The next day, the body of another young woman was found, and the day after that, yet another. Classes at Northern Pines were canceled, according to Mason, who called me to say she and Carla and some of their friends were taking an impromptu vacation to Tucson.
“The campus was crawling with fish and game people, police, sheriffs, maybe even the FBI,” she told me. “I would’ve stayed away even if they hadn’t canceled classes indefinitely, but at least this way everyone’s going to have a short semester, so I won’t have to play makeup with my classes. Besides, it’s eighty-five degrees down in Tucson. I’m so ready to bust out some sandals.”
“And you got permission?” I asked. After all, Tucson was de la Paz territory. Maya had been extremely friendly the last time we met, but I wasn’t sure how she’d feel about a mass invasion of Wilcoxes.
“Oh, sure. Lucas handled it. Not sure why, since Damon should’ve been the one to make the call, but he’s been under the weather lately.”
“Really?” I interjected, thinking that sounded odd. Somehow I couldn’t imagine any virus being brave enough to take up residence in Damon Wilcox’s body.
“Yeah,” she replied. “I guess he hadn’t been in to teach for a couple of days even before everything got shut down. Anyway, I gotta go. You stay safe!”
I murmured that I would, and ended the call, my mind churning. Connor had been forced to agree with me that something strange was going on after images of the murdered young women were plastered all over the the news and stared up from the front page of every newspaper in town. All of them between twenty and twenty-three, all with long, dark, wavy hair, all fair-skinned, all slender. The tallest five-foot-seven, the shortest five-foot-four. In dim lighting, or if viewed by someone with bad vision, they probably would have looked almost identical.
“As long as you stick close to home, you’ll be fine,” he’d told me after I’d shoved that day’s paper in the trash, not wanting to have another face a little too much like mine staring at me from beneath a lurid headline. “The attacks were all on campus, or near campus housing…a lot of which backs up to open land. But here, downtown? No way would a wild animal come anywhere near this place.”
That made sense, but I still tried not to go out by myself except in broad daylight. Too bad, because I’d started to explore Flagstaff on my own, driving around in Connor’s FJ and enjoying the sense of freedom it gave me, even as he stayed indoors and painted like a madman. Another gallery show was planned for late April, and because he’d sold so many paintings already, he had a lot of work to do to rebuild his inventory.
After Mason’s latest revelations, my brain started working at the mystery. So Damon had been feeling ill lately? It could mean nothing…
…or it could mean everything.
No, that was ridiculous. I couldn’t deny that Damon was a master of dark and unknown magic, magic he’d manipulated to do things no one else could. And he’d certainly made himself scarce lately, but that didn’t mean much, other than him not wanting to see how happy Connor and I were together. True, Damon had apparently hooked up with Jessica. However, I had the distinct impression that was all about getting an heir, and had very little to do with true love or attraction. At least, not on his side. Jessica was clearly crazy (and I do mean crazy) about him.
But even stacking up every damning thing I knew about Damon still didn’t seem enough to make the leap from unscrupulous warlock and dabbler in dark magic to bloodthirsty and murderous wolf…werewolf…whatever. That was silly. Werewolves weren’t real. Neither were vampires or chupacabras or zombies. Witches, yes, of course. We were just people, though — people with some unusual gifts, true, but even the blackest warlock I’ve ever heard of had never gone rampaging around, killing college students just for shits and giggles. For one thing, it was the sort of behavior that attracted far too much attention. I couldn’t deny that murder had been done in the name of magic and power, and probably would again someday. But not wholesale murder. Not like this.
And I knew I didn’t dare say anything of my crazy suspicions to Connor, because he would definitely think that my dislike of Damon had gotten the better of me at last.
“That’s some frown you’re wearing,” Connor said, breaking my reverie as he came into our apartment from the studio across the hall.
Somehow I managed to keep myself from startling. “Is it? Sorry, just thinking. Mason called and said she and Carla are heading down to Tucson for some sun and to get away from it all. The campus is closed until further notice, apparently.”
He leaned down over the back of the couch and pressed his lips against my neck. Despite my worry, a delicious shiver passed over me at his touch. I reached up and behind me, pulling him closer, shifting so that now we were face to face, kissing, mouths opening to taste one another again.
