Stalker of Shadows (SPECTR Series 3 Book 1) Page 4

  “I ate many demons. Some were rougarou.”

  Like the one that attacked Papillon.

  “Yes. Another was nearby. I ate one, and the other fled. I intended to track it the next night, but the body I possessed was badly damaged by a werewolf. By the time it decayed to the point of being uninhabitable, and I took a new body, the rougarou was gone.” Gray turned wistful. “I would have liked to have eaten it.”

  Shocker.

  The whole area was saturated with the rougarou’s scent. Caleb paused, trying to decide which direction to head in. Probably toward the house, since John said the attack took place at the edge of the yard.

  John. Caleb hoped he was doing okay in there. He’d tried not to worry, to focus on the job he and Gray had to do, but unease crept back in. Had John’s parents been glad to see him? Welcomed him with open arms? Or were they even now telling him he was bound for hell because he’d been born with an ability they didn’t have?

  Gray stirred, like a tiger lashing its tail. “Will they harm him?”

  Not physically, no. I’m hoping not emotionally, either.

  “We should go to him.”

  He gave us a job to do, remember? Hunting this demon. Your favorite thing in the world.

  “John is more important than hunting.”

  Coming from Gray, that was quite the declaration of love. You should tell him that.

  “I will.” Gray’s attention shifted, albeit reluctantly. “We should hunt, as we cannot help John.”

  It didn’t take them long to find the site where John’s grandfather had been attacked. Even without the trampled grass, the scent of the rougarou still clung to the area. Mingled in with the stink of blood and viscera.

  Fuck. Not a good sign, when he could smell things that ought to be on the inside of a body. How old had Fontaine said the guy was? Seventy-nine? Even if he got the best surgical team in the country, the odds of pulling through couldn’t be that good.

  Hopefully the old bastard would make it, for John’s sake if nothing else.

  “I do not understand. This…’grandfather’…did not want John.” Bafflement accompanied the thought. “He did not love John, so why is John sad he is hurt?”

  The same reason I still feel bad about what happened to my brother. He was into some anti-paranormal shit—he was part of the Fist of God, for fuck’s sake—but there was a time when we were close.

  “Yes, but he still loved you. He did not betray you to anyone, even to his wife.”

  Caleb sighed and rubbed his eyes. “It’s complicated,” he said aloud. “You can’t just turn emotions off. Back in Charleston, when John said he never wanted to see us again, did you just stop loving him?”

  Gray flinched from the memory. “I see.”

  There was nothing left to find at the crime scene, so they circled back into the deeper undergrowth. The remains of a dock marked the edge of solid ground, now just cracked concrete amidst the thick grass.

  The scent vanished at the water’s edge.

  “Damn it,” Caleb said aloud. “Looks like the rougarou swam for it. Are they good swimmers?”

  “Yes. They are creatures of the swamp.”

  Well, fuck. Caleb had hoped they could at least give John the good news that they’d taken care of the rougarou that tried to kill his grandfather. I wonder why it didn’t finish the job?

  Gray projected disinterest. He wasn’t a fan of John’s family, and apparently wanted Caleb to feel just how much he didn’t give a damn about why the old bastard had survived.

  Maybe it had been interrupted. The people in the house heard the screaming, ran out, maybe fired a gun at it. But Gray was right; it probably didn’t matter.

  They started back toward the road. The scent of rougarou grew stronger.

  Wait. I thought it went into the water.

  “One did.”

  One…oh. Caleb looked around carefully. His gaze caught on the remains of white paint amidst the brown and dull green of the thicket.

  The boat.

  The rougarou’s stench grew stronger and stronger as they approached the boat, and Caleb swallowed as his mouth started to water in response. Gray hovered under his skin, ready to take over in an instant. The boat had come to rest at a sharp angle, and the trees springing up around it concealed the interior from a distance.

  The grass around it was disturbed. Flattened, as if something had crawled beneath the branches and vines.

  All but holding his breath, Caleb threaded his way through the thicket and looked inside.

