Bayou Blues

Copyright

eBooks are not transferable.

They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Bayou Blues

Copyright © 2015 by Ashley MacLennan

ISBN: 978-1-939291-04-2

Edited by Sasha Knight

Cover by Kanaxa

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Sierra Dean. electronic publication: March 2015

Dean, Sierra (2015-03-20). Bayou Blues (A Genie McQueen Novel). Sierra Dean. Smashwords Edition.

Bayou Blues

Genie McQueen #1

Sierra Dean

This one is for all the Secret McQueen fans who wanted more.

And for everyone who will consider Genie their first and

favorite McQueen.

Thank you.

Hunt.

Hard earth sped by beneath my feet, but I barely felt it. The exhilaration of running made it seem as if I were flying, and there was nothing under me but wind and joy. The night air was alive with scents, and while the scenery blurred past me too fast to see, I was picking up the story of my environment with every inhale.

The pungent smell of algae, still warm from baking in the day’s sun, gave the air a dank, swampy odor, which made me feel like I was home. It also gave me a good indication of where the land ended and the water began.

There was nothing for me near the water’s edge. Most of the animals in the trees were fair game: small rodents, rabbits and other easy prey. Sometimes I’d find a real challenge and get to stalk a deer through the spongy bog. But where the moss and peat gave way to proper swamp and land became water, I was hesitant to get too close.

I was not the scariest thing out for blood during the full moon.

Once—and only once—I’d crossed paths with an alligator who mistook me for an easy meal. Werewolf versus alligator might sound like a kickass premise for a bad Syfy channel monster movie, but in my case it had been one of the worst nights of my life. If not for my heightened healing ability, I would still have some nasty scars to brag about.

But you should have seen the other guy.

That particular fight was not something I had any desire to repeat, no matter how badass the story made me sound. Just thinking about it made my heart beat a little faster. So, in spite of the water’s edge being an ideal place to catch easy prey unaware, it also put me at too great a risk. Instead I stuck to the trees, avoiding the swamp and the hiking trails as well. At this time of night the area was mostly clear of humans, but I didn’t like to take chances.

Boldness wasn’t my problem—I had it in spades these days—but I preferred to be smart rather than to tempt fate. Foolhardy was just another way to say stupid.

Leave it to me to still be a goody two-shoes while I was covered in fur. Some habits were hard to break no matter what form I took.

Hunt.

My wolf urged me forward, driving me on at a breakneck pace. I’d caught a whiff of rabbit, and now my singular mission was to sink my teeth into it. The frenzied patter of its heart sent out vibrations I could feel, singing a perfect ode to my hunger.
Feed feed feed.
My mouth watered, and I bared my teeth, though there wasn’t an animal in sight for me to menace. The wolf was desperate for the kill, and she and I were of one mind on the subject.

Once I’d learned to yield to the wolf within, I was able to turn off the magical part of my brain and simply
be
the wolf. Like most werewolves, I was thirteen when I first started shifting. The same age young hereditary witches came into their power, something most wolves didn’t have to consider. Unluckily for me, I’d inherited both gifts, leaving my magic and my wolf to collide in a disastrous and literally explosive way. That was how I came to spend my formative years getting to know the ins and outs of a swamp very well.

Now I was older, a little wiser, and definitely had a better handle on my magic.

I skidded to an abrupt stop, nails digging into the damp ground. Sniffing the air, I parsed the layers of scent, dismissing the bog water and night breeze until the only thing remaining was fear. Sweet, delicious fear. It smelled like dying flowers and fresh blood.

Movement low to the ground caught my attention, and I went rigid, ears upright, listening intently.
There.
I could practically feel the creature’s heartbeat in my mouth.

I crouched low, my whole body coiled like a spring as I moved closer inch by inch to where the nervous rabbit lay in wait, thinking it was hidden from me. One moment it was frozen, the next it bolted, and I went after it, pouncing before it had a chance to hide again. My teeth pierced its neck, and there was a brief glorious moment where I could taste every ounce of its fear, then it went limp.

The hunt was over.

I ate quickly, the flavor less satisfying now that the fear was gone, but the meat was delicious and reinvigorated me for the run back. Night was coming to an end, and when the sun rose, I didn’t want to be isolated in the middle of the swamp. My wolf might have a good natural sense of direction, but not all my supernatural abilities translated from my animal form to my human one. I set off running again, zigzagging my way through the woods, still avoiding the edge of the water. It felt good to burn off my energy, bringing myself back to nature and the place where I had been at home for so long.

The night sky was turning purple-blue as I found my way back to the abandoned military encampment of Fort Pike. Sometimes, when luck wasn’t on my side, I’d find party-happy teens or adventurous ghost hunters wandering the grounds. I didn’t like to encounter people when I was in my wolf form. Though my human mind still worked for the most part, I didn’t have the same inhibitions or morals holding me back as I did when I walked on two legs. If someone were to lash out at me or make me feel threatened, I wouldn’t hesitate to attack them. During the full moon my wolf ruled me, and while I might feel bad about it after the fact if I hurt someone, it wouldn’t stop me.

It was best, then, not to put myself at any risk of running into any people. Werewolves had a bad-enough reputation without the media painting us as thoughtless killers too. That would be a PR nightmare I wanted no part in.