“Taking a break?” I murmured after he pulled away slightly so he could draw in a breath.
“I am now.”
I didn’t need any further encouragement. Slipping off the couch, I stood and went over to him, put my arms around him, let him gather me up and take me to the stairs, then up to the bedroom we now shared. So good to forget everything except the warm scent of his skin, the strength of his hands as he caressed me, the unbelievable sense of completion as he filled me again, our bodies moving together in perfect rhythm.
Afterward, I lay in his arms and listened to the deep, regular sound of his heart beating, felt the slow rise and fall of his chest beneath my cheek. It was so good to be here, safe in the circle of his arms. I wished it could always be like this, just the two of us with no outside worries or complications. Unfortunately, I knew that wasn’t the way the world worked.
At first the closing of the campus seemed to have stopped the attacks. A day went by, then two, then three, and the whole town seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief. Whatever had caused the hideous rampage seemed to be over.
Until the body was found near a carport at an apartment complex a mile from the university. Same savage bites to the throat, same general description for the victim: early twenties, dark-haired, slender.
And I got a call from my Aunt Rachel, who was so spooked by what she’d read in the local paper that she even told me that Connor and I should leave Flagstaff for a while and come to Jerome.
“It would be good to see you, and I can’t stop worrying — that is, I was already worried, with you surrounded by Wilcoxes, and now with these horrible attacks — ”
“The Wilcoxes really aren’t a problem,” I cut in. “They’ve been very kind to me.”
“Oh, really?” Disbelief fairly dripped from her tone. “All of them?”
It was pretty obvious who she’d meant with that “all of them” remark. “Okay, Damon is not exactly the sweetest guy I’ve ever met, but there are some cousins who’re my age and have been really nice. They’re just people, Rachel. Not the boogeyman, not the big bad.”
“They’re brainwashing you.”
Of all the — “No, not really. Maybe it’s easier for you to think that than to realize this feud is silly and has gone on long enough.”
A long pause. Then she said coldly, “Angela, I love you, but you don’t know what you’re talking about. You’ve let yourself ignore their history because you care for Connor, and as far as I can tell, he does seem like a nice enough young man. It’s unfortunate he was born into that family. But all his good qualities have blinded you to who and what they are.”
I realized then it wouldn’t matter what I said. She’d long ago formed her opinion of the Wilcox clan, built on stories of their iniquities, stories that had been passed down from generation to generation. Talk about brainwashing. “Whatever. I’m not the one who’s blind here. Anyway, I think we’re just fine where we are. None of the attacks have taken place anywhere near our apartment, and I’m careful. I’ve stopped going out alone. So I’ll be okay until the authorities get it handled.”
“Angela — ”
“It was nice talking to you, Rachel.” I hung up without waiting for a reply. It was rude, but I didn’t want to hear any more of her diatribes about the Wilcoxes.
But her words had gotten me thinking again, thoughts going down pathways I’d tried to avoid. I’d asked Connor a few days earlier if he’d heard anything from Damon, and he’d said, his tone almost abrupt, that no, he hadn’t, but it wasn’t a big deal because they often went as much as a week at a time without talking if there wasn’t anything that Damon deemed worthy enough of conversation. What Connor had left unsaid was that Damon probably didn’t have much use for him anymore, that the little brother who’d once worshipfully done pretty much anything Damon asked was gone, replaced by someone who’d found his own purpose in life, and the sort of love the primus couldn’t begin to comprehend.
Maybe it really wasn’t a big deal. For all I knew, Jessica was keeping him trapped in the house so they could work full-time at making their perfect little Wilcox heir. Ugh. There was a visual I really didn’t need.
So I went across the landing to the studio and let myself in. The air was thick with the scent of linseed oil and turpentine. Once the weather warmed up, Connor would be able to open the windows and let the fresh air carry those smells away, but it was still far too cold for that.
His back was to me as he worked away on a large canvas, part of a triptych showing a panoramic canyon scene. There were at least ten reference photos clipped to the easel, all of which showed a blazing blue sky above rock formations so grand they had to be from the canyon of the same name. The photos must have been taken the summer before, and I suddenly ached for the return of warmer weather, of sandals and hot winds scented with dry grass, of a time that didn’t feel weighted down by perpetual winter. Well, the equinox was only three days off now. It would still be a long time before truly comfortable temperatures returned to Flagstaff, but they were on their way.
