Skin Deep (9 page)

It was a good thing Walker blood differed from Human in one vital construct—it lacked those properties which allowed Human blood to be picked up by UV light.

As I rose, my shirt stuck to my back, sticky and moist. Good thing I'd changed it before he arrived. If I'd had my back to him as he left, he'd have seen the wound on my shoulder, fresh blood seeping through the clean shirt. As I rose, I heard a sound from the closet.

Anjelo. Damn, I'd almost forgotten him.

Okay, did forget him with the minor issue of one darned drop of blood.

Pushing into the hidden space, I let the light shine into the small area. Anjelo sat on the floor, eyes half transformed to exotic panther as he controlled his blood urges, playing a game on his mobile phone. And I'd wasted my time worrying about him.

We left the center, careful to keep to the shadows. Anjelo insisted on walking me home—as if I were just a cub. My hero. As grateful as I was to Anjelo for his help, my mind fixated on a pair of obsidian eyes, one gently stubbled, very sexy chin and the warm glow on my skin where our fingertips had touched so briefly.

***

Stumbling into my apartment, I hobbled to my room and undressed. One-handed, the simple task took longer than expected and it wore me out. I sank onto the edge of the bed to catch my breath, sparing the tiniest of peeks at the photo frame sitting face down on the nightstand. The cheerful faces of a once-happy family lay hidden between the glass and cheap wood of the table. I didn't need a physical reminder of my fractured family unit. Not today. Not when the gaping hole in my shoulder spat agonizing streaks into my flesh and all I wanted was someone to make it all better.

At last, I dragged myself to the shower, hoping the hot water would help soothe my muscles and encourage sleep. Later, I collapsed on the bed and closed my eyes, yearning for the release of slumber. Easier said than done.

Sleep refused to come, as images of the skinless man and his eyes, unable to close, staring off into eternity, danced behind my eyelids. My shoulder ached, reminding me I'd come close to meeting the great Ailuros. I knew I needed rest, but how was I supposed to sleep when the odor of Death's fetid breath still hung on me?

Why did the murder affect me so deeply? I'd seen and done far too much to get squeamish at the sight of a dead body. But he'd been a Walker. Perhaps it was the skin, or the lack of it, that bothered me so much. Who'd do such an awful thing? To a Walker? What if there were others out there, at this very moment, at the mercy of the murderer? If Walkers in the city had gone missing, Anjelo or Storm would've said something. I needed to tell the clan.

City Deep.

It was what they called themselves. Ourselves, rather. My clan. Honorary member. In return, I was a watchman of sorts. Kept an eye out and passed information to Storm on the Wraiths and their numbers, and he helped me, like giving me Tara's number for the weapons I needed. At least Storm understood and never gave me the look of condemnation I often found on Anjelo's face. Storm was Grandma Ivy's enigmatic friend. He was a benefactor to many of the Walkers in the city, especially to the kids. He ran a shelter of sorts for the Walker kids, provided guardianship for them so they could attend Crawdon, and gave them guidance and leadership too.

I remembered the lumbering city when I'd first arrived, filled with steel buildings and concrete highways—and Humans. So many Humans. I'd lived in the city for a year, fulfilling my promise to Grandma Ivy and attending school, pretending to be nothing more than Human. Most of them kept themselves too busy in their own lives, making ends meet, trying to get ahead. Never any time left in their day to mull over the possible existence of mythical creatures forgotten by time.

None of the Humans I knew could imagine a whole other world out there, that every time they spoke to me, they spoke to a living, breathing creature from the Old World.

They had forgotten the Old People. What had trickled down through the ages to the modern world were hazy pieces of the puzzle, like snatches of a conversation overheard by an erstwhile eavesdropper. Only parts of the real truth. Somehow, the legends of the Werewolves had remained in the annals of history while those of the Cat Walkers disappeared. We weren't complaining, though. Non-existence had its merits.

And those Humans fortunate enough to be aware of our existence had no concept of the intensity of hatred Walkers harbored for their pitiful kind.

When I looked back at the naïve innocent I'd been, I realized I'd been no different to the Humans, cloistered in their little worlds living their tiny little lives, thinking they were the beginning and end of their existence, where nothing mattered besides them. And there I'd been on the flip side, believing I was the only Walker in the city. How stupid
. Just because I hadn't encountered Walkers when I arrived in Chicago, hadn't met any in Crawdon, didn't mean they weren't there. And I remained in my wonderland. Until the day Anjelo arrived on my doorstep.

***

Downtown Chicago - 1 year ago

The usual hushed tenor of the Center's reception room was transformed into a country fish market when the main doors were flung open. An unconscious boy was half dragged, half carried into the room. Two boys supporting their burden yelled for help.

"He's been shot."

Even as those words were uttered, a ruby stain bled through his tattered
gray shirt. There was a rush to get to him and I found myself the first to reach the boy, not more than fourteen, at the center of this mayhem. One of my first group sessions with my new supervisor Clancy McBride, had ended minutes before.

The city had been my home only a few weeks when Grandma Ivy had demanded two things
- school and a job. Knowing her generosity would not survive any disobedience on my part; I enrolled at the local high school, Crawdon, even though it would only be for half a year, and looked around for a job.

Lucky for me the Drug Rehab Center had been looking for what they called Teen Service Liaisons. Sailing through the preliminary tests and promising to complete a raft of courses, I became the youngest ever recruit of the Rehab Center. Now, six months later, I often went home satisfied with the successes I achieved. Even more satisfying were my courses at the University of Chicago. Cognitive and developmental psychology, behavior, social interaction; it all fell into place when I walked into the Rehab Centre and talked to the people who attended the sessions.

