Guardian Hound (18 page)

“We'll go, then,” Rudi said. The heady scent of the woods rolled over him, filled with the rich promises of scented earth and the mysteries hidden by the trees.

When Rudi pulled his awareness back, he found Lukas was staring at the trees, too. He waited until Lukas shook himself and looked forward again. “You could go for a run first,” Rudi suggested.

Lukas shook his head violently. “No. I don't want to. I can't change. Not yet.” Stark hunger filled his face.

It was obvious that Lukas wanted to transform, to run in the woods of his childhood. What was holding him back?

“It'll be okay,” Rudi told him.

“You don't know that,” Lukas snapped. He stopped himself, sighed heavily, and continued, addressing his shoes. “What happens if I get stuck again? If the curse comes back? What if I can't change back?”

“We'll just find Albert again,” Rudi said lightly, though his heart was heavy and his cheeks enflamed. He should have realized Lukas didn't want to transform—would probably fight it until his hound soul forced it on him. Most of the hound clan only changed once a month—older recitations recommended following the cycle of the moon and transforming when it was full.

It must have been doubly hard on Lukas, though, since he'd spent so much life in his hound form.

“Let's get out of here,” Lukas said, turning and walking toward the car.

“Don't we have to stay until your mother arrives?” Rudi asked, falling into step beside Lukas.

Another sigh. “I saw her.”

After a long pause, Rudi finally had to ask, “And?”

“The good news is that she hasn't been infected by the shadows,” Lukas said slowly. “But she's…different. Changed. I remember her being one of the strongest people in the world. Stronger than Da, really. She was the driving force in our family. But, something broke her. Losing me, losing Greta, maybe. She knows Greta's gone, too. It was probably worse, seeing Greta every day, knowing she was no longer there.”

The boy's voice cracked, along with Rudi's heart. “Lukas,” Rudi said, pausing. “I'm so sorry.” He tentatively reached up and put his hand on the back of Lukas' neck, squeezing gently.

Lukas nodded, closing his eyes for a moment, then continuing. “She and Da are separated, I guess.”

“There's no word of problems outside the court,” Rudi told him.

“She can't stand to be in the castle.” Lukas gave a harsh laugh. “Says it smells like death. She's the only one who believes me about the shadows, and she won't stay.”

“What do you mean?” Rudi asked. How could he protect Lukas from such hurts? He was completely inadequate as a guardian.

“She wouldn't even stay for dinner. She did want to have breakfast with me, tomorrow, at her hotel.”

“That's good,” Rudi said as they started walking again, passing the side of the castle and out to the front yard.

Rudi hesitated. He had to say something. But what? He waited until they'd gotten into the car before he turned to Lukas and said, “Lukas, I'm sorry.”

“What for?” Lukas asked, looking bewildered.

“Lady Metzler, your grandmother, assured me that she would tell your parents that you were alive and well.”

“She did tell them,” Lukas pointed out. “For a while, until the shadows grew too much.”

“But I should have realized, I should have sent more reports, figured out how to let them know…I don't know. Something. I'm sorry I—”

“No,” Lukas said adamantly. “Don't you dare regret what you've done. Don't you dare regret taking me in.”

Rudi had never seen Lukas so angry. He responded with his own fierceness. “I don't regret it,” he said with a snarl. “I'm glad I kept you safe from the shadows here. They're an abomination. I believe you when you say you wouldn't have survived. I just—”

Rudi deflated, his anger flowing away. “I just wish I could have done more.” He'd never be rid of this guilt and regret, he was certain.

Lukas nodded. “There really wasn't anything more you could have done. Not until I met Sally. She was the first sign. Besides, no matter how hard you pushed, I wouldn't have told you anything.”

Rudi shook his head. The strength of the boy, the secrets he'd had to carry. It just wasn't fair, that he'd been forced to grow up that way.

After they started driving, Rudi asked, “Have you found the tiger warrior you need?”

“Maybe. I'll know when I get close enough to really scent him,” Lukas admitted. “But how will I get him back to Seattle? Do we all need to be in Seattle? Or do I need to bring the others here? I don't know where the final battle will be. Or when.”

“We can figure it out,” Rudi said.

Lukas gave a dejected sigh.

