by Rider, C. P.
There were papers and books and music. My mom had liked Prince and Michael Jackson, and she had the self-titled Selena album, which was sad, in a way, because both women had died so tragically young.
As I consolidated the items from all three boxes into one, I tried to imagine the woman in the pictures dancing to Besitos. I'd always liked that song. It was nice to know we had a mutual appreciation for Selena. I wondered if my mom had ever gotten to hear Bidi Bidi Bom Bom, and felt depressed when I realized she was probably already dead by then.
There was no diary or journal, and to be honest, I'd hoped for, but hadn't expected there to be, one. I loved my father, but I didn't trust him to give me the truth about my mom. If I wanted to find out who she was, I was going to have to do some investigating on my own. Chandra was good at finding out about people; she'd know what to do. And maybe my mom's things would give us a place to start. If I wasn't staring at three boxes filled with lies.
My dad made it difficult to love him and impossible to trust him. Dejected, and a little let down by the contents of the boxes, I tucked the lone file box under my arm and opened the bedroom door.
"Abejas." I choked out the word as the world became a buzzing, stinging wall of insects. Bees flew into my hair, stung my face and neck, crawled under my top and stung my belly and back. I pressed my lips together, but the word burst out of me, "Bees!"
I wasn't holding the box anymore. Had it dropped? Or had I dropped out of the world?
"Abejas," I whispered, spitting bees out of my mouth.
"Guillermo Martínez, if this is you, I command you to stop. As your elder, you must obey me. As your Auntie Gert, I will spank the hide right off your heinie if you don't leave this little gal alone."
The bees crowded in until I could hear only buzzing and the occasional snippet of conversation around me.
"… isn't she waking up?" Amir's voice.
"I don't rightly know." Gert's voice.
My lungs pinched until a gasp brought me less than a whisper of air. I could hear people but I couldn't find them, and the buzzing was growing louder. So loud I couldn't think.
"Get in here… do something," Amir snapped.
"It's not working … don't think … is Gil. … try something else."
The bees parted and I pried open my eyes. Gert was right. This wasn't Guillermo at all. It was the white wolf.
"Join us or die," the wolf said, shifting from wolf to hybrid to human. Her human form was so pale white she appeared alien, fascinating and terrifying. She kept that form for seconds, then shifted back to wolf and howled, bees flying out of her muzzle and engulfing me once more.
I screamed, choked, whimpered.
"Neely … to die if … don't listen to me. Don't spike me … give me control … know you hate me, but you're going to … trust me." A male voice whispered into my ear. His voice deepened, filling my skull with sound, and I could hear every single word. "Stop cowering. Look around you. Open your eyes and look."
It hurt. My eyes were swollen shut from bee stings and throbbing with pain. I forced my lids open, rolling my eyeballs down until my gaze locked with a pair of arresting blue eyes.
"You can see the truth now. The truth is right in front of you," the voice said as the bees buzzed and the blue eyes bored into me. "See the truth. See it, Neely."
The bees disappeared. I was hunched on the floor of the guest room, arms wrapped around my knees. Lewiston had his gun out, though it wasn't pointed at anyone. Amir was in hybrid eagle form, and Gert had completely shifted to her wolf, a red-brown, fearsome beast three times her normal size.
I sat up, searching for the blue-eyed man who'd led me out of the wolf's trap.
Sampson Ibarra. The trancer.
Chapter Seventeen
"Spiker," Sampson said by way of greeting.
"Trancer," I replied, dabbing my nose with a blood-soaked dishcloth. It had finally stopped bleeding.
"I dropped by to meet up with your father. I didn't realize you'd be here. Holy shit, woman. You attract trouble like honey attracts bears." He set his baseball mitt-sized fists on the table and leaned across it, the muscles in his shoulders and arms flexing.
He was a large man, and part Guatemalan, though he hadn't told me so. I'd picked that out of his brain when we were in the sanctuary together. Me as a prisoner, him as the person who snatched me off the street in front of my bakery and took me there. He'd turned out to be a decent human when all was said and done, but as far as I was concerned, he could go play in traffic.
