Bayou Moon (The Edge #2)(60)
Author: Ilona Andrews

Fuck.

The beast’s mouth opened wide, wider, like the unhinging jaws of a snake. Crooked fangs gleamed, wet with foamy drool.

"Nice." William raised his knife and motioned with the fingers of his left hand. "Come closer. I’ll carve you up the old-fashioned way."

A pale furry body shot from the bushes, baying like some hell dog. Cough danced around the beast, snapping and barking and foaming at the mouth. The beast shook its ugly head.

William gathered himself for a charge.

The beast recoiled, as if shocked by a live wire. A moment later William heard it, too, a low female voice singing, rising and falling, murmuring Gaulish words.

The beast shuddered. Its maw gaped open. It howled, a low lingering wail full of regret and pain, whirled, and took off into the night.

"Come back here!" William snarled.

The voice came closer. The tiny glow of a lantern swayed between dark pines.

William dived into the thicket, leaving Cough alone in the mangled weeds.

The bushes parted, and Grandmother Az emerged. She raised her lantern, the shaky light carving the age lines deeper into her face. Lark peered from behind her, dark eyes huge in her pale face.

The dog trotted over and pushed against the old woman’s legs, nearly knocking her off her feet.

"There you are, Cough." Grandmother Az reached over to pet Cough’s foam-drenched head. "It’s all right."

"Is it gone?" Lark asked.

"Yes, he’s gone now, child. He won’t come back tonight. You have to stay out of the forest for a while. I wish you would’ve told me he had come around. Come. Let’s go home."

Grandmother Az took Lark’s hand with a soothing smile and walked back into the woods. The dog followed them, growling quietly and talking shit under his breath.

William sat up. His chest hurt, and his shoulder felt like it was a single continuous bruise. The thing had regenerated before his eyes. Not even the Hand’s freaks healed that fast. What in the bloody hell was that?

Slowly the reality of the situation sank in. He got his ass kicked, learned nothing, and got saved by a dumb dog and an old lady.

If he lived long enough to make a report to Nancy back in Adrianglia, he would have to gloss over this part.

Chapter Nineteen

THE morning came way too fast, William decided as he finished shaving. He’d slipped back into the house and caught a few hours in bed, but most of him still felt like he had been run through one of the Broken’s dryers with some rocks added for the extra tumble.

At least his room had a bathroom attached to it, so he could clean up in relative privacy. His shoulder had gone from blue to sickly yellow-green. The yellow would be gone by the evening – changelings did heal fast. But then, healing fast often just invited more punishment, he reflected.

Something had happened early in the morning. He remembered waking up to some sort of commotion, but his door had stayed locked, so he went back to sleep.

William dressed and tried the door handle again. Open. Good. It had taken all of his will not to bust it last night. Being locked up had never been his favorite.

He slipped into the hallway. The house was quiet and sunlit; the air smelled of cooked bacon. He decided he liked the Rathole. With its clean wooden floors and tall windows, it was an open, uncluttered place, welcoming, comfortable, but not overwhelming. He caught a faint hint of Cerise’s scent and followed it down the stairs and into a huge kitchen. A massive table, old and scarred, dominated the room. Behind it an enormous wood-burning oven sat next to an old electric one. Erian sat at the table doing his best to empty his very full plate. Kaldar leaned against the wall. No Cerise. Great.

"Here you are." Kaldar saluted him with a wave of his hand. "You missed breakfast, friend."

"I thought you were supposed to watch me," William said. "What the hell?"

Kaldar grimaced. "Things happened. Anyway, I figured you’d find your way here sooner or later. Besides, we all watch you. Can’t have a stranger in the house unsupervised. No offense."

"None taken. Urow’s wife explained to me where I stand."

Kaldar’s eyes narrowed. He glanced away.

Something had happened to Clara or Urow. Something that made Kaldar wince.

"That’s Clara for you," Kaldar said. "Anyway, you’ve met my younger brother before, yes, no?"

"Yes. Erian."

Erian waved at him with his fork. He ate slowly, cutting his food into small pieces. His face was smart but slightly melancholy – the man worried a lot.

"Usually we have to introduce everyone three or four times before guests start remembering names." Kaldar picked up a metal platter covered by a hood and took the lid off. William took in a pile of fried sausage, chunks of battered fried fish, scrambled eggs, and two stacks of golden pancakes glowing with butter, and tried not to drool.

"Leftovers," Kaldar said. "Sorry about the fish. We don’t get much meat here. The plates are in the cabinet behind you."

William retrieved two plates and traded one of them with Kaldar for a fork and a knife. They sat down on opposite sides of Erian. William attacked the pancakes. They were sweet and fluffy and perfect.

Kaldar passed him a small jar of green jam. "Try this."

William slathered a small bit on his pancake and put it in his mouth. The jam was sweet and slightly sour, but mild. It tasted like strawberry and kiwi and some odd fruit he once tried . . . persimmon, that was it.

"Good, yes?" Kaldar winked at him. "Cerise makes it. She’s a great cook."

Erian stopped chewing. "Did you just try to broker Cerise to him?"

Kaldar waved at him. "Shut up, I’m working here."

"No," Erian said. "For one, we barely know the man."

William loaded his plate with sausage. Rabbit. Mmm. If Kaldar thought Cerise would let him sell her, he was deeply mistaken. That much he knew.

"And I’m practically her brother, and I’m sitting right here," Erian said.

Kaldar regarded him. "And that concerns me how?"

"You don’t try to sell a man’s sister right in front of him, Kaldar."

"Why not?"

"That’s just not right." Erian looked at William. "Tell him."

"You’ve got to be careful about that," William said. He’d learned very early on that there is a fine line between joking among men and pissing a soldier off by saying something bad about his sister. He never could tell the difference, so he stayed away from the subject altogether. "People take offense. You might get your throat slit."

"Well, I don’t see a problem with it," Kaldar said.