Bayou Shadow Protector

Chapter 3

Chulah removed his helmet and sat on his motorcycle, studying the tree line at the point where April had suddenly—mysteriously—appeared from the backwoods. It was possible that some trace, some clue could be tracked down. With luck, he’d follow the signs to the point of origin. At least it would reveal if April had lied about getting lost after a simple hike. One that she claimed to have begun near her apartment. Her story didn’t ring true, and even after riding for hours, there was something about her...something disturbing he couldn’t quite pinpoint. Compounding his unease was his lack of physical control at her apartment. It was as if she drew him to her magnetically, removing his normal reserve.

Chulah removed a flashlight from his saddlebag and stuffed it in his backpack, which he had weighted down with rocks. His eyes adjusted to the night’s dark veil, so he probably didn’t need the flashlight, but it never hurt to be prepared. The rocks were for any stray will-o’-the-wisps.

Strapping the backpack across his broad shoulders, he approached the woods. He’d first glimpsed April by the massive oak. The tree had a sharp bend in the trunk, courtesy of Hurricane Katrina years earlier.

The scent of violets and moss teased his nose, the same scent that April bore, one that niggled at his memory. Broken twigs and pine needles marked the ground and he followed the trail.

She’d stayed close to one of the many narrow footpaths that veined the forest and her direction had been true. Never once had she strayed down a different path, or circled back to the one that led to the road and his home. Interesting. You would think somebody new to the area, and supposedly lost, would have strayed at least once, taken a circuitous path or explored a way to exit the woods.

Deeper and deeper, Chulah journeyed to the dark, quiet interior of the bayou forest. Strange that April chose to walk a path so far removed from civilization. An uneasy prickle lifted the hairs on his arms. The scent of violets grew sharper and the trail abruptly ended at the base of an ancient cypress where a large patch of wild violets bloomed—totally out of season. They were spring flowers blossoming in the heart of autumn. Chulah turned from that mystery to another, more pressing question.

Where had April gone from here?

That same April who knew of the bayou’s secret, of its evil spirits, who knew things about him she had no logical way of knowing. Whose tracks stopped in the middle of the woods, in a spot that festered with some strange magick he’d never seen. Something was afoot, something he’d never encountered before in all his years of hunting shadows.

He didn’t believe in coincidence. This place and that woman were connected. Tomorrow he would visit April and demand an explanation. Had she kissed him to distract his attention from her loose tongue? If so, it wouldn’t happen again.

Eerie silence enveloped him like a wool blanket. That was what was different. Not what was there, but the absence of what should be there—no insect droning, no underbrush rattles from small animals, no hooting of owls or even the sound of the sea breeze in the treetops. Only silence.

Baffled, Chulah raised his arms, allowing his senses to become totally immersed in the night, seeking out any sign of hidden shadows that secreted the bayou. The sensing was passed down from his Choctaw ancestors, a special line of descendants gifted to detect the evil shadow world. The shadow creatures considered humans intruders and sought to either drive them out or control the ones who stayed.

His family had chosen to stay. And to fight.

They had lived in this south Alabama swampland for hundreds of years, as far back as anyone could remember. Surely they had been here since the beginning of time—same as the shadow beings who didn’t want to share the land. Not only that, they wanted to dominate every creature—human, animal and supernatural—that roamed the bayou.

Chulah sent a prayer to his ancestors for guidance. The silence continued, but Chulah’s feet directed him to a distance of about ten yards from the tree where April’s trail stopped. He looked down. On the side of his right foot, fallen leaves blew and rustled. On his left side, all was still and silent.

Odd.

He followed the divided, splintered land, walking a circle with the cypress tree at its center. Inside the circle, all was silent. Outside the circle, all was normal. Chulah rubbed his chin, puzzling out this new development. Was it possible there was some new manner of creature that he and his fellow hunters had never before witnessed?

Quietly, he withdrew two large rocks and held each in the palms of his hands, ready for attack. He again walked the circle’s perimeter, yet found but one set of April’s footprints where she had walked from the tree to the road.

It didn’t make sense. Something was off.

