A Feral Darkness Part 9

"And nicely done," Masera commented. "He enjoys it."

"And apparently he's got his champions.h.i.+pa""

"You said that last time, too. Apparently."

"That's because for all the care someone took with him, there's no record of him anywhere. His rabies tag won't match up, the phone number on his ID isn't in service, the Cardi Club has no record of hima""

"That can't be," Masera interrupted. "Not if he's been shown."

"No kidding," Brenna said, not caring for the interruption. "But he's been shown. Put yourself in handler mode and take him in a triangle, then ask him to stack. See what happens."

"I'll take your word for it. He's a mystery dog, all right. But they say some women like that."

She stared at him for an agog moment. "Was that a joke? Did you actually just make a joke with me?"

"A little one," he said, excessively somber of face. "Mark it on your calendar. The Kalends of April todaya"appropriate enough."

"The Kalendsa""

"April Fool's day," he said, not waiting for her to finish.

Then why not say so? She snorted and led him down the hill, along the spring-deep and loudly burbling creek, past the footbridge and to a spot below the spring. There, she handed him Druid's lead. "Hang on a minute, okay? There's something I need to do, first. I'll be right back down."

He didn't understand; that was clear enough from his expressiona"a little impatient, but not particularly curious. Well, he'd just have to deal with it. Brenna walked the steep incline to the spring some fifty feet above him. By the time she reached it, the expected drizzle had started, but it stayed light and she ignored it. She knelt by the gravesite and carefully placed Sunny's collar among the rocks, wedging it into place. After a while the collar would wear and fade and maybe blow free, but by then maybe she wouldn't need it there anymore. G.o.d, she thought, if you're watching out for my dogs, please welcome Sunny. You always had a special fondness for children. And Sunny had never been anything more than a puppy at heart. She looked at the shrine a moment, trying to sort out, again, how her beliefs fit into one another, and how she could feel comfortable speaking to the G.o.d she'd been raised to respect and wors.h.i.+p in one moment, and to another culture's ancient G.o.d in the next.

As a child it had been easy. The G.o.d she knew hadn't responded to her prayers, so she'd tried someone else. It had been her secret, a deep and long-lasting one, and in her heart she'd always believed she'd been heard, that Mars Nodens had touched her life. In her practical lifea"even as recently as this morninga"she avoided the issue, thought lightly of coincidence, and rarely turned her inner self to any sort of prayer. Too caught up in life. Probably a big mistake, she thought wryly. Look where it had gotten hera"overworked groomer struggling with herself, not knowing how to fix her life, and now caught smack in the middle of . . .

Something.

"I don't know," she said finally, looking up at the big bare oak; too early in the season for leaves or even buds. "Maybe you just use Mars Nodens as another of your faces, and maybe it's easier to hear about dogs and healing with those ears. Or maybe I'm just fooling myself, and I'm a blaspheming idiot." Whatever. But I think Druid and I could use some help. I think we're in trouble.

The problem was, she didn't know just what kind of trouble. "Even a clue," she told the oak, and everything it and the spring represented at this moment. "Even a clue would help."

And though it would have been nice for the oak branches to rustle rea.s.suringly in the breezeless air, or the spring, which was never really more than an ooze of water, to burble for an enthusiastic moment, Brenna wasn't really expecting either of those things. Nor, as she got to her feet, was she expecting to be hit by a light dizziness, quickly come and gonea"and which in previous days had somehow presaged reaction from Druid, their unlikely connection.

But Druid did nothing. He sat at the bottom of the hill and looked up at her, ears big and forward, head c.o.c.ked.

Brenna went back down the hill.

"Are you pagan?" Masera asked, and his eyes had narrowed, taking on that hooded look.

Brenna managed to keep her surprise from running away with her mouth. "Presbyterian," she said. "Why on earth do you ask?"

"Why on earth is an appropriate way to put it," he said dryly, though his challenging expression eased. "I asked becausea"" and he almost said something, but stopped on it, and completed the thought as, "because between the oak and the spring and the shrine, it looks like a pagan sort of place."

