A Haunting in the SWATS (The Savannah Swan Files Book 1) Read online

  “Not trying to be sneaky,” Savannah replied.

  “That’s good, because, you know, you aren’t.” Carter pressed Savannah’s bloodstained bandana to his nostrils and breathed in deeply. Then he lifted his head and let his nostrils catch the wind. His eyes drifted closed. “It’s not far.”

  Savannah did not want her son out here working with her, but she saw no other options. Odinga and Papa Marcel, the two men with their ears closest to the SWATS’ darker side, had been less than helpful. Without Carter, finding whoever manufactured that girl would take forever, and there was no telling what mischief they would be up to while Savannah was chasing her tail. Carter was a natural tracker, though, able to follow scents and pick out paths no one else would ever find.

  She just hoped relying on Carter’s strange abilities would not stir up the darkness in the boy. That was a shadow Savannah could do without.

  “Lead on,” she said, following her son up the steep hill next to the SUV. “Try not to run off without me.”

  “Whatever,” Carter said as he put his long legs to use.

  Savannah kept up, but just barely. The air was cold and moist. Despite the chill, Savannah was slick with sweat after a few hundred yards of chasing Carter’s back through the thickening forest.

  “Hold up,” Savannah panted.

  Carter stopped then turned back to his mother with a wolf’s grin splitting his face. He looked so much like his father. Savannah wanted to take back all those missed years, the lost time she should have spent raising her son.

  “Tired?” Carter looked like he could keep going for another few hours without breaking a sweat and a few hours more after that before he needed a rest.

  “Just need to get the lay of the land.” Savannah pretended to survey her surroundings while she caught her breath.

  “You know what’d really help you out?” Carter asked. “Not killing your lungs with weed smoke every night.”

  “Thanks, for the advice.” Savannah wished she could at least slow down her smoking – marijuana was good for the mind and body in moderation – but the thought of Rashad so near, without weed to dull the siren’s call of their curse, made her ill; physically and mentally. Easier, and safer by far, just to keep smoking.

  “Dad says you need to slow down. He says you’re killing yourself.” Carter looked away when he spoke about his father.

  “Never been to a weed funeral,” Savannah said with a shrug. “Look; your father doesn’t know everything.” Savannah mopped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. “You sure we’re going the right way?”

  Carter flared his nostrils, and a dark shadow passed over his eyes. He turned on his heels, then strode away from Savannah.

  “God damn it,” Savannah cursed as she took off after Carter. Talking to the boy was a minefield of old wounds. Maybe if Savannah had stayed in the SWATS, maybe if Rashad had told her the son she thought died in childbirth was alive before Carter was more than half grown, then Savannah would not feel like she was always at war with the boy.

  Savannah pushed her way through the scrubby pines, lifting her feet over their grasping roots. The forest was determined to stop her, one way or another. She staggered and almost fell when a moss-covered rock, still beaded with slippery dew, sent her foot skidding out to the side. Savannah fell back against a gnarled cedar, catching herself on its knotted branches.

  “Carter,” Savannah shouted, her voice echoing through the trees. Mocking silence returned.

  Savannah headed up the hill she last spotted Carter sprinting toward. She was not in the same league as her son, but Savannah grew up in the streets AND in the country and knew how to follow a trail in both. She found a broken twig, followed it to a muddy footprint, then to a torn patch of kudzu.

  The sun was rising, but the forest grew darker as Savannah moved up the hill. The canopy thickened overhead, snaking tree limbs winding around one another, blotting out the light.

  “Carter,” Savannah called again. Her scalp tingled, and her trigger finger twitched.

  There was something in the forest with them.

  Savannah hurried after her son, hoping Carter had not lost the track, praying he was not chasing some wandering deer’s trail. A branch snapped to her left. Something heavy crashed through the undergrowth to her right.

  “Van?” Carter called from somewhere ahead. “Is that you?”

  The Root Woman drew her revolver from the holster on her thigh. She pushed her way through a knotted mass of tree limbs. The brush exploded, then something slammed into her chest.

  Savannah’s feet shot out from under her. She crashed onto her back, but kept her grip on the revolver.

  Someone was on top of Savannah. She bashed them aside with the grip of the revolver then rolled away. She came up against an old oak, pressing her back tightly to the trunk, revolver thrust out in front of her. Green glyphs glowed along the weapon’s length.

  “Don’t shoot,” Carter screamed.

  Savannah let the gun’s barrel drop. “You okay?”

  “Something’s here,” Carter said. He pulled Savannah to her feet then they turned in a slow circle, back to back. “It smells.”

  Savannah could smell it, too – a funk that clung to the hairs in her nose.

  “I can’t smell the girl,” Carter said, gagging on the funk.

  “Damn it,” Savannah cursed. Something stirred in the forest around them, a rustling that seemed to come from the very earth. “We have to get out of here.”

  “Yeah,” Carter agreed. “Which way?”

  The noise grew louder; the trees around them shook. The shadows grew thicker, clotting around the branches, filling the spaces between the leaves.