Chulah halted, allowing the darkness to completely mask him from moonlight, drawing layers of the night’s shadow to wrap around his body.

And waited.

His patience was as still as the live oaks that encircled and filled the forest, living sentinels that discouraged most humans from entering deep, and contained the shadows within. A boundary between civilization and the primitive, mysterious evil that had been present since the beginning of time.

As a shadow hunter, he lived in between the two worlds, not fully belonging to either. On full-moon nights, his soul ached to be in the bayou backwoods, a part of the shadows born to shelter mankind from the old spirits who meant them harm and who longed to escape the forest’s boundaries.

He continued his watch, attentive to every sound and smell and movement. A gray fox, his namesake, stopped its lonesome prowling and stared at him solemnly before padding away on silent paws. The wily creatures never failed to greet him on his solitary vigils. When he was born, his father had entered the woods and waited for a sign on what to name his son. A fox had wandered close and stared. His father named him Chulah, Choctaw for fox, to honor his son’s appointed animal guide.

An orange glow, the color of citrine lit from within, shone in the distance, a candle in the dark. It wasn’t the blue glow of a wisp with a green, throbbing heart at its center. It wasn’t swamp gas. And it wasn’t a flashlight beam of a fellow hunter. This was something altogether new, the likes of which he’d never observed in all his years of hunting.

It skittered closer, its glow elongated and emitting sparkling cascades of light. He sensed no mischief or ill intent, but then again, shadow beings often cloaked their evil with a display of beauty and purity.

The violet scent intensified and the patch of improbably late-blooming flowers opened their petals and multiplied their blooms. As the orange light drew closer, the violets hummed and shimmered with a fluorescent aura.

The orange luminescence glided to within twenty yards. The closer it came, the more details appeared. Over five feet in height with a thin columnar shape, extensions from the main body occasionally moved like limbs. Although the predominant color was orange, there were also pinks and purples and blues and greens.

Chulah squinted his eyes. Were those wings protruding from its back? Could this be some kind of giant, magical insect? Or some creature that feasted on the strange violets that now tinkled with the clean, pure notes of a bell?

Excitement and wonder stirred deep within Chulah. Still, his hands fisted over the rock he held in one hand and a dagger in another. Just in case this was some wisp mutation sent to trick. He knew better than anyone that the swamp held deep, dark secrets. He had lost two hours of his life here one day, two precious hours that had meant the difference between life and death for his father.

Just because something was beautiful didn’t mean it wasn’t deadly.

The creature stilled, as if realizing it was being observed. In a blink, the light extinguished. Darkness thickened and the flower blooms wilted and died, withdrawing their scent.

The dead flowers bothered him more than the strange creature. Nature’s time cycle had warped. How long had he been out here? Had he lost time again, perhaps more than a mere two hours? Chulah scrubbed his face. Tried to rub out the questions that left him disoriented and queasy.

Stumbling, he turned away and ran, clumsy with dread and déjà vu. Crazy, man. You’ve lost it again. Crazy, crazy, crazy. He longed for his cabin, longed to know that no time had mysteriously disappeared and that no one was hurt or dying.

It’s happening again, just like before.

No! If someone else died because of him... No, he wouldn’t think of it. His blood roared in his ears, combining with the sound of his own strangled breathing. A symphony of terror. It drowned all other noise, as if he were alone in his own private hell.

Thorns sliced at his legs and arms and he welcomed the pain that kept him grounded to the land and reality.

Chulah broke into the clearing near his cabin and ran faster. Just a little farther. Back to normalcy. Everything would be okay.

He hoped.

He took the porch steps two at a time and burst into the cabin, flicking on the light switch. All appeared as he left it. A newspaper lay on the kitchen table alongside his coffee cup. Hands trembling slightly, Chulah picked up the paper and checked the date.

Today’s date.

The terror subsided, but still hammered his heart. Quickly, he crossed the room and snatched his cell phone from the charger. Eleven thirty-seven p.m. He pursed his lips, considering. That sounded about right. He’d left about thirty or forty minutes ago. There were no emergency text messages. He checked voice mail... No, there were no messages or missed calls.

