Werehunter (anthology)

She froze.

“It is nothing I have ever seen or heard of before.”

She clenched her hands on the strand of hair they held, ignoring the pull. “Go on—”

“It—no, he—I could not detect until he made his first kill tonight. I found him then, found him just before he took his hunting-shape, or I never would have discovered him at all; for when he is in that shape there is nothing about him that I could sense that marked him as different. So ordinary—a man, an Oriental; Japanese, I think, and like many others—not young, not old; not fat, not thin. So unremarkable as to be invisible. I followed him—he was so normal I found it difficult to believe what my own eyes had seen a moment before; then, not ten minutes later, he found yet another victim and—fed again.”

He closed his eyes, his face thoughtful. “As I said, I have never seen or heard of his like, yet—yet there was something familiar about him. I cannot even tell you what it was, and yet it was familiar.”

“You said you saw him attack—how, Andre?” she leaned forward, her face tight with urgency as the bed creaked a little beneath her.

“The second quarry was—the—is it ‘bag lady’ you say?” At her nod he continued. “He smiled at her—just smiled, that was all. She froze like the frightened rabbit. Then he—changed—into dark, dark smoke; only smoke, nothing more. The smoke enveloped the old woman until I could see her no longer. Then—he fed. I—I can understand your feelings now, cherie. It was—nothing to the eye, but—what I felt within—”

“Now you see,” she said gravely.

“Mais oui, and you have no more argument from me. This thing is abomination, and must be ended.”

“The question is—” She grimaced.

“How? I have given some thought to this. One cannot fight smoke. But in his hunting form—I think perhaps he is vulnerable to physical measures. As you say, even I would have difficulty in dealing with a severed spine or crushed brain. I think maybe it would be the same for him. Have you the courage to play the wounded bird, mon petite?” He sat beside her on the edge of the bed and regarded her with solemn and worried eyes.

She considered that for a moment. “Play bait while you wait for him to move in? It sounds like the best plan to me—it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve done that, and I’m not exactly helpless, you know,” she replied, twisting a strand of hair around her fingers.

“I think you have finally proved that to me tonight!” There was a hint of laughter in his eyes again, as well as chagrin. “I shall never again make the mistake of thinking you to be a fragile flower. Bien. Is tomorrow night too soon for you?”

“Tonight wouldn’t be too soon,” she stated flatly.

“Except that he has already gone to lair, having fed twice.” He took one of her hands, freeing it from the lock of hair she had twisted about it. “No, we rest—I know where he is to be found, and tomorrow night we face him at full strength.” Abruptly he grinned. “Cherie, I have read one of your books—”

She winced, and closed her eyes in a grimace. “Oh Lord—I was afraid you’d ferret out one of my pseudo­ nyms. You’re as bad as the Elephant’s Child when it comes to ‘satiable curiosity.”

“It was hardly difficult to guess the author when she used one of my favorite expressions for the title—and then described me so very intimately not three pages from the beginning.”

Her expression was woeful. “Oh no! Not that one!”

He shook an admonishing finger at her. “I do not think it kind, to make me the villain, and all because I told you I spent a good deal of the Regency in London.”

“But—but—Andre, these things follow formulas, I didn’t really have a choice— anybody French in a Regency romance has to be either an expatriate aristo­crat or a villain—” She bit her lip and looked pleadingly at him. “—I needed a villain and I didn’t have a clue—I was in the middle of that phony medium thing and I had a deadline—and—” Her words thinned down to a whisper, “—to tell you the truth, I didn’t think you’d ever find out. You—you aren’t angry, are you?”

He lifted the hair away from her shoulder, cupped his hand beneath her chin and moved close beside her. “I think I may possibly be induced to forgive you—”

The near-chuckle in his voice told her she hadn’t offended him. Reassured by that, she looked up at him, slyly. “Oh?”

“You could—” He slid her gown off her shoulder a little, and ran an inquisitive finger from the tip of her