. “I suppose the only way to stop you from guarding me
is
to eviscerate you,” she sighed. Her black-painted nails tapped against a small silver-sheathed knife strapped to her wrist.

“I suppose,” Hal agreed.

With a coquettish look, Desdemona swiveled around, grabbed Louis's hand, and walked—hips swaying—back to her booth.

“C'mon, then, creep,” she called over her shoulder.

Joy danced a flaming jig within Hal's heart. He no longer felt his feet on the ground. He strode after Desdemona, catch pole in hand, head held high, knowing she held Louis Dark's hand only as camouflage.

*  *   *

Hal stood beside Desdemona's booth, eyeing everyone who approached or passed. He hoped Nick and Galahad were having luck in their pursuits and had gained useful information. The last couple of hours had slipped by uneventfully.

Louis left the booth several times, returning once with food for Desdemona and himself. The other times he returned empty-handed. But Hal noticed that the Goth boy seemed nervous and stayed near Hal—like he thought he could protect him too.

“So where you from?” Hal asked.

“N'awlins,” Louis replied, his voice low and melodic.

“Ah.”

Hal's gaze narrowed as a middle-aged woman in khaki shorts, a white blouse, and a sun visor idled in front of Desdemona's booth. She picked through the jewelry offered on the black velvet.

Desdemona watched her as well, a smile quirking up the corners of her mouth. Hoping for a sale.

“That's a nice piece,” Hal said.

The woman's head snapped up like a dog answering a whistle. “Excuse me?”

Hal nodded at the silver crescent moon pendant at her fingertips. “Nice piece. I don't know if you're into the Goddess and all that, but that crescent moon would make a lovely gift for any night-struck soul. Would work for anyone into Wicca too.”

Desdemona paused, lips parted. She glanced at Hal, an appraising light in her eyes.

“The velvet ribbon has silver filigree worked throughout,” Hal said, leaning over. “See? Another symbol of the night—black and silver. Luna. The subconscious. What have you.” He shrugged. “And a
bargain
at that price.”

“Is this your booth, young man?” The woman eyed the catch pole in his hand.

Hal laughed. “No. Hers,” he said, nodding at Desdemona. “Her work. I'm just her . . . bodyguard.” He winked at his beloved. She arched an eyebrow and tapped a finger against the knife on her wrist. Mouthed
fruitcake.

Hal grinned.

The woman bought the piece. Color flushed Desdemona's cheeks as she wrapped up the necklace. She tilted her head, purple hair cascading over to curtain half of her face, and looked at Hal for a long moment.

She opened her mouth. But whatever she said or was going to say was drowned out by a piercing scream that sliced through the fair chatter, drowning out the never-ending hypnotic drumming.

Hal jumped in front of Desdemona, catch pole held across his body in both hands. Spotting Louis already halfway up a slender elm, Hal called, “Behind me or go higher!”

People scattered in all directions like chickens before a raccoon. Hal tightened his grip on the catch pole. His muscles coiled. His heart thudded at a steady pace. Movement to his left drew his attention. Desdemona had stepped up beside him, knife in hand.

“Get back,” he growled. “I can't protect you there, woman.”

“Shut up, jerkwad.”

Hal smiled at the use of the endearment. All the same, he stepped in front of her.

“Move!” she yelled.

People continued to shriek and scatter and the chaos seemed to be headed straight for Desdemona's booth. Not wanting to spare a glance to see if Louis had climbed higher or had shimmied down and was even now running back to the booth, Hal wished him well.

Birkenstocks, lone flip-flops, even the odd Earth shoe dotted the fair paths like rose petals tossed ahead of a bride. Tatters of cloth and feathers and streamers floated through the air, all caught in a time slowdown. Sound faded.

Hal listened to the beat of his own heart. Was aware of the air his sweet Desdemona drew in behind him. Felt his muscles drink in the adrenaline rushing through his system. The last straggler slow-moed out of the way and revealed a huge silhouetted shape—backlit by the summer sun—running toward him.

Stepping forward, Hal swung the catch pole around and spun it over and up, holding it like a samurai warrior's first kendo stance—poised, caught on the lip of time, heart pulsing slow and sure.

“Come to Papa,” Hal whispered.

And a nightmare ran toward him in long, loping strides. Hal's eyes widened. Behind him, Desdemona said, “Holy shit!” Awe—in all senses of the word—edged her voice.

Then time popped the clutch into full speed again.

