Flame in the Dark Read online

  I identified a small herd of deer moving along the hillside, their bodies reddish on IR, heated against the colder earth, and when I flipped the knob to low light, greenish. Later, two large dogs raced down the road, well fed and enjoying a night of freedom, possibly escapees from chains or small pens, from the way they played and loped and chased each other. They never saw or smelled the deer. Or me. An owl flowed over the ground, silent as death, and dropped on a rabbit. Its squeal of pain and fear was quickly cut off as the owl carried it to a branch and started eating.

  Feral cats hunted, small spots of color depending on which visual spectrum I used. Minutes passed. The excitement of playing with the new night oculars wore thin. The cold deepened. I prepared to be frozen and bored. One thing the long wait gave me was time to think and I realized that being left in HQ’s parking lot wasn’t a gender thing. It was totally a cat thing. If Tandy had been their backup, he would have been left standing there too. As slights went it was small, and only seemed big to me because, as T. Laine would say, it had pushed my buttons.

  • • •

  Ninety minutes after the cats departed, the sun was starting to gray the eastern sky and low clouds were dropping, fog rolling down the hillside like an avalanche and along the road like a vaporous flood. A car rolled past. Then another heading the other way. A school bus rumbled and squeaked on a parallel road beyond the trees. The human world was starting to wake up and head to work and school. We needed to be out of here.

  I tapped the mic three times, taps Rick would be able to hear even with the comms hanging around his neck. The taps stood for: LaFleur, report back to origination and insert point, ASAP. It was a reminder that they needed to become human again, that there was work to do. I three-tapped again. There was no reply because Rick had turned off his mic. And because his cat didn’t have opposable thumbs to turn it back on. And because his cat didn’t speak English. There were a lot of reasons why he didn’t respond, most of them amusing.

  Moments later, on the hillside, I caught a hint of movement, red in the infrared range. Two slinky cat shapes were working their way down toward the road, strides lazy, in no hurry. I made my way to my truck and started the engine, waiting for them to shift back. I wanted to leave them as they had left me, but weres in the midst of shifting were vulnerable, and I knew better.

  But that didn’t mean I had to wait till they got dressed. The moment I saw a human shape in the low-light goggles, still naked and steaming in a greenish haze, I drove off, stopping once for fresh bakery bread and a bear claw that tempted me like a sweet devil. The claw was greasy, nowhere near as good as Mama’s, and I was able to eat only part of it, but the to-go coffee was surprisingly tasty, much better than the burned sludge I expected.

  I picked up a second coffee—my regular in the coffee shop—along with an egg and bacon on flatbread, which was wonderful. Upstairs, I checked in with HQ, where Tandy was turning everything over to JoJo, who had gotten up from a nap in the back room. T. Laine was typing up a report so fast the keys clacking sounded like castanets. Soul was in the break room making coffee, looking gorgeous and curvy and sophisticated, her teal and aqua gauzy skirts moving with the air from the heater vents. Or from her magic. Shape-shifting magic was different for each shifter species and arcenciel magic was the least understood of all.

  I was eating and inputting my report when Rick and Occam came in. Rick went to his office. Occam stopped at my cubicle, and I could see him reflected in the window where my plants grew, his body dark and indistinct against the rising sun.

  “Nell, sugar?” he asked, sounding very Texan, the way he often did after a shift to his cat.

  I hit enter and saved my report. Picked up my coffee and spun in my chair to face him. His blondish hair hung long. His beard was a postshift two-day growth and scruffy. His eyes were more-than-human golden. He was wearing jeans low on his hips and his T-shirt was faded and too tight, showing abs and biceps and deltoids. His arms were up, hands on the cubicle walls, balanced. “You still mad? We shouldn’ta left you.”

  “Not mad. Actually it kinda makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.” His eyebrows lifted, wrinkling his forehead in confusion. “Makes me feel like I’m really and truly part of Unit Eighteen,” I explained.

  “I’m not following you, Nell, sugar.”

  “If I’d been T. Laine or Tandy or JoJo, you’d still have forgotten me. You were being cats, already focused on the hunt. It’s the human’s and witch’s and empath’s job to look after the werecats when you get focused on werecat issues. So forgetting me made me one of the team. You didn’t think you needed to babysit the probie. Or the woman. I apologize for hanging up on you. I hadn’t thought it through at the time.”

