CHAPTER THREE
When I got to L.A., I’d chosen Whittier because of the hills. They aren’t very high, but they go on quite a ways, and if you’re willing to cross a road, they go on even farther. There are no trees to speak of, and the traffic noise never ends, but there is space, and many trails, the scent of grass and the web of the creatures’ lives that live there, and at night there are almost never any people. I took off for the hills when the moon was high, trying to run my way back to peace of mind, trying to run from thoughts I thought I’d escaped months ago, when I left home, the home of my mother, and her new mate.
Up in the hills the air was cool and almost fresh. The California grasses and herbs were sweet and damp from the dewfall. I climbed the hill beyond where the Wiccans had had their working—nothing there tonight, except the wards that whispered, Go away, there’s nothing here, you don’t want to be here. On the next rise I stood with my back to the city lights, looking out into the darkness of the hills beyond. Down the rise where the park abutted the houses, a family of raccoons made a ruckus in the trash cans. A snake had passed here not long before. Four deer stood in the hollow below, not moving, not making a sound, waiting for me to go.
My coyote cousins began to sing across the way. I sat down to listen to them.
Everything changes. The days turn. The moon rises and falls. My dad was gone, and I didn’t know what happened to him.
I wore a new name now, though I was not yet used to it. My family name is Hunter. I left my puppy name, the one my brothers called me, the one I was called at school, behind me when I went away. My dad called me Amber. I use it these days, because I like to hear the word.
I had two brothers of my own. When I was fourteen, Carl, my older brother, went with my mom and my dad to the Gathering. My younger brother Luke and I, not being of age, stayed home with my Aunt Dora. When my mom came home, she brought Ray with her. Her new husband. My dad and Carl never returned. Ray moved in to my mom and dad’s room. My dad’s stuff was packed in boxes, down to the coffee cup he always used, and sent away. Carl’s room was cleared out, and my four hated stepbrothers moved in. Life at home was insupportable from that point on.
My mom wouldn’t talk about it. She wouldn’t answer questions. She said, when I was older I would understand. Well, I was older, and I did not understand. How could she let that bastard, that monster, into her house, in the place of my dad? And why wouldn’t she tell me what had happened to Dad and to Carl?
No one I knew would talk to me. They were all afraid of Ray. I didn’t blame them. I was afraid of Ray, too.
All right, it pissed me off that I wasn’t the darling of the house anymore. I’d always been my dad’s favorite. I knew it, everyone knew it, but my brothers were sweet about it. I was their favorite too. I knew what it meant, among my family, to be my mother’s daughter, the Daughter of the Moon Wolf. When the clods invaded, they tried to make me into their servant.
They’d done me a favor in a way, I tried to tell myself once more. Because of them, I’d learned to fight. I’d grown into my powers early, and made them sorry. I’d had to fight for Luke as well as myself, which gave me twice as much to do. I’d put my oldest stepbrother in the hospital the last time he bothered me. Unfortunately, that brought me the attentions of his dad.
How could my mother put up with someone like that? That was the question that made my fury rage. But what that did was cover my little-girl question, which was, how could she let him do that to me?
I learned not to be beaten down by him. I learned how to fight back. He was too strong for me, but his sons were not. The next time he bothered me, I went after his youngest boy. He only did it one more time before he got the message.
They knew I’d take off as soon as I came of age. So I took off even earlier, as soon as I possibly could, so they couldn’t stop me.
My dad was wise. He looked out for me. When I rode the surge of my blood in blind passion and for the first time made the twist that brought forth my wolf nature, when I fell onto four legs, stunned by new senses, crippled by a different throat, a different height, a different brain, my dad was there. He changed in front of me, nosed me onto my feet, and led me up the pasture, into the meadow, up into the woods. Slowly, exploring every trail, every scent, every sound or motion, we gamboled and tracked, leaped and played, until I fell into an exhausted heap, too tired to move. He carried me home. It is easy for the two-natured to make a mistake, when we first learn to change. My dad was there, and he saw that I didn’t.