“Those are simply logistics,” Rudi pointed out. “We live in a world connected by good transportation. Car, trains, planes—we'll make it work.” He had money saved for emergencies—and flying an elite band of warriors to fight the shadows and save the world surely counted as a legitimate cause for dipping into his savings.

Lukas nodded, then added, “Thank you for today.”

Rudi snorted. “What did I do?”

“You were there, always ready to support me, or protect me.”

“You're my—” Rudi stopped, unsure if there was a term. “Charge. Ward, I suppose.”

“Ward. Good. I like that,” Lukas said. “I don't want to leave you,” he added in a small voice.

“No, Lukas, my prince, I am bound to you. I will serve you and take care of you, as long as you desire,” Rudi said fiercely. “Never doubt that.”

Rudi looked over at the boy. The strain of the day was obvious in the dark circles under his eyes, the lines around his mouth.

“I'm here, and I'll stay by your side, as long as you'll have me. While you protect and guard the others, I'll guard you,” he promised.

“Thank you,” Lukas said, his eyes closing as if he finally felt safe.

Rudi drove them carefully down the hill and into the city. Though he still felt as though he'd failed the prince for most of his life, he really hoped he'd be able to keep at least one of his promises.

England, Fifteen Years Ago

Virmal

Sun poured through the old-fashioned leaded-glass windows, baking Virmal and his twin sister, Harita, where they lay on their blankets for their afternoon nap. Gold painted-radiators with fancy scrolled tops hissed and clanked under the windows. The wood floor pushed up against Virmal, uncomfortable and not giving, under the soft fur blankets. Virmal liked burying his face into the fur, the musky smell comforting.

Harita, of course, had more of the sunshine. She always got more of everything.

Virmal grumbled and rolled closer to his sister so his right arm wouldn't be in the shadows. He pulled at his blue jumper, tugging down the sleeve. It was always too cold here in England, especially compared to his home in New Delhi. He never felt truly warm.

A cloud passed over the sun. Virmal opened his eyes and glared up at the gray cover.

It would probably start raining again or, because England was cruel, it would wait until it was time for them to go out to the park and play.

Virmal growled softly, deep in his throat. Grandma
Irita
had said he shouldn't growl like that, not out loud; it was disrespectful.

But sometimes the growls crowded his throat, forcing their way out.

It was like something else lived under his skin. Something fierce and wild and
glad
that he could make his grandmother shiver.

The sun peeked out from behind the clouds. Virmal stretched his hand up to it, wanting to capture every last drop of warmth.

Harita pushed at Virmal, shoving him away and out of the light.

Without thinking, Virmal slashed at her, growling loudly.

Harita grabbed hold of her bleeding arm, staring at Virmal with wide, scared eyes.

Everything was silent and still in the front room. Virmal scrambled up to his knees. What had he done?

Then Harita screamed. The sound ran claws up Virmal's back and he snarled in response. She needed to shut up, shut up,
shut up
.

If she wouldn't shut up, he would make her.

Virmal rocked closer and growled again, low and deep, a noise that rumbled wonderfully through his chest. Color fled the world, and the smell of blood, of small things wounded, of
prey
, took over everything else. He could taste it on his tongue, lap it up like cream.

A tiny voice in the back of Virmal's head said no, he shouldn't do this. She was his
sister
, his fraternal twin.

The other didn't care, and leaned closer still, filling itself on the complex scent of fear and family, blood and home.

At least the girl had stopped screaming. Her rabbit large eyes darted around the room, seeking escape.

Maybe they could let her run. At least toward the door. Then they'd trap her again.

They snarled and showed their teeth, big and sharp.

Before they could reach up their paw/hand and bat at the girl, a commanding voice ordered, “No. Don't. Virmal. Don't.”

At the mention of his name, Virmal shook himself and blinked, the world returning to normal as if he'd just woken from a dream.

But
Harita's
fear was real, and so were her wounds.

“Grandma?” Virmal said, turning toward her, tears springing to his eyes. He'd been bad. He'd hurt Harita. And everyone always loved her more.

“Hush now,” Grandmother
Irita
said, looking sternly from Virmal to Harita and back again. “Harita, can you growl back?”

Harita shook her head.

“Not even a little?” Grandmother asked.

“No!” Harita said, trembling despite her strong denial.

