He pointed to the path that paralleled the back of the café. I followed the direction of his finger, and there, walking quickly with her head down, was Morgan. I sat very still, hoping she wouldn’t glance over and notice us. This was no place for a confrontation, and with the shotgun sitting uselessly in my van, it probably wouldn’t turn out well for me anyway. I couldn’t let her just stroll away, though.
She had already passed by when a small black-and-tan head poked its way out from the corner of a bush and looked at me inquiringly. I hesitated. Lou could follow her easily enough and he wouldn’t let himself be spotted, but chances were she was just headed for her car. It wouldn’t do any good for him to lead me to an empty parking spot on a curb.
The Wendigo saw my indecision and laughed.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I can find her again. I just wanted to show you I’m not full of bullshit.” He laughed again. “Not about this, anyway.”
Lou, meanwhile, was getting antsy. I shook my head, and he stared at me to make sure what I was saying, then disappeared back into the bushes.
The Wendigo sat quietly for a time, no longer fidgeting, again listening. After a while he nodded.
“I think she’s going back to her lair,” he said. “Or close by it. Shall we?”
It was all very convenient-him knowing exactly where she was and where she was going. Could he be in league with her for some reason? That didn’t make much sense, either, though.
“Why not,” I said.
We walked back to where the van was parked, Lou appearing behind us halfway there. He was taking his guard responsibilities very seriously for once, which was a good thing. But it also meant he sensed things were not quite right as well, and that wasn’t so good.
Once back in the van, the Wendigo went through his listening routine again before giving a satisfied grunt.
“Upper Haight,” he said. “Not that far.”
We drove down Fulton to Stanyan, then turned up Haight Street. We hadn’t gone more than a couple of blocks when the Wendigo told me to pull over. Easier said than done. Parking on Haight is as hard as anywhere in the city, harder than most. I pulled off on a side street and finally located a space.
“She’s a couple of blocks away, I think,” he said. She’s staying somewhere near here-I can sense the approximate area, but I can’t pinpoint it exactly. So we’ll have to follow her.”
That presented two problems. First, Morgan might recognize me. Second, the shotgun wasn’t going to do me any good. The Haight sees its share of violence, but I still couldn’t get away with blasting a shotgun at someone in broad daylight. Even if I disguised it, there was no way to disguise its effects.
The first issue was easy to deal with, though. I didn’t need to establish a full-scale illusion. All I needed was a slight alteration-make my hair a shade longer and lighter, change my nose, and put a few lines in my face. If you’re not expecting to see someone, or if you see them out of context, sometimes it takes a moment to recognize them, even if you know them well. A slight veneer of illusion is all you need to throw them off totally.
Lou presented more of a problem. Anyone walking down the street with a small dog by their side would instantly arouse her suspicions, no matter what we looked like. He’d just have to stay well back and out of sight.
I hadn’t been in the Haight for a while. It’s a place that still holds on to the sixties in many ways; the same head shops and coffeehouses, the same kids sitting on the sidewalk harassing passersby for spare change. But if you look at them more closely, they’re not the same at all. Their eyes are sly and knowing instead of open and friendly, cynical and jaded instead of naïve. Their faces are hard and wary. Fourteen-year-olds look twenty, twenty-year-olds look thirty, and their drugs of choice are crystal and smack instead of trippy psychedelics.
“Well, good luck,” said the Wendigo. “This is where I get off.”
“I thought you wanted to help,” I said.
“I have helped. But that thing is dangerous, and it’s your problem, not mine.”
He turned and walked back the other way with a cheery wave of his hand. This was looking more like a setup with every passing moment. But if he expected me to challenge the shape-shifter on my own, he was mistaken. I’d track it to its lair and come back later with the rest of the crew. Revenge is a dish best eaten cold, they say. They don’t mention how difficult it is to eat anything if you’re dead.
Lou and I continued up Haight Street, weaving our way through the people crowding the sidewalk. I didn’t see Morgan until I was almost on top of her and had to back off quickly. She was walking slowly, looking from side to side and occasionally glancing over her shoulder, obviously wary.
She stopped inside a small corner grocery and Lou and I waited half a block away where we had a good view of the entrance. A short while later, she came out holding a paper bag and continued up the street. As she passed by storefronts, she occasionally stopped and gazed in the display windows, just like an ordinary person out for a day of window-shopping. I moved up closer, trying to get a feel for what she was up to. Scoping out the area for potential victims? Picking up a Sara Lee cheesecake to tide her over until brain-eating time?
Farther down the street, she stopped in front of a pet store that featured a box of puppies in the window. I couldn’t tell what breed they were, but puppies are puppies, after all. The tumbled around, falling down randomly and launching mock attacks on one another. One of them, a black-and-white toughie, got hold of a littermate’s back leg and wouldn’t let go, even though he was dragged all over the place.
Morgan stood transfixed, and I took the chance and moved up closer. She was smiling as she watched them, with what I would call a sad, nostalgic air. Then, even though I was still a ways off, I could have sworn I saw tears running down her face. A moment later, she wiped her cheek with the back of her hand.
I drifted back, farther away. What was going on here? There was no one watching, as far as the shape-shifter knew. Was it like method acting, where she never slipped out of character? When she took over an identity, did she experience the same emotions, feel the same griefs? Was she becoming more human, like the Wendigo?
The scene nagged at me, instilling a seed of doubt. Maybe this wasn’t the shape-shifter after all. Maybe this was really Morgan, and I’d got it wrong again. It wouldn’t be the first time. But if this was really Morgan, what was she doing wandering around the Haight? What about the fake Ifrit at her home? How had the Wendigo tracked her down, and why was he so sure she was the shape-shifter? And most damning of all, why hadn’t she called me to let me know she was still in town?
She started walking again, so I kept on her tail. Whatever was going on, I was going to follow her until I came up with an answer. She was moving faster now, more purposefully, and before long we arrived at the corner of Haight and Ashbury, that infamous intersection. She hesitated a moment, then turned up Ashbury Street and followed it up the hill until it reached a residential section full of curving streets. Now that we were off the main drag, there were fewer people to blend in with, so I stayed even farther back, a block at least. Lou could always find her again if she unexpectedly turned a corner or entered a house or apartment, now that he had her in his sights.
She finally reached her destination, a lavender house at the tip of a cul-de-sac, set up high on a hillside. Below, a terraced area spread out, an urban garden filled with squash and tomatoes and herbs. A long stretch of rickety wooden stairs wound up the slope, and she climbed them and disappeared into the house at the top.
Decision time. Did I go back to Victor’s? Did I go up there and deal with her myself? The obvious choice was to play it safe and get help. But the whole business bothered me. It didn’t add up, and I wanted answers. Victor makes a great backup, but he’s also prone to shoot first and ask questions later. Then again, if I wandered up to the house alone to politely ask questions, I might just as easily end up as tonight’s dinner menu.