  “Day-um, woman.” Occam looked half-impressed, half-fearful. “Just when I think I got you figured out you go and do something unexpected. So you ain’t gonna be getting us back for forgetting you?”

  “Oh, there’ll be payback.” I sipped and spun back to my laptop. “That’s Unit Eighteen’s way.”

  Occam snorted a laugh, all cat. A little intrigued. And I realized that I had, maybe, just flirted with the cat-man. A plant-woman flirting with a wereleopard. I felt a blush race up my throat into my face.

  JoJo yelled down the hallway, “Gather ’round. Report!”

  I picked up my laptop and stood, taking one step toward the hallway. Stopped in a sudden jerk. Occam hadn’t moved. I was too close. I wanted to step back, but that would have been weak. I wanted to bull my way through him, but that would have been . . . dangerous. I wanted to cover my chest with the laptop. Weak. Wanted to hit him with the laptop. Dangerous. I couldn’t think of anything to do that would be neither weak nor dangerous.

  I raised my head and met his eyes, golden and glowing cat eyes. Yeah. Dangerous.

  “Cat-boy,” JoJo yelled again. “Get your butt in here and stop scaring the probie.”

  “Probie ain’t scared,” Occam growled. “Probie ain’t never scared.”

  I thought that was the nicest compliment I had ever been given. A complete untruth, but nice that he would think I was brave when I was more often a worried, panicked rabbit, like the one eaten by the owl only hours past. I smiled, ducked my head, and pushed Occam out of the way, using my laptop to keep from touching him with my whole hand, though I felt his were-warmth on the backs of my knuckles. He resisted for just a moment and I pushed harder. He gave way and I walked past him, head high, laptop holding him away from me as I made the turn to the conference room. He followed. Cat-close.

  His pursuit felt like the start to something new. I didn’t know what, but I was feeling quite captivated by life and whatever it was sending my way. I also knew that if Occam had been a human male shadowing me this close, I’d have been scared. Worried. But it was a cat. It was Occam. And that was infinitely preferable.

  In the conference room I took my seat and opened my laptop. Pea and Bean (the two grindys were too similar for me to tell the difference) raced up and around the tabletop, around the Christmas tree that hadn’t been there yesterday. The grindylows were looking for treats, chasing each other. It was rare to see both at the same time, and I had no idea how they got around or how they knew when they were needed. According to official intel, no one knew that and speculation was rife. I just considered it their particular magic and let it go at that. Tandy gave them sunflower seeds, which both grindys adored. They settled at his place, rolling around like kittens playing. I figured they were still around because the weres had gone catty and were still acting catty, even in human form.

  Rick stood at the far side of the table, leaning against the wall behind him, arms crossed over his chest, very alpha, in-charge, predator-ishy, without saying anything. The rest of the unit scattered into our regular places, not assigned seating, but the spots we had each gravitated to and semiclaimed.

  Rick’s eyes were still glowing greenish. I realized that he was to
o catty to lead a meeting and was still having trouble controlling his wereleopard. I had done the best I could to heal the magical attacks on his soul and his body, but I feared I had tied him to Soulwood. Or to me. And despite what Occam thought about my derring-do, I was too chicken to read Rick and see what was happening inside him.

  Soul came to the room, standing in the doorway where she could watch us all. Or catch us if we tried to leave. Her eyes went back and forth between the werecats, evaluating. Neither cat glanced her way, ignoring her. She looked ignorable in human form but she had big teeth in dragon form. I hope the kitties remembered that.

  JoJo gave the time and date, and every head turned to the second in command. JoJo was wearing black from head to toe today, topped by a black turban with a couple dozen braids hanging beneath it, her natural dark hair interwoven with blond and brown and red weaves. She was wearing three big earrings in each ear and none of them matched. One was a scarlet feather. She looked striking, stylish, self-assured, and amazing. Her eyes were on the cats as she spoke, evaluating but unconcerned. She also looked as if she could take on the cats and come out unscathed and still looking trendy.

