Charlotte Boyett-Compo- Wyndsheer (9 page)

“What the hell are you trying to pull, MacGivern?” Wendt shouted. His eyes were wide, the pupils dilated as though he’d swilled down a powerful narcotic. With shoulders hunched with aggression and his fists clenching and unclenching at his side, he didn’t look all that stable. “If you think you’re scaring my men, you’re barking up the wrong tree!” He arched his upper lip. “Or howling up the wrong tree.”

“You want to see what’s over the ledge?” Jamie asked. “Be my guest, Wendt. I sure as hell won’t stop you from jumping to your death.”

“Why you ....” Wendt took a step forward, but Hobart reached out and grabbed his arm.

“Stay away from the ledge, men,” Hobart ordered, but his attention was steady on his partner. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked.

“There’s nothing wrong with me!” Wendt hissed, jerking his arm out of Hobart’s grip.

“Then stop acting like an idiot!” Hobart snapped, trying to extricate his trousers from a bush of brambles into which he’d wandered.

The other men were exchanging worried looks. It was apparent from their expressions that they, too, were uneasy, uncomfortable with their surroundings and each of them kept looking over his shoulder, rubbing at his neck, keeping an eye on the thick growth to either side of where they were walking. Their hands were never far from the rifles they carried slung over their shoulders. Even the lone medic with his cumbersome gear turned now and again to look back down the trail or to scan his surroundings.

Jamie turned away from them and continued on, a tight smile on his face. He felt the heavy weight of a malignant stare on his back, but he knew it would do no good to look around for what was following them would remain hidden until it was ready to be seen. Although he did not have the same overpowering sense of foreboding, of impending doom the others were feeling, he was not unaffected by the vibrations rising and falling around him. The lupine part of him was keenly aware, his senses on high alert.

The higher up the mountain they climbed, the colder it became until the air around them was drifting with a wispy, icy fog along the ground and obscuring the vegetation farther off the trail. By the time they reached Féinmharú Crag, the wispy fog had turned to an undulating milky blanket that hid all but those trees and bushes closest to them. It blanketed the ground completely, billowing up in places as high as the men’s hips but never receding as they entered its rolling depths.

“Is that the place you mean?” Jacobson asked.

“Aye,” Jamie acknowledged, not bothering to look toward the Crag. “Just stay away from it and you’ll be all right.”

The others stared at the jut of sharp rock that was visible one moment in the thick fog then completely covered by it the next. A shimmering veil of fog seemed to hang just above the dark shape of the Crag, giving off a faint bluish glow.

“It really does beckon you, doesn’t it?” the agent asked and took a step toward the ledge, but Hobart called out to him, drawing the man’s attention to him.

“You stay where you are, Jacobson!” Hobart ordered.

“Do you hear that?” an agent named Baxter asked.

Jamie had heard the eerie musical refrain the moment the Crag came into view and he was sure Hobart had for out of the corner of his eye, he’d seen the government man’s head come up and watched Hobart’s head swivel toward the ghostly music.

“He plays the whistle to lure people to their deaths,” the Lycant said softly. “Ignore it.”

“Ignore
him
,” Wendt spat. “He’s trying to spook you.”

“He isn’t the only one spooking us,” Baxter commented. He shuddered as though something wet and decidedly slimy had hit him between the shoulder blades.

“I don’t like this place,” Dalton, the medic insisted. “My heart is racing and I have this uncontrollable urge to run.”

“That’s what he wants you to do,” Jamie said. “You run and you’ll find yourself plummeting down into the canyon.”

A sudden cracking sound came to them out of the fog and every head, every eye snapped toward the noise. Guns were drawn from holsters, rifles slipped from shoulders, and bullets ratcheted into chambers, barrels pointed at the spot from where the sound had come.

“What is that?” Dalton inquired, his voice breaking. “What the hell
is
that?”

It was a strange noise like the sound of booted feet crunching over wet stones, sluicing through water that echoed to the men.

“I don’t like this place,” Baxter repeated the medic’s words.

“Good God, I’m shaking!” another agent commented. “What’s wrong with me?”

