Indigo Moon (2 page)

There was a moment of silence, then a frustrated roar and the bodywork was pounded on, as if the car were being beaten into tiny pieces. Soon they would be able to reach in and simply pluck her out like a lump of crabmeat.

The vehicle jerked as the trunk lid ripped off with a loud snap. A fresh blast of cold air whistled through. Frantic scratching came from behind the rear seat. They were getting in through the trunk. She cowered in terror. The seat rattled and heaved, then began to disintegrate before her eyes. A whimper escaped her—and gave away her position. A clawed hand burst through the broken windshield and sank, deep as a butcher’s hook, into her left shoulder. Isabelle screamed and writhed in agony. The claws bit into sinew and muscle, popping her shoulder socket. Everything faded. She could hear her voice cry out, high and thin, hear the air bag tear, or was that her flesh? From nearby came a triumphant roar, and in the distance, another cry, loud and fierce. It rang out clear and challenging, drawing ever closer. Then oily waves of black pain engulfed her, the air in her lungs thinned, and her chest heaved as she tried to suck more in. There were more howls that hung mournful and hollow in the frigid air. She was dragged inch by inch through the shattered windshield. Her skin was hot with blood; her heart beat sluggishly in her chest. She was sobbing; she was fading, the world around her became darker and darker. Then the chill receded, the glass and metal and brushwood no longer hurt, only the salty dampness of the pillow scratched her cheek. Isabelle opened her mouth, filled her lungs with rich, sweet air, and screamed and screamed and—

“Hey. Hey.” Strong hands stilled hers as she clawed at air. “It’s okay.” The same hands caressed her face and pushed damp hair off her forehead. “Isabelle? Isabelle? It’s okay. Can you hear me?” a voice whispered near her ear, smooth and deep and reassuring. “It’s just a bad dream.”

Tears blurred her vision. There was a soft glow from a nearby lamp. That voice? How did she know that voice? She blinked several times to clear her tears. They rolled round and plump down her temples and onto the cool cotton of her pillowcase. She lay on a soft, fluffy bed. Someone hovered over her, long black hair brushed against her cheek; dark eyes stared intently at her, filled with calm concern.

“Hush, Isabelle. It was just a dream.”

“They hurt me,” she whispered. She tried to move and winced as pain shot through her shoulder. Cool hands soothed her, held her, made her lie still.

“Shush. Keep still now. You’ll pull your stitches. It was only a dream.”

“A dream?” She blinked again and tried to punch through the haze of medication. Slowly, she returned to the real world, bringing all the fear from her dream with her.

“A dream? They hurt me.” She gazed stupidly around the bedroom. She did not recognize it. A damp cloth was pressed against her brow. She looked up into the shadowed face. The lamplight played tricks with golden planes and dark angles. One moment she gazed on the face of an angel, the next a demon. She blinked hard and tried to focus. It was a handsome face…what she could make of it. A woman’s face. She smacked her dry lips and swallowed. Her throat felt raw, as if she’d been screaming forever. She fixed on the face above; eyes as black as pitch stared back and noted her discomfort.

“Lie still. I’ll get you some water.” She moved to go, but Isabelle reached out and grabbed at her, her chilled fingers leaching heat from a warm forearm. The woman sat back down and waited. Isabelle licked her cracked lips and barked out a dry cough before finally asking, “Who are you?”

Hope heard Jolie’s Jeep pull into the driveway. She made for the front door just in time to see Tadpole leap from the living room couch to join her for the welcome. The front windowpane was smeared with his damp nose. He’d had it pressed against the glass for ages, keeping lookout for Jolie’s return. He flew past Hope and scratched at the door before she could scold him. He wasn’t allowed on the furniture and he knew it, but lately he’d developed some pretty poor habits. Hope was too excited to lecture him this time. It was more important to tell Jolie the news.

She flung open the door and Tadpole raced out to greet Jolie. His manic barking drowned out every word Hope said.

“Quiet, the pair of you. It’s like driving into a parakeet farm.” Jolie reached for the grocery bags as Tadpole scrabbled at her legs for attention. “Can it, mutt. I can’t hear Hope speak.”