We were not best friends.
Sampson continued staring at me through his clear blue eyes. Magical eyes. He was a trancer, a talent that allowed him to manipulate another person's brain in such a way as to make that person do whatever he wanted them to do. It was similar to hypnotism, only a lot stronger. Hypnosis on steroids.
Four of us sat at my dad's dining room table, Gert having gone into the guest room to shift to human and put on her clothing. Sampson sat across from me, a tempting target. However, we'd come to a tenuous truce, the trancer and I, seeing as how he'd just pulled me out of a nightmare world.
"Let's not talk about honey right now." I shivered.
"Fine by me. I caught a glimpse of what you were seeing. Some harrowing shit, spiker." He leaned back in the chair, regarded me with slitted eyes and a sarcastic smile. "How do you find so much trouble?"
"Guess I'm just lucky."
"Lucky. Right." He rolled his eyes. "God save me from your kind of luck."
I’d wanted to spike the trancer dead every single time I laid eyes on him and today was no exception, but I was curious about something. "My dad asked you to meet him here? This morning?"
"Sort of. He asked me, and said he'd be here all day doing paperwork so I could come by anytime. Where is he?"
Lewiston replied, "A case came up. You know how it is when we get the call."
"Yeah, but he could have texted me," Sampson said, echoing my earlier thoughts. He faced me. "MacLeod sent me a message saying you might need my help. What do you need?"
I'd had a brief conversation with my dad about the dire wolf, and he'd called in a trancer I hated, but couldn't be bothered to meet with either of us? I'd have been concerned if it hadn't sounded exactly like something he would do.
"You saw what I'm up against. What do you think I need?"
"What I think is, you wouldn't call me if your ass was on fire and I had the last bucket of water in town." Sampson frowned. "This must be serious."
"She's being attacked by a dire wolf," Amir said. It was the first he'd spoken since asking me if I was okay back in the guest room. "And possibly a witch."
"A fucking dire wolf? I've never even seen one of those before." Sampson gaped at Amir. "Who is it?"
"He calls himself Legion and he's 'trying to get my attention.'" I said, sidestepping the question. Gert gave me a grateful look as she walked into the room. "The last time he attacked me, his exact words were, 'I am Legion. You are Legion. There are many of us.' We believe he's working for someone out there like Garrett Harris. Another self-appointed savior of the world who wants to kill all the bad, awful, terrible paranormals by pointing me at them and pulling the trigger."
Sampson's right eyebrow shot into his hairline. "The wolf does realize that he, too, is a paranormal."
"Yeah, I don't think that matters to him." I folded my arms over my chest, tucking my hands under to hide how badly they were trembling.
Though none of the injuries from the bees had followed me out of the illusion, I was still a little shaken up by how fast and hard the wolf had attacked. I was still sore from the attack yesterday. All in all, I was feeling pretty beat up.
"So, this dire wolf sent a swarm of make-believe bees to take you out?"
I shook my head. "This attack wasn't made by the dire wolf."
Amir looked at me. "Gert said she couldn't reach the shifter. I guess that's because it wasn't a wolf."
"Oh, it was a wolf. The white wolf we sa
w outside the bakery."
"Hell." Amir briefly shut his eyes as he let out a pent-up breath. "She made it here fast."
"Sounds like this Legion group might have some connections," Lewiston said. "If so, we've got a real problem on our hands."
"Why haven't you spiked the wolves dead?" the trancer asked.
"Because the dire wolf can take the form of someone else. After nearly spiking one of my friends, I decided it would be a bad idea to use lethal force. As for the white one, I haven't yet had the chance. I've been focused on the dire wolf."
Sampson cocked his head to one side as if he were trying to figure me out. "So, you want to find a way to be sure you're in the dire wolf's head before you take him down permanently."
"No. I’d prefer to take the dire wolf down without killing him."
"You looking to turn him? Get him on our side?"