"It does?" She considered it. "It's a Lydney sort of place," she said. "That's all I know about it. And it pretty much came this way, except that I buried a childhood dog up there, and it's important to me. Why, are you pagan?"

He smiled, a mere crook at one corner of his mouth, and shook his head. "Lapsed Catholic."

"Well, that pretty much settles that, then," Brenna said. "Do you want to take him up there? Or do you want me to do it?"

"You go ahead," Masera said, and handed her the lead; he seemed to be paying no more attention to the drizzle than she was. "I want to see what happens, and what you do about it."

"Oh, great," Brenna muttered. "A test."

He laughed out loud at that, short but with true amus.e.m.e.nt, and when he responded, he was still grinning. "I just need to see where we're starting out."

"Well, prepare yourself, then," Brenna said. "Though keep in mind I said he wasn't consistent."

She needn't have worried. Perfectly happy at the bottom of the hill, Druid had no intention of getting any closer to the spring. He hung behind her for a few steps, whined for a few more steps, and then flung himself backward with enough force that without the leash, he'd have gone tumbling backward down the hill. For once Brenna was ready for him. Acutely aware of Masera's scrutiny, she let the dog struggle for a few moments, then stepped on the leash, walking on it until she had it pinned to the ground close to his collar. "No," she told him sternly. "Druid, no."

And had a sudden flash echo of someone else's voice in her head, saying those words but edged with sheer terror-stricken panica"Druid, no!a"and she touched the damp earth on the slope above her, suddenly doubting her own sanity as much as Druid's.

He quit, then, panting harshly, one of the cuts on his lip reopened and bleeding.

"Bring him down a few feet," Masera said quietly. "To a spot where he was okay."

When she had him settled there, Masera came up and joined them. "He warned you about that one," he said. "But you said that's not typical."

"He usually gets out a whine or two," Brenna said. "It's just never clear why, so I don't know till after he's started up that it was a warning. Because sometimes he thinks to himself, too. Like when he's chewing a bonea"it's just this whine, like he's thinking really hard and some of the thoughts escape. I don't even think he knows he's making noise. It's pretty adorable, actually," she admitted, scratching the side of her nose with a pebble-gloved finger.

Masera gave Druid a rub behind the ears and a gentle thump on the ribs. "I wish I had more to tell you," he said. "You're basically doing the right thinga"not making a big deal of it, giving him a chance to stop, and escalating in a low-key way when he doesn't. If he's predictable about the spring, I'd bring him up here frequently. Take him right to the edge of his feara"the last step before he loses it. And sit there a while, giving him lots of love. Give him a chance to think about that. Then take him up, because unfortunately, he's got to learn to work through this fear and to respond to you or you won't have any chance of getting through to him when he flips out under unpredictable circ.u.mstances. The instant he stops the fear behavior, no matter how surprised or upset you are, you need to be a little more responsive with praise and petting. Love the h.e.l.l out of him, if you really want to know. He needs that contrast, so it becomes clear to hima"if he's freaking out, there's no love in the offing, but when he quits, he becomes a hero."

"And the biting?"

He shook his head. "There's no easy answer. You're going to have to decide how important it is to you. He's an outstanding dog with a serious quirk, and any time you grab him while he's flipping, there's the chance he'll bite."

Brenna bit her lip and looked away. "It was my own fault. I should have paid attention when he whined. Then he wouldn't have been in my lap when it happened. I guess I was just hoping that he'd adjusted, that he was through with that c.r.a.p."

He reached to touch her arm but, as in the kitchen, let his hand fall away before it quite reached her. "Hindsight's a b.i.t.c.h."

He had such a wry tone in his voice that she looked at him and laughed. He shrugged, looking back out at the pasture. "This is a nice spot. I can see why you chose it for your dog, way back when."