When Dad didn’t come back from the Gathering, I held all his lessons close. He showed me the old family caches, some of them dating back to when we first settled the area more than a hundred years ago. I emptied them, and hid them anew, obscuring my track with every trick he taught me. My mom must have known about the caches, but she said nothing. I hoped that meant that at least in this small way, she was still on my side.
One of my cousins also planned to leave. Ray brought trouble to a lot of people. She found out how to buy new I.D.s, and she got one for me. I left tiny little hints, like mistakes, that I was planning to hide in the mountains. I spent more time in the woods, hunting, learning to be invisible. I left trails, and then crossed and re-crossed them, so I would be hard to track.
When the time came, I emptied all my caches and I left with my cousin in her car. We drove down and picked a car she bought for me with my money, and then we drove off in different directions. I headed into the mountains. There are a lot of mountains in California.
You can hide in the wild, in your true nature. You can hide in the mountains, in the woods, where the trees are indifferent. In the city, the people, like the trees, are indifferent, but there your trail is obscured every day by a million cars and a million people.
I made a big loop out into the desert, then doubled back and drove south. I chose Los Angeles, rather than San Francisco, because it is not only big, really big, but there are fifty ways to get out of there, if you have to.
All right, I had questions. Questions I had been longing to hear the answers to for more than two years. Where was my dad? Was he all right? Was he dead? Did Ray kill him? What happened to my brother? Why was Ray able to come in like he did, and why did he suddenly have such power over everyone, over my mother, over me? Where was he from, what did he really want? In time, I swore on my soul that is the same in both my natures, that I would know the answers.
But for the time being, I was too young, and not yet strong enough, to fight back. I needed to wait, I needed to grow, I needed to find all my power. And meanwhile, I needed to stay hidden. So I had a policy. No ties, no alliances, no contacts. Just me, and I would take care of myself.
My mom didn’t know where I was. All right, true. But she gave up her right to know my whereabouts when she stopped taking care of me. I was hoping the family would think my stepdad had done for me. That would bring him a lot of trouble, and it would serve him right. But if he was not yet defeated, when the time came, I would do it. I swore it.
Out across the way, the coyotes yapped and bayed. I stood up and raised my head and sang my loneliness, betrayal, and loss. I silenced every living thing for ten miles around.
I sat and thought for a while, in the quiet. The traffic sounds were like the distant roar of the sea. It was true that if the city I had chosen was going to be destroyed, then I was involved. And I had claimed some territory, despite my policy of invisibility. It’s in my nature, after all. And why else had I gone up the hill last night, except to see what was going on? My family hadn’t found me yet. They weren’t going to look here. They were out wandering all over the mountains, tracking the elusive wolf. And there are hundreds of miles of mountains in California. There were answers I wanted that would be worth having. And knowledge is power, and I like power a lot.
I stood up and howled one more time, to let everything that heard know that I was there, this was my city, my domain, I had laid my claim, and I would make my claim good. When I finished, I headed down the hill and went to look for the demon.
He wasn’t hard to track. From my place, he’d headed down Philadelphia Street to the center of town. He was probably still hungry, and that’s where people are, and food. It was still early enough for the restaurants and cafés to be open. I got up on my two feet when I came under the streetlights. I lost his scent in the dozens of others outside the disco on the corner where Nixon’s office used to be. I picked it up again on Greenleaf, down near the church where the homeless guys get their soup twice a day, but it was old. I turned uptown and picked up his scent again, fresh and clear.
I spotted him standing on the curb by the little plaza beside the coffee shop where the musicians hang out. He was talking to a big guy, a biker, with large shoulders and beautiful, muscular legs in tight leathers. The biker kept reaching out to him, touching his hair, smoothing his jacket, I noticed as I walked towards them. I thought maybe this was how the boy made money for his keep, turning tricks. His head was down, though. He wasn’t the one making the come-on. While his face was turned away, he caught sight of me. His head came up. His face was tight, his skin a little flushed. His eyes were haunted. If anyone ever called for help without speaking, that guy did. At the same moment, the biker got on his bike, and pulled him, unresisting, up behind him. I walked a little faster. While the biker put on his helmet, started up his machine with a roar, I thought the demon would just step off. He wasn’t being constrained that I could see. But the bike started up, and the demon reached his hands around the biker’s waist. He reached under his jacket in a gesture of practiced intimacy.
