Worlds Apart (9 page)

A hand on her shoulder made her
look up. Will turned the touch into a squeeze as he sank onto a
stool next to hers. Neither spoke as the county team filed past
them to head for home. Dr. Henderson, the chief pathologist on the
team, stopped next to them. Tina didn't feel ready to talk. He'd
been cheerful and blasé during the procedures, joking with his team
and playing loud rock music throughout. Tina knew these were
methods some people used to separate themselves from the horror of
the things they saw on their jobs. She knew it was necessary.
Still, she resented its use when Les, Pete, and Jason were the
victims.

The
joie de vie
was missing
from Henderson's face now. “Hell of a thing,” he said, his voice
quiet. “Glad to find no foul play involved, although that missing
arm is troublesome. Still, it's not like what we see in the city
sometimes.”

“Just rocks around here,” Will
said.

Henderson nodded, holding out his
clipboard to Tina. “I'll send my report in a couple of days. Just
need your signature here, and we're all done.”

She signed the forms—three of
them—and managed a tired “Thank you” as she handed them back.
Henderson gave them a brief salute and followed his team out the
door.

Tina glanced at Will. Her
colleague was a tall, handsome man, his blond hair cut short, with
blue eyes surrounded by long, light lashes. More than one teenage
girl in Green Roads had a crush on him, and Tina suspected a few of
their mothers did, too. Now, his face was lined with creases, and
his eyes were clouded. Tina felt a pang of sympathy.

“Thanks for coming, Will. You look
like you haven't slept much. More food poisoning cases?”

Will rubbed his face, forcing
color into his cheeks. “Jeddie's got it,” he said. “We were up all
night with him before you called.” He sighed and stood. “I need to
get home and give Marilyn a hand.”

Tina took his hand. “I'm sorry,
Will. Is he very bad?”

“Bad enough. It's just hard when
they're so little, you know?” He ran a hand through his hair,
making it stand up in spikes. “I thank God that He is watching over
him.”

“Go,” Tina said, shooing him away.
“I'll close up here.”

She continued to sit for a few
minutes after he left. Jedidiah Summerlin was two years old, the
youngest person so far to catch this bug. Their total was around
eighty people.

It was time to call in public
health. Past time really, but the rock slide had intervened. Now
that the autopsies were done, the funeral home could take charge of
the bodies. In the morning, she'd get on the phone and get an
official investigation going.

~~

Before noon, two people had
died.

One was old Sally Grayson, weak
from Alzheimer's and a recent stroke. Tina wasn't surprised that
she succumbed to this. The other was Kathy Brayley's daughter,
Jennifer. Healthy. Active.

Eleven years old.

Tina was at the town's small
clinic, where they'd started bringing the worst cases in an effort
to keep them hydrated. Jenny lay on a gurney, a trembling stick
figure with pale, clammy skin, and IV fluids running into both
arms.

They had one RN on staff, who had
called Tina when Jenny was unresponsive. A quick examination showed
the girl had fallen into a coma. In the midst of ordering
medications and an ambulance to take her to a Portland hospital,
Tina heard a strangled scream come from Kathy Brayley. She raced
back to the cot, where Kathy was shaking her daughter's shoulders
in short, violent movements.

“She's not breathing! Jenny,
breathe! Doctor, please….”

Tina shoved Kathy aside, calling
for a crash cart as she started CPR. They worked on Jenny for
twenty minutes, Tina breathing for her, and the nurse applying
shocks. “Come back,” Tina kept whispering. “Please, come
back.”

She didn't. When Tina at last
surrendered to death, she stared down at the pale, cooling child,
and felt a part of her own soul die. She did not have the courage
to turn and face Kathy.

~~

Clive stepped through the portal
into New York City, on his way to a public library where he could
access a computer. The entrance was in a hidden tunnel of Grand
Central Station, and there was seldom anyone down here. The
occasional human unlucky enough to witness an arrival shrugged it
off as just another hallucination.

Even so, the portal was restricted
to Portal Enforcement personnel. Clive glanced around the empty
cavern, then headed upstairs, joining the throngs in their daily
commutes. In the Flatlands, no one glanced at him twice. No one
took care to move out of his way or cross the street to keep their
children away from him.

Sometimes people smiled at him or
said hello. Women flirted. Even in New York, women flirted with
him. He didn't often respond, but occasionally he allowed himself a
respite. He'd learned a long time ago it was best if he got some
release from the pressures inside him.

A pretty woman stood next to him
on the train, her back to him. As the train jostled the crowd, her
ass rubbed against his hip. She didn't seem to notice. He stared at
nothing, and let the movement remind him of Tina, as he played over
their moments together. He'd have to go back to Green Roads, at
least to see Sebastian Ruth. He had to return the rental truck and
there was more investigation to do.

Could he see her again? His
reasons for not staying with her were good ones. He'd never be
allowed to stay there, or go back again once the investigation was
done. The reasons for that were good, too.

Yet his heart kept pushing him to
go.

Clive closed his eyes, and moved a
couple of inches to the left, so the woman's ass no longer rubbed
against him.

Despite his bad mood, Clive
laughed at Kasia's expression when he entered her office four hours
later lugging a case of bottled water. The open-mouth look was
amusing on an elf.

“What the fucking pixie is that?”
she asked, ignoring his laughter.

He dropped the box on her desk.
“It's a case of bottled water.”

She leaned back in her chair and
stared at him, dumbfounded. “You brought in water bottles from the
Flatlands? Why?”