"He liked to sit at the top of the hill and watch the horses, when we had them here." She crouched next to Druid and bent to kiss his furry head, now surface-damp with the cold drizzle, and looked out over the view with fresh eyes. The creek cut deeply through the pasture, its banks lined with sumac and less identifiable, barely budding brush; some of the low plants were greening, taking advantage of the early sun before the brush turned into thick shadow. Beyond, the pasture stretched to the road, new gra.s.s just beginning to shove green blades above the pale remnants of last summer's flattened growth. To their left, the creek curved around and the trees that lined it broke away to form a windbreak between two pasture sections; even in winter, it was hard to see beyond that. Brenna pointed off to the right. "In the summer, wild spearmint grows over there. Just walking through the field is like taking a bath in it. And there it's always shady and cool, and therea"" she pointed to a spot just left of the footbridge, which was between them and the spearmint area, "a"there, the poison ivy has taken over. Doesn't bother me, but most people can't get near it. Maybe," she said in muttered afterthought, "Rob Parker will walk through it one of these days."

Until that moment, Masera had been at ease, following along in her little travelogue, standing just downhill of her with his hands relaxed on his hips. Now he turned back to look at her and said, "Rob Parker?"

And she stared back at him, startled by his vehemence. Then she said slowly, "Rob Parker. I take it you know him?"

"I've heard of him." Masera looked out over the pasture with new interest, her back off cues apparently gone to waste. Brenna suspected he'd only now realized that they'd changed direction in walking to the spring, and no longer faced the same road that ran down the hill from her house. "He lives around here?"

"I'm not sure that he does. His family has some old property off that way." She gave a hazy wave.

She'd seen bird dogs home in slower on a close covey. He searched the line of woods in that direction, as if there'd be some clue to the location of the Parker Homestead.

"Oh, here," she said, getting up and starting down the hill. "I'll show you."

He hesitated, but she wasn't sure why. Surprise at the offer? Or maybe he just doesn't want to go there with you in tow. Ooh, that last one made her wince; uncharacteristically b.i.t.c.hy of her, it was. Not fair. Especially after he'd disrupted his whole day so she wouldn't be alone after losing Sunny to . . . whatever, and to be here today to work with Druid. "It's what you want, isn't it? It might be for sale, and it's probably good kennel grounds. Maybe a little marshy in spots, but all the land around here tends to that."

And at that he turned to look at her again, and to regard her without haste. "Yes," he said. "I would like to see the land."

So why did it sound like that moment in the kitchen last night, when she'd asked him what he'd been expecting and he'd had that unusual tone in his voice? Not lying, she thought. But not telling her everything.

Well, it's not like he owed her anything. No reason for him to lay his business out before her. So she said, "Come on, then," and continued down to the creek, Druid quite willingly at her heels.

This part of the creek split around a small, flat island; when she was a child it had held an important and impregnable fortress of She-Ra, but Brenna didn't suppose Masera needed to know that. All that mattered today was that it was a shortcut, and that because she felt the sting of his not-lying despite her own rationalizations, she was pleased enough to make him work for his little tour. She knew the rocks that would get her across this shallow fording spot, and she took them, hoisting Druid in her arms so he wouldn't get soaked. Like a child, he curled gently into her hold, making the task easier . . . and like a child, he weighed a lot more than it seemed he should. Short he might be, but at thirty-five pounds, he was not an insubstantial dog.

Masera followed. Once she reached the island he not only followed, he forged ahead, crossing the other branch of the creek before her, and offering a hand when she faced the steep bank with her arms full of dog.

She took the easy way out; she gently launched Druid to the top of the bank, then climbed it herself, murmuring, "That's okay," at his hand. What did he think she did when she was out here on her own?

Cold darkness, landing hard enough to make her stumble and gasp, wringing out her lungs and skipping onward. Brenna found that she had clutched Masera's hand after all, and that Druid braced himself, white-eyed, at the end of the leash. But he relaxed, cautious but under control, and she straightened, disengaging herself from Masera and ignoring the somewhat startled expression on his facea"a more open look than usually resided there, as though for once he'd been caught off guard. She blew her bangs out of her eyes and stepped out strongly, with no intention of explaining the inexplicable.

Whatever he thought, he said nothing. He kept pace with her long-legged strides, avoided the tinted early growth of poison ivy before she pointed it out to him, and seemed to have returned to thoughts that were far from her pasture or Druid's quirks or any conversation they might have made.

