Unleashed

TWELVE

I MIGHT WELL HAVE SPENT THE REST OF THE day just hanging out in the house, pretending to think, avoiding actually doing anything, but Sherwood was having none of that. She didn’t call; she knew I’d just let the machine pick up. So she arrived at my flat at noon.

“Lunch,” she said.

“I don’t feel much like eating.”

“Maybe not, but I do, and you’re taking me out.”

“Really, I don’t-”

“Where do you want to go?” she interrupted.

I gave up. Once Sherwood’s set on something, there’s no denying her. But my favorite Mexican place, El Farolito, where I’d met Morgan, was ruined for me. It would just remind me of what still needed to be done. My favorite Japanese place, Takai’s, was another that brought back bad memories. If enough bad stuff continued to happen to me and my friends, eventually I’d run out of places to eat.

“You choose,” I said. “You’re the one who wants lunch.”

“Herbivore,” she said. “It’s nice out, and it’s walking distance.”

“Since when are you a vegetarian?”

“Since my ‘return.’ I can’t bear to even look at meat.” There’s nothing wrong with being vegetarian. I converted for a few months once when I was going out with Amy, a practitioner who was serious about the concept. The things we do for love. Or for something. Lou was not pleased with the new regime. He started disappearing at dinnertime, returning a couple of hours later looking well satisfied. He was not unhappy when Amy and I inevitably split up.

So I’d been to Herbivore a number of times. It was not only vegetarian; it was vegan. It was Amy’s favorite restaurant. But I never cared for it. A bit bland for my tastes-it takes more than a few months to shed the carnivore habit.

We walked down Valencia, Lou trotting dutifully behind. Until we reached the restaurant, at which point he looked at us with an unmistakable expression of “You have got to be kidding.” I wasn’t the only one who remembered the place. He did a U-turn and trotted back the way we’d come.

“I’ll save a doggie bag for you,” I called after him. “Sei tan. Your favorite.” He didn’t bother to even glance back.

The decor inside Herbivore’s is pretty cool-minimal, almost Japanese in feel, the bare off-white walls sparsely adorned with understated prints. The small front portion of the room looks out on the street, and a narrow line of tables runs alongside the wall next to the kitchen area.

I ordered a grilled portobello sandwich and Sherwood got a salad with odd things in it. After a few bites, she put down her fork and stared at me.

“What?” I said.

“So, what are we going to do about all this?”

“If I knew that, we’d be doing it instead of having lunch. The first thing, obviously, is to find this thing. But I can’t think of how. Lou’s no use-it’s immune to his tracking sense, just like the fake Ifrit was. Morgan might be able to help, but she’s left. Involving her any further would be criminal, anyway.”

“What about the Wendigo? I’ll bet he could find it. Maybe even call it.”

“Hmm. Possible, I guess. But he wouldn’t help us, not without something in it for him. And anyway, I have no idea how to find him again, either.”

“I think I might be able to.”

“Really? How?”

“I’m not sure how. But when he pulled me back, it established a connection between us. I don’t know what it consists of, but I’m sure it’s there. I can feel it.”

She resumed eating her salad, and I took another bite of sandwich. If she still had a connection to the Wendigo, in theory that might be enough to locate him. But the gap between theory and practice often looms large. That’s why Eli and Victor work so well together; Eli has a deep understanding of the principles of magical operations, while Victor is a master engineer-he’s the one who actually implements the spells, and sometimes designs the specifics as well.

But finding the Wendigo would just be the first step. I’d need something to bribe him-he wasn’t going to help us out of the goodness of his heart. If he even had a heart. But I did in fact have something to offer-more of those magically imbued stones. Problem was, if Victor and Eli found out, they’d both be outraged, for different reasons. I’d lied to both of them, telling them I’d handed over all the remaining stones, and I wasn’t eager to come clean about it. But without their expert help, I wasn’t sure I could come up with my own solution for finding the Wendigo again. Catch-22. Whenever you lie to friends, it comes back to bite you on the ass.

I did have Lou, though, with his marvelous tracking ability. It might not work on beings like the Wendigo, but maybe I could isolate his ability and, using the rune stones as enhancers, transfer that ability to Sherwood. I turned my attention back to her and caught the tail end of her sentence.

“… Eli could figure it out,” she was saying.

“Sorry. I was thinking. What?” She looked at me in exasperation.