Jamie could have told him, but he said nothing. The strange, supernatural things that happened on that side of the Ridge were what kept unknowledgeable hikers from visiting the desolate area. He glanced behind him to see Wendt digging his toes into the trail. The agent was mumbling to himself and his face was as tight and hard as flint. The weirdness was getting to Cody Wendt.

“What?” Hobart asked. “What did you say, MacGivern?”

Jamie glanced around. “I didn’t say anything.” At Hobart’s frown, the Lycant shrugged. “If you hear words being whispered in a language you don’t understand, they aren’t coming from me.”

“
Why don’t you shut the fuck up
?” Wendt bellowed. His eyes were nearly popping from his head and he sprayed spittle as he spoke. He drew his gun and leveled it at Jamie. “
Stop trying to scare my men, you fucking wolf
!”

Jamie had no fear of the gun aimed at him. He was fairly sure the government man would have loaded it with silver ammo, but even if the bastard unloaded the entire clip into the Lycant’s body, it would do little damage. The bullets would pop out almost immediately, the wounds would close, and any pathway torn through Jamie’s body would seal itself up quickly. Not even a direct hit to the heart could lay him low.

“Lower your weapon,” Hobart said sternly. He made no overt move toward Wendt, but let the tone of his voice--the coldness and the authority--gain his partner’s attention.

“Don’t you see what he’s doing?” Wendt shouted.

“I see you acting like a deranged person,” Hobart said. “Lower the goddamn gun, Cody. Now!”

The sudden sound of laughter off to the right side of the trail caused every man to look that way. It was an evil barking, a barrel-chested guffaw that made the hair on every arm--including Jamie’s--stand up. No sooner had the laughter died than an ungodly howl rent the air with such force and volume, two of the agents pissed in their pants.

“Mother of God!” Baxter gasped and before anyone could stop him, he’d spun around and started blundering back down the barely-existent trail, the sound of his crashing retreat bringing on another wave of ghostly laughter.

Despite both Hobart and Wendt shouting at Baxter to come back, the agent continued his headlong rush until there was only silence surrounding the trackers.

For a few moments no one said anything, expecting to hear something that would alert them to Baxter’s fate. When nothing happened, no sound reverberated back them, Jamie started walking again.

“Should we go after him?” Hobart asked.

“He didn’t scream so I’m guessing An Fear Liath Mor let him go,” Jamie remarked quietly.

Though Hobart and Wendt fell in behind the Lycant, the other agents stayed where they were.

“What the hell are you waiting for?” Wendt demanded.

“I’m not going any farther,” Jacobson said.

“Me, neither,” another agent stated.

“Smart men,” Jamie commented. The pain in his back was plaguing him so greatly it was all he could do not to show it to the others. He shifted against the discomfort and used every ounce of his mental ability to push the hurt to a dark corner of his mind.

Through a parting in the thick ground fog, it was obvious there was no defined trail where they were. MacGivern was making a passageway through the thick undergrowth, pushing aside debris and skirting falling logs. It was growing colder by the hour as they climbed and the light was beginning to fade though it was just a little past noontime. Through the spreading canopy overhead a gunmetal gray sky showed dark clouds beginning to build. The hint of rain was on the freshening breeze.

Hobart looked around at the men. “If you want to go back I won’t stop you. I don’t think we’re likely to find anything up here but if we do, keep your walkie-talkies on and I’ll call you.” He directed his attention to Dalton. “Leave me your gear.”

“I’ll stay,” Dalton said in a reluctant voice.

“You sure?”

“You go and I’ll have every last one of your motherfuckers up on charges,” Wendt growled in a low voice. He still had his gun out and his fingers were flexing around the grip.

“There’s no way Allison could have made it over this way, Cody,” Hobart tried to reason with his partner. “We’d have seen signs or MacGivern would have sensed her.” He looked at the Lycant. “Do you have any sense of her having come this way?”

Jamie shook his head. “None at all.”

“He’s lying,” Wendt snapped. “He knows she’s up here and that--that t
hing
--probably has her in its lair.”

“You’d better hope not,” Jamie quipped and when Wendt once more pointed the gun at him, the Lycant moved so fast no one saw him do it until the gun was in his hand and Wendt was on the ground with a broken wrist cupped in his free hand.

“Son of a bitch!” Wendt howled, and once again the eerie laughter rumbled out of the forest.