Half-wolf, half-human, like a monstrosity from a horror movie, the creature slammed into Hal as he slashed the catch pole down, tumbling them both to the ground and into the velvet-draped table.

Air exploded from Hal's lungs at the impact. Desdemona screamed. And the sound rang like true crystal through Hal's soul. He couldn't let the beast past him, couldn't fail his beloved.

Crying out from the depths of his being, Hal climbed to his knees and whirled the catch pole through the air, smacking the wolf-man in the ribs, then brought the pole up and over in a series of sharp jabs, but the beast was gone.

Sweat stung Hal's eyes. He spun around on his knees, the catch pole an extension of his arm. Desdemona was nowhere in sight. He shoved aside the fallen table, dug through the velvet and lace and latex of the collapsed booth, breathing her name and cursing his own.

An enraged howl pierced the tree-shaded air. Hal swung his head around. The wolf-man clawed at the elm Louis had climbed. The young Goth clung to the tree high up, arms and legs wrapped around trunk and branches. And at the base—Galahad and Nick knocked fists into the wolf-man's burly torso.

And running toward them, knife in hand, Desdemona.

Hal jumped to his feet and ran after her. “No!” he shouted. “No!”

The wolf-man raked the air with unnaturally long claws, barely missing Galahad as he darted in and out, slippery as waxed tile, hands striking like snakes. Nick swung a baseball bat (and where had he found
that
? Hal wondered), hitting the creature with solid
thwack
s
that echoed throughout the eerily silent fair.

Hal closed the distance between himself and Desdemona—was reaching for her trailing purple hair—when she raised her knife and slashed into the beast's midsection. The wolf-man roared and the air-shredding sound seemed to steal light from the sun. The day dimmed. The wolf-man's hand swung down like a headsman's ax.

“NO!” Hal yelled and hurled himself at the monster. His body arrowed past his fierce Desdemona.

Jagged blue light exploded across Hal's vision as the wolf-man's fist hammered into his temple. He flew for a moment, then hit the dirt hard, bowling across the paths like a ball down center lane.
Strike!
His head connected with something unmovable, and the image of the car smashing into the tree on Howard Avenue the night before flared through his mind. Hal slid down into darkness chased by the sound of Desdemona's screams.

Knowing he'd failed.

8

THE UNDERGROUND POT DENS OF EUGENE

Movement. Vibration. Air fluttering through his hair. Low voices. Pain ping-ponged through his skull. Twisted his gut. The pungent smell of animal musk and blood filled his nostrils. Images strobed through his mind: the crescent moon hanging low in a black, starless sky. The fear in Louis's eyes. Desdemona screaming.

Hal's eyes flew open. He was in a car. He winced as light shafted into his eyes. His heart pounded so hard, his entire body pulsed with each beat. He tried to sit up, but a hand against his chest pushed him back down.

“I wouldn't. You took a helluva blow.”

“Desdemona,” he whispered, batting Nick's hand aside. He levered himself up. Pain corkscrewed from his head down to his gut, and dizziness spun him like a top. His stomach lurched. He swallowed hard, tasting bitter bile.

“I'm all right.”

Hal looked toward the driver's seat. Desdemona's gaze met his in the rearview. Her eyeliner was smudged and smeared, her eyes red. Had she been weeping? For him?

Galahad, sitting up front beside her, glanced back at Hal, his face somber.

“I'm okay,” Hal said. “Don't order the coffin yet.”

“Fruitcake,” Desdemona said, her voice strained. Holding back more tears?

Hal had a feeling something was terribly wrong—something besides a monster from a horror movie rampaging through the Oregon Country Fair.

“Tell me,” he said.

“That . . . abomination . . . took Louis,” Galahad said, his eyes narrowing when he said the word
abomination.
“Toppled the tree and plucked him loose.”

“
Took
him?” That made no sense to Hal. If the wolf-man had been offing hippies and munching fortune-tellers, why had it suddenly decided to try its unnatural hand in the kidnapping business? Why not just nibble on the Goth boy's head? Maybe it was saving him for a midnight snack?

Hal's head ached, making it hard to think. He knew he was missing something—something obvious.

“Took him,” Nick affirmed. He patted Hal's hand. “He's a fortune-teller.”

“What?” Hal said, feeling a little thick.

“He reads tarot cards,” Galahad said. “Apparently has a very good reputation.”

Desdemona nodded. “He has a real gift.” Her voice caught.