When they reached the woods line she followed it, taking him to the road, where they had to navigate the marshy ditch that ran alongside the asphalt. Brenna tossed Druid across and made the leap herself, and this time it was she who waited for Masera, and held the dead wire of the old multistrand electric fence so he could climb through. Once they were at the edge of the road, she pointed down the length of it. "See that break in the trees? That's the head of the old driveway. They don't even have a mailbox there anymore; I don't know where Rob Parker's living, but it's not there. It's a long lane back to where the farmhouse used to be. I'm not sure what's still standing, at this point."

"Guess I'll find out," Masera said, and headed off. When Brenna kept step with him, Druid coming along at a fast marching trot, he gave her a surprised glance. "If you've got something you'd rather do . . ."

Yeah, go home and wash Sunny's bowl. Brenna shook her head. "I suppose I should let animal control know what happened, in case it is connected to a dog packa""

Masera snorted.

"What then?" Brenna demanded, wanting to kick him for that feeling she got from him, that I know something feeling. Or more because of the other impression he gave off, the I'm not telling you part of it. "You don't think it was the infamous feral dog pack, then what do you think it was? Something tore that dog from her run and then ripped her right out of her collar. Do you suppose we've suddenly got an insane bear on our hands that no one's managed to sight?"

"A bear," he said. "Wonder how fast that one would spread if you started it? Maybe we should have looked for tracks."

"You can be a real pain in the a.s.s," Brenna told him, jumping past annoyance and into real anger.

"Yeah," he said. "I know."

It was only as they approached the drivewaya"a cleared lane, really, with two rutted wheel tracks running down ita"that she realized he'd never answered her question. He'd made her mad, but he hadn't answered her. There were a lot of things he didn't answer, things he held close to himself. Things you learned from talking to most people that he never volunteered in casual conversation.

He doesn't owe you anything.

And he didn't.

Besides, she supposed they'd hardly had what she'd call a casual conversation. Disagreements and challenges, yes. Last night, when he'd really hardly said anything at all; he'd just been there. And then todaya"dog talk. Or bits of herself that she somehow found herself sharing with him.

Well, keep yourself to yourself, then.

"Recent tracks," she said, which seemed reasonably safe, subject-wise. Surface talk. Not that there was any missing the tracks; someone had been going in and out long enough to stir the mud up pretty well, and there were even a couple of shovels of fresh gravel dumped into the worst of the spots. "Looks like Rob's been spending time here, whatever his plans for the place. Might be there now, if you want to talk to him."

"Even if he's not, it's a chance to look things over."

So why did he sound like he'd prefer it if Rob weren't around?

She didn't bother to ask. He wouldn't answer if she did. At that, she had to wonder why she was coming along. She didn't have to wash Sunny's dish. There were other things she could do with this daya"walk over to Emily's, for instance, and cry on her friend's shoulder. Or she hadn't been to visit her mother for a while, and she could take some of the little fried apple pies she'd made a few days ago; her mother always loved those, and never bothered to make them. Or she could read the big fat book she had waiting in the kitchen, or target shoot, or kick around in the barna"maybe she'd fix the broken doors and advertise for a horse tenant.

Face it, Brenna Lynn. You're too curious to walk away. Curious about what Rob Parker might be up to, sudden neighbor that he was. And curious about Gil Masera, which was his own fault. If he'd answer short and sharp instead of not answering short and sharp, she wouldn't have anything about which to be curious.

So she turned down the lane with him, offering a quick, oblivious smile when he gave her another glance.

The branches snared their sleeves, barely leaving enough room to walk abreast. They must sc.r.a.pe along the sides of any vehicle on the lanea"more evidence of Rob Parker's long absence. She wondered why he'd come back now . . . why now, this moment, he'd suddenly seemed so drawn to her property. Turnabout seemed fair enougha"and reason enough to give if he was here and found them.

If she made it there at all. Druid hung back suddenly, giving what was fast becoming a familiar whine, a staccato whine-whine-whine with a sharp edge to it. Masera hesitated as she did, looking almost relieveda"but Brenna didn't have time to think that through, because Druid had had enough, and again, after so many days of quiescence, again he threw himself back and shrieked and gibbered and cursed. And again, when Brenna would have handled it, she staggered herself, slapped by a ma.s.sive whirl of strength and breath-stealing fear, a black cloud on her vision and tight chills up her spine.