All right, I thought. I stopped. So much for him.
The demon caught my eye as they passed me, reached out with his hand, and dropped something at my feet. He torqued around on the bike and stared back at me, until the bike turned the corner, heading for the freeway. I picked up what had fallen. The biker’s leather wallet. With his driver’s license. And his home address.
I can take a hint.
I can’t say I hurried, but I didn’t waste much time, either. I got my car, checked the map, and headed down the 605 to Laguna. The biker’s name was Thomas Fallahan. He was 6’ 2” and weight 190 pounds. He had dark brown hair and brown eyes, and did not require corrective lenses, and he lived in a pretty green clapboard bungalow on a corner two blocks from the beach. I parked across the street. The biker’s motorcycle was parked out front. The boy’s scent was still fairly fresh.
The house was hidden behind a tall green hedge, with a fanciful iron gate in front, under an archway of climbing roses. The gate was locked, and behind the hedge was a fence. I walked the fence line along the front and side of the house to where there was a gap in the hedge at the end of the property line. I slipped behind the hedge and tested the pole that secured the fence. It wobbled quite a bit. I wobbled it some more until I was able to step around it. I was enjoying myself. It was fun to have an excuse to do some mischief again.
Most of the windows of the house were lit, but covered from scrutiny by curtains or blinds. I walked around three sides of the house. Behind the fourth was a row of trash cans and recycle bins, a pile of lumber, and some firewood.
I could break a window, but that would make noise. I could break down the door, same problem. Far easier if Thomas Fallahan came and opened the door himself. I walked up the front steps and knocked. Just on impulse I added the shave-and-a-haircut tattoo, and was rewarded by a big voice from inside calling, “Chris? That you?” There was a rattle of locks being undone, and the voice continued, “Forget your keys again…?” Then Thomas opened the door wide and found me outside it. He did look surprised.
His broad face was framed by a neatly trimmed beard. He stared down at me from deep set, tired old eyes. He was dressed in a long, brown, silk paisley robe, loosely belted at the waist, that hardly covered his big hairy chest, and draped all the way to the floor. He smelled of incense, sweat, sex, and… the demon.
I gave him a big smile. With teeth. “Hi. Thomas Fallahan? I think you dropped your wallet.” I held it out to him while he instinctively reached for his pocket that wasn’t there. I started walking forward, and I let myself grow larger as I came.
He stepped back as I approached him, on instinct. “Uh… yeah… thanks…”
“Actually,” I said, as I crossed the threshold and stepped passed him into his living room, “I came here looking for someone.” And then it occurred to me: I didn’t know the demon’s name.
“Hey, listen, thanks for the wallet, but—”
I ignored Thomas Fallahan and looked around his living room. The floor was hardwood, glowing with proper care. The walls were paneled with the same dark wood. A fire burned in the fireplace, beyond a beautiful fur hearthrug—no cousin of mine, or Thomas’s luck would have run right out that night—a set of comfy leather furniture, and half a dozen candles set at strategic intervals around the room.
“Very nice,” I said.
“Uh, thanks. You want to go now? Here. I’m kind of in the middle of something.…” He opened the wallet, and pulled out a couple of bills. I ignored him.
Three doors led off the living room. One went to the kitchen, I could see that. One door was closed, the other partly open. Through this one emanated the smell of incense and lightly scented steam.
“Actually, I came here to get someone.” I called loudly, “Hey! You in there?”
That’s when Thomas Fallahan grabbed me. Poor guy. What he touched wasn’t what he was reaching for. I should make it clear: there’s no long, slow process when I change, like some Hollywood make-up job and time-lapse photography. I can change my nature as quick as I can turn my head. That night I may have done it quicker. He reached, I changed, and he backed up so fast, his mouth open almost as big as mine, that his heel caught on the hem of his robe, and he went down without my touching him. Really.