Jamie threw the weapon as hard as he could into the fog then stood over Wendt, his expression one of deadly warning. “Do that again and I’ll break your other wrist as well!”

Thunder boomed around them and then without warning hail began falling.

“Oh this is just what we need,” Hobart grumbled as he pulled the hood of his coat up over his hair.

“There’s a cave about a hundred yards over that way,” Jamie said, pointing.
“Stay close and if something touches you, don’t look around.”

“Something touches you?” Dalton echoed. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Jamie didn’t answer but struck out for the cave. He never looked around to see if the men were following him for at that point he didn’t care. Peripherally he noted that Hobart was helping Wendt to his feet and speaking to his partner in a low, insistent tone.

By the time the last man entered the musty cave, Jamie was hunkered down where there had been a long ago campfire, piling dried twigs atop a budding fire, his flashlight pointed on the ring of rocks surrounding the small flame.

It was crowded in the cave but at least they were dry. Wendt was huddled against the cave wall with his broken wrist cradled against his chest, glaring murderously at the Lycant. “I’m going to kill you,” he said.

“Take a number,” Jamie said, not even bothering to look up from what he was doing.

“Will it follow us in here?” Dalton asked. He was as far back in the shallow cave as he could get.

“Unlikely,” Jamie replied. “He would be too vulnerable having to stoop down to enter the opening.”

“Let him stick his neck out and I’ll chop it off for him,” Jacobson muttered, fingering the machete he had strapped to his hip.

Hobart glanced around the cave. “Is there anything I can splinter his wrist with?”

“Nothing sturdy enough,” Jamie answered. “We’ll need to gather some more wood to conserve the flashlights.” He nudged his chin toward the small pile of branches on the fire. These won’t last long they’re so dried out.”

“Will it attack us if we go out?”

“I don’t know, Hobart,” Jamie told him. “I’ll go. He’s used to seeing me and knows I mean him no harm.”

“Yeah, because you’re in league with the prick,” Wendt hissed.

Jamie cast Wendt a contemptuous look then got to his feet and walked over to the cave entrance. Outside, the hail had stopped but it was pouring rain. He pulled the hood of the parka he wore beneath his leather jacket up to shield his head. He started out.

“What if you don’t come back?” Hobart asked.

“I will,” Jamie said and disappeared into the onslaught.

Almost immediately the uneasiness tripled for Jamie and his sensitive olfactory sensory neurons picked up the rancid odor of the shaggy creature that stood only ten feet away, the lumbering height of its broad body casting a shadow over the Lycant.

“Kys ta shiu, Vainshtyr Coimirceoir?” Jamie greeted the creature respectfully, knowing all too well not to look directly at its face.

“I am well, Wolf,” came the low growl. “How goes it with you?”

Jamie shrugged. “Ta mee fliugh gys y chrackan,” he said, telling An Fear Liath Mor that he was soaked to the skin.

There was a derisive snort. “Then get in out of the rain, fool.”

Nodding his agreement to the suggestion, Jamie reached down to gather some broken branches, keeping his gaze on the ground and not on the hulking giant who took a few steps closer. He realized the pain had subsided completely.

“I have blocked your torment, Wolf,” the creature said softly.

“You have my gratitude, Vainshtyr Coimirceoir,” Jamie said.

For years the two had observed an uneasy alliance. Jamie showed the respect An Fear Liath Mor deserved as the Guardian of the Gateway into the Other World, and the creature did not squash the Lycant like one of its fleas.

“What are these annoying things you have brought to my realm now, Wolf?”

“They are of no import, Master,” Jamie replied.

“That, of course, goes without saying,” the one whose name was Coimirceoir declared. “Why are they here? Since they are not chasing after you, should I assume you are daring to lead them into my realm for some reason you think important?”

“They are searching for a woman,” Jamie said and straightened up, his arm loaded with wet branches. “My woman.”

Coimirceoir reached out a huge paw to wrap it around a slender pine. Its pointed ears twitched as finger-like talons clicked against the bark. “You took a woman?”

“T’ish mian my ghriaih,” Jamie replied, stating she was the woman of his heart.

“And you will fight for this female?”

“I would die before I allow them to take her from me,” the Lycant vowed.

“So you led these bumbling fools to my realm for me to do what with them?”