Stoneskin's Revenge (23 page)

“And you didn't suspect a thing?” Robyn asked suspiciously when he had finished. “You were gone a
long
time before you came in with those clothes…”

Brock stared at the ground. “Yeah, well…maybe I was kinda not tellin' everything.”

“Maybe it's time you did!”

Brock sighed wearily. “Well, it's like I said—only more so. I went up and stole those apples you wanted from that fruit stand south of town—that was right after lunch, Don. But then on my way back I saw this police car pull over and start talkin' to this guy. Well, I kinda hid and watched, 'cause I was afraid they might think the guy had something to do with us, except that I also thought I might be able to find out if they
knew
about us—and the next thing
I
knew the guy was runnin', with the cops
shootin'
at him. And right after that he zapped across the highway almost on top of me, only he didn't see me. And 'fore I knew what was happenin', he was takin' his clothes off, only I couldn't see much 'cause there was bushes in the way—but the next thing I know this
deer
runs out, and there ain't no sign of the guy. So I kinda zipped over there and picked up his clothes. Figured—I dunno—figured the cops'd find 'em otherwise, and that way I was givin' the guy a fair shake.”

“And you were curious as hell,” Robyn concluded. “I know you.”

“Yeah,” Brock admitted. “But you'd have done the same thing, if you saw what I did.”

“
I'd
have run like blazes.”

“Right after 'im,” Brock added with a giggle. “It was weird, sis—too weird to resist. Only I suddenly found myself with these clothes and nothin' to do with 'em, but I couldn't find the guy again and I was afraid the cops'd see me, so I couldn't hang around and check for tracks. So anyway, I brought 'em back here, and figured I'd look for the guy again later.”

“And
lied
to me,” Robyn noted.

“I'm not
finished
,”
Brock snapped. “I still haven't got to the proof!”

Robyn could feel Don start at that, and nearly reprimanded her brother's rudeness, then decided she didn't really feel up to a row—especially since Brock evidently knew things she didn't. To keep herself from fidgeting, though, she shifted her machinations from Don's hair (it was essentially clear of debris now) to his shoulders and began to massage the wiry muscles there. It helped her relax and probably would do the kid some good too. He tensed briefly—until he figured out what she was about—then settled into a sort of resigned slouch.

“What kinda proof?” Don challenged.

“Saw him do it.”

“You
saw
him?”

“Yes,” Brock affirmed, gazing smugly at his sister. “You was asleep, but I felt ole Calvin move, and saw him get up and sneak off. I started to follow, but decided he'd just gone to take a leak or something, so I didn't. But he was gone a
long
time, and when he came back, he was actin' real sneaky, and got my backpack and took off again. I followed him that time 'cause I
knew
he was up to something. And sure enough, he did this ritual-kinda thing, and then got naked and grabbed that whatchamacallit he wears around his neck…and turned into a deer!”

“Give me a break!” Robyn snorted, and squeezed Don's shoulders so hard that he yipped. “Sorry,” she added offhandedly, and started working her way down the boy's spine.

“No, it's true, sis,” Brock insisted. “I know it sounds absolutely crazy, but it's the honest-to-God truth. I wish there was some way to prove it to you, but 'less you actually see him do it, there's not.”

“Brock, get real.”

“I swear on my life, Robyn. If I'm lyin', it's 'cause something's playin' games with my head, or somebody's slipped me a mushroom, or somethin'.” He stared at her hopefully, totally guileless.

Robyn stopped her massage and returned Brock's stare. It was preposterous, of course, but there was something about the tone of her brother's voice—that shakiness it acquired when he was really passionate about something, maybe—that made her want to believe him, or at the very least give him the benefit of the doubt until she could get independent corroboration.

Finally she broke eye contact, shrugged, and nodded. “Okay,” she said, “
if
he can do that,
how
does he do it?”

Brock shrugged in turn. “I'm not sure, unless—”

“It's the scale,” Don supplied quietly. “That's what that thing around his neck is. He told me it was magic—or that it let him
do
magic. Said it came from a monster from another world called an uktena.”

“Oh, Christ,” Robyn began, but Brock interrupted.

“When'd he tell you
that
?”
he asked eagerly, then, “Oh—guess there's only one time he could have.”

“Yeah,” Don replied, looking down, “and I shouldn't even have mentioned it, 'cause it was supposed to be a secret.”

“You didn't promise, though, did you?”

“I don't remember…I was kinda out of it at the time.”

“The only thing anybody
promised
,” Brock reminded them, “was to stay here until he gets back. And
that
was only Robyn, technically.”

Robyn looked at Don expectantly. “Well, now that you've
started
,”
she sighed, “you might as well spill the whole thing.”

“But Calvin didn't want me to—” Don began, then, “Oh crap, why not? I reckon he was afraid you wouldn't believe me, but Brock's seen something just as weird, so I don't guess there's any harm…”

And with that he repeated the tale he had earlier recounted to Calvin, as well as most of what Calvin had confided to him.

It was even more difficult for Robyn to accept than Brock's preposterous story had been—she was too much a child of the cynical eighties to be otherwise. But there was something about the absolute sincerity with which the boy spoke, the tears in his eyes, the catches in his breath, that made his account ring true.
Something
had freaked him, that was obvious. And here, now, with the frogs singing, and the Spanish moss floating on the breeze, and the smell of swamp water in the air, it was somehow easier to believe that the world might hold more than she expected.