I was going to wait until Connor hit a stopping point before I said anything, but one of the floorboards creaked under my feet, and he turned at once. The slightest frown creased his forehead before he smoothed it away, then set down his paintbrush and came toward me.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
It was a valid question; generally I left him alone until he was done painting and was ready to come back over to the apartment. I didn’t like to disturb him when he worked, knowing how important it was for him to finally give free rein to his talents, to finally have the chance to be known for the gifted artist he truly was.
“Maybe. Yes. No.”
He grinned, green eyes dancing. “I don’t think it can be all three at once, sweetheart.”
My insides wanted to melt at his casual use of the endearment, but I knew if I didn’t broach the subject soon, I’d never have the nerve. Actually, I wasn’t sure if I had the guts to say it now, not with those green eyes I loved so much watching me, open and with no idea of what I was about to ask.
“Connor, I — ” Damn it, I should be tougher than this. I was the McAllister prima. In name only, I thought bitterly, and tried to push the notion aside. That was yet another situation which would have to be resolved in the near future. This problem — possible problem, I reminded myself — with Damon had to be addressed first. Was I willing to let more innocent girls die just because I was too cowardly to have this conversation with Connor?
He came to me then, pulling me against him and holding me close. One hand stroked my hair, and I caught a faint drift of the sage and chamomile soap he used to clean up when he was done painting for the day. “What is it? You know you can tell me anything.”
Could I, really? I knew he loved me, and I loved him, but even with that, even with the consort bond, there was so much we didn’t know about one another. And Damon had been the only person close to him for so many years. Connor truly wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for his brother’s intervention, and for all my personal dislike of the primus, I couldn’t ignore how important that one fact was, how the saving of a life created an enormously strong bond as well, even beyond the one they already shared as brothers.
And if I turned out to be wrong…if these sneaking doubts and suspicions were only that, and not the instincts of a prima at work…would Connor forgive me for thinking these things of his brother?
I didn’t want to think about that. He’d only been in my life for a few short months, but even so I couldn’t imagine losing him. No, that would never happen. The bond between a prima and her consort was unbreakable, even when stretched to the limit.
The words came forth in a rush, as if I knew I had to say them now before I talked myself out of uttering them. “I have a very bad feeling, Connor. You haven’t heard from Damon, and Mason said he’d been ill and hadn’t taught for a few days just before the attacks started. And with all those girls resembling one another…resembling me…you just can’t say that’s a coincidence anymore. I know you said he’d moved on, had focused his energies elsewhere, but I’m not sure I believe that. I think he’s still angry that his plan didn’t work, that he was unable to join his powers with mine, that he couldn’t use me to break the curse. I don’t know exactly what’s going on. I just feel that somehow he’s behind it.”
Through this whole speech, Connor listened silently. When I was done, he let go of me and stepped back a pace. Even that small separation was enough to cause my heart to miss a beat, telling me the words I’d just spoken were exactly the wrong ones.
Eyes narrowing, he said, “Do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds, Angela? You have no proof. None at all. Just a few random facts that barely even connect. So what if Damon was sick and missed a few days of work? He’s the primus, but he’s still a regular man. There’s a bad flu going around. Did you stop to think it might just be that?”
“No, but — ”
“And I already told you that we’re not in constant contact, so not hearing from him for a while doesn’t mean all that much, either.”
“But what about all those girls?” I burst out. “Have you ever heard of a wild animal that attacks only a certain physical type? It’s not possible!”
He didn’t exactly look away from me, but I could see the way his gaze shifted, the way he wouldn’t quite meet my eyes. “There has to be some rational explanation — ”
“Then tell me what it is, because I sure as hell haven’t been able to come up with one.” I went to him then, took both his hands. At least he didn’t try to pull away, although normally he would have twined his fingers through mine. Instead, his hands just sort of sat in mine, limp and cool. Fine. I tightened my grip on his fingers. “Look, Connor, I would love for you to prove me wrong. Please prove me wrong. Just — I don’t know — call him.”
“And what if he doesn’t answer? He hates phones anyway, and if he’s not feeling well — ”
“Then let’s go out to his house. Make something up as a reason…we wanted to welcome Jessica to the family or something.”
