Chapter 27
Canyon Wheeling prowled through the abandoned neighborhood in wolf form, his nose low to the ground, his black-furred ears pricked and scanning. He worked his way around the bases of several trees, then down a row of houses, using the scent data to build up a sense of the place in his mind.
Canyon was with his brother, Timber, working together on a mission-critical investigation.
They were ‘up the bluff,’ in a hidden, off-the-grid, foxen neighborhood they hadn’t known existed until last week.
They’d named it ‘Spookville,’ and they were trying to figure out what had happened to the foxen who lived there.
A cold breeze trilled pleasantly through the surrounding forest. The sun was high in an overcast sky. The scents were dissipated and mostly destroyed, but Canyon still was able to determine that no human or foxen had been near in days.
A flutter of light fabric on the back porch of the nearest house caught Canyon’s eye.
He loped up the steps to a door and found it standing slightly open, drapery blowing out the gap.
Canyon nosed at the door and crept inside, cataloging every scent as it came, layering each atop the other in his mind.
The scents told him three people lived here: a mostly foxen male, a human female, and their mostly human child.
They’d had recent visitors, all foxen. There’d been many meals cooked and eaten in this area.
Several different cleaning products had been used.
The carpet was vacuumed often. Beyond, in the kitchen, he could scent food spoiling on a counter and ground beef congealing in a cast iron pan, plus a moldering of the contents of a trash can.
His brother’s voice cut into his head.
I found an open window. I’m inside: The table is set, there’s food on the plates, water in the cups. The meals look half-eaten—this is some Twilight Zone shit.
Here too, Canyon responded. It’s like they all disappeared at the same time.
No scent of the Pravus.
Canyon mentally rumbled assent. He hadn’t scented the Pravus either—a flat, fiery, sulphureous smell of malicious destruction that was always present when Khain the demon dimensionally crossed over from his home in the Pravus, to the home of the shiften, in the Ula.
The scent would have dissipated outside in a few hours, but if Khain had been inside any of these houses in the last week, he and his brother would scent it.
Canyon, working his way through the rest of the house, said, A human female lives here.
Shit. What do you think happened to her?
If the foxen are hiding, she’s hiding with them. If they were taken, I don’t know—killed maybe.
No bodies though.
Bodies could be in the Pravus.
Fuck that. I don’t want to go to the Pravus.
No one does.
Canyon nosed around until he confirmed he could find no more new scents. He made his way outside where he continued his work along the back of each house until he reached the empty street. Ahead he saw Timber, also in wolf form, moving fast from house to house.
Canyon and Timber were almost identical-looking as wolves, both thick, strong, black-furred, with sprays of silver at their throat, chest, and withers.
They each had a strong renqua on their left shoulder, a unique mark of contrasting fur that looked like a birthmark in their human form.
It was their personal connection to the goddess Rhen—their personal proof of their life’s purpose and origin.
I’m done with this side, Canyon said. Heading to the center building.
I’ve got two houses left. Meet you there.
The center building, numbered #1 on their map, was the largest building on the property.
It was circular, multilevel, and situated directly in the middle of the grouping of houses and trails.
He reached the building, surprised to see that each door had electric locks and retinal scanners, and backup electricity powering them.
There were cameras also, but Canyon ignored them.
Someone might be watching him now and that was just fine.
There were no signs, nothing to say what the building was used for, or who owned it. Canyon leapt up onto a window ledge, then up to the second floor, then up to the roof, pacing around, taking in the neighborhood from the higher vantage point, then he called his brother in ruhi.
This’ll work for surveillance.
Where you at?
Roof. Try the north side.
Coming.
Timber was there quickly. Those’re some expensive locks downstairs, he said.
Big-money, Canyon agreed.
Can we get inside?
Predator can.
Let’s get our shit and come back.
They went down the way they had come up, Canyon in the lead.
He leapt down, Timber coming easily behind him.
They left the neighborhood and slipped into the forest, winding around trees, then crossing a meadow, then back into the underbrush, heading for the road.
They prowled for half an hour through the forest on a slim deer trail that eventually dumped them out on the main road.
Sticking to the shadows, they followed the road to the tiny police substation where they’d left Canyon’s truck.
When they drew close, Canyon gave a low approach bark.
In response, the substation doors, and the doors of his truck unlocked with a quiet click.
They went inside the tiny building, shifted into men and pulled on their uniforms: long-sleeved gray shirts, black cargo pants, black web belts and boots, then badges and guns.
Canyon checked his phone. He had a dozen messages, all from Trevor, their boss.
Timber must have also had messages. He said, “The lieutenant wants us at the station.”
Ten minutes, Canyon said.
They climbed into Canyon’s truck and sped down the bluff.