Corrigan Fire Bloodfire - Helen Harper Page 0,7

the car was akin to sprinting across a meadow on the first night of the full moon. In fact, it was almost better. I felt a genuine twinge of dismay at the knowledge I’d be returning it to the dealer upon our return to London. And when we left the motorway to join the smaller road leading into Cornwall and a flickering figure appeared without warning in the centre of the lane, I discovered how effective the brakes were too.

I stormed out of the car. It didn’t take an Otherworld genius to recognise what type of beastie the figure actually was. But it was also early afternoon. There was no good reason for a will-o’-the-wisp to be out and about at this time of day. And there was definitely no good reason as to why it almost caused a six-car pile-up.

Gesturing angrily, I stalked over in its direction. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

‘Werewolf,’ it hummed.

‘Werepanther, actually.’

The will-o’-the-wisp shrugged, dusky shoulders making fluid movements. ‘Werewolves are easier to remember.’

‘Why did you stop us?’

‘I sensed your approach. I need some help.’

I checked my watch. There wasn’t time for this. From behind, the other shifters were piling out of their own vehicles and coming up to stand silently behind me. ‘Help with what?’ I asked with more brusqueness than was probably required.

Its head swayed from side to side, almost transparent in the bright sunshine. ‘I have erred.’

‘You’re damn well right you’ve erred!’ Boyne snapped. ‘Do you know who you’re talking to?’

I held up a palm, forcing him to fall silent.

‘Werewolf,’ the will-o’-the-wisp answered, seemingly unconcerned by Boyne’s aggression.

‘Werepanther,’ I corrected again. ‘Tell me what you did.’

‘Last night. It was a good night. Very misty. I found a traveller to lead astray.’ Its eyes gleamed. ‘There is a quarry nearby.’

‘You made someone fall into a quarry?’ Lucy’s voice was aghast.

The will-o’-the-wisp tutted. ‘I do not kill.’ A ghostly smile traced across its lips. ‘I misdirect.’

I looked around. We were on a small road surrounded by fields and hedgerows. There were no abandoned cars or suggestions of campsites. We had to be at least twenty miles from the nearest settlement, unless it was a farmer the will-o’-the-wisp had attempted to fool with its bobbing light. Those kinds of humans were rarely tricked in that manner, however.

‘What kind of traveller would be out here?’

The will-o’-the-wisp flickered. ‘It is not easy for our kind. They take the land and build on it and we have to move. They use,’ his face distorted, ‘caravans. Now there is glamping. I want the sole traveller. The lonely peasant who walks with his eyes on the ground. I come in the darkness and…’

‘Enough,’ I interrupted. ‘I am sure that your life is very hard in these tragic modern times. Tell me about the mistake.’

An odd purring sound came from its chest. I stared, thoroughly flummoxed.

‘Meow,’ the will-o’-the-wisp said.

I sighed. ‘This is pointless. We need to get a move on. The Cornish pack is expecting us within the hour.’

Before I could turn away, it spoke again. ‘It was a cat.’

‘What was a cat?’

‘The traveller. It wasn’t human. It was feline.’

‘You mistook a cat for a person?’ The incredulity in Staines’ voice mirrored my own thoughts.

‘I sensed the life. It has been many weeks since I have found life to mislead and I did not look at it to check. I only knew it was not Otherworld.’

I exchanged looks with the others. ‘What happens with insects? Do you try to lead them away too?’

The will-o’-the-wisp smiled. ‘Moths are fun. They like the light.’

I took a very deep breath. ‘So you made a cat on a night prowl go somewhat astray. So what?’

‘It is very small,’ it mourned. ‘It is trapped now on the quarry wall. It cannot get out.’

‘Let me get this straight. You forced us off the road because you want us to rescue a damn cat?’

It swayed. ‘Maybe kitten.’

‘Fetch it yourself.’

‘I cannot.’ The will-o’-the-wisp raised up its palms. ‘I am not corporeal enough.’

I closed my eyes and counted to ten very slowly in my head. When I was done, I looked out across the fields. ‘Fine. Where’s the sodding quarry?’

***

I took three shifters with me: Lucy, Boran and a werecougar named Thomson who I didn’t really know. Staines and the others stayed behind to move the vehicles out of the path of any oncoming traffic. Thomson appeared extraordinarily unhappy at the turn of events and grumbled a complaint in the direction of the will-o’-the-wisp as we trudged out across the