eyes vanished into a golden glare and the wolf snarled at me. With a supreme effort I remained still as it whipped away, down into the tunnel, howling and giving chase. Crashing sounds, running feet and clicking claws echoed back up the tunnel, and then the horrible scream of a cat in terror.
“Oh, God,” I said, “what have I done?”
36. THE WAITING GAME
Terrified, I screwed up my courage and went after them. By the time I entered the tunnel, the running feet, snarling wolf and screeching cat were long gone. I had no idea what I would do when I found them; maybe there was something I could do with my tattoos? Or perhaps I could coax Wulf back to human—perhaps not with Cinnamon there; she was definitely an agent provocateur. But I had to try, damn it. I had to try.
Halfway down the tunnel my coat caught on a root projecting from the wall. I reached down to untangle it, but got only more caught up with the bony protrusion. I looked down, and was shocked by a familiar butterfly, flapping its wings against the black shadow of the “root” that had grabbed me. Shadows and mist clinging to the “root” dissipated like ripples on a pond, leaving Cinnamon standing there, her butterfly-tattooed hand holding me back, her other hand held to her lips as she looked down the tunnel, ears alert, eyes speculative.
“So much for the famed wolf sense of smell,” she said.
“Damn, the Marquis is good,” I said. Seeing her tattoos ‘unhide’ her really was like watching The Predator decloak. “You tell him that, next time you see him, you hear?”
“Sure,” she said, still staring down the tunnel, ears twitching. “Okay, we’re clear. Let’s go see what we can do back at his place.”
“Shouldn’t we get the hell out of here?” I whispered, as a howl sounded down the tunnel. “Can’t he hear us—”
“Nah, he’s sweet on you, and his wolf too,” Cinnamon said, heading back to the den. “If he was really after us, he’d be here tearin’ us up. I just gave him something to chase to get him goin’— now he’s gonna to go try to run himself out. We gots maybe an hour, and then the beast will run out of juice and come back here to change. We should be gone.”
I nodded, but she didn’t catch it, and looked back to glare at me. “I means it. We gotta be gone then, girlfriend or no. You didn’t tell me he was a transy.”
“A transy?” I said, bewildered. “Wulf is a transsexual?”
“No! He pops his cork on transit,” she said, waving her long, tufted fingers over her head. “Most weres turns on the rise, but transies can hold off until zenith—when the full moon gets right overhead.”
“The transit of the moon,” I said, as we stepped back to the den. “Is it true what he said, that the moon rises an hour earlier every day? I’d never heard of that—”
“Cuz you’re not a were,” Cinnamon said. “More like forty-five minutes, but yeah. Anyways, the older a transy gets, the stronger their beast gets—and it gets liable to loose when the moon’s directly at zenith, completely full or no.” Cinnamon looked around, then looked at me. “So what’s the plan? Leave your new boooyfriend a note with your number?”
“He already knows how to contact me,” I said, picking up his fine Italian pants. They were worn, but I could feel how fine the fabric was, could imagine how good it once must have looked on his trim form. “I need a way to make him use it.”
Cinnamon looked at the coat, then began looking around, examining the pillars around us. “Think this is Civil?” she asked. “Maybe a wall-off or something?”
“I dunno,” I said, placing his folded pants and briefs back on his mattress, and turning to get his coat. Maybe leaving him a note wasn’t a bad idea. I didn’t think he’d take me up on it, but at least I could try. “You don’t have any paper on you, do you?”
“Screw that,” she said, staring at the ceiling, “I gots an idea. Call Calaphase.”
“I don’t see how he can help,” I said, “and there’s no way I’ll get a signal—”
“This is a basement,” she said, pointing up, “not a cave. We ain’t that deep.”
I raised an eyebrow, but pulled out my phone. One bar—it was worth a shot. So I dialed. A moment later, a low buzzing sounded in the cellar.