My nails clicked against the stone floor, but they were the only sounds. Tonight I was alone. I stopped beside the neatly folded pile of clothes I’d abandoned before my run and lay on my belly, licking the blood from my paws. I could push myself to change early, but it would hurt more. If I waited another fifteen minutes until the sun was up, the transition would happen naturally, without too much discomfort.

I watched between the open arches as the horizon changed colors. It wouldn’t be long now.

Then I saw her.

My first reaction was surprise. I hadn’t heard anyone approaching, and humans made so much noise they were impossible to miss. She couldn’t have gotten this close without arousing my attention. Those thoughts vanished when I focused on what I was seeing.

She moved between the shadows as silent and slippery as a ghost, but ghosts didn’t have a smell. Whatever she was, she stank of charcoal and burnt skin. I got up and edged away, baring my teeth and growling. The implicit threat should have been enough to keep her at bay. Most sensible people don’t approach a huge wolf whose teeth were flashing.

It didn’t slow her down at all.

As she oozed out of the shadows, my snarl faltered, and a small whimper of confusion escaped me. She crept forward, her arms akimbo like a broken mannequin who was reassembled with all the wrong parts. Her head was tilted sideways at a painful angle, broken and mangled. Skin peeled away, baring flesh and bone in raw red-and-white patches.

She advanced on me, and I backed away, though my natural instinct resisted. I didn’t want anything to do with her, but I was stubborn to the core. Royal werewolf blood and a long history of lectures from my uncle Callum meant I never wanted to yield the upper hand to anyone, not even a walking immolation-monster, or whatever she was.

Behind the stink of charred skin was a reek of death and sulfur.

She wasn’t human.

That should have been obvious at first glance, what with the blackened skin and impossible bone structure, but I’d seen enough truly weird things in my life that I never took anything at face value. Her smell, however, was unmistakable. The sulfur scent was a hallmark of something dark and demonic.

Her mouth opened, wider than a human mouth could, and a horrible, screeching yowl emerged, croaking and grinding like rocks in a blender.

Then she was gone, blowing apart like smoke as the sun rose.

Moments later the shift took me and remade me, leaving me naked and panting on the brick, shivering from the too-recent memory of what I’d seen.

What the hell was she?

And why did I feel like I should know?

As if my nocturnal encounter wasn’t enough, when I pulled up to my little rental house on Cambronne Street, a whole new nightmare was waiting for me.

Two news vans were parked on the front street and a half dozen reporters were already milling around the walkway. None were close enough to the door that I could call them out for trespassing, but they were definitely pushing their luck.

Grabbing the tray of coffee and a bag of palmier pastries I’d bought from La Madeleine bakery on the way home, I got out of the car. I was able to collect my gym bag out of the backseat before they set upon me like vultures.

“Princess Eugenia, do you have any statements to make about the recent threats from the Church of Morning?”

Huh?

I hiked the bag up on my shoulder, flaunting it as my reason for being out so early in the morning. Technically I
had
been working out. No one needed to know it had been in wolf form.

“Princess, what would you like to say on behalf of your people?”

“Terry, you’re stepping on my marigolds again.” I pointed to the small flowerbed alongside my driveway, which the beat reporter for the
New Orleans Sun
was stomping all over.

There’d been a time when these guys had really bothered me.

Things had changed a lot since my sister, Secret, and I had helped stop a group of necromancers while under the watchful eye of the world. Humans knew we were real now, and being a werewolf princess meant I didn’t get to escape the glare of the media’s attention. My involvement in saving New York from the brink of complete annihilation had made me something of an overnight celebrity.

So much for any attempt at a nice, normal life.

I’d been a popular target for reporters right after the truth came out. But that had been almost three years ago. Since journalists tended to have the attention span of a fruit fly, they’d stopped coming around nearly as much.

So what brought them out today?

And what was this church nonsense they were talking about?

I wasn’t sure what they called a group of reporters, but I liked to think of them as an
annoyance
. The annoyance of reporters followed me towards my front door, nattering their questions with no regard for my answers.

My boyfriend, Cash, opened the door for me, and I hurried inside while they continued to shout over one another. Once I was in, he closed the door and relieved me of the pastries and hot coffees in my hands. I let my gym bag drop to the floor, and he regarded it, frowning slightly before he stepped into the kitchen.

“You know, I would have come with you if you asked. You didn’t need to sneak out while I was sleeping,” he called from the other room.

My phone beeped in my pocket, but I ignored it.

Cash returned with my takeout coffee in a mug. Before he handed it to me he stooped down and gave me a kiss, long, lingering, his breath sweet and minty.

“Good morning to you too,” I said, my voice airy. He’d seemed a bit annoyed about me being out, so the kiss was a nice surprise.

“I don’t like you being out there by yourself, Genie. I worry about what could happen to you.”

I took the coffee from him and pushed my bag under the hall table with my toe, as if the argument would stop as long as he couldn’t see the evidence.

“I’m fine. I promise you, I can care of myself when I’m out there.” I touched his cheek, his brown skin warm under my palm and his goatee tickling me. I wasn’t in love with the facial hair, but if anyone could pull it off, it was Cash.