Shade’s voice trembled as he spoke. “I was nearby when you returned, attempting to calm myself and think through what happened. I foresaw your challenge fight and didn’t want to interfere. Interference would have been improper.”
Enkidu understood. He wanted to accuse Wandering Shade and challenge him, but he couldn’t. The Law wouldn’t let him. The Law reduced him to asking questions.
“Who did this, if not the Arms?” Enkidu asked.
“The Focus bitches, of course,” Wandering Shade said. He wore a county sheriff’s uniform today, with a big-ass pistol at his waist. “There are over a hundred and fifty of them, and some are as evil and violent as the two Arms. We’ll have to approach this carefully and you’ll have to use your noses to identify these honorless attackers.”
“What’s our itinerary, Master?” Enkidu still spoke from his crouch. The situation, despite the horror, demanded formality.
“Baton Rouge, Detroit, Pittsburgh (but with care), Philadelphia, and lastly Boston.” Wandering Shade clenched his fists as he spoke, still radiating fury. “If all of those prove to be failures, we may need to check out the other Focus bitches in Seattle and St. Augustine.”
“Boston, Master?” Enkidu said. “That’s where the other non-Hunter Beasts live. How can we…”
Wandering Shade appeared next to Enkidu, moving almost too fast to see. “How do you know of this?” he demanded, his hand on Enkidu’s head. Enkidu’s own bladder almost cut loose. He hadn’t realized his Master could be so terrifying. His Master might be small in stature, but the immense threat of his juice tricks, which right now squeezed Enkidu’s metasense tight, more than compensated.
“I’ve seen the truth in the underside of the morning clouds,” Enkidu said, quiet, cautious and apologetic.
“Oh, good, very good,” Wandering Shade said, cuffing Enkidu’s head in kindness. “This will help. You are coming into your power, aren’t you? A terrifying and potent Hunter. I like.” He paused. “You don’t need to worry about the Boston Beasts. Not at all. That situation is well in hand.”
Carol Hancock: March 30, 1967
Keaton wouldn’t explain our mission of the day, which meant the mission was a test. In fact, she kept rather quiet for her high juice count. Normally the only time she talked, outside of profanity, grunts and orders, was when her juice count was up. Now? Stone face.
She was pulling something on me.
Her quiet meant I had nothing to do during the car ride but think. Male Arms dominated my thoughts, but occasionally they turned to brainstorming Keaton’s graduation requirement. I felt no hurry about the project, given all the good things I had been learning recently, but it would be good to come up with something .
We didn’t stop in New York save to pick up food and to exercise. We got off I -95 in Boston, but didn’t start in on a hunting grid. Instead Keaton took us directly to our destination, a quiet Cambridge street lined with large trees and old brick houses, reeking of misbegotten Yankee wealth.
Keaton parked the car two car-lengths away from a fire hydrant and motioned for me to get out. I followed her down the street, then around a corner. She took us to the second house on the left, with three huge old Elm trees in front. We ignored the brick walkway leading up to the white front door, went up the driveway and around back, where she pointed to a locked door.
A test. I quietly picked the expensive lock and opened the door. We were in.
Keaton pushed ahead of me and snuck through the impressive house. This was the sort of place I had tried to imitate in my housewife days. Old, elegant furniture. Rich, thick rugs. Oil paintings on the walls. Crystal vases on shelves. The place had everything but wallpaper made from twenty-dollar bills and anyone with juice.
I watched Keaton intently,
Enkidu understood. He wanted to accuse Wandering Shade and challenge him, but he couldn’t. The Law wouldn’t let him. The Law reduced him to asking questions.
“Who did this, if not the Arms?” Enkidu asked.
“The Focus bitches, of course,” Wandering Shade said. He wore a county sheriff’s uniform today, with a big-ass pistol at his waist. “There are over a hundred and fifty of them, and some are as evil and violent as the two Arms. We’ll have to approach this carefully and you’ll have to use your noses to identify these honorless attackers.”
“What’s our itinerary, Master?” Enkidu still spoke from his crouch. The situation, despite the horror, demanded formality.
“Baton Rouge, Detroit, Pittsburgh (but with care), Philadelphia, and lastly Boston.” Wandering Shade clenched his fists as he spoke, still radiating fury. “If all of those prove to be failures, we may need to check out the other Focus bitches in Seattle and St. Augustine.”
“Boston, Master?” Enkidu said. “That’s where the other non-Hunter Beasts live. How can we…”
Wandering Shade appeared next to Enkidu, moving almost too fast to see. “How do you know of this?” he demanded, his hand on Enkidu’s head. Enkidu’s own bladder almost cut loose. He hadn’t realized his Master could be so terrifying. His Master might be small in stature, but the immense threat of his juice tricks, which right now squeezed Enkidu’s metasense tight, more than compensated.
“I’ve seen the truth in the underside of the morning clouds,” Enkidu said, quiet, cautious and apologetic.
“Oh, good, very good,” Wandering Shade said, cuffing Enkidu’s head in kindness. “This will help. You are coming into your power, aren’t you? A terrifying and potent Hunter. I like.” He paused. “You don’t need to worry about the Boston Beasts. Not at all. That situation is well in hand.”
Carol Hancock: March 30, 1967
Keaton wouldn’t explain our mission of the day, which meant the mission was a test. In fact, she kept rather quiet for her high juice count. Normally the only time she talked, outside of profanity, grunts and orders, was when her juice count was up. Now? Stone face.
She was pulling something on me.
Her quiet meant I had nothing to do during the car ride but think. Male Arms dominated my thoughts, but occasionally they turned to brainstorming Keaton’s graduation requirement. I felt no hurry about the project, given all the good things I had been learning recently, but it would be good to come up with something .
We didn’t stop in New York save to pick up food and to exercise. We got off I -95 in Boston, but didn’t start in on a hunting grid. Instead Keaton took us directly to our destination, a quiet Cambridge street lined with large trees and old brick houses, reeking of misbegotten Yankee wealth.
Keaton parked the car two car-lengths away from a fire hydrant and motioned for me to get out. I followed her down the street, then around a corner. She took us to the second house on the left, with three huge old Elm trees in front. We ignored the brick walkway leading up to the white front door, went up the driveway and around back, where she pointed to a locked door.
A test. I quietly picked the expensive lock and opened the door. We were in.
Keaton pushed ahead of me and snuck through the impressive house. This was the sort of place I had tried to imitate in my housewife days. Old, elegant furniture. Rich, thick rugs. Oil paintings on the walls. Crystal vases on shelves. The place had everything but wallpaper made from twenty-dollar bills and anyone with juice.
I watched Keaton intently,
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