to be sneaky. She paused at the first cage she came to, peeking inside at the flashing eyes of the silver fox. It yipped softly at her and came close to the bars of the cage, but Monica didn’t reach to pet it. She crooned to it gently, though, watching the fox’s ears flick forward and back.
“You’re okay, pretty girl,” Monica said and moved on.
She wasn’t sure what she was looking for, exactly, just that she’d exhausted her resources and needed to come at this from a different angle. She’d worked on a team once that had set a bait trap, something she hesitated to do because it meant sacrificing an innocent living creature. She didn’t think DiNero would go for it anyway, at least not with one of his pets. Which meant what, she thought as she walked, waiting for another attack?
Fortifying the walls could work to prevent another slaughter, but it was no guarantee. It also meant they’d never find out what had been doing it, unless the thing showed up someplace else...like a playground, Monica thought with a shudder. Sour bile painted her tongue at the thought of a case where the Crew had successfully managed to chase off a Chimera that had been repeatedly ransacking a poultry-processing plant, only to have the thing show up in the backyard of a nearby day-care center. She hadn’t been on that team, but everyone had heard about it. The news had said it was a pit-bull attack.
That was why, she thought as she moved on, people like Jordan didn’t believe.
Following the curving brick path, she caught sight of DiNero’s house. Lights blazing. The sounds of a party inside. She hadn’t been invited, didn’t care. She paused, though, to admire the mansion and wonder what it was like to have so much money you could drop a few grand without a second thought. Most of what DiNero was paying her went back to the Crew to fund travel and other expenses, but she got her fair share. It wouldn’t buy her a mansion but it was enough, as Carl would’ve said, to keep her in Cheetos and beer.
For a moment, grief rose in her throat, choking her. Her husband had been full of sayings like that. Most of them had made her laugh, even when his tendency to try to make everything a joke was making her angry. Suddenly, fiercely, but not unexpectedly, she missed him with a deep and wretched longing that would slaughter her faster than any monster ever could—if she succumbed to it.
There, right there, she almost did. She almost went to her knees on the bricks and wept. It was too hard, sometimes, to keep herself from giving in to sorrow. She had ways to manage the terror that came from the dreams that were really memories, but this...oh, this was something else, and nothing could make it pass but time.
Monica did not go to her knees, though she did close her eyes against the burning slide of tears. At the taste of salt, she let out a low, shuddering sigh. She rode the pain for a moment or two before steeling herself and shaking it off.
Carl had died, and nothing could bring him back. The most she could do was honor him by doing her best to prevent more death. And that was exactly what she intended to do here.
Jordan had lapped the entire perimeter of DiNero’s estate, eyes open for any signs of destruction in the wall but finding none. He’d exhausted himself, sweating, panting and finally aching, before he slowed to a walk. The night air was thick and humid, but he sucked it in greedily. No scent of anything weird, just the familiar mingled smells of the animals and, from farther off, dinner coming from DiNero’s house. The guy was having another party, which meant that sooner or later Jordan could expect a call to give a tour. DiNero loved showing off his pets.
For now, though, Jordan walked to clear his head and soothe his muscles. He wanted a hot shower and something to eat but didn’t dare go back just yet. He’d managed, barely, to fend off the hunger he’d tried to satiate with Monica.
Monica.
Damn, the woman had managed to get under his skin. He’d been stupid, he knew that, but no matter what she said, he was only human. Not even his twisted, tangled combination of DNA could make him less than that.
Still, there was shame, instilled in him for as long as he could remember by parents who’d wanted anything but this for their only son. They’d never tried to make him embarrassed about what he’d inherited; if anything, their staunch and devout insistence that he could learn to control his “condition” had been meant to make him feel better about it. But all they’d ever managed to do was repeatedly underline how different he was. How he could try and try, but he would never be the “same.”
That made him want to run again, but there was no getting away from the past. He’d learned that long ago. No way to run away from himself. The best he could do was learn to control it, the way his parents had taught him. To keep the hunger at bay.
And still he felt it constantly, always under the surface. Waiting to rise to something as simple as a steak or a beautiful woman or a thousand other things that tempted him to give in to his baser impulses. Not human, Monica had said, but she had no idea.
No matter what happened to him, Jordan thought grimly, he was always a man. Nothing could take that away from him. He wouldn’t let it.
For a moment, he leaned against the wall to feel the heat left from the earlier sunshine. It felt good, heat upon heat. It slowed things down. Made him languorous rather than agitated. He let himself press against it, then took a seat in the soft grass DiNero had spent a fortune to grow and maintain. If there was one benefit to his condition, it was that the night bugs left him alone.
If he stayed here a little longer, maybe she’d be asleep by the time he got back. Her windows would be dark. He wouldn’t be tempted to go in and see her... Jordan’s eyes drifted closed.
* * *
“Maybe we’ll be okay,” his mother said to his father when she thought Jordan couldn’t hear. “His birthday was last week. He’s fourteen now. Surely if it was going to happen, we’d know about it by now.”
Jordan had been sneaking into the kitchen for a late-night snack, his rumbling stomach making it impossible to sleep. Summer, school out, nothing but the possibilities of a whole three months of freedom ahead of him. He had plans with Trent and Delonn tomorrow, video games and a bike ride to the gas station, where they might try to talk to some girls. Maybe. At the sound of his parents’ hushed whispers from the back porch, though, he stopped. He hadn’t turned on the light, so they had no idea he was there.
“It’s going to be all right, bébé,” his father said.
Jordan froze. Dad never called Mom that unless they were arguing about something and he was trying to make up to her. Had his parents been fighting? The soft sound of sniffling made his stomach twist. Mom was crying?
“I just want him to be all right, Marc. I’m so worried...”
His father made a shushing sound. “I know. Me, too.”
“We should have been more careful.” Now his mother sounded fierce, angry. “We knew the risks. We were stupid. Arrogant and reckless!”
“Hush, bébé, don’t. You’re going to make yourself sick.”
“I am sick,” his mother said. “Sick with worry. Jordan’s the one who will pay the price for us being careless... My sweet boy. Oh God, Marc, what will we do if he has it?”
“We’ll love him anyway,” his father said. “What else could we do?”
The sound of his mother’s sobs should’ve chased away any lingering hunger, but Jordan’s stomach only ached more. What were they talking about? If he had what?
Last year, Penny Devereux had been diagnosed with leukemia. She’d had to miss almost the entire school year, and when she’d finally come back, she’d worn a scarf to cover her bald head. She’d been thin and pale, and she still laughed a lot, but she wasn’t quite the same.
His parents had gone silent, but Jordan caught a whiff of smoke. That was bad. His mother only lit up when she was superstressed.