She caved in and ruffled his ears. It was all the reassurance he needed. He ignored her, his interest now centered on sniffing her tires and decorating them in his own special fashion.

“What’s all the hollering about?” Jolie turned her attention on Hope.

Hope gave an exasperated tut. “Jori called from Little Dip. Elicia gave birth at three fifteen this afternoon.” She was bursting with happiness at the news. “She had twins, a boy and a girl.”

“Wow.” Jolie was suitably impressed. “Andre owes me a fifty. He said it would be two girls.” She snorted in smug amusement. “Thinks he can read a pregnant woman’s bump. Idiot.”

“You and your brother bet on the sex of Elicia’s babies?” Hope tutted again and grabbed one of the grocery bags spilling from Jolie’s arms. They walked up the path to the house. “Jori wants you to call him back as soon as you can.”

“Oh.” Jolie sounded perplexed. “I would have expected him to be sprinting through the woods, howling at trees and doing backflips, not waiting by the phone.”

“Are you worried?”

Jolie shrugged. “Nah. Let’s put this ice cream away before it puddles in my hands.”

Hope began to put away the groceries while Jolie called Jori’s cell. It was busy. Disgruntled, Jolie moved about the kitchen trying to help but generally getting in Hope’s way. They began to prepare dinner and Jolie tried to reach Little Dip again. It was still busy. Hope watched her from the kitchen door.

“Are you worried? You look worried.”

“Nope.” Jolie redialed as if she could trick the phone into ringing at the other end. Busy. Hope watched her try her trick a second time with no luck.

“Why ask someone to call you and then be on the phone all the time so they can’t get through?” Jolie muttered in disgust.

She tried again less than five minutes later.

“No luck?” Hope asked as Jolie’s frustration built.

“Nah. He’s probably bragging to half the world.” Jolie flopped on the couch and reached for the TV remote.

“Excuse me, but didn’t somebody say they were going to keep an eye on the rice?” Hope snatched the remote away.

“Rice cooks itself,” Jolie said.

“Pudding rice does. Last time you ruined dinner with your laziness. Now get into that kitchen, Garoul, and do as you’re told.” At that moment the phone rang and Jolie sprang for it, saved from further scolding.

“Hello?” she said expectantly, only for her shoulders to slump. “Oh. It’s you. I thought it was Jori. You owe me fifty…No!
I
said a boy and a girl.
You
said two girls…Don’t you backtrack now, you cheating rat—”

“Oh, give it here.” Hope pried the handset from Jolie. “Hi, Andre.” She smiled into the phone. “Yes, great news…You can’t reach him either?…Jolie’s been trying for over half an hour now…Cajun chicken. Okay. Bye.” She hung up and turned to Jolie. “Go put on more rice. Godfrey and your brother are coming over for dinner.”

*

“We finally got him.” Andre breezed through the front door. His partner, Godfrey, followed, pausing to tickle Tadpole, who had prostrated himself at their feet like a wriggling doormat.

“Is everything all right?” Hope emerged from the kitchen wiping her hands on a dish towel. “I know something’s up. This one has the worst poker face imaginable.” She nodded back at Jolie, who had appeared behind her.

“Who said she had to be playing poker?” Andre said.

“This is hardly the time or place for baiting your sister,” Godfrey told him disapprovingly. He turned to Hope and Jolie, brimming with important news. “Jori’s upset.”

“What did he say?” Hope poured aperitifs and they settled down to talk.

“When we finally got through to Little Dip, Jori said Elicia had a hard time,” Godfrey said.

“Oh no! Are the babies okay?” Hope asked. “Is she okay?”

Jolie sat beside her, grim-faced, and swapped a knowing look with her brother.

“They’re all healthy, Hope. No worries there,” Andre answered. “It means something different if a werewolf birth goes wrong.”

“Wrong?” Hope was worried now. “What do you mean wrong?”

“You know that when both parents are werewolves they always have twins, right?” Jolie said. Hope nodded; she did know that. Andre and Jolie were twins because their father, Claude Garoul, was already a werewolf, and their mother, Patrice, had become wolven.