The demon emerged from the bedroom at the thump of Thomas Fallahan’s fall. He was naked, pink with the heat of his bath, his fair hair plastered to his head, and scented with the steam and incense. He did look a tasty morsel. I shook myself mentally, and changed.
He stared at me.
“Hey,” I said. “I came to rescue you. But if you’d rather stay, I mean, if this is your scene…”
“No,” he said. “Thanks—”
“All right. Get your clothes and let’s go. This guy’s expecting someone.”
“I know,” the demon said. He dived into the bedroom.
After a few moments, Thomas Fallahan began to stir. “Hey,” I called out toward the bedroom. “You coming?” I stepped over to look in. The demon had not dressed. He was on the floor, halfway under the bed. “What the hell are you doing?”
He came out fast, went swiftly to the wall of voluminous mirrored closet doors, pulled one set open and began rummaging through it. “I’ll be right there—I have to find…”
I went back into the living room where Thomas Fallahan was sitting up, touching his head. When he saw me, he lunged—not at me, but toward the coffee table, where he grabbed a cell phone and flicked it open. I changed and jumped on his chest. He went down again. I picked the cell phone delicately from between his fingers, moved it back in my jaw, and bit down. Very satisfying crunching noises ensued. I dropped the parts on his robe. I got off him. While he was down and I was still angry, I stood up on my two feet and I turned the couch over on him. It was just his size.
I went back into the bedroom to find the demon tearing his way through a blanket chest at the foot of the bed.
“Will you get dressed already? I’m leaving.”
“Yes… please. Just a minute…” He spotted something, and jumped up on the tall bed with the tousled red satin sheets and the drooping comforter. The headboard had a shelf in it. On one side, there was a little mirror, purely decorative, I thought. He pushed it with his fingers and a small cupboard opened. “Ah,” he said. With gentle delicacy he withdrew a softly glowing little glass bottle. He turned, holding it to him with great care as though it were alive. His eyes had softened. He looked young. “I’ll be right with you. Half a sec, I swear.”
I went out. Thomas Fallahan lay resting peacefully beneath the couch. Outside I heard a car door slam and steps approaching. Company was coming. I listened another second. Company that had a key to the front gate. I heard it creak wide open. “Hey!” I called, but as I turned to the bedroom, he came out. He was wearing his own pants and jacket but had taken a blue silk shirt that belonged to Fallahan. And a laundered pair of socks.
“You got the wallet?” he asked.
“Yeah, I gave it back to him. Come on.”
The demon saw the wallet, and the fallen bills, lying on the floor. He gathered them up, opened the wallet, and pocketed what looked like quite a lot of cash. He looked up at me with a mean little smile. “I’m worth it,” he said. Then he followed me to the door.
I opened the door as the person outside reached out for it. Chris was also tall, also well-built, also good looking, with a trim little mustache over his full lips. He carried a grocery bag from which protruded a long loaf of bread and a bottle of wine. He looked up at me in surprise. I gave him another one of my big smiles. Funny, people almost never smile back.
“Hi,” I said. “Thomas has had an accident.”
“Is he all right?” He hurried past me. The demon relieved him of the grocery bag as he went by, and I don’t think he noticed.
He looked around the living room and saw the turned-over couch. Tommy’s feet were protruding from under it. “Tommy!” He called. “Is he all right?” He started heaving on the couch, trying to shift it. It was darned heavy, I know. “Tommy?”
The demon said, “Tell him that I won’t be coming back.”
Chris paused and looked up at him. “Look, man, it wasn’t my idea. All right?”
“Just tell him.” The demon walked past me out the door.
He sat relaxed and easy in the passenger seat as I found my way back to the freeway and headed for home. I had a couple of strong questions for him.
“Why did you go with him?”
“I had to,” he answered quietly.
“Yeah? Was that your old master?”
“Not precisely. He only thought he was. He had something of mine. I had to get it back.”
“What? The money?” I knew it wasn’t that, but I said it anyway.
“No.”
“That thing you found? In his headboard?”
He pulled it out of his jacket pocket. I saw the glow in his hand. “My soul,” he said softly, leaning over it. “It’s mine again. And now, everything has changed.”