And then there was the thrumming in the earth. She'd noticed it off and on the past day or so, but always assumed it had something to do with passing pulp-trains, or being near the swamp, or in a sinkhole, or something. But Don's explanation made as much sense as anything else did—more, really, if you allowed for such a radical worldview. But if the thrumming
was
magic, and Calvin really
was
a shapechanger, and people really
had
been murdered…

“Oh my God!” Robyn cried suddenly, digging her nails into Don's shoulders so sharply he gasped. “Oh my God! I just had a
really
gross idea!”

“What?” This from Brock.

“I…well, you said Calvin could shapeshift, right? Or at least change into a deer. Now, I'm not exactly saying I
believe
that—wouldn't at all if I didn't know you like I do, and even then it's a reach. But what happens if—just for the sake of argument, say—he could turn into
other
things too? Suppose…” She gulped. “Suppose he could turn into another
person
!
Suppose he's just
pretending
to be a good guy, and all.”

“No way!” Brock protested instantly, but his eyes were troubled. “Calvin was here when Don's friend bought it!”

“No he
wasn't
,”
Robyn whispered. “He was gone at least an hour. You weren't the only one who couldn't sleep.”

Don looked as if someone had knocked the air right out of him. “And that'd be plenty of time for him to have killed Mike, and then run into me in the woods on his way back here,” he finished slowly. “'Specially if he could change into a deer…Jesus! Maybe it really
could
be him.”

“Yeah, think about it,” Robyn continued quickly, dark imaginings suddenly usurping her intuition. “Calvin was in bad shape when Brock found him, but you said your sister was missing a long time, and didn't show up acting strange until right around suppertime. That was almost certainly
after
Brock met him, which means whatever happened to your sister had to have happened earlier still—while Brock couldn't find Calvin, probably—which means Calvin could have been recovering from doing something to her when Brock first discovered him.”

“No!” Brock insisted. “You're wrong—he was runnin' away from the cops then! Dammit, I
saw
him. Calvin's my
friend,
for Chrissakes!”

“But he's sneaky,” Robyn countered. “You'll have to admit that.”

“So're we.”

“Yeah, but
we're
not suspected of killin' our father. Oh, sure, me and Cal talked about that some, and he
seems
to be pretty sincere. But then why won't he give us the straight scoop about that?”

“'Cause it's tied up with magic again?” Brock ventured. “And I bet whatever happened to Don's sister is too. Shoot, I bet they think he did that as well!”

“Don? How 'bout you? What do
you
think?”

“I don't
know
,” Don replied so quietly they almost couldn't hear him. “I mean I'd
like
to believe Calvin—he's been
real nice
to me—but you're right: some stuff just don't quite fit, like that crap 'bout killin' his dad. I really do wish he'd told me. 'cause
not
tellin' makes me feel like he's hidin'—”

“You don't believe
that,
do you?” Brock interrupted. “Gimme a break, man! Shit—the guy
helped
you! If he'd wanted to kill you, he coulda done it right then and there, 'stead of draggin' you all the way back here!”

“Or he could be goin' to bring some other were-things so they can eat us
all
,”
Robyn snapped back—though a part of her wondered why she was suddenly arguing a position she didn't want to believe herself.

“Bullshit!”

“You ever hear of a friendly werewolf?”

“He ain't a werewolf.”

“Same thing.”

“Don?”

“Who knows?” he grunted doubtfully. “
I
don't.”

Silence, but for the sounds of the night.

“Well,” Brock announced finally. “I'm gonna see what's
really
up. And if I'm not back by dawn you guys better just head for high timber, 'cause I'll have been dead wrong about Calvin.”

“Damn,” Robyn muttered under her breath.

“Yeah,” Don echoed. “Shit's really hittin'.”

Chapter XVI: Being Prepared

(Calvin's camp, east of Whidden, Georgia—late)

Back at his camp, Calvin was staring with trepidation at the waters of Iodine Creek. Not wishing to subject the same bit of territory to ritual two days in a row for fear of exhausting its intrinsic Power, he had trotted a few yards downstream of the scrap of shore he had used the previous evening. A carpet of moss replaced most of the sand there, and the stream looked dark and cool and inviting. But now that he was faced with actually wading in, the notion disturbed him—which didn't make a lot of sense, given that he'd bathed in this same creek only yesterday, never mind last night's pre-Vision-Quest Going-to-Water. Tonight's repetition of that rite carried much more serious consequences, though, and he did not want to have his concentration disturbed by scaled or furry visitors.

That had never been a consideration before; the critters in his ancestral hunting grounds to the north seemed instinctively to know what he was about and ignore him. But the coast was Yuchi turf, and not all of the creatures there owed allegiance to Galunlati. Or even if they did, they might be denizens of the Underworld—and that meant they could be in league with Spearfinger. For, Calvin realized suddenly, the only things around here that could really hurt him were reptiles: snakes—both moccasins and coral snakes; 'gators, of course, which could move silently and fast; and snapping turtles, which could bite clean through your bones without trying real hard. Shoot, he'd already
seen
one of those!