Excess adrenaline flushed out of his system in a whoosh. He sank onto the couch and put his head in his hands. Despite his relief, the old sorrow returned. Time had lessened the grief, but the guilt and sadness would be with him forever.

* * *

That was close.

April fluttered her wings nervously from the top branches of a sweet gum tree. Damn if she wasn’t as careless now as she’d been a decade ago. If he’d seen her in Fae form, she could have blown everything on day one. It was way too early in the game for him to accept that she was a fairy and that her intentions were honorable. First, she needed to establish some measure of trust before asking his help with Hoklonote. Ease into it as much as she could, given the limited time frame. If any of the other fairies had seen her stumbling about, drunk on human kisses, the Council might pull her from this mission.

Fearfully, she gazed around the area and breathed a sigh of relief. No Fae in sight to witness her idiocy.

Home free.

April touched her fingers to her lips, reliving Chulah’s kisses. It had been glorious. The best afternoon of her life. No wonder her mother had been so besotted with her human lover. The only surprise was that all the female fairies hadn’t defected from the Fae realm. Evidently, they didn’t realize what they were missing.

“What the hell were you doing out there?” a voice hissed not a yard from where she sat.

Shock slammed through her essence and she lost her balance, toppling from the tree. A couple of somersaults later, April righted herself and flew to the ground. Like a cat, she managed to land right side up, unharmed but unnerved.

A thud hit the ground a few yards away. Steven’s stony visage flickered into view for a microsecond. Not long enough for human eyes to detect, but plenty long enough for her to see his scolding frown.

“You’re supposed to keep me informed of your whereabouts,” he said sternly. “I go to check on you and what do I find? An empty bed.”

“I’m not used to sleeping in such a confined area,” April explained. “It’s stifling to be surrounded by four walls with only a small window to see the world outside. I had to get out for a little fly-about. Surely there’s no harm in that, is there?”

“Hoklonote might be lurking nearby. It’s a dangerous time to be alone in the woods.”

Chulah had said much the same thing this afternoon when she’d hitched a ride.

“I’m sorry. I promise to let you know next time.”

Steven tugged on his red beard. “I saw that Chulah almost caught you. You need to keep your wits about you. Our lives depend on that.”

“I’ve learned my lesson, and I’m prepared now. It won’t happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t.” He tried to keep his voice gruff, but she saw that the worst of the lecture was over.

“I won’t get you in trouble,” she assured him. As her temporary overseer while on the mission, Steven was as responsible for her mistakes as she was.

“Very well. Let’s get back to the apartment. Our human bodies need sleep to function properly.”

“I’m going to stay out a little longer.”

Steven frowned and she hastened to mollify him. “If it’s okay with you,” she added meekly. “I want to watch over Chulah as he returns home. He’s our best chance to get an in with the shadow hunters. We can’t afford to let him get hurt.”

He sighed. “You’re right. We’ll do it together.”

Exactly what she didn’t want. Even though she was invisible to Chulah, April enjoyed flying beside him, as if there was a shared intimacy between them alone in the woods. Steven would definitely be a third wheel.

“No, no, this won’t take long. And like you said, we need our sleep. I think my escapade tonight interrupted yours. Why don’t you go back to bed?”

He wavered, hands on hips. “I am tired,” he admitted.

“I’ll be back soon,” April said, flying up above him. “See you later?”

“Oh, all right. Just don’t do anything foolish.”

And she was off before Steven could change his mind. In the rush of the wind, she was behind Chulah. Close enough to almost reach out and touch his shoulder. It was agony and a familiar pleasure to be so close, and yet so far apart. Especially now that she knew the sweet excitement of his mouth and his hands.

In no time, Chulah entered his cottage and shut the door. Still, she was loath to leave him. Instead, she watched through the curtainless window as he settled on the couch and talked on the phone. Was he perhaps calling Tallulah? Inviting her to come over? Begging her to change her mind on his proposal?

Even after he’d hung up the phone, jealousy and curiosity wouldn’t let her leave. She’d sleep so much easier if she knew for certain that Tallulah wasn’t coming over. Chulah didn’t go straight to bed; instead, he opened a book and began to read.

