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432 pages, Kindle Edition
First published May 1, 2018
“So what did you do to make the butterfly grow big?”
“I didn’t make one grow big. I jus’ made a big one come to me. From one of the other places.”
I breathed through my mouth in the beginnings of panic. “What other places?”
“There’s bunches of other places. One has big butterflies with pink wings and purple eyes and blue bodies and feet. I just pulled it over. Mama’s mad at me,” she said again, with pride.
“We don’t poison. We shoot, stab, cut, slice and dice, eviscerate, disembowel, and decapitate. Sometimes shoot and blow up our enemies. We’ve been known to bury our dead in the swamp. But we don’t poison. Poison is wussy.”
"I have searched for you all my life. I don't want to lose you now."
I yanked open the door. The air swept his scent in. It was vaguely floral. A scent that teased at the back of my mind. Tsalagi. Cherokee scent. Beast surged into the forefront of my brain, landing crouched on silent paws. The man turned. He had yellow eyes.
Beast thought, Littermate.
What? I said to her.
“Hello, e-igido. Dalonige’ i Digadoli,” the man said, his expression soft but intent. “Nuwhtohiyada gotlvdi.”
How did he know my Cherokee name? I knew those last words: Make peace with me. The air swirled inside and back out.
The man’s nostrils widened as he took a breath. Taking in my scent. His face changed—fear, horror, revulsion, dread. “U’tlun’ta,” he whispered, the word meaning liver-eater, black-magic skinwalker. Evil. Faster than I could follow, he drew a weapon, centered it on my chest. Inside me Beast tore through, doing … something. In a single instant, the man fired. Beast screamed. Time stood still.
The round exiting the weapon was stopped an inch from the barrel. The killer was frozen. Everything was frozen except me. Beast had bubbled time, taking me outside of normal space / time / relativity physics. She had saved my life. Again. “Thanks,” I muttered aloud to her.
She snorted, a half chuff, half growl, staring through my eyes at the man, even as the headache / bellyache / muscle aches hit. It was like a tiny bomb going off behind my left eye combined with a case of the flu, and if the two most recent time-bubbling experiences were an indication, it would only get worse. For now, I was okay-ish. Not perfect. Not totally okay. But able to function.
The stranger was firing one of the new Glock GDP-20s, a military-issue police service weapon. I looked closely to see a hollow-point round. Somehow, being shot at calmed my anger. Using my vamp-killer and muscle power,
Beast knocked the round down, changing its trajectory to impact the floor molding. The sound of silver-plated vamp-killer blade hitting lead was a dull tang in the Gray Between. The wood stood the best chance of stopping the round and the hole could be filled with wood filler and painted over. Eli was good at that kinda stuff.
I stepped into the man’s reach and, still using the blade, lifted his notched lapel to reveal a pocket beneath, heavy with a case about the size of a pack of playing cards. Without touching his body, I pulled out the case and opened it to reveal a badge.
“Well. That figures,” I muttered, maybe talking to God, maybe talking to whatever evil spirit had cursed me. “Like I needed the candy sprinkles of a gun-happy cop dumped over my blood duel ice-cream cone.” The badge was a PsyLED shield, issued to the Psychometric Law Enforcement Division of Homeland Security, the cops that police paranormals. Like me. But I’d think not even PsyLED would send someone to kill me at my own front door. In the middle of the day. With tourists walking across the street. Maybe the badge was a fake? I looked at the guy. He didn’t look like a killer. There was nothing forgettable about him and most assassins worked to be average and unmemorable. His clothing was well-tailored but more Brooks Brothers and Men’s Wearhouse than Armani. His eyes were wide. Terrified. And he was firing one-handed, his left still rising for a standard two-hand grip. Panic-shot.
"Not good ambush hunter", Beast said.