River Marked (25 page)

I struck out for the swimming hole even though it meant fighting the river. But for the next mile downstream or so, the riverbank was cliff face, and I didn’t want to stay in the river that long: there was a monster out here somewhere.

A toddler walking along the bank could have beat me, for all the forward progress I made. I was only a fair swimmer, strength without technique. It was enough to beat the slow flow of the Columbia, but not by much.

Two otter heads poked up beside me, and I growled at them. Somehow knowing they were fae made them less of a threat than real river otters though I expect the opposite was actually true. I was too busy fighting the river to worry about adjusting my beliefs in accordance to reality.

They disappeared under the water for a few minutes before one popped up again, watching my slow progress with cool appraisal.

“I’d swim faster if I were you,” observed Coyote.

Rage fueled my strokes, and I finally made it around the bend and into the shallower, slower water. I swam until the water was waist-deep and staggered toward shore on my feet. Coyote waded in knee-deep and stopped to watch me.

“What did you find out?” he asked.

“That you are a jerk,” I told him, my voice vibrating involuntarily with the chill. “What in—”

Something wrapped around my waist and jerked me off my feet, and my head was underwater again. I fought, digging my feet in deep, but it pulled me slowly back out toward the deeper water. I managed to get my face out of the river and gasped for breath. As soon as I got oxygen in my lungs, I screamed Adam’s name with a volume that would have done credit to a B-movie actress in a horror film.

Coyote grabbed my wrists, then shifted his grip until his arms were wrapped around my torso. He began to pull me back toward shore, and the strands around my waist tightened until I couldn’t breathe.

“Let’s see what we caught,” he murmured breathlessly in my ear. “It should be interesting.”

I didn’t hear Adam. He was just suddenly there, a shadow of fur and fang. He closed his mouth on something just below the surface of the water, and his weight on the thing that wrapped around me jerked Coyote and me off our feet and back down into the river. The too-tight bands released me, then Coyote grabbed my arm and hauled me up.

“Run,” he said.

But I looked around for Adam. I wasn’t leaving him in the river with the monster. The wolf bumped my hip, safe and sound, so I let Coyote pull me out of the river and ran with him as fast as I could up the bank to the steep ridge that separated the swimming beach from the rest of the campground, Adam keeping pace with us. Coyote kept us running about four long strides on the grass before turning around.

The river lay quiet and black, the surface hiding anything that lay beneath.

Beside me, Adam roared a challenge that would have done credit to a grizzly bear. Coyote joined in with a high-pitched cry that hurt my ears, his face exuberant and laughing.

Something wet and squishy rolled down my leg and fell on my bare foot. It looked like a chunk of limp fire hose, if that fire hose was made from the stuff they make gummy worms from and covered with short, silver hair that glittered in the moonlight. One end was all jagged, where Adam had severed it, and the other narrowed, then widened in a ball about the size of a softball.

Something else, neither wolf nor coyote, bellowed like an enraged bull. And the river devil revealed itself . . . herself, if I could believe Coyote. Up and up she rose, like a snake charmer’s cobra. Though her body resembled a giant snake’s, the overall impression I had was, as it had been looking at the petroglyph, of a Chinese dragon. A huge, ginormous, towering, and ticked-off Chinese dragon.

Her head could certainly have inspired the petroglyph. It was triangular like a fox’s, with huge green eyes. Encircling her head at the base of her skull, like a ruff of snakes or petals of a flower, long tentacles twisted and writhed like a wave, not precisely in unison, but not independently, either.

On the very top of her head were two shiny black horns, twisted and rolled back, like a mountain sheep’s. From the front, it looked very much like she had a pair of ears.

The full impact of her coloring was muted by the moonlight, and though I could see here and there a hint of green or gold, mostly she just looked silver and black.

She opened her mouth and let out a second angry roar. Unmuffled by the water, it dwarfed Adam’s howl, just as her bulk dwarfed the three of us. But it wasn’t the sound that scared me.

The front of her mouth was littered with long, spiky teeth—like the petroglyph’s had been. Teeth designed to spear and hold her prey. Her back teeth were just as nasty. Not grinders but huge spade-shaped sawing teeth. Teeth that could slice off a man’s foot, and she wouldn’t even notice until she swallowed.

