Things That Go Hump In The Night (30 page)

OK, now this shit is out of control.

Plates crashed from the shelves as the red fox slammed the other against the oven, baring its teeth and snarling menacingly. The sandy one snapped back, raising a paw and swiping at the other's face, leaving a shallow scratch across the red fox's cheek. The red fox went for the neck, but a roasting dish slipped from the top of the oven and clattered on its head, momentarily dazing it.

Sensing his chance, the sandy fox slipped under the red fox's grip, and dived for the window. The red fox sped after him, snapping at his hind legs, but he was still a little dazed, and the sandy fox scrambled free. The red fox turned to me, the large brown eyes giving me a look that said, "I'm sorry," and then he too leapt through the window.

Kylie came running down the stairs. "What happened?" she cried, casting her eyes around the mess. "I heard voices–"

"Shut the window!" I cried as I yanked open the front door and ran – barefoot, wearing only my ex-boyfriend's band t-shirt – into the night. My feet stung as they hit the cold concrete of our front walk, and my heart pounded against my chest as I pumped my arms and tried to pour on enough speed to catch up to the foxes. They ran down the centre of the deserted street, their lithe bodies silhouetted in the moonlight. Down the road, the red fox chased the sandy fox, leaping and snarling at its heels, at each step only inches from taking a bite.

Are they rabid? Please don't let them be rabid.

As they reached the end of the cul-de-sac, the sandy fox turned and faced its foe, pulling back its lips and baring its teeth as it snarled, deep and vicious. The red fox moved between the sandy-fox and me, holding his ground, staring down the enemy. The sandy fox snarled again, and I raised my hands to my face, ready to turn and run if it became a blood bath. But then, the sandy fox turned and stalked off down a driveway, into the forest.

The red fox ran to the edge of the driveway, barking after its sandy-furred foe. Not wanting to be seen by a creature that might have rabies, I ducked into the nearest yard and peered through a bush, feeling in my gut that if I stayed up, I'd get to the bottom of this strange night.

As I stood behind the bush and watched, the giant red fox stared up at the moon, and barked once. At first, I thought I was imagining its snout decreasing, its hind legs lengthening, its tail shrinking back into its body. But then, as I watched in awe, the creature rose up on two legs, its torso stretching and reshaping and becoming something new. In a matter of seconds, there was no longer a fox standing in the centre of the cul-de-sac, but a tall, naked man with wavy red hair.

A man I recognised.

"Ryan?"

I clamped my hands over my mouth, but it was too late. He turned toward my voice, his face a mixture of fear and anger. It was no good hiding from him. I stepped out from behind the bush, and took a tentative step toward the very muscled, very tense, very
naked
figure of Ryan Raynard, his red hair almost glowing under the moonlight. His shoulders sagged ever so slightly. "You saw," he said. It wasn't a question.

"What's going on, Ryan? What are you doing here? Why were there men and animals in my house? How did you… ?" I left the question hanging, unable to articulate just what I'd seen. I snapped my head around, staring intently at the neighbour's rose bushes, so I didn't have to stare at
him
.

How did you transform from a fox into a very hot, very naked man?

"I go for walks at night sometimes around Crookshollow." he said lamely. "I gather inspiration for my paintings while I'm unlikely to meet tourists or art groupies along the paths. I happened to be walking past your house when I saw those men enter, and I thought I'd better try to help. I didn't even realise it was your house, Alexandra. Unfortunately, by the time I had ran into the street and called the police, that fox had chased them away."

"The police aren't coming, are they, Ryan?" I took a step backward, then another, wondering if I could get to the house before he caught me, unsure of what would happen when he did.

He shook his head.

I took another step, hoping Kylie wouldn't be far behind me, and that she'd had the presence of mind to pick up Ray's sword from the living room floor. "Why are you naked, Ryan? Do you just wander around the neighbourhood starkers?" I folded my arms. "I've met some pretty eccentric artists at Halt, but this really takes the prize."

"Alex, please… I promise I'll explain everything, but could we do it inside?"

"You want to come
inside
my house? After you show up here naked and… whatever you are. How do I know you aren't some kind of creepy stalker?"

He smirked, opening his arms wide. "If I was a creepy stalker, where would I keep my long-range camera? My night-vision goggles?"

"I can suggest a place."

"Please, Alex, let me sit down inside and I'll explain."

"Could you maybe… put your pants back on first?"

"As you wish."

I turned away from him and started walking back toward the flat, watching him over my shoulder as he walked over to the house at the end of the street, and pulled a bundle wrapped in plastic out of their bushes. He unwrapped a complete change of clothes, including underwear, jeans, a blue shirt, and a pair of expensive Italian shoes. Slowly, deliberately, he pulled them on, and I almost felt a twinge of regret when he covered up those muscled shoulders with the loose shirt.

Almost.

His head snapped up, and he met my eyes, smiling confidently. I turned my head away, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing I was looking.

Ryan sauntered over to me, beaming as he buttoned up his cuffs.
Why does he just happen to conveniently have a parcel of clothing stashed in my neighbour's garden?

Ryan held out his hand, and, even though my mind screamed at me to ignore the gesture, I took it. Touching his skin sent a shiver through my body that had nothing to do with the crisp night air. He held my hand up in the moonlight and squeezed, and then he smiled at me – a nervous, slightly lopsided smile so unlike the sneer he'd worn previously. I opened my mouth to say something witty, but no sound came out. Ryan led me back down the street and into the flat, where he shut the door and bolted it.

"Alex, what's going on?"

Kylie.
I'd practically forgotten about her. She was sitting on the couch in the middle of the trashed room, stroking a purring Miss Havisham and holding Edgar's black jeans in front of her like they were filled with bees. Furniture lay overturned on all sides, my print of Picasso's
Dora Maar au Chat
had fallen from the wall, the frame broken in three places and glass shards everywhere. The curtains had been torn to shreds and the stuffing pulled from the couch from what looked like giant claw marks. I dared a peek into the kitchen and saw the floor littered with broken china.

