Bayou Moon - Andrews, Ilona [98]
In his entire life, William had never seen anything like it.
The creature dug the ground with a clawed paw, more simian than canine. The malevolent eyes glared at William. The flesh around the wounds on its neck shivered. The edges pulled together, the red muscle knitted, the skin stretched, and suddenly the cuts were gone. Nothing save the lines of two thin scars remained.
Fuck.
The beast’s mouth opened wide, wider, like the unhinging jaws of a snake. Crooked fangs gleamed, wet with foamy drool.
“Nice.” William raised his knife and motioned with the fingers of his left hand. “Come closer. I’ll carve you up the old-fashioned way.”
A pale furry body shot from the bushes, baying like some hell dog. Cough danced around the beast, snapping and barking and foaming at the mouth. The beast shook its ugly head.
William gathered himself for a charge.
The beast recoiled, as if shocked by a live wire. A moment later William heard it, too, a low female voice singing, rising and falling, murmuring Gaulish words.
The beast shuddered. Its maw gaped open. It howled, a low lingering wail full of regret and pain, whirled, and took off into the night.
“Come back here!” William snarled.
The voice came closer. The tiny glow of a lantern swayed between dark pines.
William dived into the thicket, leaving Cough alone in the mangled weeds.
The bushes parted, and Grandmother Az emerged. She raised her lantern, the shaky light carving the age lines deeper into her face. Lark peered from behind her, dark eyes huge in her pale face.
The dog trotted over and pushed against the old woman’s legs, nearly knocking her off her feet.
“There you are, Cough.” Grandmother Az reached over to pet Cough’s foam-drenched head. “It’s all right.”
“Is it gone?” Lark asked.
“Yes, he’s gone now, child. He won’t come back tonight. You have to stay out of the forest for a while. I wish you would’ve told me he had come around. Come. Let’s go home.”
Grandmother Az took Lark’s hand with a soothing smile and walked back into the woods. The dog followed them, growling quietly and talking shit under his breath.
William sat up. His chest hurt, and his shoulder felt like it was a single continuous bruise. The thing had regenerated before his eyes. Not even the Hand’s freaks healed that fast. What in the bloody hell was that?
Slowly the reality of the situation sank in. He got his ass kicked, learned nothing, and got saved by a dumb dog and an old lady.
If he lived long enough to make a report to Nancy back in Adrianglia, he would have to gloss over this part.
NINETEEN
THE morning came way too fast, William decided as he finished shaving. He’d slipped back into the house and caught a few hours in bed, but most of him still felt like he had been run through one of the Broken’s dryers with some rocks added for the extra tumble.
At least his room had a bathroom attached to it, so he could clean up in relative privacy. His shoulder had gone from blue to sickly yellow-green. The yellow would be gone by the evening—changelings did heal fast. But then, healing fast often just invited more punishment, he reflected.
Something had happened early in the morning. He remembered waking up to some sort of commotion, but his door had stayed locked, so he went back to sleep.
William dressed and tried the door handle again. Open. Good. It had taken all of his will not to bust it last night. Being locked up had never been his favorite.
He slipped into the hallway. The house was quiet and sunlit; the air smelled of cooked bacon. He decided he liked the Rathole. With its clean wooden floors and tall windows,