She threw herself at us, and her head landed with an impact that almost knocked me off my feet again. Tentacles stretched forward—

“The land is mine,” said Coyote. “Here you do not reign. Not yet, and not ever.” He stepped between us and her, long, saw-toothed knives suddenly in his hands. “Just you try it. Just you try it.”

Head in the dirt, she jerked her tentacles back and screamed at him, a wicked, high-pitched sound, while she gave us an up-close and personal view of sharp teeth. Abruptly, she jerked her head back into the river, faster than such a large thing should have been able to move, and disappeared into water that roiled and drove great waves onto the shoreline.

Coyote turned to me. “That big.”

I opened my mouth. I was cold and wet, my middle burned where the river devil had grabbed me—and I had nothing to say. He waited for me to find some words, then shrugged and walked down to the indentation she’d left on the ground about fifteen feet from us.

“About six feet from one side of her jaw to the other,” he commented. “Nine feet from where her head started until the end of her nose. More or less.”

Adam watched him with pinned ears, then sniffed me over carefully. When he was satisfied I wasn’t too badly damaged, he grumbled at me.

“It wasn’t my idea,” I protested. “He threw me in.”

The grumble turned into a full-throated growl, and Adam took a step toward Coyote, head lowered and muzzle displaying his generous-sized ivory teeth. I hadn’t intended to send Adam after Coyote with my response. I hadn’t had a chance to let Adam know just who we were dealing with, not that it would matter to him anyway. I caught Adam by the ruff on the back of his neck in a mute request for restraint.

“Simmer down, wolf,” Coyote said absently, making the “wolf” sound like an insult. “I wouldn’t have let the creature hurt her.”

“Really?” I asked doubtfully. “What could you have done about it if she’d caught me a little faster?”

“Something,” he said airily. “Look at all the information we’ve managed to gather. Hey, did you see those otters? I’ve never seen otters that look like that.”

“They’re fae,” I said.

He grunted. “Never a good idea to plunk down introduced species without knowing what you’re doing.”

And he resumed pacing off distances, walking right out into the water. I couldn’t have gone that close to the river right then even if my life depended upon it.

“Assuming,” Coyote said, “that she strikes like a snake, we can estimate that she struck with half her body length.” He held up a finger as if to forestall an imaginary protest. “Yes, I know that a third is probably more accurate, but I believe in erring on the side of caution. Surprising as that might be to some people.”

He stopped knee-deep in the water and counted again on the way back to us. “That’s not good,” he muttered. “That’s bigger than I remember. I suppose she might have grown—or my memory is faulty.” He pursed his lips and frowned at the indented soil.

“Thirty-two feet from where I stopped to here,” he said. “That means between sixty-four and ninety-six feet long. Pretty big.”

His eyes traveled down my wet and bedraggled self and landed on the chunk of slimy fire hose at my feet.

“Hah!” he said, trotting over to me. “Good. I thought we might have lost that in the river.” He reached down and picked up the piece of the river devil.

“I feel like I’m lost in an anime movie,” I said, as Coyote picked the thing up. “One of the tentacle-monster ones.” Most of them were X-rated and ended up with a lot of dead people.

Coyote rubbed the thing he held with his fingers, then pulled my shirt up with one hand, ignoring Adam’s growl and my “Hey.”

Sure enough, there was a swirl of damaged flesh all the way around my waist twice. I’d been afraid to look because these wounds seriously hurt. They looked like acid burns, I decided.

“Mmm,” he said, dropping my cold, wet shirt back down over the burns—which didn’t help, even though the cold should have worked as an anesthetic.

He took the tentacle in both hands and held it up, comparing it to me—and I saw what he had noticed. The chunk he held was about two feet long and it had wrapped twice around my waist.

“Must be elastic.” He started with two fists together and pulled it until he had both arms outstretched. “Yes. Stretchy, all right. What else do we need to know?”

He pulled a knife out of the pocket of his jeans—a smaller, less-threatening knife than the ones he’d pulled on the monster. “Werewolf teeth evidently are sharp enough to make an impression,” he murmured. “But steel?” The blade bounced off the rubbery, gummy thing.

