Bayou Wolf. Debbie Herbert
fluttered in the bayou breeze as she fastened the dream catcher to a cypress branch. Dozens of similar artifacts hung in varying states of disintegration, a shrine to her one and only love.
Bo had died here—832 nights ago—in this very spot. On this lonely patch of swampland, amidst the droning roar of a million mosquitoes, with nary a loved one to hold his numbed hands. Bohpoli Leyland, one of the most courageous shadow hunters of the Choctaw, was no more.
Tallulah tidied the area, rearranging her mandalas of seashells and clumps of crystals. Usually, tending the area was a comfort, a touch of spiritual communion. Sometimes she even talked out loud to Bo, recounting the day’s events or updating him on news of their friends. As if her words weren’t merely empty vibrations dying in the wind.
But this afternoon, she couldn’t shake the awareness of being watched. The longer the creature hung around, the more it bugged her. Whatever it was, the animal was curious, hungry, stupid, or some combination of all three.
She set about dusting pine straw from her little offerings to Bo. A hunk of rose quartz here, a beaded prayer rope there, an angel figurine.
Twigs snapped nearby.
Her brain and body lit into action. She quickly felt for the dagger tucked into her belt and scanned the gathering darkness. Patterns of long shadows crisscrossed the massive Spanish moss-draped oaks, the ever-present pine trees and the dense underbrush of saw palmettos. Nothing was visible out there, and only the barest of vibrations from the ground tingled the soles of her feet in warning.
Tallulah cautiously bent down and put her free hand in her backpack, where she carried her other weapons, all the while keeping her eyes and ears peeled for an intruder. She lifted her slingshot and pocketed several rocks, stuffing them into the leather pouch at her waist. They were the most effective weapon in battling the Ishkitini, birds of the night, and the only way to kill a will-o’-the-wisp.
But this felt different. There was no glow from a wisp, and the vibrations beneath her feet couldn’t come from the birds, which swooped from above to attack.
Yet something or someone was out there, stealthily advancing.
She straightened from her crouch and loaded the slingshot. Whatever emerged from the cover of darkness, she would not run, and she would not cower. A shadow hunter faced danger head on, confident in the power of their own heightened senses. As the only female hunter, Tallulah had diligently trained to be twice as brave and skillful as her male comrades in the fight against the dark shadow spirits that roamed Bayou La Siryna.
A metallic whiff blended into the normal scent of pine and sea, and her mouth soured at the taste of copper. What new hell was this?
Before she could think too deeply about the mystery, a growl purred in quiet menace. She swallowed hard and unsheathed her dagger. If it was a bobcat, she’d shoot a stone near its body and scare it away.
The growl erupted into a hiss of anger, and she located the sound’s source—about fifty yards away in thick underbrush. Her eyes strained in the dark. Despite her heightened senses, she didn’t quite have the nocturnal sight of an owl or cat. But her sight was good enough to hunt and find predators in the night. It was what she and Bo and a dozen others had been born to do. A sacred gift and duty to keep good and evil balanced in the bayou.
Shadows shifted, patterns realigned and huge paws emerged from cover. Eyes gleamed in the darkness, but Tallulah held her ground. This was no bobcat—this was a monstrously oversized coyote, the largest she’d ever seen.
“Get outta here,” she yelled.
But the damn thing stalked forward, and her scalp prickled at its approach. This was no ordinary coyote. If she weren’t positive that Nalusa Falaya was safely imprisoned in their Choctaw sacred tree, she’d be suspicious that the bayou’s most powerful shadow spirit had returned and shape-shifted into a new form.
Tallulah held up the loaded slingshot and pulled back the band. “I said git!”
But it displayed no fear, instead advancing another few feet. Must be rabid, she decided. What else could account for such strange boldness? Tallulah narrowed her eyes, studying the creature. Its twitching ears were short, with rounded tips, and its snout was broad, whereas coyotes sported long, pointy ears and a narrow snout. Not only that, but the animal was also too large for a coyote.
It was wolf-sized.
Impossible. There were no wolves in south Alabama. Her arms shook from the tension of holding back the slingshot’s band.
Its eyes glowed, and it again growled, gnashing its teeth.
Tallulah released her grip, and the rock whirled through the air to strike the beast’s furry chest. It let out a small yelp of surprise, but it didn’t turn tail and run. Instead, muscles flexed on its lean flanks as if it were preparing to take a running leap.
Strange. Most wild creatures had a healthy respect for humans and their weapons. But if that’s the way it wanted to play, then she was prepared.
With the speed and accuracy gained from years of training as a shadow hunter, Tallulah unleashed a volley of shots, peppering the creature with rock after stinging rock. The animal snarled and glared, and stood its ground, unyielding. She swore it had an eerie intelligence that marked her for a future encounter. Tallulah reloaded her slingshot and once again raised the weapon, a warning of more shots to come. The beast turned and loped out of sight.
Alone again, she realized her arm was burning with the strain of the rapid shooting, and she caught her breath as her adrenaline surge subsided. “Did you see that, Bo?” she panted, her breath quick and shallow.
How ironic it would have been if she had ended up dying in this exact spot, just as Bo had. His death resulted when the great shadow spirit, Nalusa Falaya, had shape-shifted into a rattlesnake and had bitten him repeatedly, sending supercharged venom into Bo’s body. A mauling by this wolf creature would be just as painful, maybe even slower.
Tallulah put her hands on her hips and shook her head. “This place gets freakier and freakier. There’s more than just the will-o’-the-wisps and the Ishkitini we fought together. Now there are fairies and who knows what else.”
And here she thought she’d seen it all. Should have known better after last year, when she and the other hunters had discovered a secret fairy world existing under their noses. The fae weren’t evil like the shadow spirits that roamed these woods, but they had their own code of self-preservation that made them untrustworthy allies in the fight to keep evil contained in the bayou.
Maybe tonight’s wolfish creature was an anomaly. Maybe she’d never see it again.
And maybe she’d grow wings and fly. Like Tinkerbell. She couldn’t help snorting. Anyone who knew her for more than a day realized she was light-years away from a sparkly, bubbly, fairy-type personality—in truth, she more closely resembled a grouchy goblin. Those who cared for her called her challenging or abrupt, while those who cared nothing for her, which was the majority of people, merely called her bitchy.
Tallulah stuffed the slingshot in her backpack and slung it over her shoulders. “Bye, Bo,” she whispered. “Love you forever.”
This moment of saying goodbye always pinched her heart. Resolutely, she straightened her shoulders and hurried down the path. Experience had taught her it was best to keep the goodbye brief.
“Be back tomorrow,” she called over her shoulder.
The silence of the woods mocked her words. And she couldn’t shake the memory of the creature’s eyes boring into her own, memorizing her sight even as it caught her scent. She hadn’t seen the last of that one.
* * *
Vroom, vroom, vroom.
The loud whir of the skidder powered into the morning’s quiet. The cab of the heavy engine rumbled as it lifted felled trees and transported them to the waiting logging trucks. Payton grinned at the familiar vibration that shook his body. It felt damn good to get back to work after the last week