Split Feather Page 5

  I stood bloodied and nearly naked in the light of my old life as it went up in flames.

  “Do I look like I have anywhere else to go?”

  “Nowhere? No family…?”

  I thought about the envelope, lying on the ground where I’d dropped it—all I owned in the world, now, except a tee shirt and a pair of flimsy underpants. An old photo that promised to break my heart, and a birthday card meant for a little girl who’d died long ago.

  Dear Sigurd,

  It is time for you to come home.

  Love, Grandpa John

  I hesitated, then shrugged. The whole thing was probably a mistake, but what the hell… it wasn’t like I had a job to stay for, right? And I’d heard the fishing was really good in Alaska.

  My shitty old trailer collapsed with a whoosh, sending a million red fireflies up to dance among the stars.

  “I guess,” I said. “Maybe.”

  Bane smiled, a flash of sharp white teeth in the dying night. As he turned toward the dead man I walked away, not wanting to see, not wanting to know. I picked up the envelope and just stood there, trying not to feel anything as I watched my trailer burn. Stood in my weedy yard next to my crappy truck, listening to the sirens as they drew nearer, wailing like banshees. Then I clutched the envelope tighter to my chest, thinking about that card.

  Maybe I’ll go, I thought. Maybe I do have a family, and they’ve been looking for me all these years.

  My demon laughed low and gravelly in my ear. Stupid, she mocked. No one wants you. No one loves you. You might as well walk into the fire. Die, and do everyone a favor.

  Lights flashed red and red and white and red among the trees as the big trucks raced toward my home. I could do it, I thought, there was still time. There was nobody to stop me, and there was sure as shit nobody who’d miss me when I was gone. One last moment of pain, and it could all be over.

  Do it, hissed my demon. Do it, do it.

  I took a step toward the fire, and another. It would be so easy. It rolled and boiled like the heart of Hell… What would a couple of minutes’ worth of pain be, after a lifetime of it? And then no more pain, ever. No having to deal with tomorrow and an endless parade of tomorrows, each with a bucket full of shit ready to dump on me. It wasn’t like anyone would cry when I was gone. I had nobody.

  Except, maybe, Grandpa John.

  I stopped mid-step and frowned, surprised at how close I’d gotten. The heat was nasty. What was I thinking? I didn’t want to die, not really. Not today, anyway, not like this.

  Die, howled the demon.

  Fuck you, I told her. I’m going to Alaska.

  I looked down and sighed as the wailing sirens drew near. If I was going to Alaska, I should probably find some pants to put on.

  6

  I spent two weeks in bed—not my own bed—crying and hiding from the cruel old world. Eventually I stubborned myself out from under the blankets, put on my big girl pants, and decided to deal.

  I was borrowing Honey’s camper trailer and owned maybe a duffel bag’s worth of clothes, and that was only because I’d gotten a certificate to Goodwill from some nice church lady after the fire. It was easy enough to get my head more or less wrapped around the idea that I was really, truly homeless, and that I was going to A-fricken-laska, but actually getting there was starting to seem like more trouble than it was worth.

  It’d seemed like it would be easy. I didn’t have any family in town, no job, no real friends except Honey, and I was her pity friend so that didn’t count. It seemed like I could just pick up and go, but nothing in life is ever that easy.

  As if trying to make me stick to my decision, Trenchcoat Dude’s pissed-off ghost showed up one night, squashing his face against the camper window and glaring at me. It almost had the opposite effect, though. I ain’t ’fraid of no ghost, especially when he’s just a figment of my warped imagination.

  Even so, I spent a week getting shit sorted out with the post office, the electric company, my car insurance—it wasn’t like I’d be driving anywhere, so why pay for that? A normal person would just pick up the phone and call her sister or whatever and say, “Yo, I’m going on a trip, could you come over and feed my bees while I’m gone?” But not me. So I gritted my teeth and did what needed to be done, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t bitch about it.

