Black Beast (32 page)

Heart-shaped face. Black, slanted eyes filled with intelligence. A snowy white front that darkened to a warm brown color and then faded back to tawny honey at the tips of the wings. All the bones in her body seemed to melt, growing as soft and malleable as a hunk of clay. There was a strange sensation akin to free fall as her organs shifted around, shrinking, disappearing.

The Change sped up—her fingers stretched, elongating grotesquely, and were quickly covered with a gloss of brown and white feathers. Her lips hardened, curving into the owl's sharp beak. She felt lighter. Freer. Like there was less weight keeping her bolted to the ground.

Not only was she smaller, most of her bones were hollow now.

“Shreeeee!” said Catherine.

“Are you all right?” asked David.

As an owl, everything in the room looked sharp and defined. She could make out the nervous pulse in David's throat. That concerned her. She wanted to tell him to relax, but there was no way to communicate with him while in this form. Catherine wasn't sure it would have done much good anyway. He would have accused her of projecting her own nervousness onto him and then said something like how the only person she should be concerned about at the moment was herself.

Sometimes knowing people well sucked; arguing with them became redundant, an exercise in futility. Catherine cocked her head and ruffled her feathers. I'm okay, said her posture.

His brow furrowed. She could tell he didn't believe her. “Stay in control this time.”

If the owl could have rolled its eyes, she would have rolled them at David.

David removed the top of the tank. Catherine swooped down and scooped up some of the crickets, sending the rest into a frenzy. David was forced to slam the lid back down to keep them from escaping. Catherine was sure that the Prey inside each of those crickets was going hog-wild. The ones she was holding certainly were. Catherine was afraid to tighten her grip on them, though, despite the fact that they were slipping. Their bodies were so fragile, brittle—she was afraid of crushing them, or, worse, impaling them on her sharp talons.

“Careful,” David warned, still holding onto the lid. “Don't hurt them.”

Catherine screeched at him, throwing a disgruntled look over her shoulder, and headed for the window. She flew a good distance from the lab, circling, looking for a good drop-off point. Eventually, she settled on the soccer field.

Unlike the other high school across town, their field had real grass. Catherine deposited the squirming bodies in the field and watched them scamper away, suppressing the passing urge to give chase. When she did that, the urge became a feverish impulse.
Because if there's one thing Predator likes it's a challenge.

And I'm her biggest Challenge yet
, thought Catherine.

The owl was annoyed. Watching all those crickets go by was like a human walking into a Golden Arches and finding out they had no cash. And the human part of her had been too amped up to eat any dinner that night, so now they were both starving.

There is absolutely no way that I am going to eat one of those crunchy, delicious—

Catherine swallowed. Hard.
Shit.

The next couple trips were very long. Just when Catherine was about to crack under the pressure, she realized she was on the last trip. The tank was empty. No more crickets.

She was completely wiped from imposing the human veto of self-control.

David had thoughtfully set her clothes aside in a little grove of trees clustered outside the lab. Catherine pulled them on quickly. The cold was awful. This was the first time she had ever Changed outside while it was so chilly. Her skin felt about two sizes too small.

“I am so hungry,” she said to David, when she got back inside the lab. “I think I have the shape-shifter version of the munchies.”

He cracked a faint smile. “Do you want to go to the Seven-Eleven?”

“Better not risk it,” she said. “Besides, I'm pretty sure that they don't sell crickets.”

Their laughter sounded thin and strained in the darkness.

They checked the room to make sure everything was back where it belonged. After a final cursory glance, she said, “You're going to have to go first so I can lock the door.”

“Wait, won't that look too suspicious?” he asked her. “Having the door locked?”

She frowned. “What if the lab equipment gets stolen?”

“Then the tank will just be one thing among many.”

She had to admit, he had a good point. And she really didn't want to Change into an ant again.

“And to think, I thought you liked Mr. Hauberk,” said Catherine, closing the door.

“I'm not helping Mr. Hauberk right now.” He looked at her. “Am I?”

A strange, fluttery feeling kicked up in her stomach. “I guess not.”

When they got to the barbed wire fence she grimaced. She wasn't looking forward to this part.

David turned into a rather wily-looking raccoon and climbed the fence. She watched it scamper down, full tail twitching. It stopped on the other side of the fence, regarding her through the mesh with an annoyingly superior face as she scaled the fence, carrying his clothes under one arm.

“You never told me you were a raccoon,” she said, the instant he was human and dressed again. She was laughing so hard she could barely get the words out.

“Raccoons are very intelligent,” David said, sounding insulted. “They're one of the few animals beside humans that wash their food before eating it.”

“Sorry…it's just…unexpected. Suits you, actually.”

“Is that a compliment or an insult?”

“A compliment, stupid.”

“I remain unconvinced,” said David.

Catherine just rolled her eyes. She was halfway to the bike rack before she remembered her manners. “Thanks by the way, you didn't have to do this.”

“I know.”

She accepted the barb, turning back to her bike. Her stomach rumbled, as if to fill the silence.

“Well, thanks.”

“Do you ever worry?” David asked suddenly. “I mean…you're getting kind of old.”

She stared at him blankly. Then it dawned on her. The brief anger flickered, before fizzling out entirely. “My parents aren't concerned.”

“That isn't what I was asking.”

She sighed. “I guess I am. My parents say I'm just a late bloomer. That I should enjoy the freedom while I can. That I'll look back on all this one day and miss it.

“I know I should believe them, but I feel so wrong…like I'm going crazy. Or about to. I can't always control the voices in my head, there's so many of them now. Sometimes I'm not sure whether what I do is about what I want or they want. It's become so hard to tell lately. Bad enough I can't even be an ordinary girl—” her voice was steadily rising. She couldn't seem to control it. “I can't even be an ordinary shape-shifter. Sometimes I feel like I'm some kind of fr—”

“Don't say it.” David's voice was sharp, and cut through the silent night like a blade.

Catherine drew in a deep, shuddering breath and smiled tightly. “Why? It's not your fault. It's like you said, you're not their mouthpiece.”

David said nothing, but his eyes burned like black fire.

“Here's a question for you. If I don't fit in with my own kind, and I don't fit in with humans, where does that leave me? Doesn't that make me a freak by definition.”

“No. You've never been ordinary, and you never will. Maybe it's Fate telling you not to force yourself into a label that doesn't suit you.”

She brushed that off. “What about you? Are my parents right? Do you ever miss it?”

She regretted asking as soon as she saw the transparent longing on his face.

“All the time. There are so many animals that I wish I'd tried.”

“Like?”

“A dolphin. I had the chance—once. But I never took it. And now I never will. Catherine?”

She let her legs swing to the ground, standing on tiptoe to stay balanced while straddling the bike. “Yes?”

David walked around the side of the bike until he was standing directly in front of the handlebars, leaving her with little choice but to look him directly in the eye.

“I just want to say that I really admire your inner strength. I always have.”

“You could have told me that before,” said Catherine. Her voice wasn't quite curt—but it was close. “It's not like I wasn't around.”

David grew fidgety. He rubbed at the back of his neck, eyes darting away.

“You were my best friend for almost ten years. You can't just stamp out all those years, all those memories, with a single word. I still can't believe what they said to you. What they did to you—”

“Believe it,” she said humorlessly. “Why didn't you say something if you really felt that way?”

“Because I thought you'd hate me,” he said simply. “I thought you did.”

Catherine's conscience pricked at her unpleasantly. “I don't hate you.” Anymore.

“I'm glad. Because, despite everything, I really did enjoy having you as a friend.”