A Feral Darkness (40 page)

      
Parker and his fighting dogs and the animals he'd touched and they'd touched and rabies.

      
Shedding rabies.

      
Parker's barn and Parker's dogs and shedding rabies and the darkness-feeding force that had come from the very spring she loved so much.

      
And it would only get worse. She knew that from the things she'd seen...things somehow connected with Druid, that upset him as much as they upset her, though she couldn't fathom why or how. Maybe she never would.

      
Fine. She'd created that place of power;
she'd
started this.

      
She knew how to finish it.

      
Only then did she notice that Druid's white muzzle had an inconspicuous rim of tomato red, and that his breath smelled familiar, if a smell that no longer sent her for the toilet. She gave a shaky laugh, and squeezed him in a hug until he protested. "Maybe you're a normal dog at that," she said, and wiped the corner of his mouth, coming up with a single forlorn pasta
O
.

      
But she had a feeling that was only wishful thinking.

~~~

Call animal control.

      
That's what she needed to do.

      
Masera had said they knew about it. He hadn't wanted her to call, though he hadn't come right out and said it; he hadn't needed to.

      
More pieces of the puzzle whirled in on her. Parker's girlfriend and Mickey the stock boy, missing dog food, Masera and Mickey, arguing, exchanging cash for dogs...Mickey's message to Masera about something that was happening...
tonight
.

      
He'd said he wasn't going to fight those dogs. He'd meant it, she knew that, and when he'd said it she'd interpreted his comment to mean he wasn't involved. But she should have known better, should have remembered how good he was at sliding past things he didn't want to reveal or discuss. Somehow, in some way, Masera was mixed up with the fighting. Even Eztebe knew of it—he just didn't know what
it
was.

      
But Brenna did.

      
Wherever tonight's action was, Masera was there. Now.

      
Mixed up with Parker and his dogs
and his rabies.

      
Right now.

      
Brenna lunged up from the bathroom, leaving one very surprised Corgi in her wake, and went tearing through her beat-up purse, hunting her wallet and the card with Masera's cell phone number. She didn't think about what she'd say, or marshal her arguments. She fumbled with phone and card until she'd gotten the number dialed and then listened to his line ring. And ring.

      
Answer it, you idiot
, she thought fiercely at him. "I don't care where you are, answer the damn—"

      
"Masera," he snapped, not sounding at all glad about it. Shouts and catcalls and curses filled in the background noise, swelling suddenly to a frenzied cacophony, making her sure she'd been right.

      
"It's Brenna," she said, and didn't wait for a response. "Get out of there."

      
"Brenna, I don't have time for this—"

      
"You
do
," she said. "You
take
the time, and you listen to me. Get out of there! It's not safe."

      
That, for some reason, amused him. He
knew
it wasn't safe, she realized, even as he said, "I know what I'm doing." But the noise in the background diminished; he must have been moving away from it. She at least had that much of his attention.

      
"You think so?" she snapped. "Did you know Mr. Cocky died from rabies?"

      
"Mr.
Who
?" And then, barely muffled, he shouted to someone, "Yeah,
yeah
, I'll be right there."

      
"That guy who chased us off Parker's driveway—you know, the guy with the
I'm hip
walk and the sleazy attempt at a beard."

      
"He's dead?" Masera asked, checking to make sure he'd gotten it right; the background noise faded a little more.

      
"He's really dead. And they say it was rabies. Listen, every animal and person who's gotten rabies has a connection to Parker. And you're there at a dog fight, aren't you?"

      
"Don't be—"

      
"No,
you
'don't be.' Parker's running dog fights and he's got his own dogs and at least one of them is spreading a new variation of rabies. I don't
care
what you're doing there, just get out! With all the blood and dog spit being slung around at a fight, you think you're not in danger?"

      
"I've been inoculated," he said, and she could tell she was losing his interest, could hear someone calling his name in the background, rising above the general hubbub of the place.

      
"Well whoop-di-do, and so have I. So was Parker's girlfriend's cat, and Elizabeth's dead. And the Sheltie mix made it through quarantine and still wasn't showing signs of rabies after passing it to two people who are also now dead. Aren't you
listening
? It's a
new strain
."

      
There was a pause; in the background she heard a purely human scuffle break out and quickly subside, and she hated to think of the men who could quell such a thing so quickly in that charged atmosphere. What they'd do to Masera if they even guessed what he was talking about. Then Masera said, "She's dead? Elizabeth died?"

      
"Yes," Brenna said in misery. "I'd really rather you didn't die, too."

      
His voice got quiet and intent; she could tell he was holding the phone close to his mouth, and probably had his hand cupped around the receiver. She could also tell immediately that he was going to do his own thing no matter what she said. "Okay, Brenna. I hear you. I'm not in that sort of danger here. I'm strictly back row right now. But I can't leave. And I damn sure can't spend time on the phone and then leave. Parker's tight, and he's careful. I'll never get back in."

      
She didn't ask why the hell he wanted to get back in, and she didn't care. "You want to talk trouble?" she said, her voice dropping low and shaking a little from the very nature of the exchange, from what she knew she was about to say—knowing that deep down, no matter what she called him, no matter how he alternately hid himself from her and shoved himself into her life and annoyed the hell out of her, she didn't want to push him away for good. "Here's trouble for you—you have this nice long talk on the phone and fifteen minutes later the cops arrive and break up the party."

      
"The hell you will," he said, and every bit of the anger she expected was there. "You stay out of this, Brenna. You have no idea what you're meddling with."

      
"And I don't care. It's your choice. I see you here within ten minutes, or I call the cops. I don't even care if you're
not
at Parker's. It'll mess up your secret little plans just as much if they storm his training barn."

      
He reacted with such utter silence that she knew he didn't even trust himself to respond to her. Then he muttered—no doubt through clenched teeth—"It'll take me more than ten minutes. Fifteen."

      
"Fifteen," she agreed.

      
He hung up on her.

      
She wasn't surprised. She couldn't even blame him. She put the phone down on the cradle and looked at Druid, ever attentive Druid. "He's mad."

      
Druid, well-ensconced in normal-dog mode, cocked his head, and his intent was plain enough; he might as well have spoken English.
I really liked that bowl of round things. I'd like more.

      
Brenna laughed, a shaky laugh, and crouched to put her cheek against his gently domed head. Then she looked him in the eye and said, "Not a chance."