“Here,” he said. “You hold this end on the ground here.” And he grabbed my hand and had me kneel and hold one end of the tentacle while he stretched it out. With tension and the solid earth beneath it, he managed to stick the end of the knife through the flesh.

“Okay. Steel isn’t a good weapon,” he said. “Good to know.”

The small knife went away to be replaced by one of the larger jaggedy knives. Like Gordon’s, the knife was obsidian. It wasn’t as big as I’d first thought, but it wasn’t small, either. It sliced into the tough skin just fine.

“Ah,” he said. “Inconvenient because these things are a pain, and they break. But at least they still work.”

He looked at me. “How are your hands?”

I looked down at them. “Cold. Wet. Fine?”

He grunted and stood up, tucking the piece of tentacle into his belt. “As I thought. Whatever makes that burn stopped as soon as Adam bit through it—otherwise, he’d be feeling it by now. Means it’s magic rather than poison or acid or something. Good for you and Adam, bad for us, I’m afraid.”

“Why?” Adam let me use him to lever myself to my feet. His ears were pinned back, and he’d kept his eyes on Coyote in a way that made me a little nervous.

“Because I can do this.” Coyote pulled my shirt up and set one hand against my bare stomach.

Icy chill spread from his hands—and the burns disappeared, leaving only my pawprint tattoo. He bent down to take a good look at my midriff and grinned at me. “Coyote. Cool tattoo.”

“It’s a wolf pawprint,” I said coolly, jerking my shirt down over it.

“Still mad about the unexpected swim, huh?” he said, whining a little, a noise that would have been more at home coming from a canine throat. “All in the name of information.”

“So why is the magic component bad for us?” I asked.

He looked at me like I was an idiot. “Because we have a sixty-four- to ninety-six-foot monster to kill—and it uses
magic
.”

I had a thought. “Can you fix Hank like this?”

He shook his head. “No. He’s not one of mine. But I know someone who can. We’re going to need help here, kids.”

He pursed his lips and tapped his toes impatiently. “I know. We need Jim Alvin and his sidekick, that Calvin kid, to meet us at the Stonehenge at midnight tomorrow. Tell him to bring Hank. I’ll tell him what he needs to do, but he’s not going to believe in me. Sad that a medicine man will believe in werewolves, ghosts, and vampires and won’t believe in Coyote, but that’s what it is these days.”

“I don’t have his number.”

“Where’s your cell phone?”

“In the trailer.”

He grabbed my hand and pulled a felt-tipped pen out of an empty pocket and wrote a phone number on my hand. “Here. Call him in the morning. If you don’t, he’ll think I’m just a dream.”

He patted me on the head, ignoring Adam’s low growl. “Go in and get warmed up.” He wiggled his eyebrows at Adam. “I bet you know how to warm her up, eh?”

Adam had very nice big white teeth, and he showed most of them to Coyote.

Coyote veiled his eyes and showed his teeth in return. “Go ahead. Just try it. You’re out of your league.”

I touched Adam’s nose and frowned at Coyote. “You stop baiting him—or I’ll call my mom.”

Coyote froze, his face blank, and I almost felt bad—except that he’d been threatening Adam. After a moment, he inhaled.

“I’ll see you at Stonehenge,” he said, and walked off without a look back.

We were most of the way to the trailer when I saw what Adam had done.

“Wow,” I said.

A rocket bursting out of the window wouldn’t have done more damage. The window and its frame were toast, and a little of the outside skin had been bent up.

At least all the glass was on the outside. “Be careful you don’t step on the shrapnel,” I told him, taking the long way around the trailer to keep him away from it. My tennis shoes might be wet, but they were proof against a few shards of glass.

In the trailer, I stripped out of my wet clothes and put them in the sack with the bloody clothes from earlier.

“I’m going to need clothes,” I said, sorting through my suitcase. When I looked over, Adam had started to shift back to human, so I grabbed clean underwear and a T-shirt and gave him some room.

After I dressed, I found a towel big enough to cover the broken window frame and taped it up using some of the first-aid tape from the kits because I couldn’t find any duct tape. I keep a couple of rolls of duct tape in all of my cars. The first-aid tape wasn’t the wussy kind, though. This was the stuff that needed WD-40 to get off skin once it was taped down. I hoped the repair people would be able to get it off without damaging the trailer further.