Free Thinning the Herd by Adrian Phoenix Page A

Here, in fact.”
    â€œThe lycan’s clothes are gone,” Nick pointed out.
    Hal glanced at him, moving his head cautiously. The folded pile of clothes and shoes were no longer stacked by the tunnel’s mouth. “Okay, then,” he said. “Desdemona, what do you know about shifters—lycans and y ō kai ?”
    â€œJust what Louis told me,” she said with a fetching little shrug. “That y ō kai are ruled by the sun and are animals that turn into people during the day. Lycans are ruled by the moon and are people who Shift into animals at night.”
    Galahad nodded. “Right you are, sweet thing.”
    â€œAnd you?” Desdemona looked at Hal. “Are you a shifter too?”
    â€œNo. All man.”
    Desdemona rolled her eyes. “Sorry I asked. Look, all I want is Louis back.”
    â€œAnd that’s what you’ll get,” Hal promised.
    A tentative smile touched Desdemona’s lips. “I’m gonna hold you to that, creep.” She paused, then added, “Hal. I mean, Hal.”
    â€œYou can call me ‘creep’ all you want,” Hal said. “I like it.”
    â€œYou would,” Desdemona muttered.
    Hal laughed, then thumped his catch pole against the tunnel floor. The smell of old ganja floated into the air. He waved it away, coughing. Looking from Desdemona to Galahad to Nick, he asked, “The most dangerous thing in these tunnels is us. Now let’s go prove it.”
    Galahad’s eyes glowed like green fire in the gloom. He purred. Nick shivered and twitched like he was ruffling up the fur he wasn’t wearing at the moment. Desdemona regarded them both, expression decidedly dubious.
    Hal switched on his flashlight and, catch pole in hand, led the way into the tunnel. “Time to kick ass and take names.”
    Behind him, Gally’s purr intensified.

9
    ON THE TRAIL
    Hal stayed close to the left hand tunnel wall. Moisture seeped through the dirt walls in places and puddled on the floor. Not surprising, considering how close the tunnel was to the river. And considering this was Oregon.
    The dank air smelled of mold and mud. But underneath that, Hal smelled Desdemona’s smoky incense-and-cloves scent lacing uneasily with the darker, earthier odors from the tunnel.
    Sounds carried—the scrape of their shoes against the dirt floor; their voices, no matter how soft; the tap of his catch pole against the ground; the creak of leather and rustle of lace.
    A pungent odor filled the tunnel, growing stronger the farther in they traveled. Pot. Ganja. Good ol’ Mary Jane. Hal’d never toked up, but he lived in Eugene, Oregon, so the smell was everywhere . Okay, he actually lived in Springfield—home of twenty-four-hour adult stores and meth labs—but Eugene was right next door.
    Hal breathed deeply. Not a bad smell, really. Not compared to the lovely pulp mill smell pervading the air in Springfield. The aspirin was finally working, because his mind felt clearer, more focused. His stomach growled. Plus his appetite was returning.
    Hal’s flashlight revealed graffiti on the tunnel wall. KESEY WAS HERE and STILL IS. As he stepped closer to investigate, he tripped over something and stumbled forward, catching himself with his catch pole.
    Hal swung his flashlight down. The circle of light revealed a bearded face, mouth open wide. Dreads starred out from the head like tentacles. The neck looked as though the head had been wrenched from the body.
    Hal sucked in a breath. “Christ on a stick,” he breathed. “Found one of the missing hippies. Part of one, actually.”
    Galahad crouched down beside the head. Wrinkled his nose. “Not very fresh, either,” he murmured.
    â€œGross,” Desdemona said.
    Hal glanced at her, surprised by what he thought he’d heard in her voice—fascination. She stared at the hippie head, a half smile on her lips.
    â€œGross,” she repeated,