“Well, it also means the cubs’ genetic makeup is much stronger, and the twins will be bigger and more robust than part-human cubs,” Jolie continued.

“Yes. I suppose that makes sense,” Hope said.

“It puts more stress on the mother during labor,” Andre said. “Especially when she’s a werewolf, because what can sometimes happen—”

“But not always,” Jolie interrupted.

“No. Not always,” Andre said patiently. “But what
can
sometimes happen is the mother loses it halfway through the birth and starts to transform into a Were.”

Hope frowned. “And that means what?”

“The cubs are feral,” Jolie stated flatly.

“No, not necessarily,” Godfrey said. “Sometimes it can happen that way, but not always.”

It surprised Hope that he knew about this, but then he had been with Andre longer than she had been with Jolie, so he knew more about the Garoul clan and its workings. Now he was anxious to reassure Hope that all was well with Elicia and the cubs.

“What Andre and Jolie mean is if the mother starts transmutation during birth, then her cubs are a little bit further…evolved…than their half-human, or even fully wolven counterparts.” He spoke directly to Hope. “Their werewolf genes don’t have to wait until puberty to be triggered. These cubs are fully active from birth.”

“You mean werewolf babies? And toddlers? And preteens?” Hope blinked at the concept. “Oh, that’s got to be hard. It’s bad enough going through puberty as it is without becoming a werewolf, but at least the Garoul kids are prepped for it. But to be a werewolf from year zero? Oh, boy.”

“It is hard. Like I said, that’s why they always go feral,” Jolie said with great certainty.

“Again, not necessarily.” Godfrey was determined it was not all doom and gloom for Jori and Elicia’s cubs. “Claude once told me that with special guidance, feral wolven could be taught to manage.”

Hope turned to Jolie and Andre. “Did you two need special guidance? Both your parents are wolven.”

Andre spluttered and Jolie just rolled her eyes.

“We are
not
feral,” Andre said in mock indignation. “Well, at least I’m not. We’ve never been sure about Bigfoot here.” He nodded at Jolie.

“Do you want dinner or not?” She scowled at him.

“Depends. Did you cook it?”

“You can go home hungry, you know.”

“Stop squabbling and explain this to me.” Hope interrupted their childish quarreling. “You have full werewolf parents. You’re twins. Did you develop quicker than your cousins?”

“Mom never mutated when she was in labor with us. We developed more or less at the same rate as everyone else. The problem only occurs if the mother has a bad birth.” Andre finger-quoted the “bad” bit.

“So this has happened before?” Hope said. She found it all fascinating. She knew so little about Garoul lore even though she had more or less married into this werewolf clan. She determined to pin Jolie down later and get a full history, complete with a family tree. Godfrey knew tons more than she did, but then Andre was the outgoing, nonstop talker type. Typical for Hope to fall for the reticent, emotionally challenged twin. She caught the look Jolie and Andre exchanged. It wasn’t a good look.

She repeated her question. “Has it happened before?”

“Once. That we know of,” Andre said.

“Yeah,” Jolie said quietly. “Floriene and Luc.”

“Floriene and Luc?” Hope said. She’d never heard of these particular Garouls. “Who are they? What about them?”

Even Godfrey looked mystified. “What happened?” he asked.

Jolie shrugged while Andre shifted in his seat. “Go on,” Jolie told Andre. “I may be Bigfoot, but you’re bigmouth. You tell them the story.”

“Story?” Hope and Godfrey leaned in closer. This was something big.

Andre cleared his throat and began. “Floriene and Luc were our cousins—”

“
Were
your cousins?” Godfrey gasped. “They’re dead?”

“How did they die?” Hope was agog.

“No. They’re not dead!” Andre snapped, miffed at the interruption. “Stop interrupting and let me tell the story.” He cleared his throat again with great deliberation. “Floriene and Luc were…are…our cousins.” He gave Hope and Godfrey a glare, ensuring their silence. “They were born like
that
. I mean their mom transformed during labor—”

Jolie butted in. “And they were feral.”

“
I’m
telling the story. You asked me to.” Andre huffed at her.