  A pair of eyes the pale green of marsh gas stared back at him.

  Five

  John hesitated on the threshold to the house. After inviting him in, his mother hadn’t waited, only hurried back inside. To warn his father?

  She was in the kitchen with an old man, communicating in angry whispers. With the second shock in a few minutes, John realized it was his father. Goddess, he’d not aged well. The strong, spry man in John’s memories had shrunk in on himself. His hair had thinned as it went gray, and liver spots showed on forearms that had once lifted John with ease.

  A memory hit him so hard it stole his breath. Lying in the sweet summer grass at Granddad’s farm, while the rural night revealed a million stars above. Dad tracing the Milky Way, teaching John how to find the north star. John young enough to think his dad was the strongest, smartest man in the world.

  “I can’t deal with this right now,” Dad hissed.

  “What choice do we have?” Mom wrung her hands. “I always knew something would go wrong eventually.”

  “You were eager enough to take the money, though.” Dad shook his head. “Which one is it?”

  “I don’t know! Who can remember after all this time?” Mom caught sight of John standing in the doorway and stiffened. “Have a seat on the couch. I’ll get us some tea.”

  John made his way to the couch slowly, trying to make sense of the conversation he’d overheard. Were his parents having money troubles? Had they gotten involved in something they shouldn’t?

  If he asked, they’d likely tell him it was none of his business. Dad shuffled reluctantly out of the kitchen and took a seat opposite John.

  John sank down uncomfortably on the edge of the couch. Another memory returned forcefully: his mother scolding him for sitting too often on one end of the couch of his childhood home. “You’ll wear it out unevenly,” she had said. “Then it will look bad. You don’t want our things to look bad, do you?”

  He resisted the urge to check the current couch for uneven wear. Goddess, he hadn’t thought of that in years.

  The house bore his mother’s imprint: scrupulously clean, uncluttered by any knickknacks that might be difficult to dust. Family photos hung on the walls, none with his face in them. Were there any photos of him in the bedrooms, or in albums, where visitors wouldn’t see? Or had any evidence of his existence been consigned to the trash bin long ago?

  “The Specs sent you,” Dad said abruptly. Marc Starkweather had aged worse than his wife, his hair a shock of white, his arms and legs thin from lack of exercise. His blue eyes held a tinge of red, but mostly he just looked shell-shocked, though whether from the rougarou attack or John’s unexpected reappearance, John didn’t know.

  “Yes,” John said, wondering if he should elaborate.

  Dad only grunted. He watched John with wary eyes, as though John were an animal that might turn on him at any moment.

  John’s mother returned and plunked a glass of sweet tea on the coffee table in front of him. “Thank you, ma’am,” John said. Maybe the hospitality was a good sign.

  She sat across from him, beside Dad, her hands resting on her knees. Her gaze lingered on John’s clothing, and he wished again he’d gone home and put on a suit, instead of coming straight here. She was probably worried about him getting dirt on the couch.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  He blinked, taken aback. “I’m with SPECTR. I can help find the rougarou that did this.” He took a deep breath. “He was my grandfather. You’re my family, and…I want to help.”

  Dad and Mom exchanged a look John couldn’t even begin to interpret. “You aren’t going to the hospital, are you?” Mom asked at last. She sounded worried about the possibility, as if John’s mere presence would somehow make his grandfather’s condition worse.

  “I’d like to see him. Is he conscious?”

  “No.” She shifted uncomfortably. “Jay’s in ICU.” It took John a moment to remember his grandfather’s nickname. “Visiting hours are restricted, so we came back here for a while. We’ll have to leave soon. I’m afraid we don’t have much time.”

  “Right.” There was a strange gravity in John’s chest, like a collapsing star. They didn’t want him here, any more than they’d wanted him all those years ago. “I need to ask you some questions.” If he focused on procedure, maybe he could get through this. “Did Granddad live here with you?”

  It was Mom who answered. “Yes. He couldn’t manage the farm on his own anymore.”

