Black Beast (27 page)

“What are they?”

“They're for a new youth club.”

They were printed in Comic Sans, and covered in low-res clip-art.

“Sterling Rep—for kids who want to play a more active role in the community!”

Catherine scanned it, quickly losing interest. Clean wholesome activities. Bake sales. Ice cream socials. Bunko nights. This club didn't miss a beat. It would be a smash hit…circa 1950.

“Their chairman wants to reserve one of the library conference rooms for a meeting. I met him at the Taco Barn and he told me all about it. Sterling Rep is a wonderful outreach program for adolescents. In fact, they're forming branches at each of the schools.”

That did sound familiar. Hadn't her brother mentioned a club like that?

All the more reason not to go.

“You might know him actually,” Myrna said, “I believe he said he was a teacher at your school.”

Catherine felt the color drain from her face. Gods only knew what he might have said about her.

She set the fliers aside, carelessly. “What was his name?”

“Mr. Bordello. Emilio Bordello. Strange name, wonderful man. Very friendly, charming…”

Her eyes began to lose focus, and Catherine could smell her desire as it took root. Ugh. Luckily, Myrna caught herself, and sighed, “Perhaps you should join, Catherine. I already told him that he could count on our FoL support. Get it?”

“Nice of you.”

How many of these fund-raisers was she going to have to attend? Because it would be her. Sharon would undoubtedly find something urgent to do at the last minute.

How many of these fund-raisers was she going to have to attend? Because it would be her. Sharon would undoubtedly find something urgent to do at the last minute.

“He seemed very eager to meet you, especially when he found out you were a student.”

I bet he had.

“I told him he could depend on you.”

“When's the first meeting?”

“Tomorrow. Isn't it wonderful how they've managed to start so soon, without a hitch?”

No, it wasn't. Wednesday night was the night she had planned for Operation Locust.

•◌•◌•◌•◌•

Much like human nobles and their penchant for fox hunts, in days of old the noble witch families had hunted down shape-shifters for sport. It was not as brutal as it seemed. Shape-shifters used to outnumber witches by about ten to one; it was a means of keeping their population under control, while also giving witches the chance to practice their dueling magic on live targets.

Targets who could think and act as humans did—within reason.

Of course, that had all changed after the War, and the treaty. A treaty that the shape-shifters continually chose to disregard. As much as they chafed under the new rules, they had to admit that things were better, now that their skins could no longer be used for target practice.

Finn often wondered what that must be like, hunting like that—he bet it was exhilarating.

It had been exhilarating.

When he had been chasing her through the woods, he had been acting as his ancestors before him had, over two hundred years ago. Never before had he experienced its like. Hunting her—it had been better than pleasure, better than sex. He had never felt more alive.

It hadn't been too difficult to track her down again, to find out where she lived. Now that he knew where she worked and went to school, he needed only follow her. The trickiest part was to mask himself from her senses, and by weaving a cloak of wind around himself with a powerful spell of air, he could keep his scent perpetually upwind and out of her reach.

Once or twice, she paused, tilting her head like a fox or a cat. Listening. Watching. Nobody who saw that gesture would ever mistake her for a human. Not if they knew what to look for. She walked like a hunter, leading with her hips, arms held loosely at her sides ready to slash into her prey. When she walked, her footsteps made almost no sound.

She had the mannerisms of a predator yes, but whatever it was she was mimicking, it was definitely not a hawk. That puzzled him. Shape-shifters took on the habits of their beast once they settled. Partially from habit, and partially from instinct. Making the bridge between animal and human was crucial for them if they had any hope of maintaining their sanity.

Newly settled, perhaps? But no, she was too old. She would have settled years ago. Five years at least. Time enough to know the ways of the bird he had seen her Change into on the cliff face.

A scrap of legend floated to him, unbidden. That of the bête noire, the black beast.

Finn frowned as he silently stalked her through the trees. The wind wrapped around him ruffled the leaves of the trees nearby, even though there was no breeze.
I wonder….

But he was far too old, too insouciant, to care for such childish fairy tales.

From then on, he watched. And waited.

It's almost time.

•◌•◌•◌•◌•

Biology was Catherine's last class, so she had all day to stew in her dread.

David, as it turned out, was right. She was risking too much for far too little. The Council wouldn't see her stunt—and it was a stunt, she reluctantly admitted—with the crickets as precautionary. No, they would see it as a recklessness punishable by relocation or worse.

She sat down stiffly at her desk. The classroom was filled with a cloying chemical smell, strong and a little sweet. Probably chloroform. The thought of what was to come made her feel ill.

Several girls pleaded tearfully with Mr. Hauberk to be excused from the assignment. He assured them that this was not a true vivisection in the sense that the crickets would be killed—by him—just before they got down to the dissection, appearing not to realize how little consolation this provided. “I figured this would make it more tolerable for the weak stomachs in the class,” he said magnanimously, and inside her mind, Predator snorted. How comforting.

Catherine took another deep breath, avoiding using her nose. The lab stations were already set up. Each pair of students had a wax-filled petri dish, scissors, a clear bottle with a faded handwritten label marked “saline solution”, and a wicked-looking pair of forceps.

David shot her a thin smile. “You ready?”

Wordlessly, she shook her head.

“I will come around shortly and put the chloroform in the jars.”

Mr. Hauberk explained that chloroform was a potent substance and far too dangerous for children to handle.

“In the wrong dosage, it can be lethal,” he explained. “Now, wearing your gloves, you will then place your crickets into the petri dish. Remove the wings first. They will only be in your way. After you remove the wings, place one pin through the head and another through the thorax to keep the insect's body in place. You do not want it to slip as you are making incisions.”

He demonstrated, inserting the pins just-so. She flinched, in spite of herself.

“Cut through the abdomen, vertically, from top to bottom. You should be able to see the heart.”

She turned to ask David if he was going to do it, or if the honor was going to be hers. Cloaking her terror in bravado, the way she always did. Before she could ask, though, he gripped the scissors in his hand with a surprising resoluteness.

Catherine relaxed a hair. If David was going to do the cutting then she could take notes. She just would not look up under any circumstances and then she would be fine. But—oh, she'd have to make the drawings and label the parts. And the smell…it was making her dizzy.

So dizzy…I feel…like I might just…float away.

Mr. Hauberk came by their station and put the chloroform in their cricket's jar. Slowly, the cricket stopped moving, settling into a deep, poisoned sleep. David methodically pulled on his gloves and goggles, gently scooping out the cricket. The small, bark-like body looked very fragile in his large hands as he positioned it carefully on the wax.

Was it dead, or merely sleeping? Soon, it would cease to matter.

The momentary ease she felt immediately disappeared as she glimpsed the limp, brown body.

Do sleeping crickets dream?

Her stomach clenched like a vise. Maybe it was the fumes. Her head was throbbing quite painfully. Several other students looked peaky as well.

“Use the saline solution to ensure that the heart doesn't dry out. Saline can also be used to remove any of the eggs that have leaked into the body cavities of the females.”

“Are you writing this down?” asked David.

She jumped guilty. Tore her eyes away from Mr. Hauberk. Watching the demo wasn't helping.

Do not look up from this notebook, she told herself. Do not look up from this—

Catherine blinked. She stared at her pencil. Had it always been that size? Surely pencils were not ordinarily the size of felled saplings…were they?

Don't be stupid. Of course not.

But then why—?

The chloroform. It was causing her to hallucinate.

With the detached serenity that only comes in dreams, Catherine flex her arm, intending to reach out for the pencil. To touch it, and ascertain if it was really, truly real.