“What do you say, Mr. Hunt?” Alun asked. “Care to take the gamble?”
Cedar hankered to say no. All he wanted was a chance to find the lost boy. But saying as much was beyond him now, his reason slipping quickly. The alcoholic haze of the moonrise licked through him, the heavy weight bringing his body taut with a need, a hunger, bloodlust.
He pushed against the ropes. This time, they creaked. Snapped. Cedar grinned at the spice of fear rising from Alun’s skin. He pushed harder.
Something cold and heavy looped around his neck, clicked into place.
And then the world slowed.
Cedar was aware of every second of the change, his bones and muscles stretching, curving, compacting. Luxurious pleasure flooded his senses. He pushed again against the ropes, which fell in a pile at his feet as if someone had released the knots. He needed free of these clothes, and stood, dreamlike, pulling each piece away from his skin, and folding it carefully upon the chair where he had sat. Coat, vest, shirt. His hand paused at the tuning fork and chain, both of which he left hanging against his heart. Belt, boots, pants, and drawers, all stacked neatly in the pile.
With every inhalation, a heady rush of heat pushed through him. He was alive, nerves burning, filled with the need for the air, the sky, the ground beneath his claws, and blood in his mouth. His eyesight sharpened, clarified, colors draining down to only the necessary few. His hearing cleared of the blood and thrum, and smells became infinite.
He fell down upon four feet, his mind sliding at last into the final haze of unthinking—blood hungry and needing to kill. An icy shock radiated out from the chain at his neck, clearing away the haze.
Cedar wanted to hunt, to tear and rend and mutilate. And the Madders would be the first to fall.
Coolness washed his mind again.
“You’ve your senses, Mr. Hunt,” Alun said. “If you use them.”
Cedar realized he was in possession of his thoughts, the man in him nearly as strong as the killing instincts of the beast.
Kill, the beast in him said.
Cedar pulled against the blood hunger, like hauling back on reins. The need for blood eased.
He looked up at the three brothers, who did not seem one bit surprised at his state.
“Do we have a deal, then, Mr. Hunt?” Alun asked. “The silver tuning fork is yours. This money is yours.” He bent and dropped the bag of coins on the floor between them. “The favor between us is absolved. If, in return, you will find our Holder.”
Cadoc reached into a pocket inside his vest and pulled out a small, clothbound book. Inside the book was a single dried flower. He carefully turned a page so that the flower was covered, and then tore the next page out from the spine of the book.
The internal binding on the book showed bare stitches and ragged bits where too many other pages had been removed.
Cadoc closed the book and then tore the page in half.
The air filled with a fragrance Cedar had smelled only once before—from the book Wil had found. Sweet as honey, it carried the promise of music, wine, joy, and warm summer nights that never ended. It carried a promise of something just beyond reach, just beyond taste. Something powerful.
“That is the scent of the Holder,” Alun said. “Find the blacksmith’s boy. Then find the Holder. Do we have a deal?”
Cedar opened his mouth to agree, but only a breathy woof came out. He might have the mind of a man, but he did not have the words. Fine. He picked up the bag of money and placed it on top of his clothing.
The brothers laughed. “As sound a yes as we need. Good hunting to you,” Alun said, “and luck besides. Bryn, the door.”
Bryn was already headed to the wall where he worked the lock, then the wheel to set the door rolling smoothly on its hidden track.
A rush of night air pushed into the cavern, bringing with it a thousand different smells of forest and creature and sky. Too many scents for a man’s mind to sort. Cedar knew what every smell belonged to, not by name, but by the texture of the scent.
It was a powerful knowledge to break the world apart into so many pieces. It made it easy to find the Strange, easy to find his prey.
No, Cedar thought, first he’d find the piece of the world that belonged to the Gregors’ boy, then the Holder, then whatever else he hungered for.
He walked to the door, sniffed the air, sorting the possibilities riding the wind. Life throbbed out there, animals and humans and Strange, filled with blood and bone. A haze of red covered his vision.
Kill.
The scent of the boy was faint, shuttered by too many other scents, too many other things he needed to tear apart, destroy. Cedar raised his voice and howled with want, with need. His hold on the beast slipped, and he fell, his thoughts buried, his control lost in the need to hunt. To kill.
He ran into the night, inhaling scent and odor, searching for blood, for bone, for flesh.
A horse nearby, hot from a long day’s ride. His horse. So easy to bite, first the hamstring, then the neck, then blood would fill his belly. He stalked off that way.
Something skittered in the brush to his right and ran.
Jackrabbit. Fast, hot. Terrified.
Cedar tore across the scree after it, weaving through the brush, faster than any other animal, gaining on the kill, savoring the chase, closing in, fast. He clamped his jaws down on the rabbit’s head.
Blood, sweet, warm, and salty with the slick of brains burst through his mouth. He chewed and chewed, licking the fluid off his muzzle before tearing the heart out of the chest. That he swallowed without chewing.
The need for blood eased as he made quick work of the rest of the hare.
A thought lifted through the heat of the kill. A boy. He was supposed to find a boy.
Cedar followed that thought, and rose up out of the beast’s needs like a man breathing free of a deep dive. He reined in the beast once more and sniffed the wind, catching the boy’s scent.
A cool wash poured over his mind as he loped toward the town.
Find the boy, not kill the boy, he reasoned.
The beast within him growled.
Find the boy, find the Strange, find the Holder, Cedar thought. Each word was a rope around the beast’s neck, building a harness that pulled it back into his control.
But the need for blood pushed at him. The beast would stay calm so long as its hunger was slaked. And he had not let the beast eat for many, many months. Soon, he would need to kill again.
He must go by the boy’s house and pick up his trail quickly. Before the beast, before his need to kill, overtook him again.
Cedar ran, faster than any other creature in this world, wild and alive, the tuning fork singing one sweet note against his heart as the hunt began.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Jeb Lindson had been working his way from shadow to shadow all the day. Some shadows were so far apart, sunlight had plenty of time to pour over his skin and burn down deep, leaving his flesh weeping. But that didn’t stop him from walking. On and on. Into the next shadow. Through the light and into the shadow again. For Mae. For his beautiful wife.
The sun had taken its time to roll across the sky and down behind the hills, but it was nearly gone now. Shadows hooked the edges of night and pulled darkness like a quilt back over the ground again.
Jeb liked the night. He could move faster in the night. That meant he could find Shard LeFel faster in the night. And then he could kill him.
Other things moved along with him in the night. Animals going about their hunting and scratching. Some pausing to watch as he shambled by. They didn’t come too close, so Jeb paid them no never mind.