His expression told me that was a silly idea. “Jessica’s already in the family, remember? Distantly, but still. They’ll know we’re snooping.”
“So what? If I’m wrong, I promise I’ll never suspect Damon of anything again. Isn’t it worth looking a little foolish to clear this whole thing up?”
For a few seconds he remained silent, clearly thinking it over. At last he let out a breath and gave a reluctant nod. “Okay, if only because it means you’ll finally let this thing go. Then we can get back to normal.”
Normal. I wasn’t so sure about that. How could anything be normal when young women were dying horribly? But at least if Damon was cleared of suspicion, it would mean this whole horrible killing spree was just some bizarre quirk of nature, with no darker motivation behind it.
“Thank you,” I said simply, and I meant it. Connor might not believe me, but at least he was willing to indulge me.
He pulled his car keys out of his pocket. “Let’s go.”
The ride out to Damon’s house was a tense, silent one. I watched the bleak late-winter landscape with its dead, dry grass and small patches of ice pass by outside the car window and tried not to think about what would be worse — having the primus laugh at me for entertaining such foolish suspicions, or having those suspicions confirmed.
Connor drove without looking at me, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. Goddess only knows what he must have been thinking. That I was wasting his time, that if I really cared about him, I would have taken him at his word?
I couldn’t say, because he sure wasn’t talking, and I didn’t have the courage to ask.
About twenty minutes after leaving the apartment, we pulled into the long driveway and stopped in front of the garage. Parked in front of one of the garage doors was one of those odd-looking Nissan Juke compact SUVs. I raised an eyebrow at Connor, and he shrugged.
“Must be Jessica’s.”
Right. I’d forgotten that, according to Carla, Jessica had pretty much moved in with Damon. Or that was what everyone had decided, as she’d packed up some of her things and announced to her mother that she was spending “a few days” at the primus’s house. No one had seen her since, but if they were shacked up trying to make the next Wilcox heir, that wasn’t so strange.
Except that he’d supposedly been too sick to go to work.
Dead, dry pine needles were scattered across the expansive driveway and the front doorstep as well. Again, not that strange, since we’d had some bad winds a few nights earlier. But they made the place look neglected, abandoned.
Now who’s seeing things that aren’t there? I scolded myself.
Connor was frowning, though. “The gardeners should’ve been here to clear all this away. Damon has them out twice a week because the property is so big.”
“Maybe the windstorm came through right after they were here, and they’re coming tomorrow or something.”
“Maybe,” he said, but his tone was dubious. But he seemed to shrug and stepped up to the door, then rang the doorbell.
I could hear it echo hollowly through the house, but there was no answer. We stood there in silence — ten seconds, fifteen, twenty. I could practically see Connor counting off how long it was okay to wait before he pressed the little glowing button in its fancy dark bronze mounting again. Another push of his gloved finger against the bell, another wait.
Of course, it was entirely possible that Damon and Jessica had gone out, were taking advantage of his forced vacation because of the campus being shut down to take a day trip somewhere or go out to eat or shop or whatever. It was hard for me to wrap my brain around Damon doing anything so commonplace, but he’d maintained the façade of being an upstanding member of Flagstaff society for his entire adult life, and so I knew he most likely must do those kinds of things from time to time.
But even though that seemed the most plausible explanation, I couldn’t accept it. Something was wrong here, a dark, pulsing sensation of evil at the heart of the imposing house. Stepping past Connor, I drew off my glove and laid a hand against the doorframe.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
I couldn’t really answer, because I didn’t know for sure. The prima fire in my belly, usually coiled and quiet and quiescent, suddenly flared within me, and I felt it more strongly now, waves of malice, of ill intent. And somewhere within it, the foul coppery stink of blood.
Retching, I lifted my hand and backed away. Connor went to me at once, catching me as I stumbled on the step that led down to the driveway. “Angela! What is it?”
“Something awful,” I gasped. “I felt it. I don’t know what’s in there, but please, Connor — I think we should go.”
“Go?” he demanded. “We just got here!”
“I know that. But I think — I think we shouldn’t face whatever it is by ourselves.”
