Feral Curse Read Online Free PDF

and underarms are damp. I wonder if I should get him a glass of water. “Where are you from?”
    I’m sure Mom already tried to get that out of him, but apparently, he at least shared his name. That gives me hope of learning more. “Why are you here?”
    If he’s not local, Darby wouldn’t know my mother is the go-to person in Pine Ridge. Granted, she’s the one who sells real estate and Dad’s the one who runs the city, but on the latter front, only technically. This is her hometown. Dad’s originally from south Dallas. My parents met on base in South Korea and settled here after they got out of the Air Force.
    “Unworthy,” Darby goes on. “Help me, my love. Help me, please.”
    My love? “Help you how?” I ask.
    Antlers burst from the top of his head.
    Antlers.
In broad daylight. In front of my house.
    “Stop!” I exclaim, glancing to check whether anyone’s around. “What do you think you’re doing? You can’t. You just
can’t
—”
    “Kayla,” calls a voice from the sidewalk. “What is wrong with that boy?”
    It’s Sheriff Bigheart, Jess’s dad, likewise on his way home for dinner. He’s a trim, efficient man who somehow keeps getting elected despite the unsettling fact that he’s an Oklahoma football fan.
    This is not good. The sheriff may adore me, but he has an infamously reliable BS meter. I’d never dare to lie to him if the situation weren’t desperate.
    “He’s applying for a job at the Christmas shop,” I reply, patting Darby’s shoulder. Is he still shifting? Yes, God, his nose is starting to morph out. “Or he was going to, but you know how it is — bad economy. Nobody’s hiring, and he’s taking it hard.”
    “The Christmas shop?” the sheriff echoes. “Well, you can’t fault the kid’s enthusiasm.” He scratches his chin. “Hang in there, son! Times are bound to get better.”
    Grateful I have a big front yard, I forcibly lift Darby to his . . . hooves . . . and half escort, half carry him to the house entrance. He’s lanky, awkward to hold, and heavily muscled, but I’ve got more power in my arms, legs, and shoulders than most car engines. Or at least it feels that way. “You’re absolutely right,” I yell over my shoulder. “I’ll get some of Mom’s cheesecake pie in him, and he’ll be feeling jim-dandy in no time.”
    Jim-dandy. Just brilliant, Kayla. It’s an expression Grandma Morgan uses. I’m not even sure what it means. At least “pie” is convincing. It’s the quintessential remedy hereabouts for just about anything.
    “Who
is
that?” Sheriff Bigheart asks, leaning against the fence. “I don’t recognize him.”
    At the same time, I shove Darby into my foyer. Blocking the street view, I wave good-bye — with a big smile — and, pretending I didn’t hear that last question, slam the front door.
    Then I count to three and turn to face the naked, fur-covered boy, rocking in a fetal position on the hardwoods. Darby must’ve managed to wiggle out of his clothes before they got thrashed. They’re in a pile beside him. He’s still saying it: “Unworthy of your love.”

HOLY CRAP ON A CRACKER! I’m flat on my ass, my ears are ringing, and every muscle burns. Wiping a dab of blood from my nose, I realize I’ve landed (appeared?) on a carousel platform. The upright poles and seat figures have all been removed. A large, heavy plastic tarp has been draped over the whole thing and secured to the ground with metal stakes.
    I’m guessing that the fact this — whatever the hell it is — happened to me right after I touched the carousel-cat figure at the antiques mall is not a coincidence. It’s magic.
    I hate magic.
    I let out a long, shaky breath. I’m sore all over, but I can see as well as I ever could in the dark, and I still know who the president is. My ears prick at the sound of rockabilly music.
    With a groan, I force myself to my feet, raise a hunk of the tarp, and duck out under it. I take in the surroundings, the empty park