He tossed a stack of Flatland
computer paper on top of the case. “Because I can't make sense of
any of this. I've pulled down all kinds of information about the
bottles. Did you know they're a major source of pollution in the
Flatlands?” Kasia shook her head, but he didn't wait for her to say
anything. “That's just the bottles themselves, filling up the
landfills and littering everywhere else. What's worse is what
happens when they break down. They have all kinds of trace
chemicals that get into the soil, the water, and the food supply. I
can't believe they let this go on.”

He lifted a bottle and tossed it
to Kasia, who caught it with a jerk. “What's tickling the back of
my mind is, do any of these chemicals affect us? Maybe something
acts as a stimulant. Or makes us sick, maybe even kills certain
species. There's some reason our werewolf wants these things, and
his reason is not a nice one.”

Kasia's expression had cleared.
She sat up. “You want me to have an apothecary look at
them?”

“Would you be so kind?”

She nodded, her thoughtful glare
on the case. “I'll get on it. Are you heading out to
Poentreville?”

“On my way now. Magger still
sulking?”

“Afraid so. And threatening major
disasters on all our kin.”

Clive snorted, but Kasia frowned.
“I'm moving him out, Clive. I think he's told us everything he
knows, and the rabble will kill him sooner or later without meaning
to. I can't keep holding him in there.”

“You’re letting him
go?”

“We don't have anything to hold
him on. He attacked you, but the time he's served covers that.
We'll keep an eye on him. Maybe he'll lead us to something.” She
waved Clive away. “Check in every night. You'll be in some
unfriendly territory. And listen: if you find this guy, don't try
to take him on your own. You’re the best person to find him, but I
don't want trouble with the Council nullifying your arrest because
of suspected werewolf rivalry. Call in a witness.”

Clive felt his mouth twist, but he
waved a hand in acknowledgment. “I'll do that. I'll try not to get
hurt, too.” He walked out before his bitterness caused him to say
something unwise.

Kasia's soft
oh,
fuck-a-pixie
was the last thing he heard.

Chapter 10

Damien turned the stick he held
over his campfire, nostrils twitching as he watched the rabbit
blacken.
Almost done.
He glanced upward, but clouds blocked
the moon, just as they had for the last three nights.

Not that it mattered. The moon
ruled him, whether visible or not. The Change would happen tomorrow
night. He blinked against the glare of the flames, a satisfied
smile curving his lips. The two weeks since he’d been trapped in
the Flatlands had been profitable. His travels through the forest
provided opportunity to observe the humans here. There were wild
animals in this forest, as well as domestic cattle and goats on
scattered homesteads.

His original plan to use the
Flatland plastic as a drug source for Kaarmanesh was still a good
one. He had the infrastructure in place for it, but now he
considered putting the operation the hands of a proxy.

The Flatlands offered a more
enticing possibility.

There hadn't been a werewolf in
the Flatlands for centuries. The last known occurrence had been in
the sixteenth century deep in the forests of Eastern
Europe.

The thrill of terrifying these
pitiful, flat humans sent shivers through his body. His mouth
watered as he imagined the roasting rabbit as human fodder for his
wolf. The taste of raw blood and flesh filled his soul.

Damien growled and jerked the
stick out of the fire to bite off a piece of still-bloody meat. The
outer layer burned his lips and tongue, but he ignored it. This
close to the Change, his wolf tendencies were stronger than he
bothered to fight against. Soon. Tomorrow.

He threw his head back, howling a
challenge to the moon, then laughed, a raucous, hollow sound that
echoed through the trees. Not a single creature stirred in the
forest. A werewolf was something outside their experience. They
sensed the danger.

“Power.” He spoke to the fire, and
to the creatures trembling in their burrows and branches. He raised
a hand to the fire, staring at the flickering flames that rose
several feet at his bidding. Two weeks in the Flatlands had yet to
drain him of power. He could still feel the energy of the magic in
his soul.

Had any of Kaarmanesh’s creatures
ever been this strong? Had any of them discovered the secret of
taking strength from the lives of these pitiful humans? The deaths
of the three boys had fed him, their terror sinking deep within
him. He still had the rotting arm as a souvenir. He laughed again.
The idiot humans never suspected. They thought it was a natural
occurrence, an act of God. Damien laughed again and attacked the
rabbit with relish.

Maybe I'll be a God to these
people. They'll worship me. Sacrifice to me. What a game to
play.

~~

The Change hurt more in the
Flatlands.

Damien curled against a rock the
next night, his head tucked into his front paws. This body ached,
still shaking from the foggy agony of the last few minutes. Rain
drenched him where he lay, but he was too tired to move.

Panting, his eyes half-closed,
Damien struggled to hold onto his human awareness. Most werewolves
lost their human sense during the Change—Damien had heard of one or
two who could hang on to it, but had never verified the gossip. He
could do it without any difficulty. He took care to keep the
ability a secret.

Here in the Flatlands, he was
finding it more difficult. To hang on to it, he thought of the boys
he had killed, heard their screams again as the rocks fell. His
panting quickened as the thought blossomed, pushing him to his
feet. He shook off both rain and pain, his mind turning inward to
the power that had filled him when he heard their bones crush. With
the memory of such death, the last of his pain fled, and Damien
stepped forward. There were domestic animals nearby—and
humans.

~~

Damien’s wolf form slipped through
the dark streets, blood from a stray mutt still fresh on his
muzzle. He’d left most of the carcass for the humans to find in the
morning.

The odor of burning wood and
cooking meat enticed him closer to the buildings. Smoke from
chimneys blended with the rain, drifting through tree leaves
shuddering in the wind. He pressed against a wall, free of the rain
for a moment.

A door opened ahead, spilling
light and warmth a few feet into the dark. Voices followed the
figure who emerged, covered in a white slicker and hood. Damien
watched as the door slammed behind her and she walked with quick
steps to the row of nearby cars. His nose twitched as he sorted
through her odors.