"What's going on, Alex? Why is all our stuff trashed? Why is your hand bleeding? Who is that man?"

Ryan shook his head at me, but I wasn't about to do him any favours. "Kylie, meet Ryan Raynard, the world-famous artist I told you about."

"Alex, please," Ryan begged. "You can't just tell her this. We have to be careful to keep it secret-"

I continued, raising my voice to speak over Ryan. Damn him if he was going to come into my house and tell me what to do. "It turns out, in addition to being an arrogant prick, Ryan also transforms into an enormous fox and jumps in people's windows to terrify them half to death. For all I know, he's probably responsible for all those fox attacks in the forest. As to what's going on, he's just about to explain, aren't you, Ryan?"

Ryan sighed. "It's going to sound crazy, but after an introduction like that … perhaps it won't. Alex, you should sit down. Do you need a drink?"

"No, I do not need a drink. I need you to tell me–"

"G & T, please." Trust Kylie to forget about the current situation at the mention of a glass of plonk. Ryan went to the tea tray we used as a liquor shelf – it had miraculously survived the evening's activities – and began to mix us all a drink. He picked up several bottles and shook them, frowning at the labels. "Don't you have any single malt?"

"There's some scrumpy in the fridge," Kylie piped up, standing up and moving into the kitchen. Ryan screwed up his nose, and set about mixing three gin and tonics. Kylie returned with the first aid kit.

"Never mind that," I snapped. "You were giving me an explanation about the strange people in our house, the raven and the foxes, and the naked man in the street."

Kylie sat up straight, knocking Miss. Havisham from her lap. "Who was naked?"

Ryan handed us each a drink, and gestured for me to sit down next to Kylie. I had to squeeze up near the arm of the sofa, because Miss. Havisham had sprawled out across the centre of the couch, taking up three-quarters of the space. She opened one lazy eye at me, and began to purr. Ryan shot her a strange glance, and then settled down into the chair opposite us.

"You've got your drink. Now, tell me why there are men's clothes in our living room."

He gestured to Kylie. "Can I trust you not to blab this all over the village?"

She nodded, sipping her drink. I scowled at Ryan. "Kylie must know what I know, or I'm calling the police, right now."

He sighed heavily.

"When Edgar shifted into his raven form, his clothes don't fit any more, so they get left behind. Clothes don't shift with the body. Usually, we will hide clothes nearby or shift in our own homes so we don't leave a trail of Calvin Klein's everywhere we go, but when you hit Edgar with that sword, you caught him by surprise. He needed to escape, and that meant a drastic, unplanned shift."

Kylie busied herself washing and dressing the cut on my hand. It wasn't nearly as bad as I'd thought. "See, I was afraid you'd say something like that. So this Edgar
shifted
into a raven?"

Ryan nodded. His expressive eyes showed a tinge of …
something
… beneath their arrogance. Was it concern for Kylie and I? "You saw it with your own eyes, Alex, so I don't have to explain to you that it's possible. Edgar is a shapeshifter, and so am I. Shifters… the kind you've read about in horror stories… are real. There are many different types of shifters – most shift from human to animal form and back, but there are a few species that shift from animal to animal."

"So the fox that came through the window and rescued me…"

"That was me."

"Jesus," Kylie covered her mouth with her hand.

I looked at Ryan, muscles bulging from beneath his tailored shirt, the way his rust-coloured hair curled around his face, the ends darker, almost tinged with black. His eyes were large, piercing – the eyes of a hunter. I thought of the way he'd had that package of clothes hidden in the bushes. He was cunning and clever, just like the foxes in fairytales. Even though it was completely crazy, I believed him.

"OK," I said. "OK. You're a shapeshifter. Do you change into any other animals? Or just a fox?"

"Just a fox. I'm not some kind of sorcerer who can conjure up a new shape whenever I feel like it. Shapeshifting is a genetic trait passed on through generations. In fox-shifters, the gene is dominant in the male line, but in other shifter species, the genetics can be quite different. I've spent years researching shifter mythology, and it seems that practically every ancient civilisation has legends about humans shifting into animals. There are even cave paintings of half-human, half-bear creatures. Human shifters have lived at the edges of civilised society for tens of thousands of years, although mostly in secret."

"That other guy was a fox shifter, too."

Ryan nodded. "A few fox clans live near Crookshollow, because the forest is protected, and there aren't as many poachers and hunters as other areas of the country. Vulpines – that's the name for fox shifters – are very territorial, and we also have a sort of primal psychic connection between each other. We call it 'the call'. I was out hunting in the forest this evening when I heard Marcus move over into my territory, so I followed him here."

"What about the lanky guy with the black hair?" asked Kylie.

"Edgar is another species – a raven – so I can't sense him in the same way." Ryan gulped down the last of his drink, and poured himself another. "But I know him well. Edgar is a hired crook. He's particularly skilled at finding things. Marcus must have called him in from London especially for this assignment."

"Why? What are those men doing here? Why do they have such a sudden interest in me?"

"It's not completely clear to me yet, but I believe they think I gave you something when you came to my house today. Not my paintings," he saw my worried expression. "Something else. An… artefact of my family. And Marcus wants this artefact bad enough that he'd risk entering my territory to follow you here and take it back for himself."

"But why does he assume I have it? You don't even like me."

"Don't I?" He smirked as he sipped his drink. Damn, but I wanted to wipe that satisfied smile off his face.

"You need to stop being cryptic, Raynard. What is this artefact? And why would they think you'd given it to me?"

"Because you carry the shifter gene."