Minutes later, car headlights turned in the driveway and pierced the dark. A man jumped out and ran to the door. Ah, yes, she recognized his friend Tombi Silver. A smile lit her lips. No reason to stay, other than she couldn’t bear to tear her eyes from the lit window and go back to her bare, lonely apartment.

And so she hovered, reluctant to leave.

Chapter 4

“What the hell? A new creature we’ve never seen?”

Chulah’s face warmed at his friend’s incredulous stare. “I swear it’s true. Saw it with my own eyes. It had wings and...” he stammered, reluctant to share his theory. But their survival depended on total honesty and trust. “If I had to give it a name, I’d say it was a fairy.”

Tombi paced the small cabin. “I believe you saw something out there. It’s just...fairies?” He stopped and stared out the window where shadows lengthened and the woods beckoned with their promise of magic and danger.

“We shouldn’t be so surprised,” Chulah said. “If there are will-o’-the-wisps, birds of the night, and spirits like Hoklonote and Nalusa Falaya, why not a whole host of other supernatural creatures?”

Tombi shook his head. “You’re sure this thing had actual wings?”

That glowed with the light and warmth of a thousand candles. Stunning. Disturbing. But Tombi didn’t need to know the effect this mystical creature had on his senses.

His friend pierced him with a hard stare. “Why did it come to you?”

He didn’t say it, but he didn’t need to. As leader of the shadow hunters, Tombi should have been the human contacted, not him. He was only second-in-command. Actually, he’d been only third-in-command until the traitorous Hanan died in the last great battle.

“I’m not sure why,” Chulah said with a shrug.

“Think there’s any correlation between your new girl and this vision in the woods? I mean, here’s this stranger in town who talks about the shadow spirits. No humans speak of such things. Even our own people regard them as old stories with no truth.”

Tombi voiced Chulah’s own inner speculations, but hearing it from another set off warning flares. And he hadn’t told Tombi that April even knew highly personal things about him, like Tallulah’s rejection. He sure as hell wasn’t going to bring up that fiasco to Tombi. Too embarrassing. “She’s not my anything. And we can’t be a hundred percent sure that she’s a...a fairy or whatever I saw out there tonight.”

“I want to meet this April tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah, you should meet. I’m sure she’ll be at her store.”

“I’ll take my wife along. Annie has amazing insight.”

“Good idea. And I’ll go with you,” he said quickly, not liking the idea of April being under an inquisition and ganged up on. Three against one was hardly fair. Annie was the epitome of kindness and gentleness, but Tombi could be intimidating and brusque. Chulah frowned, aware that he’d leaped at the chance to shield April. Her feelings should be of no importance in unraveling the mystery.

“Come if you like.” Tombi folded his arms and studied Chulah. “Let’s hunt. Could you conjure this Fae form to reappear?”

“Haven’t got a clue. But I can show you the tree where I saw it. Where sound and movement stop around the base of the trunk.”

He nodded. “Stay alert for signs of Hoklonote. Maybe we’ve grown a little complacent since capturing Nalusa.”

Chulah lifted his backpack off the kitchen table, where it was loaded with a slingshot and rocks. The familiar feel of the weapons shifting in the pack made him eager for action. “I’ve got an extra one if you need it,” he offered.

“My backpack’s in the car.”

“Let’s go, then.” Chulah wanted Tombi to witness what he had. Over the years since the lost-time episode, no one brought up the subject. Not to his face. Yet Chulah wondered if they secretly mistrusted his sanity. Other than an alcoholic, who the hell lost time? Only him.

“Wait. I want to talk a minute.” Tombi hesitated. “I spoke with Tallulah earlier.”

Damn. Chulah groaned inwardly. “I’d rather not talk about your sister,” he said stiffly, making a show of unzipping the backpack and checking his weapons.

“She’s worried about you.”

“Right. Tell her I’m fine,” he said, avoiding Tombi’s eyes.

“Are you really?”

“Yes. Okay? I don’t want to have this conversation.”

“Might do you good.”

Chulah didn’t bother with a reply.