  I sold my bees, which really bummed me out, and used the money to pay taxes on my place because the foster grandpa’s real grandkids were still butthurt about me getting that land. They were keeping track of that shit, hoping to get it away from me, but I’d liked the old guy and he’d liked me. I’d taken him fishing when he couldn’t walk anymore and nobody else could be bothered, so screw them. I figured I’d just board the ruins up tight and put up a bunch of keep out signs so nobody could sue me if they came poking around and got hurt. I’m classy like that. And then, because I couldn’t think of anyone else to ask, I took one of my last two jars of honey and headed into town to have lunch with Honey and say goodbye.

  There was coffee in my bloodstream and a smile stuck on my face when I entered The MEatery carrying Honey’s honey. I could do it, no problem, ask a friend for a simple favor. People do this kind of thing all the time. But I wasn’t expecting to find the place full of demons.

  Bearpaw had become overrun with the damn things practically overnight. They were in the restaurant, too. Big ones, little ones, flat demons like paper dolls grinning up at me from the floor, even a fat blue-and-yellow-striped snake demon with no eyes, draped across the counter where people were eating their burgers and fries. I know I’m crazy, but just try walking into a burger joint full of demons without saying anything, even if you know they’re not real. It’s not as easy as you might think—and it didn’t help that they all looked up when I walked in, either.

  Or that they looked happy to see me. I’ve never wanted to be the kind of person a demon would be happy to see. Nevertheless, I smiled and waved to Honey, and made sure the smile didn’t slip when I saw who was seated at the booth with her—Bane and a pair of cops.

  As promised, the body had been gone before morning, without the slightest trace—and I mean slightest. I’d crawled around on my hands and knees, nose an inch away from the weeds and dirt, and hadn’t seen or smelled anything that would show that a bad guy had gushed blood and died all over my yard. Then I tried hard not to think about why Bane might be so good at getting rid of blood and bodies, or why I was more upset about losing my little TV than I was over the fact a man had died in front of me.

  I knew enough about normal people to know that watching a guy bite it, even if he was a bad guy, would make most people feel something. But me? Not so much.

  Cops though, yeah. I was afraid of them. In the handful of days since the fire, I’d been twitchy as shit waiting for them to show up and arrest me for murder or at least being an accomplice, because I’ve never done something wrong and not gotten into trouble. Hell, I’m always in trouble, whether I do anything wrong or not. And here were two of them, giving me the grim eye as I approached.

  Technically speaking, one of the men wasn’t a cop. He was Honey’s cousin Bill Briggs, hottest Department of Natural Resources officer in Northern Michigan. A lot of women made jokes about poaching him, but not me. I’d had a couple of run-ins with the dude, once over a stupid four-point that on one tine was a quarter of an inch short of being the required five-point. Another time he’d insisted my fifteen-inch bass was only fourteen inches long. I swear, Bill’s the one man in history to ever underexaggerate the size of anything.

  It didn’t help that he let me off with a warning about the stupid buck, and finally agreed that my bass was legal. I was going to be pissed off at him for the rest of my life if I lived to be a hundred. I mean, seriously, you’d think he’d go after some Great White Hunter, and not a girl who was just trying to put meat in the freezer.

  The cops scooted over so I could sit by them, but screw that; I wedged myself in by Bane and Honey and glared for all I was worth.
The police officer looked from me to Bill and raised his eyebrows. Briggs didn’t seem to notice at all.

  “Mornin’, Miss Siggy,” he drawled.

  “The usual, Siggy?” Cherry asked. The pert young waitress slid a mug of black coffee in front of me, and didn’t really wait for an answer before turning a scowl on Bill. “Now, you just leave Siggy alone, Mistah Briggs. She’s had a really bad week, and you know what she’s like before she’s had her coffee.”

  I’d had three cups already, actually, but didn’t argue as she flounced off, an added bit of wiggle in her skinny hips.

  “Careful, Bill,” Honey said, “the bait ban’s been lifted, but I think the jailbait ban is still in place.” She laughed, and laughed again at the look on the state trooper’s face. “Siggy, honey, is that what I think it is? Ooooh, you are such a dear. I love you.” She purred and crooned as I handed over my second-to-last crock of honey. “Not enough to make mead, I’m gonna have to keep this for myself. Have you tried Siggy’s mad honey?” she asked Bane. “It’s marvelous stuff. Magical. I swear I haven’t gotten sick since she gave me a jar of it last Christmas, and I’ve been bugging her about it ever since.”