“And he's
y
ō
kai
,” Nick said.

“I wondered about that,” Hal murmured. The smile like Galahad's.

“He's my friend,” Desdemona said. “He was a refugee from Katrina and I gave him a home. I learned what he was one evening when I saw him Shift from guy into cat.”

Galahad reached over and rubbed her shoulder.

“I'm sorry,” Hal said. He wanted to say more but didn't know what.

“Jerkwad,” she whispered.

Hal's aching head was nothing compared to the ache he felt for Desdemona, for her distress. Things didn't make complete sense, but he blamed his muddled reasoning on his pounding head.

Why would the wolf-man steal Louis? It certainly hadn't seemed capable of making rational decisions.
Hmmm. Looks high-carb. Maybe I'll have a hippie instead.

“Why didn't it kill him?”

“Huh?” Nick looked at Hal.

“Louis. Why didn't the thing just kill him like the others?”

Nick nodded. “Damned good question, and one I was chewing over myself. Considering the number of people it mauled at the fair, I think it was a monster on a mission. Ordered to fetch Louis.”

“By who?” Hal asked, meeting Nick's yellow-eyed gaze. “Why? And what the hell
was
that thing, anyway?”

“Nothing born of nature,” Nick said, voice rough, a near growl. Sunlight glimmered in his eyes, sparked fire in their depths.

Hal nodded and settled back into the seat, the sun-heated vinyl squeaking beneath him. He looked out the window. Trees thick with green leaves and buildings bright beneath the summer sun flashed past. They were on Beltline. Heading east.

“Where we going?” Hal asked.

“To get Louis,” Desdemona said. Steel resolve hardened her voice.

Hal looked at her with renewed respect. Remembered her running into the face of danger with only a knife. A more-than-fitting companion for a hero.

Like air breathed upon a fire, that realization fueled the flames within his heart, burned hot. The pain in his head faded.

Desdemona steered the car toward the VRC. Toward the green tree-lined river. Hal's stomach sank as he realized where they were going. He glanced at Nick. “You and Gally have been talking,” he accused.

Galahad shrugged. “We had to. She was crying.”

Desdemona parked the car. Switched off the engine. “Okay,” she said, turning around in the seat. Her blue-eyed gaze pinned Hal to the seat like a knife. “Show me the way to the underground pot dens of Eugene or I'll eviscerate you.”

Hal smiled. “I might prefer that,” he replied, coy. “You keep promising.”

She poked a black-nailed finger at his chest. “Don't mess with me, creep.”

Laughing, Hal lifted a middle finger. “Never, my sweet,” he said. “Never.” Sliding across the seat, he opened the door and unfolded himself out of the car. Leaned in through the open window. Met Desdemona's narrowed blue gaze. “Maybe we'll save the evisceration for a more private moment,” he said, nodding at Nick and Galahad.

Desdemona rolled her eyes. Blowing her a kiss, Hal spun and strode toward the greenbelt. The car door chunked shut. Once. Twice. Three times. He heard the patter of her boots on the sidewalk.

“Hold up, jerkwad.”

Slowing his stride, Hal grinned. He'd won the heart of Desdemona Cohen with courage, a spinning catch pole, and a lifted middle finger. Now all he had to do was descend beneath the earth and rescue her buddy from a monster.

A luckier man didn't exist.

*  *   *

Hal helped Desdemona through the blackberry vines and shrubs and down into the tunnel, his hands around her slim waist. He held her even after her booted feet had touched the ground. “Let go, creep,” she said, pushing at his hands.

With a smile, Hal released her. He noticed that the silver knife-sheath strapped to her wrist was empty. A memory of gleaming metal flashed through his mind—a knife caught between the wolf-man's ribs as it swung its fist down. She'd lost the knife, then. Might need to find his Desdemona another weapon.

The afternoon sunshine shafted into the tunnel's mouth but no farther. Dirt and pebbles trickled into the tunnel as Galahad and Nick climbed down. The tabby wiped dirt from the seat of his leather pants with one hand while handing Hal his catch pole with the other.

“I hope someone thought to bring flashlights,” Hal said.

“Yup.” Nick held open a plastic Walmart bag. Four flashlights and five packs of batteries. He nodded toward Desdemona. “Her idea. Our first stop once we left the fair.”

“You went
shopping
while I was unconscious?” Hal asked.

“We locked the doors,” Galahad said. “Rolled the windows down a crack. You were fine.”

