The hum of the engine and the aftermath of adrenaline rush soon lulled her into a stupor from which she jerked awake only when the car stopped.
"Brian's family isn't very accepting of outsiders. Try to realize they're frightened and worried about their daughter. It galls them to ask help from a human, so if anyone is rude or brusque, that's why." She could've made some crack about the irony of her, the prisoner, needing to be sensitive about her persecutor's feelings, but Sherrie held her tongue. "How old is the girl?"
"Nine, I think."
"What kind of symptoms is she having?"
"You'll see soon enough." He got out of the car and came around to let her out. When he leaned across to unbuckle her seatbelt, his shoulder brushed against her tits. Her nipples went instantly erect at the contact as if he'd taken hold of them and twisted. She sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth and knew he'd heard her.
He took her hand and helped her out of the car before guiding her down a path-she felt and heard woodchips underfoot-and up a couple of steps. The door opened without him knocking or ringing a bell.
"Bring her in."
She recognized the voice of the man who'd been in the cabin when she awoke. As they entered the house, she smelled cooking meat and heard voices arguing in another room.
"I'm taking the blindfold off, Brian. It's ludicrous. If she's going to help, there can't be any secrets or mistrust. We have to let her into our lives."
As Walker removed the cloth from her eyes, Sherrie blinked and looked around the foyer of the Coxes' house. It was hardly a wolf den and could've been any middle class suburban home. Kids' shoes and backpacks lay in one corner. The coat closet door was ajar, and inside she could see jackets hanging and sports equipment on the floor.
Brian Cox was a middle-aged, African-American man of medium height and build with permanent frown lines etched between his brows. As different as he was in appearance from John Walker, there was an odd similarity in his bearing when he cocked his head and gazed at her. From the way his nostrils flared, she got the impression he was inhaling her scent and assessing it. His frown deepened.
"This is supposed to be our healer? She doesn't seem very special." If he was in wolf form, his hackles would be raised and he'd be snarling. With a scornful twist of his lip, Cox turned and led them into the house.
An open plan living-dining-kitchen area filled the first floor. Two women stood by the stove with arms folded, watching as they passed. The younger of the two looked like she'd been recently crying, and Sherrie guessed she might be the sick girl's mother. The older one could be a grandmother.
In the living room, a couple of teenage boys, one black and one white, were playing a video game on the TV. They paused the game to look at the stranger too. The silence and watchful eyes and lack of polite introductions made Sherrie nervous and uncomfortable. She was here supposedly to help yet they acted like she'd caused the sickness.
As she and John followed Cox upstairs to the second floor, John whispered near her ear, "I told you, they don't much like strangers."
"What's your daughter's name?" Sherrie asked, determined to break the barrier. It was not for nothing she'd been a waitress most of her life. She'd had a lot of practice finessing difficult customers.
"Liberty." Cox stalked ahead of her along the hallway and paused before an open bedroom door.
Sherrie's already speeding heart pounded a little faster. She felt like she was about to see a scene from The Exorcist. What was wrong with the kid anyway? She was relieved when she followed her reluctant host into the room and saw a normal, sleeping child on the bed.
The girl's dark hair was braided tight, framing her small face. Her complexion was ash-gray. Sherrie could see her eyes moving behind the closed lids, watching the invisible dream world. Her breathing was shallow, her bird-chest rising and falling rapidly. An IV drip hung beside the bed, fluids running into the girl's arm.
"Does she have a fever?" Sherrie started to move toward her, and Cox blocked her way.
"Brian!" John's sharp bark made her jump. "Do you want her help or not? You're the one who insisted we bring her here."
The man backed up a pace to let Sherrie approach the bed.
"Her temperature's been hovering around one hundred and two. Only a little high." A woman's voice came from the doorway. Sherrie glanced over her shoulder to see the younger woman from the kitchen.
"One hundred and one is normal for us," Brian explained. "Our metabolism is different from humans.
