Game of Cages

The girl began to cry. Catherine held her close. I stood in the doorway, weapon in hand, feeling useless.

“We have to take her away from here,” Catherine said.

“No!” the girl shouted. She broke Catherine’s embrace and retreated to the corner. “My granma is still out there, and so is that thing. It’s out there doing that to other people, and I don’t want to leave here I won’t go I won’t do it—”

Catherine pressed her fists against her chest. “It’s okay, honey. It’s okay. You don’t have to do anything scary.”

“We can’t bring her anyway,” I said. “We’re hunting.” I was surprised by the sound of my own voice; it sounded flat and miserable. I don’t rescue people. I kill predators.

The girl was willing to tell us her name, Shannon, but she absolutely refused to leave her room. Catherine promised to call emergency services for her. Shannon slid back under the bed, and we went into the hall.

“Oh my God, Ray,” Catherine whispered. “That little girl … I wasn’t ready for what happened to those horses, but that girl breaks my heart.”

“The sapphire dog didn’t feed on her,” I said, trying to think about something, anything else, “but it did feed on Little Mark. What do you think is the age break where people become food? Puberty?”

“For Christ’s sake, Ray.” Her voice was harsh but still low. “Didn’t you notice—”

I hissed at her to cut her off. It didn’t matter that she was right. At that moment, I couldn’t bear to be told that I wasn’t feeling enough.

My misery and adrenaline turned to anger. “I may not be trained for this, but I’m trying to focus on the job. Maybe you …” I almost said: should take care of your own people and let these people take care of themselves, but it would have been too much. I wasn’t going to turn something she’d told me in confidence into a weapon. I turned away.

“It’s okay,” she said. “I shouldn’t have said that.” Then she patted my hand briefly.

We went down the stairs into the basement. I led the way again, stepping around stacks of newspapers and old board games, trays full of glass candleholders, and other crap.

I switched on the light. The Conners kept their basement relatively clear, compared with the rest of the house. There was a leather saddle up on a stand and leather-working tools laid out on a workbench.

I remembered the rumble of thunder I’d heard outside. I hadn’t heard a second one. The thunderclouds might have passed, or maybe I’d heard a rock slide and didn’t recognize the sound. Still, something felt off about it.

My iron gate twinged. I knew that feeling, and I could feel where it was coming from. I turned toward the basement window behind me.

The sapphire dog was there, peering through the window at us from outside the house. It was lying on its stomach, its bright eyes almost pressing against the glass. Its star-shaped pupils seemed to be glowing.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Behind me, I heard Catherine say: “My God, it’s beautiful.”

I could feel those waves of emotion hitting me, but I was ready this time. Palming my ghost knife, I lifted my hands toward my face. Once my arm was curled, I would throw it as hard as I could right between that thing’s eyes. If that didn’t kill it, I’d fetch that revolver and box of ammo from the kitchen.

From behind me on the left, I heard the distinctive sound of a round being chambered.

I ducked down and to the right just as a gunshot boomed beside my head. I dropped to one knee, spun, and swept my ghost knife upward.

I missed the gun in Catherine’s hand but hit her wrist. She gasped and her hand opened. The weapon clattered to the floor. I lunged for the pistol but I didn’t need to rush. She didn’t do anything but clutch her wrist and say: “I’m sorry.” I could barely hear her above the ringing in my left ear.

It was a small stainless steel Smith & Wesson with a plastic handle. Where had she gotten it? I looked back at the window. The sapphire dog was staring at me.

I’d already thrown my ghost knife at it once, when it was much closer to me, and it had vanished. Now that I’d lost the chance to surprise it, I tried something else. I lifted the S&W and emptied the clip into it.

I saw the bullet holes in the glass, so I knew some of my shots had hit their mark. The sapphire dog didn’t react at all. It didn’t recoil or flinch, and no bullet holes appeared on it. It was like shooting a hallucination.

The old woman in the kitchen above thumped her gun against the floor. I glanced up, then back at the window. The predator was gone.

Catherine stared at me sheepishly. She apologized again. The ghost knife had worked on her, even though she’d been under the sapphire dog’s influence.

“Where did you get this?” I asked, holding up the gun. I tried not to shout.

She handed me a spare magazine. “I took it off Lois Conner,” she said, and in that adrenaline-fueled moment I had no idea who she was talking about. It didn’t matter. The sapphire dog was gone, and I had to go after it.

“Go to the car,” I said. She was already nodding obediently. “Drive to the fairgrounds and wait for me. Stay away from people, okay? If you can’t avoid someone, don’t do what they ask you to do. Just do what I told you.”

“I will,” she said. Her eyes were wide and blank. “What if I see the sapphire dog?”

“You can try to run it down with the car, if you think you can hit it.” I ran for the steps, then stopped. She was still staring at me with a passive, helpless expression. “On second thought, don’t try to run it down. Don’t do anything. Just hide. Hurry.”

I ran upstairs. In the drawer by the back door, I found a flashlight. I took the phone off the hook and dialed 911. I felt a stabbing headache so strong that I could barely understand the operator who answered. Could it have been a delayed reaction to the gunshot? I said what I needed to say and hung up. My headache eased up almost