Tombi sighed. “Then let me say one thing and we’ll never speak of this again.”

“If you must.”

His friend laid a hand on his shoulder. “The three of us have been friends all our lives and I don’t want that to end.”

“It won’t.” Chulah started for the door.

“Hey, buddy,” Tombi called from behind.

Chulah stopped but didn’t turn around.

“I would have loved it if Tallulah had returned your feelings and we became more like brothers. I’ve hoped for that ever since Bo’s death. But I guess you and my twin are too alike for a romantic relationship.”

Chulah slowly faced him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re both stubborn and possessive and set in having your own way.”

Chulah opened his mouth to object, then snapped it back shut. He remembered their childhood escapades. Even at that young age, all three of them had argued about taking the lead and how they would spend their day. Being a girl didn’t slow Tallulah down a bit. She was a wild tomboy, as fierce and brave and as aggressive as her brother and any of his friends. A real spitfire.

He had always admired that. She was so different from his stepmother and half sister, Brenda, who complained endlessly and depended on him to take care of everything.

“You’d be better off with someone not as much like you,” Tombi continued.

His friend never used to say such ridiculous crap. Marriage had softened Tombi. “If you’re through playing psychologist, I’ll be outside waiting for you to get your stuff.” Chulah stepped into the night and breathed deeply.

Maybe Tombi was right. Maybe he and Tallulah would have made a horrible couple, who would spend their lives constantly arguing. Maybe he’d be better off with a different sort of woman. A woman with a gentle, soft nature but an electric touch.

Chulah straightened his shoulders. Enough of such foolish thoughts.

* * *

It was like any other autumn night, and they’d hunted the same area hundreds of times. As a child, Chulah enjoyed this season more than any other—the slight chill in the air that annihilated the smothering swamp humidity. But even though winters and autumns were mild, at times the Gulf breeze whipped so fiercely that bits of sand peppered the flesh like BB-gun pellets. It wouldn’t kill or cause serious injury, but it hurt like hell.

“Don’t expect anything,” Chulah warned Tombi as they entered the woods. “I have a feeling I caught the thing by surprise earlier.”

Adrenaline coursed through his veins, more than the usual anticipatory hunting mode. He’d never hunted unknown creatures before. Would it appear?

Chulah led the way, sure of his direction. His eyes adjusted to the dark and his senses heightened. He felt the pulse of scrambling squirrels, the splash of fish, the buzz of skeeters, the retreating tide. Somewhere, someone far away had lit a campfire, and he inhaled the smoke of sweet gum and oak, an autumnal scent that brought back childhood memories of Halloween parties and hayrides. A more carefree time.

But as an adult, autumn often felt like the earth dying a little every day. Darkness encroaching on daylight, animals retreating to their dens, foliage dropping lifelessly from the trees. A season when green turned to taupe gray and the sun grew cold.

Unbidden, Chulah again remembered the startling charge of April’s touch. The pleasant burn of her lips on his. Now, there was light and warmth and all the fire a man needed to fight against the encroaching dark of winter.

They trudged through thickets of saw palmettos, alert for a change in smell or sight, subtle shifts of energy that foretold trouble.

Chulah surveyed the area, frowning. Where was that damn tree?

Tombi tapped his shoulder and lifted both palms upward. What’s going on?

Chulah shrugged and raised a hand, motioning Tombi to stay put. Slowly, he circled several trees, testing their life force. Nothing but the usual calm, steady wisdom emanated from their roots and the spreading limbs draped in Spanish moss.

He sighed in disgust and returned to Tombi’s side, shaking his head. The creature—fairy—had made a fool of him. Chulah was unsure of it reappearing, but he hadn’t anticipated trouble locating the tree.

Tombi leaned in and whispered in his ear. “Did you mark it?”

Damn. He shook his head. Now he appeared a double fool. Even a rookie hunter knew that things shifted out here, defied logic and science. What was before might never appear in the same manner again. A new twist in a path, a slight change in the water’s course or disappearing rock formations. As if the woods were a living organism with their own laws and ways, unwilling to divulge all their secrets to any one person or species.