Hal fetched a flashlight and a pack of batteries out of the bag. Nick distributed the rest. Galahad clicked his flashlight on. Off. On. Off. Nick joined in enthusiastically. On. Off. On. Off.

“Playtime is
after
monster slaying,” Hal growled, blinking spots from his vision. Renewed pain spiked through his skull. Nausea squeezed his belly. He'd dry-swallowed a handful of aspirin a little while ago, but it had yet to take effect.

Chittering.

Hal froze. Had he heard—

As if fired from a catapult, a furry brown object hurtled from the tunnel and smacked into Hal, hitting him with full squirrel force in the gut. Hal staggered back, swatting at the frenzied thing scrabbling up his chest, clutching at his shirt with tiny little claws. And chittering. Oh, yes. It was chittering.

The deranged rodent danced its way up Hal's chest, to his face, his head, then leapt for the tunnel mouth, little limbs splayed like it was a flying squirrel. But it was only a leaping, insane squirrel.

Hal doubled over, nausea roiling through his gut. Dropped to his knees as bile burned at the back of his throat.

“Was that a . . . squirrel?” Desdemona asked.

“Yeah,” Nick said. “It has a thing for Hal.”

Hal willed himself not to puke. Stupid, loco squirrel. He concentrated on recipes featuring squirrel. Squirrel flambé. Squirrel Stroganoff. Squirrel à la king. Sweat popped up on his forehead.

“He's not gonna puke, is he?”

Desdemona's concern gave Hal strength. Swallowing hard, he straightened, using the catch pole to pull himself upright. He forced a smile. Desdemona's vanished.

“You sure you're not gonna hurl?” she asked, stepping back. “You don't look good.”

“Never better,” Hal said. He gingerly tapped a finger against his temple. “Willpower.”

Desdemona looked at him for a long moment, chewing thoughtfully on her lower lip. “Loon,” she stated.

Hal grinned at her. The name nestled in his heart.
Loon.
Desdemona's loon.

“What's the game plan?” Galahad asked.

“We find Louis,” Hal said.

“Alive,” Desdemona added.

“We don't know who's created and unleashed that wolf-man thing or why they've been slaughtering hippies,” Hal said. “Or why they've stolen a
y
ō
kai
fortune-teller or—”

“Wait. Hippies?” Desdemona asked.

Hal nodded and instantly regretted it. Dizziness pirouetted the tunnel around him. He closed his eyes. “Fewer hippies. Have you noticed?”

“Y'know, I have,” Desdemona said. “I mean, I hadn't really thought about it, but now that you mention it, there's several I used to see on a regular basis that haven't been around for the last month or so.”

Hal squinted. Nothing spun. He opened his eyes. “Exactly,” he said. “I found a bloodstained Birkenstock. Here, in fact.”

“The lycan's clothes are gone,” Nick pointed out.

Hal glanced at him, moving his head cautiously. The folded pile of clothes and shoes were no longer stacked by the tunnel's mouth. “Okay, then,” he said. “Desdemona, what do you know about shifters—lycans and
y
ō
kai
?”

“Just what Louis told me,” she said with a fetching little shrug. “That
y
ō
kai
are ruled by the sun and are animals that turn into people during the day. Lycans are ruled by the moon and are people who Shift into animals at night.”

Galahad nodded. “Right you are, sweet thing.”

“And you?” Desdemona looked at Hal. “Are you a shifter too?”

“No. All man.”

Desdemona rolled her eyes. “Sorry I asked. Look, all I want is Louis back.”

“And that's what you'll get,” Hal promised.

A tentative smile touched Desdemona's lips. “I'm gonna hold you to that, creep.” She paused, then added, “Hal. I mean, Hal.”

“You can call me ‘creep' all you want,” Hal said. “I like it.”

“You would,” Desdemona muttered.

Hal laughed, then thumped his catch pole against the tunnel floor. The smell of old ganja floated into the air. He waved it away, coughing. Looking from Desdemona to Galahad to Nick, he asked, “The most dangerous thing in these tunnels is us. Now let's go prove it.”

Galahad's eyes glowed like green fire in the gloom. He purred. Nick shivered and twitched like he was ruffling up the fur he wasn't wearing at the moment. Desdemona regarded them both, expression decidedly dubious.

Hal switched on his flashlight and, catch pole in hand, led the way into the tunnel. “Time to kick ass and take names.”

Behind him, Gally's purr intensified.