That's why we can never check into the emergency room when we're injured. We tend our own sick and wounded."
"How long has she been like this?" Sherrie asked, as if it would help her in making some kind of unqualified diagnosis.
"This is the tenth day. There've been a dozen other cases in the pack. The first took sick almost a month ago. He died last Saturday."
Sherrie moved to the edge of the bed and took the girl's still hand in hers. A jolt of pure energy shot through her, and she gasped. Images flashed in her mind so fast, jumbled and foreign, that she could hardly make sense of them.
Girl face-wolf face. Best friend. Playing dolls. Hunting. Night scents. Hunger. Prey. Pounce and chase. Running, running, running. Gone.
Mother-Father. Warm, safe, home. Brother. Anger-yelling. Bike broken.
Stranger. Black-eyes scary. Danger. Running, running, running.
"Are you all right?" Walker grabbed her arm.
She let go of Liberty's hand. "Yeah. Yes. She's really hot is all. It surprised me." What the hell had just happened? She'd never felt anything like the fragments of thought and memory pelting her like hail, and she knew without a doubt they weren't her own.
The little girl lying under the flowered quilt moaned and shifted. Her lips moved and her eyes continued to move rapidly beneath her closed lids.
Mrs. Cox hurried over to the bed. "Did you feel something?"
"N-no. I'm sorry, but I'm no healer. There's nothing I can do for her." Sherrie wasn't about to say she thought she'd tapped into the girl's mind. She could barely fathom the unbelievable experience and sure as hell didn't want to give false hope that she could solve anything for these people. Better to keep what had happened to herself.
"Please, will you lay your hands on her for a few minutes? Maybe your touch will wake her up. If Anna says there's something special about you, it must be true." Sherrie had never felt so useless in her life. She knew her touch couldn't heal, but if it would help this woman feel better, she'd do it. Bracing herself for another influx of sensations, she clasped the child's hand again.
Again she was walloped by thoughts and visions not her own. Filtered through a child's mind, and a non-human child at that, the images reflected her good and bad experiences. She was mad at her brother for borrowing her bike. He was way too big to ride it. He'd broken it and Daddy hadn't had time to fix it yet.
Suzanne's bike was cooler anyway. Maybe Liberty could use this as an excuse to get a new one.
As Sherrie sifted through the girl's consciousness, she skirted the memory of The Bad Man-a big, black cloud that overshadowed all other thoughts. But if there was a psychic component to the child's illness, it was rooted there, so at last Sherrie pulled back the veil and glimpsed the face of evil.
He wasn't human or shifter, but something else, a powerful entity which wanted even more power. He was siphoning off Liberty's energy even now while keeping her imprisoned in unconsciousness. What The Bad Man was doing to her mind hurt, and she couldn't tell her daddy so he could stop it.
Sherrie couldn't stand the overwhelming feelings anymore. She broke contact, setting Liberty's hand back on the bed and patting it gently, hoping no one noticed that her own hand trembled. She didn't want to tell these people what she'd felt, at least not until she'd sorted through the experience herself. Perhaps later she'd tell John, but not the Coxes, not now when she scarcely had words to describe what had happened.
"I'm sorry. Like I said, I can't help. I wish I could." Why was this happening to her? She wasn't part of their world. Their savior should come from among them.
Mrs. Cox nodded. "Thank you for trying."
"There must be something or why would Anna have sent us for her?" Brian Cox glared at Sherrie as if she was holding back on purpose. Her cheeks burned.
"We'll figure it out," John said. "It might just take some time."
"Time is something we can't afford. Liberty is getting weaker every day." Sherrie pressed her lips tight. She wasn't good at keeping secrets. If she could reveal anything that would help the child, she'd tell them. But she needed time to sort it all out. The experience was too strange and surreal-much like the rest of this crazy day. And if she told anyone about her experience, it would be John, because Cox made her too nervous.