  “I haven’t had the pleasure.” Bane’s lips curled up at the corners, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

  “Well, too bad, ’cause I’m not sharing. I wouldn’t be surprised if this is what those kids were after when they broke into your place.”

  The trooper turned toward me and frowned. “When was this?”

  “Some time back. Before the fire. No big deal, nothing stolen, probably just some kids screwing around.” I shot a glare over my mug, but Honey ignored me with the ease of long practice. I would’ve kicked her under the table, but Bane’s long legs were in my way. “That’s why I came to find Honey, so I could ask her to keep an eye on my place while I’m gone. Not that there’s much left for anyone to get into, but–” I shrugged “–it’s still my place.”

  “Of course I will,” Honey answered, and reached across the table to pat my hand reassuringly.

  “Nothing stolen? Are you sure it was kids?” Bill leaned toward me, eyes oddly intent. “Was there any damage to your trailer? Gouges, gashes, anything of that nature?”

  “You’re not going on about that cougar again, are you?” The trooper grinned, and Bill scowled, and it occurred to me that they looked an awful lot alike. “I thought you guys were supposed to deny that there are any cougars in Michigan.”

  “All right you two, cut it out.” Honey rolled her eyes. “If Siggy said it was kids, it was kids. She’s not some city girl—she can tell the difference between kid tracks and cougar.”

  “A cougar, hm?” I frowned at the bottom of my coffee mug, wondering whether the rumors of a big cat might come in handy if Trenchcoat Dude’s body turned up. “I’ll keep my eyes open.”

  “If it shows up—” Bill started.

  “I’m not gonna shoot it,” I snapped, scowling.

  “Aw, now, does she look like a poacher to you?” the trooper said. I wasn’t imagining it, either. He smiled at me. A big, pretty smile full of even white teeth and pheromones. Hello. He reached over Bill and offered his hand to me. “I’m Phil, by the way.”

  I took his hand and squeezed.

  He squeezed back.

  I squeezed harder.

  So did he. I grinned. “I’m Siggy.”

  “Siggy as in…?”

  “Siggy as in Siggy.” I released his hand and waved to Cherry. Damn kid was better trained than to leave my coffee cup empty. And where was my—

  “Here you go.” Cherry shoved a plate in front of me. “Poacher’s special.” She winked at Bill. “Do you need a refill on your coffee?”

  “Have you met me?” But she’d turned away already. “And it’s hunter’s special!” I turned back to the table, ignoring the chuckles of my companions. “Damn kids.”

  “You’re all of, what? Nineteen?” Phil smiled indulgently. I shoveled the venison sausage omelet into my mouth and ignored him, dimples or no. Nineteen, indeed.

  “She’s twenty-one, and don’t be crass.” Honey sniffed. “Siggy, dear, you’ll have to forgive my loutish cousin.”

  I choked on the sausage. “Another cousin? So you two are…”

  “Brothers.” Bill shrugged.

  “Yeah, but I got the looks and the brains.” Phil turned the wattage on his smile up just a little too high, and I found attraction slipping into annoyance. My demon laid a hand on my shoulder and whispered into my ear.

  “Bill and Phil, huh,” I said as Cherry finally refilled my coffee. “Is this like an exotic dance routine or something? Because if you guys are going to take your clothes off, let me get my camera out of my truck first.”

  The MEatery went dead silent, and then erupted into howls of laughter as the two men turned beet red. Honey pounded the table and I thought Cherry was going to pee, she was laughing so hard. As usual, the whole town was laughing at the crazy girl and her smart mouth.

  Everyone, that was, except for Bane.

  Bane was staring over my shoulder… at my demon… and wasn’t laughing at all.

  * * *

  “How long?” Bane asked. Honey and her stripper cousins had left. Okay, so they weren’t really strippers, but I’d have paid to watch them dance around naked.