Grandmother
Irita
sighed and tugged on her blue and gold sari, pulling the material down. “Ah well. I'd hoped you'd share this, like you've shared everything. But it's not to be.” She pressed her lips together and put her fists on her waist.

The clouds covered the sun again, making Grandmother
Irita's
sari suddenly look black, stealing all the light from the room. She looked like a terrible, angry goddess as she pronounced their fate.

“You will stay here, with me,” she announced. “And not return to India.”

Virmal turned from Grandmother to Harita. “I'm sorry,” he whispered. Sorry for hurting her. Sorry for trapping them both here in England.

That broke the spell that seemed to hold Harita. She wailed loudly, scrambling up from the floor and throwing herself at their grandmother.

Virmal twisted back to look at them. Grandmother
Irita
had bent down and was stroking
Harita's
head, but her eyes were full of sorrow as she stared at Virmal.

# # #

“Why does she have to be here?” Virmal whined when Harita stood in the doorway to their classroom, her notebook pressed hard against her chest by her crossed arms.

“She has to learn the recitations, too, in case she births a girl who comes to power,” Grandmother
Irita
said dismissively as she walked to the front of the room. Beyond the tall window, red and orange leaves twirled in the autumn wind. Grandmother
Irita
laid her books down on the desk, then sat behind it, facing them.

Virmal sighed, but he didn't say anything more. He'd liked spending time alone with his grandmother, learning the stories and history of the tiger clan. It was so unfair that Harita got to be there. He was the one with the power. He was the tiger warrior, not her. He was the one with the tiger soul: She wandered near to his human soul, then away again, but always within reach.

But she still got everything.

Virmal planted his elbows on the hard wooden table that served as his desk, pressing his heels down on the worn rungs of the chair. Scents of
dahl
and sweet tea floated up from the kitchen along with the smell of rain that always rode the wind. He didn't look at his sister when she sat down, but he also didn't growl at her—Grandmother
Irita
had trained them both out of that.

“And more than that, she's family,” Grandmother
Irita
added. “Maybe we'll start with that recitation today.”

Virmal knew better than to groan. While some of the recitations were cool and had neat stories associated with them, too many of them listed all the things he couldn't do, like
don't show yourself to other people, don't transform in public, don't use your claws against an unarmed human
, and on and on.

Grandmother
Irita
put the recitation notebooks on their desks. Since they were here in England and not at any of the tiger temples, every page of the recitations that they wrote had to be destroyed at the end of their lessons.

Virmal liked putting the pages in the flames of the hearth downstairs in the parlor. But, knowing his luck, that would be something else Harita would get to do today.

The sound of Harita unzipping her pencil case made Virmal look over at her. It was pink with some kind of Japanese anime cat on it. If Grandmother
Irita
hadn't been there, he would have made retching sounds. How could she be from the tiger clan and still like such cute, girly things? Virmal would never understand his twin.

Then Harita grimaced as she reached up and put the pencil case at the top of the desk.

Was that a bruise on her arm?

Virmal got out his own pencil and tried to sniff the air without Grandmother or Harita noticing. His nose told him astonishing things.

There was the milky porridge they'd had for breakfast, and the thin trace of dirt from when Harita had gone outside to check the bird feeders, and just there, before she'd come down, underneath the kitchen smells, were salty tears.

What did Harita have to cry about?

Virmal wrote the first recitation as Grandmother
Irita
recited it:
The tiger clan comes first.

First before family, though? Harita was family, but wasn't clan.

If you hurt one, you hurt all.

Many in the tiger clan were solitary in nature. Some of the recitations, like this one, were a way to bring them together. Virmal didn't like being with many other people, but he didn't mind being with his sister if she was quiet. She mostly didn't set his back up.

Temper revenge with wisdom.

Virmal didn't like the story that went with that one. It made him shiver, just thinking about how the tiger clan families had attacked and wiped each other out for generations.

It was one of the good things to come after the treachery of the ravens. The clan had stopped turning against each other and had united as one, instead.

Defend the others in the tiger clan, the ambush of tigers.

That one was harder, actually, for Virmal. He was never sure what was the right way to defend the ambush. Was it to be like
Sree
, and attack with claws and fangs? Or to be like
Ansuya
, and talk everyone into agreeing? He never saw himself like
Soniya
, who sacrificed herself, drawing away the hunters and their dogs so her family could escape.