I tried to think of myself as being on Sampson Ibarra's side. Technically, it was true. I didn't like it, though.
"Not so much that." I glanced at Gert, who was staring fixedly out the back window at the trees behind the house. "I think he'd be on our side, his side, if he was himself. The white wolf is another story. All I get from her is pure evil. She goes down first chance I get."
He drummed his fingers against the table. "It would take a stronger trancer than me to take down a dire wolf—especially if the aim is to keep him alive."
Hell. "I was afraid of that."
"You know, the last time we saw each other, you told me you'd kill me if you ever saw me again. And now you need my help." Sampson's self-satisfied smile made me want to kick him in the teeth.
"Oh, how I hate you," I said. "But, yes. I need help. We've got some plans in the works, but I'm running out of ideas."
"So…" His grin widened until I could see all of the teeth I wished I could kick out. "What you're saying is, your ass is on fire."
"Yeah. And, goddess help me, you might just have the only bucket of water in town."
Sampson gave me his cell number and left. Not a minute too soon, either. If he'd made one more crack about me needing his help, I'd have said to hell with it all and spiked him. A person can only take so much.
"Can you tell me anything else about the person you believe is behind this?" Lewiston had made coffee and was pouring us each a cup, except for Amir, who declined.
"Not much. Legion gave me a name yesterday. Elijah. I couldn't tell you if it was an actual name or some sort of biblical metaphor, though." I accepted the mug he handed me and stirred in a little sugar. Unsurprisingly, Dad was out of creamer.
"That's all? Do you have any other information?" His tone was tinged with impatience.
"Lewiston, what I don't know about this whole situation is vast enough to fill all the celestial bodies in all the galaxies in space, so yes. That's all."
"Poetic," Amir said and grinned.
I stuck out my tongue at him, then yawned. Nine a.m. and I was already exhausted. Physically, mentally, spiritually. I needed to call Lucas. We'd spoken briefly last night, but it wasn't enough. I needed more.
I supposed my need could have originated from the mate-bond thing that I was still outwardly denying while inwardly acknowledging. It didn't feel like any paranormal thing, though. What I felt was longing, not only for the man I loved, but also for my friend. Lucas was a lot of things—arrogant, sarcastic, bossy, sneaky, secretive—but he was also wise and loving, kind and strong, and very smart. And the man gave stellar hugs. I could use one about now.
The lock on my bracelet made a clinking sound as I played with it. I wondered if he knew where I was due to the tracker in the thing. Probably. Lucas wasn't a man who left much to chance. Especially not after I'd been abducted in his town while one of his own security team was close enough to help. I'd been wearing his bracelet at the time and it hadn't been very effective, but he'd had the witches work on it since then.
"Elijah. Legion. Neither sounds familiar, but I'll look into it." Lewiston sat back down at the table with us. "Are you certain you're safe with the Austin wolf pack?" He inclined his head to Gert. "No offense intended, Ms. Martinez."
"Just Gert, as I told you before. And I'm not offended. I know you don't mean anything by it. But to answer your question, yes, I'd say Neely is about as safe with our wolves as she is anywhere, which ain't saying a whole lot, I know."
Lewiston looked at Amir for input.
"In my opinion, Neely is safest with the pack. Gert and Alpha Martinez are a formidable duo."
Gert smiled at Amir—for once, a kind, non-naughty smile. "Thanks, eagle. I appreciate the vote of confidence."
"Lewiston, I know Dad's on a job, but can you please ask him to call me? I have something I want to run by him."
"You can ask me." His shrug was so nonchalant it seemed forced. I couldn't figure out if it was because he was preternaturally bland or because he was concerned about my dad. Affectation or real?
"Thanks, but I need him. Dad-daughter stuff."
He nodded as if he understood, but I got the feeling he didn't.
We finished our coffee, said goodbye to Lewiston, and walked out to the truck.
Amir used the file box he was carrying for me to point at Gert. "I'm charging Alpha Blacke hazard pay every time I have to ride with her."
I thought that was fair. "Wait. He's paying you to look after me?"