  I’d scootched what was left of my breakfast to the other side of the booth, and sat facing him. “How long what?”

  Bane’s too-bright eyes bored into mine. Sparkly green nails steepled in front of an unsmiling mouth. “How long have you been friends with a wendigo?”

  “A what?” All the coffee I’d ever had in my life seemed to hit me at once, I was that awake. “A what?” I knew what a wendigo was. I’d read Pet Sematary. There was no such thing. But there was no such thing as my demon, either… and Bane had seen her. I hadn’t imagined that.

  “How long have you been eating human flesh?”

  “Whaaaaaat?” I responded.

  Those eyes pinned me in my seat. I felt the cold vinyl yielding as I pressed back, shying away from that accusing glare. I never, I wanted to protest, I never. Of course, he wouldn’t believe me. Nobody ever believed me. I was the bad kid, the bad seed, the wicked child upon whose shoulders the rod had not been spared. I felt panic rising like cold water, suffocating, terrifying…

  And then I got mad. Looked up into those accusing, condemning eyes, and pushed back. I wasn’t sure what I was doing, only that I was done, long done with being shoved around and bullied and scared. Fuck that.

  “Leave me alone,” I growled between bared teeth.

  Bane stared at me for another moment, and then shrugged and leaned back. I sagged forward as if he had been pinning me against the chair by my throat, and gasped for air.

  “Interesting,” he said, and he took a sip of water. “This complicates things, you know.”

  “No, I don’t know,” I rasped. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, and I don’t know who you really are…”

  “No, you do not, and that fact alone should give you a bit of caution.” Bane smiled, and this smile did reach his eyes. “Darling, you should have listened to me when I told you to leave town. I thought you said you had family you could go stay with?”

  “It’s complicated,” I muttered.

  “Do you know what isn’t complicated? Death. Your death, specifically. Now, I find myself with a problem. I like you, and though there is no longer a debt between us, I feel I should warn you—that DNA test you ordered set all kinds of events in motion, things you cannot possibly understand. One of these is a singularly gifted killer who has been sent to uncomplicate a lot of lives by ending yours.”

  The demons, as one, stopped what they were doing and turned to look at us. Bane seemed to take no notice, though he must have known they were there.

  But they aren’t real, I wanted to shout. They’re not real.

  “A killer?” Who the hell would think I was important enough to kill? Then my brain caught up.
I clutched that empty coffee mug like it was going to save my life. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

  “As a matter of fact–” Bane waved Cherry over for the bill “–it is.”

  * * *

  I didn’t sleep at all that night.

  The camper was too small, too stuffy, and stuffed entirely too full of demons. I took the envelope with my card and the picture of my mother—because these were the last precious things I owned—and the bottle of mead Honey had given me to soothe the pain of losing my home, and went outside.

  The stars were beautiful, deep and dark and bloody in the orange-red haze of civilization that mucked up even my corner of the woods. The moon was waning, though there was plenty of light for my eyes and not much to see. I wondered about the cougar Bill was looking for. To tell the truth, I’d seen its tracks from time to time, and once caught a quick glimpse of tawny fur and round golden eyes. I wished they’d just leave the poor thing be. It sucked to be alone and unwanted in the world.

  And now I was being driven from my home, too. Bane had said he’d look the other way if I got on a plane and left town, and try to buy me some time.

  “Time to do what?” I’d asked. It didn’t escape my notice that this person I’d almost been feeling friendly toward, and who’d maybe saved my life once already, had also come here to kill me.

  “Time to find answers to your questions.”

  “Questions?” I’d replied. “Which ones? My whole frickin’ life is a question.” It was true. Hell, my questions had questions.

  “Okay, then, time to find out who you are,” he’d said. “Where you came from.” Like that was gonna help.

  “And if I don’t go?”

  Bane had sighed. “You are special, Siggy, more special than you can imagine, and that makes you a target. Yet you are alone in the world, and that makes you vulnerable. If you were to disappear, would anybody come looking for you?”