Harita shifted in her seat, and Virmal could smell tears coming closer.

Was Harita defending the clan in some way? A way that was hurting her?

She'd never tell if she was in trouble. She might be a spoiled brat, but she kept secrets better than the goddess
Surina
, who knew the end of everyone's life but carried the burden alone and would never tell the pilgrims who came to worship at her temples, no matter how much gold they left or how they pleaded.

Surina
could be tricked into revealing what she knew, though.

Virmal wrote the next recitation without really hearing it. How could he trick his sister into telling him?

Though Grandmother
Irita
didn't say it, Virmal wrote the first recitation of their lesson again.

If you hurt one, you hurt all.

# # #

Virmal had never been so aware of his sister before. He kept track of Harita all the time, following her by scent when he couldn't be close enough for sight or sound.

It surprised Virmal how gentle Harita was. All his female cousins, tiger warrior or not, had a cruel side to them. They'd put their dolls into paper prisons, denying them food while they had tea parties sitting outside the gates, or they'd make up long, involved stories about their teddy bear generals and pony captains and the war they'd bring and how the farmers would suffer and curse them.

The stories Harita told with her dolls involved playing house and taking care of their children, or starring in a Bollywood movie, or even holding a pageant show.

In the corner of the playroom, Virmal drew pictures of spaceships exploding, ninja warriors with cat-like features, or creepy voodoo ravens with
Xs
for eyes, doodling as he always did, but also listening like never before.

On Tuesdays and Thursdays, Virmal and Harita went to the big school, with the other kids; they were homeschooled only on the other days. Virmal had friends he walked with from homeroom to history class, down the loud hallways filled with kids and lockers. That Tuesday, he finally noticed that Harita only had two friends, and all three of them looked and smelled wary, carrying their books tightly.

Harita always wrapped her arms across her chest, carrying her books. So did the other girls.

Virmal wasn't stupid. He knew what that meant.

Someone was bullying his sister, and she had her books pulled out of her arms on a regular enough basis for her to be defensive all the time.

His tiger soul growled at that. She didn't like it. Not one bit.

Hurt one, hurt us all.

# # #

“Sorry, I can't go,” Virmal said as he shut his locker.

Vijay, Sal, and Eric all complained. “Come on, you promised!”

“Look, just play three-person footie,” Virmal suggested.

“Lame,” Eric replied.

“I'll play next week,” Virmal promised, hurrying out of the dim school hallway and into the autumn cold. God, he hated England. He quickly buttoned his heavy, blue wool
peacoat
up to his neck, then pulled his gray hat down more snugly over his ears. He took the stairs from the school two at a time, then raced up the block, trying to catch up with Harita.

Nasty wind pushed at him, blowing through the thick wool as well as the sweater Virmal wore underneath. Maybe he should switch to his winter down jacket; at least that resisted the wind. But the guys would make fun of him. Ornate metal fences enclosed the gardens to his left. Only a few brave, colorful leaves dangled from the trees. The smell of rain was in the air, but the wind
always
smelled like rain.

Ahead of Virmal, Harita walked alone. She walked quickly, like a rabbit scurrying across a field. Even from a block away, the wind carried the scent of her fear. She turned the corner, and Virmal hurried.

Three boys had surrounded Harita by the time Virmal caught sight of her again.

“Going home so fast, little mouse,” the tall white boy in the dark green coat said.

“Did you bring us the money?” a dark Indian boy asked, in a black coat that looked very much like Virmal's.

Harita bared her teeth at them. “Never,” she said.

At least she was standing up to them. But there were three of them and only one of her. Plus, they were all bigger than she was.

Why hadn't she told anyone, though?

“Leave me alone,” Harita said loudly.

“Or you'll scream?” the last one sneered. He was short and white. He shoved
Harita's
shoulder. “You know what happened last time you did that.”

The Indian boy pushed Harita next, hard enough that she almost stumbled and fell. Then he yanked on her backpack, trying to strip her of her books.

Virmal couldn't hold back. His tiger soul growled as he hurried forward. “Leave her alone,” he ordered as he pushed through the boys to stand beside his sister.