  “Carter,” Savannah whispered. She could feel the danger gathering its strength, coiling to strike.

  “Yeah?”

  “Get down!”

  Savannah shoved her son to the ground with one hand. She swung the barrel of the revolver toward a surging cloud of shadows with the other.

  Then the raccoons came, and the forest was filled with teeth and claws.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Savannah squeezed the revolver’s trigger rapidly. The weapon roared. Dense, black smoke erupted from the weapon. A special blend of lead shot, powdered silver, iron shards and guinea hen’s blood carved a bloody swath through the charging gray fog.

  “C’mon,” Carter yelled. He scrambled to his feet, pulling at Savannah’s waistband. The surviving vermin scampered to each other, regrouping for another attack.

  Savannah shouted, her ears still ringing from the revolver’s thunder. Savannah pointed up the hill at a big shadow disappearing into the woods. “He’s getting away.”

  She did not wait to see if Carter was following. She darted through the forest, keeping an eye on the shadow flitting through the trees ahead of her. Whoever it was, they were fast and knew the woods well.

  Savannah slowed to shove six more rounds into the revolver.

  In the distance, the raccoons gathered into a fog once more.

  Thoughts of rabies swirled in Savannah’s head; she wanted to be ready if the little masked bastards came for her again.

  “Which way…” Carter started, but Savannah cut him off with a raised hand.

  Her target was already slipping away and becoming just one more shadow in a forest full of them. This was her lead, the best chance she had to crack this case open and put it in the ground where it belonged. She just had to get her hands around the bastard’s throat.

  She knew she would never catch the runner. But Carter was as quick as a wolf and as sure-footed as a goat. The boy could chase the bad man down with no trouble. But then what? The last thing Savannah wanted was her son tangling with some necromancer without so much as a knife.

  No, that was not true. The last thing she wanted was to let one of the fools who had dared bring dark magic into her city get away.

  “Don’t let him go. Get ahead of him, then drive him back to the east.” Savannah p
ointed into the trees.

  She watched Carter disappear into the forest, amazed at her son’s natural feel for the woods – the way he slid under branches and leapt over fallen trees. Carter flowed like water through the wilderness, and Savannah watched him go with equal parts admiration and envy.

  Their quarry fled up the hill, crashing through the trees like a spooked deer. He was fast, but Carter was faster. Savannah could sense more than see them and grinned when she heard her son driving their prey back toward her position. Savannah hugged a tree for cover, staying out of sight.

  A tall man burst from the trees then skidded to a stop as Savannah came out of hiding, halting him by the trap she had laid for him. He whirled on his heels only to face Carter, who had come out of the trees with that wide grin splitting his face. The runner held his ground, shoulders pumping up and down with each deep breath. He clenched his fists and ground his teeth, ready for a fight.

  Savannah pointed the revolver at the big man’s back. “Move toward the boy and I’ll put six in your spine.”

  The man turned slowly to face her. “Go home, Root Woman.” His face was obscured by a drooping mop of greasy, blond hair. The wind carried the stench of raccoon shit from his skin, but also the distinctive smell of sassafras Savannah had come to associate with molly dealers. “This is out of your hands now.”

  “Boy, this is my city. The SWATS is my hunting ground. Nothing here is out of my hands.” Savannah kept the revolver trained on the man. “Get your hands up where I can see them.”

  “Last chance, Root Woman.” The man’s voice was thick and slow, like it had worked its way up from some hidden depths. “We’re going to finish what we started. No sense anyone getting hurt.”

  “No one except a few more children?” Savannah raised the revolver until it was pointed at the man’s face. “I don’t think I can stand aside for that.”

  Savannah stepped forward, revolver centered on the man’s brow. He was less than five yards away. At this range, the revolver would turn his skull into confetti. “Lie down on your belly.”

  “No, Savannah.” The man whipped his hair back out of his face with a sharp jerk of his head. His sunken cheeks were red with weeping pustules, and his lips were bloody and ragged. The man’s eyes were deep and still; sober and intense. “Put your gun down.”

  There was a metallic click five feet behind her – the sound of a gun’s hammer locking back. An icy drop of fear ran down her spine.

  “You think this ends with me?” Savannah let the revolver drop until the barrel was pointed at the ground a few feet in front of her. “You kill us out here… others will come poking around to see what happened. Whatever you’re up to out here, it’s over.”

  From the corners of her eyes, Savannah could see more men coming out of the forest. Two behind Carter, another to her right. At least five to two; she did not like those odds.

  “No one will come, Savannah.” The man took a few steps closer to her. “You’ve had your way here for years. We think it’s time to try something different.”

  The big man’s hand was empty, and then it was not. A wicked ivory-handled blade appeared in it as he lunged forward, closing the distance to Savannah’s heart so fast the Root Woman almost did not have time to react.

  Almost.

  Savannah lunged sideways and swung her revolver up at the same time.

  The knife closed on her belly, its glinting tip whistling through the air.

