Binding: Book Two of the Moon Wolf Saga by Carol Wolf Page B
Authors: Carol Wolf
Tags: Binding
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Tantric meditation in the nature of the universe. Not Richard as I’d known him, the beautiful youth, trapped and powerless, but the writhing conscious mass of weighted and spiraling darkness he became, when he recovered his powers. The hair on my neck rose, remembering his demon form. Maybe he’d laugh. Or, maybe he’d just make lamp oil out of this Cecil, to make a pinprick of light in whatever universe of blackness he dwelled in now. Or he might bring us eternal peace. Very still, very quiet, and very dark. That would be bad. I said, “I don’t think you want to study the One True Way from a demon. No.”
She rubbed her hands. It was late. The cab was cold. In the east, the gibbous moon was rising, eight days past full. My wounds ached.
“Where are my clothes?” I asked. “And where is my car?”
She said Holly had thrown my clothes in a dumpster, because there was blood on them. The bitch. My car was still parked in the dirt lot where I’d left it at the beginning of this adventure. Elaine drove me to the lot above the private beach where I’d been lured to the party, that was not a party after all, but just a trap. I added a couple more people to the list I had to talk to. Honey, from the Thunder Mountain Boys. And Yvette, who I’d thought was my friend.
My keys and my wallet were gone, but one of the things my kind always does is stash spare car and house keys. We can usually hold on to the stuff in our pockets when we change, but every now and then something doesn’t come back with us when we change to human form. I found the magnetized box in the wheel well, and the keys were there, and the car started just fine. I made Elaine get out of the truck and give me all the money she had, for taking my wallet. And that wasn’t a bad haul, since her camel patient had paid her in cash. I also made her give me her tennis shoes. They didn’t fit, but I scrunched her socks up in the toes, and that worked all right.
Before I left her, I pulled out her vet case, and scrounged out some things I would need. Then I took the keys from her once more, lined up the truck, put it in gear, got out and released the handbrake. I had planned to aim it over the cliff and into the sea. But since I’d been talking to her for nearly an hour, and we’d gotten all chummy and looked into each other's souls—even though she still didn’t understand what she’d seen in mine—I just sent the truck down the steep dirt path and sank it nose first in the sand on the beach. I’d angled it just right, so it made the first hairpin turn before it fell off the path. It was going to take a tow truck hours to haul it out. They might have to use two winches. I hoped it would cost her five days of anguish, but I don’t think it gave her that much. The gun, though, I did throw into the sea, though she squawked that it was county property. And it served her right.
I left her running awkwardly down the dirt road after her truck, barefoot, shouting at it, and yelling curses back at me, angry and cold, frustrated and afraid. But unharmed. I still had three holes in me, and I was pretty sure one of them was bleeding again. She hadn’t even offered to bandage my wounds. She was an evil vet. The bitch.
CHAPTER FIVE
T he only up side to driving away from Malibu toward home was that at that hour, there was no traffic to speak of. My black Honda Civic is a manual drive. Shifting, with my right hand, flexing all the muscles of my aching wrist, and pressing my wounded left foot down on the clutch, hurt. Every time. I used my right foot for the gas and brake, so once I got onto the highway I was able to stretch out my left ankle and let it rest.
Far across Los Angeles, my apartment in Whittier drew me on, offering bed, food, water, especially bed. I headed down the 10 freeway at exactly three miles over the speed limit.
It wasn’t long before I realized that if people were still after me, Holly, the metallurgist, Cecil, or any other of his
She rubbed her hands. It was late. The cab was cold. In the east, the gibbous moon was rising, eight days past full. My wounds ached.
“Where are my clothes?” I asked. “And where is my car?”
She said Holly had thrown my clothes in a dumpster, because there was blood on them. The bitch. My car was still parked in the dirt lot where I’d left it at the beginning of this adventure. Elaine drove me to the lot above the private beach where I’d been lured to the party, that was not a party after all, but just a trap. I added a couple more people to the list I had to talk to. Honey, from the Thunder Mountain Boys. And Yvette, who I’d thought was my friend.
My keys and my wallet were gone, but one of the things my kind always does is stash spare car and house keys. We can usually hold on to the stuff in our pockets when we change, but every now and then something doesn’t come back with us when we change to human form. I found the magnetized box in the wheel well, and the keys were there, and the car started just fine. I made Elaine get out of the truck and give me all the money she had, for taking my wallet. And that wasn’t a bad haul, since her camel patient had paid her in cash. I also made her give me her tennis shoes. They didn’t fit, but I scrunched her socks up in the toes, and that worked all right.
Before I left her, I pulled out her vet case, and scrounged out some things I would need. Then I took the keys from her once more, lined up the truck, put it in gear, got out and released the handbrake. I had planned to aim it over the cliff and into the sea. But since I’d been talking to her for nearly an hour, and we’d gotten all chummy and looked into each other's souls—even though she still didn’t understand what she’d seen in mine—I just sent the truck down the steep dirt path and sank it nose first in the sand on the beach. I’d angled it just right, so it made the first hairpin turn before it fell off the path. It was going to take a tow truck hours to haul it out. They might have to use two winches. I hoped it would cost her five days of anguish, but I don’t think it gave her that much. The gun, though, I did throw into the sea, though she squawked that it was county property. And it served her right.
I left her running awkwardly down the dirt road after her truck, barefoot, shouting at it, and yelling curses back at me, angry and cold, frustrated and afraid. But unharmed. I still had three holes in me, and I was pretty sure one of them was bleeding again. She hadn’t even offered to bandage my wounds. She was an evil vet. The bitch.
CHAPTER FIVE
T he only up side to driving away from Malibu toward home was that at that hour, there was no traffic to speak of. My black Honda Civic is a manual drive. Shifting, with my right hand, flexing all the muscles of my aching wrist, and pressing my wounded left foot down on the clutch, hurt. Every time. I used my right foot for the gas and brake, so once I got onto the highway I was able to stretch out my left ankle and let it rest.
Far across Los Angeles, my apartment in Whittier drew me on, offering bed, food, water, especially bed. I headed down the 10 freeway at exactly three miles over the speed limit.
It wasn’t long before I realized that if people were still after me, Holly, the metallurgist, Cecil, or any other of his
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