She didn't resist when strong fingers clamped down on her arm and dragged her back down the lane a short distance, then further yet, to the road, when Druid didn't calma"although by then she had her own wits back, enough to step on the leash and crouch and speak sharply to Druida"and then to praise him when he stopped, looking as dazed as he ever did. But he did what he had never done; he responded to her praise, taking a hesitant step and pus.h.i.+ng his solid head against her thigh.

Only until Masera's hand once more closed on her arm, pulling her upright so abruptly she was too startled to bristle. His voice was low, but it didn't need to be any louder, not as close as he'd pulled her to himself. "What was that?"

"Druida"" she started.

"Not Druid. You felt it, tooa"just like at the spring. Brenna Lynn, what was that?"

"You felt it?" she repeated, still shakena"but not so much that she didn't hear the inanity of her own words. Of course he'd felt it. He'd felt it. And at the creek, too. She wasn't crazy, she wasn't imagining thingsa"she wasn't even ill or overworked. What would he have seen and felt if he'd been there when Sunny disappeared? And had he felt what she felt at the spring? She had the feeling yes and she opened her mouth to ask him about it, but thena"

Then her brain started to work again and inside her chest she went as cold as the bounding darkness had ever left her. Brenna Lynn. He'd called her Brenna Lynn.

Her mother called her Brenna Lynn. And Emily sometimes, and Sam.

No one else.

Just as she hadn't told him the phone number he'd rattled off to his Basque friend, or how to get to her house. Masera battered from a fight. Masera buying pit bulls. Masera checking up on her. She stepped back from him, nearly tripping over Druid; he scrambled out of her way.

"Just what are you up to on that hill?" Masera asked, closing in on her again, somehow using the scant difference in their heights to look down at her. "What did you do?"

His words were nonsense; all that mattered was that he had his hand on her arm again and without thinking, she shoved him back, shoved him hard. Made him stagger, and the surprise on his face only fed her anger. "Back off!" she snarled at him. "Brenna Lynn! I never told you that!"

For an instant, his surprise turned nonplussed, his startled reaction far too easy to believe. "I must have heard it at work."

"Nice try," she said, her voice still raised with anger, all but yelling into the silent spring woods. No one around; no one driving by on the country back road. She took another step away from him, but she wasn't frightened yet. "They don't know."

"I heard it somewhere," he said, exasperation showing through. He didn't try to close the distance between them.

"You didn't," she said coldly, anger banking down. "Did you think I wouldn't notice you knew my phone number? Or that you bought two pit bulls only hours after you told me you were between dogs for a while?"

"Ah," he murmured. "I thought I saw someone in the parking lot." He ducked his head, pressing a finger between his brows as if it would somehow help him think his way out of this. "Brennaa""

"You know what?" she interrupted. "For a while I thought, you know, it didn't matter if I don't particularly like you. It didn't matter if I didn't even really trust youa"what mattered was that you're good with dogs. You might be able to help Druid, that's what counted. But that only goes so far. Only so far." This far. The end. She drew the Cardigan into a heel position, unthinking protectiveness. "Send me your bill, Masera. And stay out of my way."

"Brennaa"" He held out his arms in a helpless, beseeching kind of gesture. No doubt he couldn't find the wordsa"because no doubt there weren't any.

He didn't really get the chance to try. A third voice broke in on their confrontation, distant but getting closer by the word. "Hey! This is private property!"

Druid growled when Brenna started, lowering his head and slanting his ears back suspiciously. When she saw the man who approached them, she felt like doing the same. Tall and skinny with a watch cap covering all traces of his hair and leaving a scabby goatee trying to make up the difference, he came at them with a c.o.c.ky walk, a stride with excessive arm and hand movement. Excessive confidence, too.

"We," Masera said, his eyes getting that heavy-lidded look, "happen to be on the shoulder. Of the very public road." Which they were. At the moment, anyway, and Brenna was willing to bet the man hadn't seen them anywhere else, but had come in response to Druid's screaming.