Read Online Helix: Plague of Ghouls by Pat Flewwelling - Free Book Online Page A

around, fly low over Dep’s head again, flit up, then zip over Ishmael’s ducking head before disappearing into the forest.
    “They do dat a lot out ’ere,” Dep said. “Ferox puts crumbs on my shirt to see if dey’ll come and land on me.”
    Ishmael smiled. “They’re not afraid of us.” The first time a grey jay had strafed him with its wings, Ishmael had run like he was being attacked by bats. A country boy he was not, and never had been.
    When Dep didn’t reply, Ishmael turned to look at him. Dep was staring at nothing. “Yes, they are,” Dep said. “Sometimes.” Suddenly he looked confused. “Sometimes they won’t come near us, no matter what food we try to offer dem. And sometimes they . . . Sometimes they . . . some . . .”
    Dep paused, mouth open, eyes wide and rolling. He recoiled from nothing. He looked around, as if he’d lost his thought on the ground. Then he raised his eyes and surveyed the world around him. His lips moved, forming questions and exclamations in French.
    No. Shit. No. Not this again.
    “You all right?” Ishmael asked.
    It’s only been a month! Infection is supposed to take half a year—that’s what Foster said. Six months! Not now!
    Dep seemed to be following an invisible butterfly—a gruesome, deformed butterfly—and his head wobbled on his neck. Then he stiffened and his eyes clenched shut. After a long, long moment, the seizure melted and Dep blinked stupidly at the ground.
    Shit, not now. How long do we have? A day? Two days?
    Just as suddenly as it had begun, Dep shivered, saw Ishmael standing there, and smiled. Goosebumps crawled up Ishmael’s spine and into the gland at the back of his neck. He put on his jacket, to hide the gooseflesh and fear.
    “Hey,” Dep said.
    Ishmael’s legs were frozen.
    “What?” Dep asked.
    “Nothing,” Ishmael answered through tight lips and clenched teeth. His therianthropic gland felt like a full bladder; one good startle, and he’d lose all continence. Fever overwhelmed the goosebumps, leaving Ishmael shivery and sweaty at the same time.
    “I got something on my face?”
    Ishmael shook his head.
    Every lycanthrope experienced false starts differently. These were the irregular, unpredictable, shallow changes a lycanthrope expressed some months before having their first full-fledged transformation from man to were-animal. At first, a false start could be nothing more than a lengthening of fangs and a perking of hairy ears. Later changes could include claws, heightened senses, and an excess of body hair which would fall out in the shower. But most often, the first organ to experience a false start was the brain. In Digger’s case, he’d experienced seizures, temporary memory problems, and, toward the end, a total loss of empathy.
    “You feeling okay?” Dep asked.
    “Wore the wrong coat for the weather,” Ishmael said. Hands around my waist, hoisting me up over a mouth wider than my shoulders— “I’ve uh . . .” He cleared his throat. “I’ve got to head up to the main house.” He pretended to scratch his forehead. His brow was wet and cold. “You guys need anything?” Aside from a guillotine?
    Dep stood straighter and flashed his sloppy grin. The fangs were thick and spade-shaped, but not long. Not yet. “You got more steaks up there? We’ve got a fire pit now, we could cook them up. Maybe even give you one.”
    Ishmael’s heart fell. In the time Ishmael had stood beside him, Dep’s eyes had faded from brown to burnt orange.
    “I’ll see what I can do,” Ishmael answered in a vacant, distant voice. On rigid legs, he made his way downhill toward the swamp.
    He smelled Holly before he heard her coming.
    “Did you change your mind? Do you want to come up to the house with me?” He needed to talk to her. They needed to make plans, one for Dep, one for Helen, and one for Ishmael. He was dizzy. “I have no idea when I’ll be back.”
    “I’ll make my way there,” she said. “But not right now. I’ve