Today I'd been looking forward to going home to relax after a particularly difficult session. Not much chance of that now.

By this time his friends had laid him on the floor, his color had begun to fade. He was young, but not too young for the streets. I yelled for a camp bed used in the overnight stay rooms and guided him securely onto it. I scanned the room for an adult face, eager to transfer this huge responsibility to someone older, more capable. All I saw were patients and one teen volunteer at reception staring at the boy, shocked.

Even so, something tickled my senses. A slight odor of familiarity. I thought it was just my imagination. Since being in the city I'd had a few instances of passing people in the street and picking up on a tell-tale odor that could just be another Walker. And it had always just been my imagination.

With a sigh, I pointed them to a door off the entrance room. The room served as a group session room and was light and airy
- as good a place as any to keep him until the ambulance arrived. His blood loss was severe and I was pretty scared he wouldn't survive without surgery.

Once he was settled, I took his vitals
- to make sure he wasn't going to die on my hands. I received a nasty shock.

His dramatic entrance had dulled my perception a little. My concentration had been focused on the wound and not the victim. One touch told me what he was.

A Skin-Walker.

A Panther Walker like me.

A mutual shock by the startled look in eyes heavily lidded with pain, and etched with recognition. Touch was very important to my people, and our sense of smell was especially keen. That, and the ability to hear and feel vibrations beyond Human hearing.

With this ability, I recognized the boy for what he was by the rhythm and vibrations of his heartbeat and the flow of the blood through his veins, not to mention the spicy aroma of his blood. Shock slowed my reactions and I hesitated. The boy's friends and other curious onlookers had filtered into the room. I dared not tend him with all these people around me. The strength I required to deal with him when I removed the bullets would certainly be questioned by the many anxious onlookers. In spite of being well built, I was small in stature. A show of extreme strength would garner far too much curiosity.

And I'd need my strength. Walkers were extremely strong even in their Human form. While under great stress, they were known to shift to their animal forms to control the pain. And the boy's transformation with a Human audience was very much not an option.

Another man entered the room, nudging the boys companions aside. Reaching his side, the man grasped the boy's hand. The boy was clearly on the same wavelength as I was.

"Storm. Please, I need them out of here." The boy rasped into his friends' ear, waving a hand at the crowd. He managed a weak smile. "Please, this will be difficult enough. I don't want the whole gang hearing me scream like a girl when the doctor here takes the bullets out." He spoke a little louder so the gathering crowd would hear him.

My head popped up at the mention of Storm's name. I'd only ever spoken to my Gram's friend Storm over the phone. Could he be one and the same?

But for now I had to pay attention. I bit my tongue. I was no doctor. What I knew had been learned patching up hundreds of injuries for my brother during my young life. Skin-Walkers healed super-fast, but it was by no means a clean process. We bled much like any other living creature.

I carefully cut away the shirt and dabbed at the clotted blood at the wounds entrance.

I looked up from my ministrations only when the room had emptied and the boy was alone with me and the Storm fellow. I met the boy's eyes with an unspoken question, flicking my gaze in the direction of his companion.

"It's okay...
. Storm is safe - he knows...." The young man's breath hissed out and I feared he might have a perforated lung in addition to his extensive blood loss. He opened his eyes briefly to meet mine, and then he sighed weakly. It took seconds to realize he'd slipped into unconsciousness; probably caused by bloodloss.

I hesitated.
The boy trusted Storm. But despite my suspicion that it was looking more likely that Storm was Grams friend and someone I knew and could trust, I hesitated, not sure I was happy with Storm being there, and watching. Part of me wanted to get him to leave.

"Don't bother trying to get me to leave." His voice was musical, edged with a dry humor. Creepy. He'd echoed my thoughts, and I did not like it one bit. "I know you are like him."

My puzzled expression extracted a chuckle.

"I know what he is. What you are too." His eyes flashed golden and entrancing.

Shock silenced me.

"I am able to sense the reality of things. I know the evil in people, the good too. I can feel the otherness in people as well. And you are...Other." He spoke with a slightly infectious calm. Did he have some Magyk he was using to spellbind me in some way? I knew enough about Magyk to know those who held the power could control their subjects
- make them do whatever they wanted. Even Skin-Walker clans had their fair share of Mages.

I spared him a brief glance, tall and dark, olive complexioned, his black hair framed his face in a tumble of feminine curls and yet he exuded masculinity, apparent to anyone with an X-chromosome. So he was easy on the eyes
- Gram's hadn't told me that.

"Oookay...we don't have time to discuss the weather while this poor kid lies here, bleeding all over the floor. Rain-check?" I arched an eyebrow.

I had to work fast. This late at night, most of the other counselors were home with their families. As a result, I got more than my share of night shifts. But Clancy was one of the more dedicated social workers at the Centre, usually on call twenty-four-seven. I couldn't risk either her or another counselor popping in to witness what I was up to.

Whilst removing the bullets I was grateful for Storm's presence as he held the boy down while I worked
, just in case he came to and struggled. Human medication didn't work so well on Walkers. So the surgery was done with the boy unsedated.

When I'd finally removed the bullet and cleaned the wound, I allowed myself to utter a long pent-up sigh. With the bullet out of his flesh, his body would begin its rejuvenation, healing itself from the inside. Exhaustion weighed down my muscles while relief gave me enough energy to stay on my feet. And a hint of something unexpected tingled in my brain as I savored the knowledge there were others like me in the city. I'd expected to feel crowded or annoyed that my secret was now in jeopardy, but I also knew the boy was able to trust Storm the way Gram's did. Sucker that I was, I believed his assurance I could trust him too.