“I said, ‘I’m sure Eli could figure out a way to use my connection to find it.’ ”

“I’m sure he could. But I’ve got another idea.”

She looked at me suspiciously. Sherwood knew me far too well, knew that taking things into my own hands and cutting Eli out of the loop was not my usual operating procedure. Something was up. But she let it pass.

“What, then?”

“Louie. He’s got that tracking ability, and even though it won’t work with the Wendigo, I’ll bet I could channel it through you. Then, with the connection you already have, you might be able to track him down yourself.”

“You think?”

“Certainly worth a try,” I said. I thought it probably wouldn’t work, not without some extra help-like those stones-but I didn’t mention that.

Halfway back to my flat, Lou reappeared from under a parked car. He must have found something good to eat, because he was holding no grudges. He trotted along happily next to Sherwood and me, taking the occasional side excursion. He’d always liked Sherwood and was happy to see us together again, even if we weren’t really together.

As soon as we got home, I opened the trunk where I kept the rest of the stones and pulled out five of them. The minute Lou saw what I was doing, he jumped up in Sherwood’s lap and turned his back on me. He did not approve of those things. He was probably right.

I stuffed four of them into a pocket and held on to the fifth. Poor Lou. He thought he was showing disapproval by jumping up on Sherwood, but it was exactly where I wanted him to be.

“Concentrate on the Wendigo,” I told her.

I let out a pulse of talent, directing it though the rune stone. Then I bent it and sent the enhanced energy through Lou, who sneezed violently as it coursed through him, then through Sherwood and back through Lou, creating a feedback loop. Sherwood straightened up suddenly, almost throwing Lou off onto the floor.

“I’ll be damned,” she said. “It worked. I can feel him.”

“Can you tell where he is?”

“No, not exactly, but I’ll bet I can find him. It’s like a heat source in a cold room-diffuse, but you can tell what direction it’s coming from. And he’s fairly close by. I can tell that much. Somewhere south, I’d say.”

“Great,” I said. “Let’s go.”

“Shouldn’t we let Victor and Eli know?”

“We don’t need to. We’re not going to be doing anything. We’re just going to talk to him.”

Sherwood got that I didn’t want to involve the two of them, although she didn’t know why. The old Sherwood would never have let that pass, but now she just shrugged her acceptance. But when she stood up and Lou hopped off her lap, she stopped.

“It’s gone,” she said.

“Pick Lou up.” Lou submitted with good grace, although of course he didn’t care for it.

“You’re right,” she said. “It’s back. I’ve got to be holding Lou for it to work. Good thing he’s not a Great Dane.”

We climbed into my van, Sherwood in the passenger seat and Lou in her lap. She directed me with hotter and colder, like the children’s game. Finally she got a handle on it; west on Cesar Chavez, then south on San Jose, winding through the city. We passed Geneva, then a couple of blocks later, Sherwood said, “Go back. We passed him.” At the corner of Niagara Street I stopped and looked around. Nothing seemed promising-no parks, no wooded area, just the usual collection of houses, and a Muni yard down the block.

“There,” she said, pointing over to the right. “Somewhere there.”

I could barely see a long low building painted a sickly green, half hidden by some trees. It clicked suddenly and I knew where we were.

“That’s Bluestone Studios over there,” I said. “A couple of floors, lots of little rooms for bands and artists-forty or fifty, as I remember. I was here about five years ago, checking out a friend’s band. What the hell would the Wendigo be doing here?”

“Maybe he likes music,” Sherwood said.

“Or musicians. I’m still not sold on his being harmless.” We got out of the car and walked over toward the building. Sherwood was carrying Lou, who had given up squirming.

“He’s definitely inside,” Sherwood said as we approached the building. The entry door was propped open with a metal folding chair, and musicians carrying instruments were passing in and out.

We walked in and down a long hallway, listening to the muffled sounds of guitars, keyboards, and drums, all behind closed doors. From the hallway, all the sounds blended together like some enormous modern performance piece.

When the corridor crossed another hallway, Sherwood turned left without hesitation, passed a few more doors, and stopped in front of a door painted a bright red. She put Lou down and gestured at the door.

From behind it came the sound of a highly distorted guitar running fast scales and a drummer doing speed rolls. I knocked on the door, loudly enough to be sure I would be heard over the instruments.