  John wanted to ask how long they’d lived in New Orleans. But that wasn’t relevant to the case, so instead he said, “Tell me what happened last night, in your own words.”

  “We went to bed around nine o’clock, as usual. Jay doesn’t sleep much. He normally stays up late watching TV here in the living room.” She glanced in the direction of a recliner set close to the flat screen. “It must have been around three in the morning when Ryan woke us up.”

  “Ryan?”

  “Your cousin Ryan,” Mom said. “He just went home to change clothes. That’s probably his car now.”

  John hadn’t even noticed the sound of the engine. The car shut off, and a minute later there came the sound of footsteps on the stairs outside. John turned as the door swung open and a young man stepped through. “I brought some things back in case I end up spending the night…”

  He trailed off when he spotted John. The sun had kissed his golden hair and the warm brown of his eyes seemed dimmed by grief. “Hello?” he said. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

  Mom’s lips pressed together. Maybe she’d hoped to get John out of the house before Ryan came back. “Ryan, this is your cousin John.”

  Ryan’s eyes widened…then his mouth curved into a welcoming smile. “Granddad talked about you all the time!” Dropping the bag slung over his shoulder, he swept John into a tight hug. “It’s so good to meet you.”

  Gray surges forward and meets the rougarou even as it springs.

  Its wiry body slams into him, and they both crash backward through the trees. He manages to get his claws hooked into its hide: short brown fur streaked with algal green. Jagged claws tear at him as it fights to escape, but they snag on the leather coat. Then it lunges forward, biting at his throat.

  He ignores the pain as its teeth scrape across his jaw, laying flesh open to bone. Its powerful hindquarters push against their stomach, trying to tear itself free from their grasp. With a growl, he rolls it beneath them, pinned against the ground.

  There—the thick vein pulsing in the throat. Hunger rushes through them, and Gray darts his head forward, mouth open and lips back, ready to bite, to feed—

  A heavy body slams into theirs, knocking them from atop the rougarou before they can feast. A rib snaps in their side, the quick flare of pain vanishing as they heal almost instantly. Gray rolls to their feet, ready for this new attacker.

  “Christ, how many of these things are there?” Caleb wonders.

  At the moment, two.

  “Yeah, thanks, Captain Obvious.”

  Unlike werewolves, rougarou are creatures of the swamp. Their eyes glow like marsh fire, and their brown hides are mottled and streaked with the green of algae. Their necks are disproportionately long, and from them sprout manes like Spanish moss. They blend into their surroundings almost perfectly, stalking mortals through swamp and bayou, unseen until they strike.

  Blood marks the hide and mouth of the one that hid in the boat. The other rises to its hind legs, and a growl thrums from them both.

  Two against one. But not for long.

  Gray breaks for the injured one. It lets out an alarmed bark, just before he plows into it. Claws rake at him, and he bites blindly. His teeth puncture its upper arm, but miss the brachial artery. A little blood flows into his mouth, but not enough.

  Still, the wound will slow the rougarou. Unlike the absurd fake fangs Caleb insists on wearing while he walks foolish mortals around in exchange for money, Gray’s bite is that of the true predator, built to inflict damage. The rougarou thrashes, struggling to pull free and only causing itself more injury.

  Then the second rougarou sinks its teeth into the back of Gray’s neck.

  Pain explodes up and down their body as its teeth grind against their spine. Its claws snag on their leather coat, and it kicks them with hind legs powerful enough to disembowel if they’d had the misfortune to be facing in its direction.

  Gray sinks his claws into the first rougarou, holding it to him, and rips his teeth free. In its struggle to get away from him, it exposes its throat, and he takes the opening.

  This time the bite is true. Blood explodes into their mouth, channeled by the grooves on the backs of his teeth. The essence of the demon rushes into him along with the blood, its energy racing along their nerves, a tide of pleasure to battle the agony of the teeth in their neck.

