Feral Curse by Cynthia Leitich Smith Read Free Book Online Page B

the beard, given that simply shaving would dramatically alter his appearance.
    “Never seen him before,” I say. It’s like Darby all over again, except more threatening; both shifters seem unduly interested in me. And Yoshi hasn’t strayed far since we met.
    The Cat is still looking through Peter’s wallet, and I see that Yoshi has Peter’s phone, too. Pulling out a small piece of rectangular white paper, he says, “This restaurant receipt is for pulled-pork sliders and a Diet Coke. It’s dated thirteen days ago, from a
biergarten
in Fredericksburg, Texas.”
    I’ve been to Fredericksburg. It’s German, quaint, touristy — lots of antiques shops. A popular day-trip and weekend destination in much the same way my dad hopes Pine Ridge eventually will be.
    Yoshi hands me Peter’s phone, and after fiddling with it for a few seconds, I’m looking at an on-screen image of myself: me on my front porch. I keep forwarding: me playing fetch with Peso, me coming out of my fence gate, walking to school, walking from school, on the church steps, in my mother’s new “previously owned” Toyota. It’s nothing I hadn’t already put together, but the images make it more real somehow. Creepier.
    Thinking out loud, I say, “There was a coyote figure on the carousel.” Not to mention a deer and a cougar-ish cat. Parallel forms to Peter, Darby, and Yoshi.
    Magic at the carousel. Could Ben’s spell somehow have brought them here?
    “I’ve got to get home. We should return Peter’s stuff to the spot where you found it or he’ll know we’re onto him.”
    “He’ll know anyway,” Yoshi counters. “He’ll be able to smell us.”
    “But he’ll be naked,” I reply.
    A smile tugs at the Cat’s lips. “I don’t see where that’s our problem. I say we keep all this, and he’ll come after us, trying to get it back. We can use it to set a trap.”
    That’s inviting trouble, but the Coyote almost killed my dog. His behavior is escalating. He may come after me, or even my parents, next.

ON THE WAY TO HER HOUSE, Kayla tells me about Darby, the mournfully love-struck, skittish Deer she met earlier this evening — a perfect stranger to her before today — and how his animal form was represented by a figure on the carousel, too.
    “A real heartbreaker, you are,” I tell her. “You think the spell that brought us here may be influencing our behavior and pointing us your way?”
    “I was raised to believe in math and miracles, not magic,” she says, carrying Peter’s wallet, belt, folded clothes, and shoes. “But I can’t deny that something strange is happening.” Kayla hesitates at the gate. “How about you? Do you feel any different than normal?”
    I unleash my trademark smile. “I do find myself strangely fixated on you.”
    Kayla bites her lip, clearly exasperated, as the silence becomes awkward. Moving into the backyard, I understand that her inviting me to bunk overnight inside the — Jesus — fully restored Victorian mansion would prompt too many parental questions.
    It also makes more sense that I stay outside to intercept Peter whenever he makes his move. I cased out her tree house when we swung by earlier with the Chihuahua.
    I’ve crashed in much rougher places. It’ll do for tonight.
    “I’ll be able to smell the Coyote coming.” I leap onto a thick branch, showing off how well my Cat agility hangs on in human form. “Trust me, Kayla. He’ll never make it to your door.” The windows are more vulnerable, but I don’t mention that. Coyotes may not climb well in animal form, but in boy shape he’s closer to a primate.
    Once she hands up Peter’s belongings, our bait, I add, “You should get inside. Double-check all the locks.” I continue up, adding, over my shoulder, “Go on. Get out of here.”
    Kayla frowns. But within two minutes of going into her house, she sprints back outside with a sleeping bag, pillow, and leftover barbecue brisket in a doggie bag labeled DAVIS FAMILY HOME