His hands tightened on mine. “If Damon’s in trouble, if he needs our help — ”
What could I say to that? Looking into Connor’s face, I realized he would never walk away if he thought his brother was in any kind of trouble. Unfortunately, from what I’d just felt, it seemed more that Damon himself was the source of the black energy I’d sensed. But I doubted I could convince Connor of that. All I could do was be on my guard.
“Okay,” I said reluctantly. “But we need to be careful — and we need to be ready to run.”
He nodded, although he gave me a strange look, as if wondering whether this was all simply more of my overactive imagination. “All right.”
So we went back to the front door. Connor laid his hand on the heavy bronze handle, clearly preparing to unlock the door using magic. Then his eyes widened.
“It’s already open,” he murmured.
The muscles at the back of my neck tightened further. Every instinct in me was screaming to run, to get out of there as fast as my feet would carry me, but somehow I managed to stand my ground, wait as Connor pushed the door inward.
A wave of stale, warm air greeted us, bringing with it the acrid scent I’d somehow sensed mentally before I even smelled it with my nose. Blood, metallic and strong, and beneath that the cloying odor of decay.
It was dim inside, all the blinds and curtains closed. Connor reached out and flicked the light switch in the entryway, turning on the pendant lamp that hung from the high ceiling.
“Holy shit,” he breathed, even as I raised a hand to my mouth to keep myself from gagging.
The place looked like a whirlwind had struck it. Furniture toppled over, lamps and vases smashed. But that wasn’t the worst. Lying on the floor, arms stretched toward the entryway as if she had been desperately trying to escape, was Jessica Lowe. At least, I assumed it was her — I thought I recognized the spill of long honey-colored hair. Mercifully, she now lay face down.
Even from where I stood, I could see the blood spattered across the wooden floor, the dark spray on the walls. The shirt she wore was shredded, claw marks showing clearly on her pale flesh.
“We need to go,” I whispered, laying a hand on Connor’s arm and beginning to tug him back toward the door. “We have to call the police.”
“No. Not the police. Not yet,” he whispered back. He didn’t try to free his arm from my grasp, but he did use his other hand to pull his cell phone out of his jacket pocket.
“What are you talking about? Something killed her!”
“I know that. But think about it, Angela. Think about how much attention this will bring on all of us. We can’t afford that kind of scrutiny.”
As much as I hated what he was saying, I knew he was right. The McAllisters obeyed the same rule — do what you must, but never risk bringing unwanted attention on the clan. It was the only way we’d survived undetected for so long.
I nodded mutely, my body tense, somehow knowing the threat was still here, although the house was completely still. Flesh crawling, I wondered if who — or what — had killed Jessica was watching us as we stood in the entryway. At least we could be out the front door in a few steps if necessary.
Had Jessica thought the same thing?
I shivered, and watched as Connor selected someone from his contacts list and waited while the call connected. “Lucas?” he said. “I need you to come out to Damon’s house now. We’ve — well, we’ve got a situation. And bring Marie with you.” A pause as he listened to Lucas’s response. “I don’t know. Just get here as quickly as you can.” He ended the call and turned toward me. “I think we’d better wait out in the car. Just to be safe.”
That sounded like an excellent plan to me. I had just opened my mouth to reply when I heard a hideous growl, and a dark blur of a shape launched itself at me.
No time to think, no time to do anything except call on the power within me to flare up and outward, a flash of golden glowing light bursting away from me and knocking my attacker back a good three yards. It got to its feet, growling, and as I stared at it, a sick, choking feeling rose in my throat.
Yes, it was a wolf, a huge thing with gray matted fur and sharp bloodstained teeth showing between its snarling gums. But those were not the eyes of a wolf staring at me. No, they were black, utterly black, so dark you couldn’t see the pupils.
Damon Wilcox’s eyes.
All this went through my mind in the endless space between one heartbeat and the next. Before I could even blink, Connor had leapt in front of me, shielding me with his body. He stared down at the wolf, horror clear in every tense line of his frame.
His words, when they came, broke my heart.
“Don’t hurt her, Damon. Please. I love her.”
A low guttural growl, and the wolf — Damon — crouched lower. I stiffened, gathering my own strength to strike, should the need arise, should he leap for us, teeth bared to tear yet another throat. Then it made the oddest whimpering noise as it stared up at Connor. A shudder went through it, almost as if some part of its mind was trying to get it to move backward while its wolfish instincts were telling it to attack.