  Even before he is done feeding, the second rougarou releases him. As Gray lets the husk of the dead one fall, rot already slicking its skin, he sees the other fleeing through the low trees.

  “It’s getting away!” Caleb says, as though this might have somehow escaped his attention.

  Gray does not dignify the observation with a response. Gathering himself, he rushes after it.

  John and Ryan walked slowly down the stairs leading from the elevated house to the dock. “I’m so glad you came,” Ryan said. “I’ve wondered about you for years, but no one’s ever given me straight answers.”

  John felt as though he had emotional whiplash, going from his parents’ silent disapproval to Ryan’s effusive welcome. For a moment, he considered keeping his mouth shut about what had happened. That way, he’d at least have one relative who didn’t hate him.

  But he’d made the conscious decision to live his life loud and proud. John wouldn’t be able to look in the mirror if he lied now, for no real reason. “I’m an exorcist.”

  Ryan frowned slightly. “And?”

  Hope fluttered in John’s chest. “And that was more than Mom and Dad could handle. They sent me to a camp that was supposed to cure me. It ended up being shut down.” No need to say it was his own suicide attempt that had done it. “They turned me over to the state.”

  “Shit.” Ryan turned back to the house. John’s mother stood in the window, staring out at them, a phone clapped to her ear and an angry expression on her face. “Uncle Marc and Aunt Jennifer? I can hardly believe it. I knew they belonged to some whacked-out church before they moved here, but…fuck.” Ryan returned his gaze to John’s. “I’m so sorry. That must have been awful.”

  “Thank you,” John managed to say. “That really…it means a lot.” Not as much as if his parents had said it, but to have someone in his family acknowledge what had happened meant more to him than he would have guessed.

  “I should have pushed for the truth harder when they moved here,” Ryan said with a grimace. “And when Granddad started asking for you.”

  It was the second time Ryan had said as much. “Granddad asked for me?”

  “He thought I was you, half the time.” Ryan stared off across the bayou. “Your folks moved down here shortly after I turned eighteen. My mom and dad had died the winter before.”

  John searched his memory, but their names were lost to time. “I’m sorry to hear that. And I’m even sorrier I don’t remember them at all.”

  “No reason you should. You probably never laid eyes on them. Donna and Frank.”

  “Right.” John committed the names to memory. Ryan had referred to John’s grandfather as Granddad, so the relation must be through Dad. “Frank was Dad’s brother?” he guessed.

  “Yep. Like I said, your folks came down here right after my parents passed. Your dad always wanted a place on the water.”

  John smiled ruefully. “That he did.”

  “But we can catch up later.” Ryan’s expression turned somber. “You have a job to do, right?”

  John nodded. “Mom said you stayed over last night?”

  “Yeah.” Ryan scrubbed at his face. “Uncle Marc wanted help with a dock repair.” He pointed to a stretch of unweathered boards that stood out amidst the gray of the rest of the dock. “And of course your dad isn’t the sort to hire anyone else if he can do it himself. After we finished the dock, we had dinner. I brought a cooler—your parents still don’t drink—and had a couple of beers while we sat on the porch and watched the sun go down. I wasn’t sure if I should be driving, especially on these narrow roads, so Granddad told me to take his bed while he slept in the recliner. He claims he barely sleeps nowadays anyway.”

  “About what time did you go to bed?”

  “I don’t know. Midnight?” Ryan let his hand fall and stared out at the water lapping against the dock. “The beers were hitting me pretty hard, so I fell asleep fast. The screams woke me up.”

  John shook his head. “I’m sorry. That must have been awful.”

  “It was.” Ryan’s face took on a haunted expression. “I jumped out of bed and ran out into the living room. Granddad wasn’t in his recliner, so I knew right away it had to be him. I ran outside and spotted him lying over there, at the edge of the lawn. And the creature—the rougarou—was still there.”

  “You got a good look at it?”

  Ryan nodded. “The moon was out, and the dock light was on. It was…terrifying. Twelve feet tall if it was an inch.”