  Jo stated the name of every person present, but she didn’t type anything. We were still using, or testing, Clementine, the voice-to-character software. A silence fell on the room. And grew. Waiting. Rick should have said something, but he stood against the wall, his French-black eyes greenish and unfocused. Jo looked to Soul, who ignored her, her own black eyes on the cats. Jo’s mouth tightened and the skin at the corners of her eyes wrinkled. She looked annoyed, or maybe cantankerous was the correct term.

  The others shot furtive looks at Rick. The grindys stopped playing and crouched. One was staring at Rick, the other at Occam. A feeling of discomfort grew in the room, and JoJo seemed to let it happen, the annoyed expression going vexed and stubborn.

  I looked at Rick. At Occam. Occam was staring at me, golden eyes glowing. I gave him the back of my head, much as he had done on the hood of the C10. Cat insult back at him. He hacked in amusement and settled, the interaction seeming to calm him, to center him in his human side.

  Slowly, Jo said, “Tandy and I found something.” JoJo pursed her lips and shook her head slightly as if arguing with herself. She took a slow breath and said, “But first, Rick. Report on the DNAKeys’ recon.”

  Rick’s eyes tracked to her. He said nothing. The words came back to me. The urge to shift and to hunt waxes strong three days out, abides the three days of, and wanes three days after. Nine nights of pleasure and nine days of hell. And Rick had a nasty history with werewolves, who had tortured him. Had the visit to DNAKeys triggered something in him? I didn’t know what was about to happen but—

  “Rick LaFleur!” Jo snapped, slamming her palm down on the tabletop. “Report!”

  Rick blinked. A grindy whirled and leaped across the room, covering ten feet in an instant, and landed on Rick’s crossed arms, standing on them with her back feet and stretching up to meet him, muzzle to nose. She chittered at him, sounding mad. Rick blinked. The green glow of his eyes faded. He shifted position. Took the grindy in one hand and stepped to his chair. Sat. Moving like a human. We were all watching Rick, waiting to see what he would do.

  He looked at Jo and said, “Thank you.” Then he placed the grindy on the table and continued, “Our reports will be detailed, but as a summation, Occam and I both scented werewolves and vampires.” His brows drew down and together, remembering or confused, I couldn’t tell. He petted the grindy. She rolled over and batted his hand, the cutest judge and jury and executioner ever envisioned.

  “There were other scents too, human and non, things we didn’t recognize. There were cameras mounted in the trees at the periphery, and along a twelve-foot hurricane fence with razor wire coiled across the top. Inside the fence was a playground with balls and agility equipment. Just outside the fencing we saw lasers and other security measures, things human eyes might miss. Two guards, human, patrolled the grounds outside. There was something military in their bearing.” Rick blinked and sat back. The grindy scampered back to Tandy and the sunflower seeds, which she stuffed into her neon green cheeks like a chipmunk or a squirrel.

  “Occam?” JoJo asked.

  “He covered it.”

  I didn’t look at Occam. I had a bad feeling he was still staring at me.

  “Okay,” JoJo said. “Tandy. You’re up.”

  Tandy punched a key on his tablet and said, “Just before shift change last night, JoJo found an unhappy DNAKeys employee on social media. One who has ties to two of the conspiracy theorist sites. She has a military background, a few documented mental issues in the past, and the skill set to target the owners and principle investors of DNAKeys.”

  Rick focused on the empath and a faint smile appeared on his face, starting in his black eyes. He looked fully human now that his human attention had been captured. “The people at DNAKeys missed that in a background search?”

  JoJo said, “They’re good. We’re better.”

  “I had an interesting conversation with Candace McCrory during the course of the night,” Tandy said, “posing online as Shaundell Mason.” My head came up at that one. Tandy turned to stare at me, the overheads bringing out the reddish Lichtenberg lines in his white skin. He finished, “Shaundell and Candace McCrory have set up a meeting for six p.m. tonight when Candace gets off work.”

  Shaundell Mason was me. Well, actually she was a fake identity set up with a full social media presence and a complete history, but all the photos in which Shaundell appeared were me, Photoshopped with red or purple or green hair and glasses and ripped black jeans and goth T-shirts. Shaundell was a member of the ASPCA and PETA, financially supported four rescue shelters, and fostered dogs, cats, and, once, a squirrel. She liked heavy metal music and had grown up in a restrictive, fundamentalist church.