The room went instantly silent. We waited a moment, but there was no sound of movement from inside. Sherwood looked at the door, then back at me.

“What’s that about?” she whispered. The silence from behind the door was contagious, as if we had been caught doing something illegal just by knocking at the door.

I shrugged and knocked again, and now that the room was silent, it sounded twice as loud. There was the suggestion of movement inside, then the door opened a crack. I could just see a young stocky guy whose face showed a pitiful attempt at a beard. The faint sweet whiff of high-quality dope wafted out past him.

“Yeah?” he said, suspiciously.

I put my foot over the doorjamb in the best PI movie fashion so he couldn’t slam the door on us. On second thought, he still could, and if the door was heavy enough, it would probably break my foot. I withdrew it as unobtrusively as I could.

“We’re looking for a friend,” I said.

“Who?”

Good question. He saw me hesitate and the suspicion on his face deepened into paranoia.

“Are you guys cops?” he said. Sherwood laughed.

“Are you serious?”

“Hell, yes. If you’re cops, you gotta say so. If I ask you directly, you have to tell me the truth. That’s the law.”

An enduring urban legend. Generations of brain-dead dope dealers believe this as a matter of faith. It never occurs to them that if it were true, there would never be such a thing as a successful undercover operation. But it was a useful misapprehension-for the cops.

“Dude,” I said. “Do we look like cops?”

“Yeah, sorta.” Fair enough. We were cops, sorta, when you came right down to it.

“No way,” I said. I pointed down at Lou. “Does he look like a police dog to you?”

Lou got tired of this exchange and wriggled his way through the opening, squeezing past the attempt to block him. The guy turned and stepped back, unwilling to let a strange dog in, unwilling to step away from the door to get Lou, but also unwilling to close the door and trap Lou inside. Stoned as he was, he still realized that would not go over well. I took the opportunity to push the door all the way open and step inside.

A huge drum kit filled up one corner of the room, with three different toms and seven or eight cymbals. Sitting behind it was a familiar curly-headed fellow, wearing forest green. I thought for a second the guy at the door was going to tackle me, but the Wendigo sighed and said, “It’s okay, Zack; they’re friends of mine.” He eased out from behind the kit and walked over to us.

“Give us a moment, would you, Zack? We’ve got some business to discuss. Get me a soda, will you?”

Zack nodded knowingly. Private “business” was something he could understand.

“This is a surprise,” the Wendigo said.

“Yeah, we’re full of surprises. I didn’t expect to find you behind a drum kit, for that matter.”

“Music is my life. Or I hope it will be.”

He looked strong and healthy, bursting with energy. Those stones must have pumped him up considerably.

“Why didn’t you tell us we were looking for a shape-shifter?” I asked.

“So you finally figured it out. Who was I to spoil the surprise? I wasn’t that happy with you guys in the first place, if you’ll remember.”

“And in the meantime, a friend of mine nearly died.” A look of concern crossed his face, but I couldn’t tell if it was real or not.

“Sorry to hear that,” he said. “But telling you what it was wouldn’t have made any difference in the long run. She’s pretty focused once she sets her sights on someone.”

“She?”

“You assume all monsters are male? Kind of sexist, don’t you think?”

“Whatever. How do I find her?”

“Again, assuming I knew, why should I tell you?” I pulled the four green stones out of my pocket.

“Four?” he said, unimpressed. “That’s hardly worth my while.” The greedy look in his eyes belied his casual tone.

“It’s not like before; I’m not asking you to actually do anything. Just some information, that’s all. Still, if it’s not worth it to you.” I started to put the stones away.

“Hold on,” he said. “Hold on. Maybe we can do business here.” He really was a junkie for the stones. He could have a thousand of them and he’d still want more. I carefully laid the stones out on top of a speaker cabinet.

“How do I find it?” I repeated. “Or her.”

The Wendigo sat back down on the low stool behind the drums, picked up a pair of sticks, and started tapping idly on random drum surfaces.

“Why a drummer?” I asked, suddenly curious. “With your peculiar voice talents, I’d think you’d be a natural as a singer.”

“What fun would there be in that? Music is all about rhythm, anyway, at least the kind I like. Rhythm is what calls to the blood-it was the first music, before humans were humans. Believe me, I know.”

“So you’ve been around for a while,” said Sherwood, who had been silent up to now.