~~~

Sixteen minutes had passed when she heard a vehicle turn up her driveway. At seventeen minutes she would have called him again, another warning. And then she would have called the cops.

      
Her relief upon hearing the car, upon knowing she wouldn't have to make either call, was immense. It lasted only long enough for her to realize she was now going to have to face Masera in his anger. She went to the back door and waited, the screen propped open with one foot, the porch light beckoning.

      
The SUV came to a hard stop before the barn; she could hear him yank on the parking brake through the open window. He closed the door with a solid swing, though not with a slam—she supposed that was good—and walked toward the house with big angry strides, coming right up to the door, right up to
her
.

      
They stared at one another a moment. He didn't look as furious as she'd expected, but definitely brimming with frustration; beside himself, as if besieged by so many strong emotions he didn't know where to turn first.

      
Boy, could she relate.

      
So he did nothing, just latched his gaze onto hers and stood there on the verge of something, while Brenna herself didn't know whether to say
I'm sorry
or
I'm
not
sorry
—and ended up, to her great surprise, reaching out to touch the side of his face.

      
It changed something between them. For the first time, Brenna felt like she had given him something that no one else could, and that for the first time she'd chosen to give. And he relaxed, as though she had released something within him, although his manner was no less grave. "We have things to talk about," he said. "We have a
lot
of things to talk about. But not now."

      
Rabies, Parker buying her land, visions from a dog and the death of a friend. Lots of things to talk about, all right. But not now. Brenna said, "Okay," and stepped back from the door in invitation. "Want a bagel? I've got that great black cherry butter, and Druid ate my dinner so I'm having one anyway."

      
He grinned, giving a helpless shake of his head. "Yeah," he said. "I'd love a bagel."

      
So they had bagels, and they didn't talk, and when he was leaving he said, "Tomorrow. I'll come over tomorrow after my early evening class."

      
"I'll be here," she said simply, and they left it at that.