  “You want me to meet her?” I didn’t believe that they’d let a probie meet with a source.

  “She’s your age, went to private school, father’s a pastor from a hellfire-and-damnation church,” Tandy said. “She’s rebellious. Mad at the world. Your persona is all that and more. You’re perfect for the meet. And you’ve been chatting for hours about saving animals that have been abused, closing down labs that use animal experimentation and exploitation.”

  Thoughtfully, Rick said, “Nell, if you dress the part and put on that red and purple wig, turn on that local church-speak, and tell her how much you hate church authority? You’ll be perfect. You up for it, probie?”

  I opened my mouth to say no, but instead I said, “Sure.” Sure? Since when did I say sure?

  “JoJo,” Rick said, “you dig deeper. T. Laine, you’re with the senator today. Watch for any signs of paranormal activity. Tandy and Occam, get some rest. Nell, go get some sleep. Anyone got anything else to add? Good. I want everyone here at four p.m., ready to roll, in place for surveillance at five. Meeting adjourned.” Rick stood and left the room. Soul was no longer standing in the doorway.

  Sure? I said sure. I stood, tossed my trash, and went to the locker room for a hot shower. Not having to wait while my water heated would save me time when I got home. It would be better if I could put on jammies and be ready for bed before I even walked in the door, but sure as shootin’, I’d have a flat on the way home and have to change a tire in my pajamas. According to Mama, I’d burn in hell if I ever did something so irresponsible. Instead I slathered my homemade sandalwood-and-lavender-scented coconut oil over my body, and a mixture of hempseed oil, jojoba oil, and sweet almond oil on my face and throat, and put on clean undies with yesterday’s office clothes. I paused, wondering how I smelled to the cats and reminding myself to never add catnip to my body oils. I’d seen the result of catnip on Rick and his faithless mate, Paka. I ran a little of the facial oil through my short hair before I dried it. I left off makeup, even though I looked as pale as Yummy. Gathering up my gear and both gob
ags, I pushed through the door to the hallway. And stopped short.

  Occam was sitting on the floor in front of the door, his back against the wall and his legs stretched across the hallway. I didn’t know if he was cat-claiming me or if he just felt calmer in my presence after the disturbing visit to DNAKeys. Either way I’d have to step over him. Which felt all kinds of wrong. No lady would—

  I shot Occam a scowl that woulda set kindling on fire, hitched my bags higher, and stepped over his legs. Without stopping to see how he would react, I jogged down the steps to the outside. Men.

  I drove away, ignoring Occam standing in the doorway. I had enough problems in my life without worrying about his catty self, this close to the three days of the full moon. Yeah. It was mighty awful sometimes. But I was tired of making allowances for cats.

  Back home, I turned on the electric blanket that warmed my bed—a guilty secret I hadn’t told Mama about buying. Wasteful, she would call it, when I could put heated rocks in a bed warmer in the bed with me. But I didn’t have time for rocks to heat. I made up a fire in the cookstove and set a kettle on it for tea when I woke, then let the cats off the porch and inside. I fed them kibble and petted the ones who let me.

  From my closet, I pulled out the threadbare jeans and the mismatched earrings and the thin, holey T-shirts. The scarlet and purple wig. The cheap high heels. Set them all on the bed. They looked perfectly awful on Leah’s hand-stitched velvet wedding-ring quilt. I stripped down and put on flannel pajamas and fell in the bed.

  • • •

  I woke to my cell pealing. It was two thirty, my alarm chiming. The cats were curled around me, purring. I had shoved a pillow beneath my knee, and my face was half buried in another pillow. I was toasty, but the room was icy. I could hear sleet peppering on the metal roof two stories above me and on the windows at the back of the house. I was groggy from too little sleep over the last few days, but I had to get up. I had a wig and undercover clothes to get into. I had a job to do. I was going undercover in my first-ever meet and greet with what I hoped would become a confidential source. I was going to lie and cheat and fake with every word and every move. I was ashamed. And excited.