"No. But I'm going to charge him anyway."
"I want in on this deal," I said.
"Stay close to Alpha Martinez and don't take any wild chances and I'll consider cutting you in on my non-existent pay."
"Neely, hold on." Lewiston threw open the front door and jogged up with another box. "Sorry. I must have missed this. Your father has a lot of file boxes in the garage."
"If he's anything like he was when I was a kid, he saves every receipt and warranty that crosses his desk." I handed the new box to Amir, who stowed it in Jimbo the truck's back seat with the other one.
"Then he's exactly like he was when you were a kid." Lewiston smiled, then let it fade. "Neely, I was supposed to stick around here in case you needed me. I regret to say, I'm not going to be able to do that. I just received a message summoning me to Los Angeles, where your father is. The case wasn't as straightforward as we were led to believe, and MacLeod has asked me to join him there."
"Is Dad in danger?" I held my breath while I waited for his answer. My dad and I had a complicated relationship, but I loved him and, in his own messed-up way, he loved me.
"No." Lewiston knee-jerked his response. He knew I knew it, too.
"You sure about that?"
This time he took a second before answering. "No. But I can tell you his text message indicated that he was not in immediate peril. This leads me to believe the danger is not to your father, but to the mission."
"But you aren't sure?"
He shook his head. "Not entirely, no. I can call you when I have a better idea, if you’d like."
"Thank you. I appreciate your help today. All of it. When you get there, send me a message, or better yet, tell my dad to message me. He sends the best texts. Spells out every single word and uses proper punctuation, too."
"That he does. As hard as I try, I can't break him of the habit."
"Safe travels." I smiled, held out my hand.
He shook it, and said, "And to you as well."
It was the touch that did it. Lewiston dropped the walls around himself just for a moment, long enough for me to dive into his head. Even in his blandest, most invisible form, his brainwaves were a lot less complicated to manipulate than those of a fully shifted wolf. It took me seconds to lock on and spike in.
Shock of the century, the man wasn't being truthful. He'd told me he didn't know a thing about Legion or Elijah, and he definitely did. He and my father were connected to this somehow, probably through the case my dad had to suddenly leave town to deal with.
Lewiston stared directly into my eyes. He knew I was in there. I'd made little attempt to hide my int
ention. "Don't. Please. It's not something I can share."
"You're just as bad as he is. I can't believe a word either of you say." I dropped his hand and, turning my back on him, walked back to the truck.
I climbed in and buckled my seatbelt. "Let's go, Gert."
"You got it, toots." She fired up the engine and backed out of the driveway at a pace that upset my stomach.
"What is it?" Amir asked. "You look worried."
"Lewiston just lied to me, and I'm worried that my dad is in trouble."
"How do you reckon that?" Gert said, reminding me that no matter how quietly one spoke around a shifter, there was always a chance of being overheard.
"Because he wasn't able to keep his worry for my dad out of his thoughts. Not completely. He gave it a great try until I touched him."
"Touch helps you read someone?" Amir asked.
I considered how to best answer that, and decided to be honest. "It can help me lock onto a person's brainwaves faster. Not only the touch, but the distraction the touch causes. Remember, trying to keep me out of your head if I want in takes a lot of focus—unless you're my dad who appears to be mostly immune to me—so any disruption to that focus is a crack in the armor. When we shook hands, he slipped. Just for a moment. Long enough for me to get a foothold."
"So, you were able to use your telepathy on him?" Amir asked.
"No. I didn't use telepathy."
Gert stole a sideways glance at me. "Are you saying you just spiked that guy?"
"Yes."
"Oh. Well, uh, didn't look like it hurt him." Gert swallowed, redirected her full attention to the road.
"It was a shallow spike."
"So you can just dip in and out of a person's brain bucket without them ever knowing? Have you done that to me?"
"I read you before I boarded the plane in La Paloma, but I didn't spike you. And Lewiston knew I was in his head. Just as I knew he was lying to me." I stared out the windshield, gripping the edges of the seat as Gert changed lanes.