Stained teeth flashing, it leapt forward again. Once more I moved purely on instinct, somehow knowing that Connor had neither the magic nor the will to confront his brother. My hands went up, even as I focused the energy and flung it forward, this time using it as a weapon rather than a barrier.
A horrible yiping howl, and the Damon-wolf went flying backward, hitting one of the overturned tables. I heard a terrible crack, and thought maybe I had broken its ribs. But no, it got to its feet and shook its head, and I saw that the force of the impact had split one of the table legs in half. The wolf growled, and I raised my hands again. Beside me, Connor was taking in deep, gasping breaths, his body halfway blocking me still, as if he wanted to act as my protector but knew I was far more suited to this fight than he.
Once more I had that sensation of time stretching out, of a second seeming to take hours to pass. I heard my own ragged breathing, the low snarling growl emanating from the wolf’s throat. Those black pupil-less eyes met mine, and in them I saw a terrible hunger, a need that would never be slaked. Although the house was stuffily warm, my body went ice cold. Could I push the creature back a third time if it attacked again?
But after that one long, hideous pause, the Damon-wolf let out a sound halfway between a bark and a snarl, and slunk away, a dark incongruous shape against the gleaming wood floors and expensive rugs. Broken glass crunched under its paws, and then it was gone.
Neither Connor nor I moved. We only stood there, huddled together, bodies tense, sure it would come back at any moment. Then, from far off, I heard a drawn-out baying that could only have come from the creature. Somehow it had gotten outside, had moved off.
And then, much closer, the rushing sound of tires in the driveway. The thunk of one car door shutting, then another, and a few seconds later Lucas Wilcox’s tall form filled the doorway. Behind him I could see Marie, expression impassive as always, although I caught the slightest widening of her eyes as she took in the destruction around us, the limp form of Jessica Lowe’s body on the floor.
Lucas, however, was not nearly as reserved. “Fucking hell!” he exclaimed almost the second he walked into the entryway. His gaze fell to Jessica, and I saw his mouth tighten, and the glitter of sorrow in his dark eyes. “Poor kid,” he added softly. To my surprise, he went and knelt next to her, laid a hand on her head, then seemed to murmur some words, although I couldn’t make out what they were. Then he pushed himself to his feet, expression grim. “What happened?”
I opened my mouth to reply, since Connor seemed more or less stunned, still grappling with the realization that his brother had succumbed to an evil he couldn’t begin to contemplate. However, Marie forestalled me, saying,
“Damon sought power where he should not. I warned him, told him not to stray down paths he couldn’t begin to comprehend. But he ignored me, and has become the yee naaldlooshii.”
“The what?” Connor demanded, seeming to come out of his stupor.
Her eyes were a warm brown, striking against her black hair. They appeared calm, seemingly untouched by the horrors around us. “A shapechanger — what some call a skin-walker.”
“Oh, come on,” Lucas said, shaking his head. “That’s just a legend. You’re not suggesting — ”
“She doesn’t have to suggest,” I broke in. “Connor and I both saw it. A huge gray wolf…but with Damon’s eyes.”
Beside me, Connor shuddered, but he didn’t say anything to contradict me. Somewhere inside, he might have wished he could deny what we had seen. Luckily, he was not the type to challenge the evidence of his own eyes.
“Yes,” Marie said. “It is usually the eyes that give it away.”
Lucas looked baffled, scared, and angry all at the same time. “I’m sure there’s a perfectly logical explanation — ”
Marie turned her cool gaze on him. “There is one, and it is that our primus has given in to a great evil. His was always a questing soul, and this time it sought power in the very worst place it possibly could.”
“So what do we do?” Connor asked, voice tight. “How do we help him, make him get better?”
“You cannot help him.” Her tone was implacable, impersonal as a judge handing down a sentence. “Once a man has destroyed the humanity within himself in exchange for these powers, there is no redemption. All we can do is stop him before he takes any more innocent lives.” At last she glanced down at Jessica’s prone body, expelling the smallest of breaths as she did so. Even as Connor shook his head in denial, she went on, “Would you hesitate to kill a rabid dog? That is what your brother has become, Connor.
“The only thing we can do is put him out of his misery.”