So she wasn’t going to lose her cool over a little eau de gun oil. Ashe tried to shift her weight away, put a few inches between her body and Reynard’s, but he touched her shoulder and gestured silently. Across the lawn, something flickered through the darkness, barely a ripple of shadow. Their quarry had speed on its side.
She nodded. In silent agreement, they took off after it. Reynard bolted ahead of her, incredibly fast. The not-quite-human thing obviously had perks.
She cut a steeper angle across the lawn, trying to shave off distance, leaping over the beds of tulips and English daisies. Reynard held out a hand, slowing, crouching. Ashe skidded to a halt, dropping to one knee on the ground beside him. The cool air felt good in her panting lungs, chill and tangy from the nearby ocean.
“It’s up there,” he said. “It’s trapped in the dead end.”
Ashe squinted. Directly ahead there was an arbor the size of her bedroom at home. About forty hanging baskets ringed the area. Behind them was a wall of rock. The phouka was moving beneath the baskets, making them swing like silent bells.
She’d expected something with the liquid grace of a predator. She couldn’t make out much except that it seemed to be far less coordinated when it wasn’t running. The shadow bunched and shuffled as it went.
“Can we corner it?” she whispered, so softly that her lips almost touched his ear.
The shadow that was the thing stretched tall, making the baskets dance on their chains. Reynard put a finger to his lips. Whatever that creature was, it had superhearing. Crap, we’re busted.
They waited, stock-still, as the breeze fluttered the grass. Fortunately, they were upwind. The creature relaxed, seeming to snuffle at the plants around it. Ashe wished she could use her flashlight without giving them away, or that the creature would move into the beam of a floodlight. Not being able to see what she was hunting was getting on her nerves.
Reynard pointed to himself, pointed to the stone wall, and made a circling motion with his finger. He was going to move ahead and get ready to open a portal. Ashe gave a thumbs-up. He stood very slowly, silent as a ghost, the gold braid on his coat mere stripes in the darkness. She tensed her muscles, ready to sprint into action the moment she needed to surprise the beast into the Castle.
Reynard froze. “Where did it go?”
Good question. The baskets were still, the platform empty. Ashe’s hands felt suddenly cold, clammy, as if her blood were trying to flee her body. She squashed her fear down, swallowing hard. “Shit.”
She let out a long, frustrated breath and rose to her feet. In the moment it took to exchange hand signals with the captain, the creature had slipped away. Good thing there were only two directions the beast could have gone.
“Up there.” She pointed to her right. “The only other choice is the front gate. It won’t go that way if it doesn’t like lights and people.”
Reynard followed her pointing hand. “Where does that path lead?”
“There’s a sunken garden—it was a quarry once. Steep stairs. Blind corners. Tons o’ fun.”
Even in the dark, she caught the depth of his frown.
“Not ideal, I know.”
He shrugged, his face returning to its usual shuttered expression. “My father wagered I’d meet my death in a foolish hunting accident.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“I dread the thought that for once he was right about me.”
Ashe wasn’t sure, but thought he might have made a joke. He was damned hard to read. “Follow me.”
Ashe started up the path at a quick, crouched run. She moved almost silently, weapon drawn and ready, two-handed grip, muzzle pointed skyward. Wouldn’t do to slip and murder the bushes in cold sap.
Reynard followed without a fuss about who took point. It was a refreshing change after some of the other slayers she’d met. Give a boy a stake and he thought he was Rambo, Doctor Doom, and Lawrence of Arabia rolled into one spray-tanned package.
“What is that stench?” Reynard said under his breath, the words faint ghosts against the whispering leaves.
Ashe stopped cold. Bad smells might mean dead bodies. Poison. The musk of unspeakable monsters. She caught a whiff of the offensive scent and relaxed. “It’s the burger stand. They need to clean the grease trap.”
“That’s food?” The whispered word dripped with doubt.
“Sort of.”
“It seems I have not tasted it for too long. It did not seem familiar.”
Sarcasm dipped in sugary innocence. Not hard to read that time. “I thought Mac changed all that. I thought you guys could eat and drink these days.”
“That applies only to the new guards.”
“Not you?”
Ashe forgot her caution for a split second and glanced behind her. Reynard stood beneath a Garry oak just coming into leaf. A red spotlight illuminated the twisting branches like gnarled, bloody fingers. The strange light made the path seem even darker. She could barely make the captain out, just a faint red sheen reflecting from the buttons of his uniform. It looked like a row of glowing eyes.
“Our terms of service have not changed.”
The words were more of a rebuff than an explanation. The old guards didn’t need pansy-assed creature comforts like food. His tone made her suddenly cold, like an unexpected breath against her neck. Unsettled, she turned and started moving forward again.
“Yeah, well, my daughter loves those burgers,” she said, a little gruffly.
For a split second, she imagined Eden’s ten- year-old face, the child’s animal delight in ravaging the oh- so-unhealthy treat. She switched off the image, ducking the emotions it brought. Doubt. Anger. Fear of loss. Custody issues were a bitch.
If Ashe didn’t concentrate, she’d put herself and Reynard in danger.
To their left was a high wall of rock. To their right was a swath of flowers that rolled away into an expanse of lawn. The wind in the spring grass was a ruffling swish. The beast, if it was nearby, was utterly silent. Ashe searched everywhere, her eyes aching with the strain of looking so hard. A minute or two passed.
“You have a child?” Now Reynard’s voice was careful, as if he’d been mulling over that idea and couldn’t quite believe it. She could almost hear his good manners choking him.
“Yeah. So I don’t fit the maternal profile. Live with it.”
She heard him draw breath, but he didn’t reply. Smart guy.
The path wound around a sharp bend, turning away from the lawn. Now both sides were hemmed in by steep rising slopes, trees and bushes obstructing their lines of sight. This was the stretch that most worried her. An attacker would have the advantage of surprise and higher ground.
Reynard caught up until he was more beside than behind her. They stopped talking, all their attention fixed on the night around them. They’d instinctively divided the compass. Reynard watched to the right and behind them, Ashe to the left and in front. Ashe could anticipate his moves and mirrored him, weapons sweeping in deadly symmetry. In other circumstances, they would have danced well together.
The thought almost made her smile—a deadly, cold smile suitable for a hunt, but a good one nonetheless. It barely made it to her lips before they were leaving the blind passage and relief pushed out every other emotion. And then the moon-washed vista below gave her something new to worry about.
“There it is,” breathed Reynard, the words hot against her ear.
Oh! She cringed at what she saw, every muscle screaming to turn away.
The beast crouched on the top landing of the concrete stairway that led down into the sunken garden. What the moon didn’t show, the safety lights along the steps did. Crouched on all fours, it looked bulky and round and at least as tall as Ashe’s ribs. It had a pretty, soft brown and white coat.
“Oh, now, that’s just wrong,” she murmured, her words barely audible.
The twitch-twitch of its nose made Ashe queasy. Or maybe it was the clots of blood around the whiskery muzzle, or the glittering black eyes.
“It’s a hell bunny,” she croaked. “A bunny ate the concessions clerk.”
“Indeed,” Reynard replied.
Monsters were supposed to look like monsters, or tried to fake being human. This was just confusing.