“Indeed I have.”

“Fascinating,” I said. “Once again, how do we find this creature?”

“Well, she’s in the city. I can tell you that much.”

“That much I already know.”

“And she’s taken on an aspect. Not the way I have-the aspect I have is pretty much the aspect I’m stuck with. But not her-she can steal the identities of normal people.” I was getting impatient.

“So far, you’re not telling me anything I don’t know,” I said.

“How about this, then. She’s got to kill every three days or so if she wants to keep strong. If she goes more than a week without a fresh infusion, she’ll revert back to her normal state and eventually end up as a mere mindless beast.”

“Anything else?”

“Well, this should be obvious, but she’s got a strong survival drive. Not just blind instinct; anyone she thinks could possibly be a threat to her she will target and murder-and feed off them as well, killing two birds with one stone, if you’ll pardon the pun?”

“What about your own abilities?” asked Sherwood. “You called Mason. You called me back from the dead, or close enough. Could you call her?”

“No, and I wouldn’t if I could. She’s not very pleasant. And calling her up wouldn’t fit in with my new lifestyle.” He did a couple of quick drum rolls. “But I can’t affect her, anyway. We cancel each other out, at least as far as special abilities go. But if you really want to locate her, you do have an obvious method.”

“And that is? “

“You’re clearly someone who’s a threat to her, and she knows that. All you need to do is to put yourself in a particularly vulnerable position and she’ll show up, believe me. Guaranteed.”

Bait. Once again. That seemed to be my current function in life. Still, not such a bad idea. Between Victor, Eli, and Sherwood, we surely could come up with a plan that would tempt her into showing herself but still keep me safe. Relatively. I scooped up two of the stones and put them back in my pocket. I didn’t think what he’d told me warranted any more, and in truth, I was loath to let them go anyway. The Wendigo got a weird look on his face and for a second I thought there was going to be trouble, but then Zack came back in carrying a couple of cans of soda.

“Everything cool?” he said, nervously, picking up on the tension.

“Totally,” I said. “We were just leaving.”

Zack stood in the doorway and watched us walk down the hall, still feeling paranoid, I’d guess. When he went back inside, he slammed the door and the sound of the dead bolt being aggressively shot home was audible all the way down the corridor.

“I thought musicians were supposed to be mellow,” Sherwood said.

“Jazz musicians are. Mostly. They have to be, just to get gigs. Heavy metal guys are another matter. Mostly Satan worshipers, I believe.”

We headed back to Victor’s. If we were going to set up a trap with me as the tempting morsel of cheese, I wanted to get started on it right away, before anyone else died.

We met Ruby coming out the front door of the mansion as we pulled up. She walked over to the driver’s-side window and reached in, putting a hand on my shoulder. She looked exhausted, with dark lines showing under her eyes. This thing was taking a lot more out of her than she’d admit.

“I’m sorry about the trouble with your friend,” she said. “And her dog. That’s sad. I’m glad you’re okay, though. But we really do need to do something about this, you know, before it gets worse.”

“We will,” I said. She looked past me inquiringly at Sherwood. “I’m sorry; I forgot you two haven’t met. Ruby, Sherwood.” Ruby smiled at her, and Sherwood nodded a bit distantly, which was unlike her. Weird.

“Let me know what you come up with,” Ruby said. “You know I’ll be glad to help any way I can.”

“Thanks,” I said. “We’ll be in touch. And be careful. I have a feeling one of us could be next on the hit parade.”

“You know me,” she said. “Always.”

She got into her old VW Beetle, waved, and putted off down the street. Lou and I jumped out of the van, but Sherwood remained seated, looking at me oddly.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“I’m not sure,” she said. “As I told you, ever since my return I see people more clearly. They seem almost transparent at times-that’s the best analogy I can come up with. Some people’s goodness shines through; others… Well, let’s just say not so much.”

“And Ruby’s one of those others?”

“Not exactly. It’s like there’s no one home, nothing there. I get no feeling at all from her.”

“That’s odd,” I said. “But she’s a strong practitioner. Maybe she likes keeping her private thoughts private. I know I do.”

“Maybe. But it doesn’t feel like she’s shielding, or hiding anything. She’s just… blank.”

“And you think that means something?”

“We’re looking for a shape-shifter, right? What if that’s not really Ruby? What if that’s not anything human at all?”