  Savannah squeezed the trigger.

  The air filled with smoke, fire and thunder.

  At that range, the man with the knife should have been cut in half. Instead, the blast tore into a seething fog that formed a living shield between Savannah and the big man.

  More goddamned raccoons.

  Something hot and red slashed down the side of Savannah’s neck. A searing pain knocked her to her knees. Her revolver fell from her hands, clattering across the mossy ground. Blood slithered out of her neck and onto her hands. Her eyes blurred.

  Carter was shouting something, but Savannah could not make any sense of his words. Her ear was not working on one side, and her head felt like it was filled with jagged gravel. Savannah crawled toward the revolver. If she could just reach the weapon, she could fix this. She would kill them all.

  A swarm of raccoons beat her to the gun. Their chomping fangs slashed the air, keeping Savannah from the weapon. They charged toward her, forcing her to press her face into the dirt and cover her bleeding neck with her hands.

  When they had passed, Savannah lifted her head to see the big man standing just a few feet away, holding her revolver in his hand.

  “Bring them in,” the slow voice said.

  Carter’s shouts were cut off by a meaty fist upside his head.

  Savannah crawled toward him.

  Not like this, she thought. Not like this.

  A wedge of pain drove itself into the back of Savannah’s head and everything turned white.

  Then the world faded away.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Something with needles for teeth gnawed on Savannah’s side, just above her hip. The chewing yanked her from the cold depths of unconsciousness into a world of hurt. “Damn it,” she grunted, trying to shake the creature off her hip.

  But her arms did not work; and neither did her legs. Her hands were trapped against her chest by her knees. Something wet and cold was wrapped tightly around her. Something hard and heavy pushed against the back of her head, forcing her chin down. Savannah pushed against her restraints. A shooting pain along the side of her neck reminded her of the injury she had suffered up on the hill. The Root Woman’s job came with a certain amount of supernatural resilience, but Savannah knew she was going to need more than a little time to heal from that wound.

  Her eyes were glued shut by something thick and sticky. Savannah forced one eye open, but the goo clung to her lashes and made her vision blurred. She could see she was lying on her left side, atop warped and charred floorboards littered with cigarette butts and empty Sudafed boxes.

  Whatever was wrapped around her body was pale and leathery and covered with interwoven spirals of glyphs. They reminded her of the symbols she had seen on the restaurant girl.

  From somewhere below, Carter screamed; a raw, pained din that made Savannah start.

  The teeth sank into her side again. The biter yanked its head back and forth, wrenching a hunk of flesh loose.

  The pain burnt away the last of her daze. She imagined a big rat, tearing its way into her innards. Maybe a possum. Something ornery and toothy. “Enough of this,” Savannah growled.

  She pushed out with her knees then wriggled her left hand from beneath her, ignoring the pain in her back and shoulders the effort caused. The entire length of Van’s arm was dead asleep from being trapped in the same posture for Gods knew how long. Savannah flexed her fingers, clenching her fist again and again in an attempt to pull blood back into her arm.

  Carter screamed again.

  Savannah tried not to imagine what would make the boy raise such a ruckus. Was something eating her son, too?

  Savannah wriggled her arm up toward her chin. Her outstretched fingers found the edge of whatever was wrapped around her. It was smooth and greasy on one side, rough and dotted with short, bristly hairs that bit into her fingers on the other.

  She hooked three fingers over the edge of her prison then pulled down while pushing out with her knees. Her spine creaked with the effort, and stars sparkled across her vision before her hand worked its way loose. She kept on pushing, forcing her arm up and out.

  With her arm no longer pinned, Savannah found her prison had loosened just a bit – enough for her to worm her left leg down, freeing up a little more breathing room.

  The biter did not take kindly to Van’s shenanigans. It scrambled up higher on her side then chomped down hard on the tender center of her armpit. Savannah shouted in surprise at the intensity of the pain.

  Carter answered his mother with a wordless howl of his
own. The desperate sound spurred Savannah into action. She had to get them out of there.

  Savannah pushed with her right leg. She heard something tear apart along her back. She had a little more room; enough to slip her right hand away from her chest.

  She felt along the floor, digging her hand through the old medicine boxes and garbage, trying to find something she could use as a tool, or a weapon. She had not heard anyone else moving about, but she did not want to be unarmed if the freaks who had captured them came home.

  The biter sank its jaws into Savannah again, tearing loose another nugget of flesh. She could feel it chewing, swallowing. It was burrowing, trying to get inside her.

  She forced her right arm up, cramming her fist through the gap under her chin. She wriggled and thrust with her arm, screwing it up and out. Both of her arms were up, pressed tight against her cheeks, pushing her head back and choking her.

  She imagined herself dying like that while her son screamed. She imagined the nightmare from the forest coming home and tearing them apart.

  The beast in her armpit bit again, and Savannah was sure she could feel its snout rubbing against her ribs. She tried to howl in pain, but her arms choked the sound down to a gurgle.