Moonshine: Phantom Queen Book 11—A Temple Verse Series (The Phantom Queen Diaries)

by Shayne Silvers

  “Now, Quinn, be nice to the poor werewolf flunky,” Lakota admonished, grinning. “Come on, let’s go track down their Alpha and say hi.”

  Chapter 23

  The caravan owners emerged from their homes to form a ring around us the moment we stepped onto the muddy campground, their arrival accompanied by the sound of swinging screen doors, barking dogs, and the raucous laughter of playing children. A peculiar odor rode the wind, growing stronger with each step until the air was a heady blend of charcoal and acetone—enough to make you feel lightheaded and faintly nauseous. Thankfully, the sensation passed by the time we reached the epicenter of the campsite.

  We were met there by two people. The first was a short, stout man covered in so much hair I wasn’t entirely convinced he’d come back from his last lunar transformation; it coated the tops of his bare, thickly calloused feet like moss, curled in ringlets from beneath his overalls, and ran up his neck to join a beard so bushy it could have doubled as steel wool. The second was a thin woman with carrot-colored hair and a face that would have looked right at home in a nun’s habit.

  “You young ladies lost?” the man said, his tone as gruff and gravelly as he was, his Ozarkian accent so thick it turned every word into a redneck battle cry.

  “Is that some sort of hillbilly catchphrase?” I muttered, low enough only Lakota could hear. Or so I thought, anyway; the moment I said it, damn near every camper bristled and turned to glare at me. Apparently, it wasn’t only their noses that were sensitive. Whoops.

  Lakota patted my arm and took the lead, holding her badge high for the whole pack to see. “Agent Lakota Collins, FBI. I’m here to ask you some questions.”

  I froze like a startled deer, struck both dumb and mute by the surname she’d so casually dropped.

  “Ezekiel Brown,” the man replied, shoving both thumbs into the curve of his overalls, just below his nipples. “But you can call me Zeke, same as everybody. Say now, who’s your friend? Ain’t she gonna introduce herself?”

  Lakota glanced over her shoulder at me, which gave me enough time at least to pick my metaphorical jaw up off the ground and begin dusting it off. Sadly, that’s as far as I got in the recovery process before Lakota took stock of whatever expression I wore on my face. Her eyes went extremely wide for a moment, then soft with what I could only assume was pity.

  She thought I’d known.

  “This is Quinn MacKenna,” Lakota replied, all business by the time she turned back around. “She’s with me.”

  “Would that be Miss MacKenna?” Zeke asked, gazing up at me from beneath the bushiest damn eyebrows I’d ever seen. “Ain’t often we see someone pretty as you around. Always liked me a tall woman.”

  “Zeke, stop talking with your pecker,” the woman behind him barked, her attention focused squarely on Lakota. “What’s the FBI want with us? We ain’t done nothing.”

  “I never said you did, Miss…”

  “Missus. Mrs. Pauline Brown. This idiot here’s my husband. Though, I’ll tell you what, honey…” Pauline shifted her raptorial gaze to me, “if you want his sorry ass, he’s all yours.”

  “Now, Pauline, don’t be like that—”

  “Stuff it, Zeke. I done told you what’ll happen. ‘Sides, even a deaf bat could see the girl has her own problems without you pawing at her.”

  For some reason, that seemed to sober the man up; Zeke studied me with a much shrewder expression than I’d have given him credit for a minute ago. He took a deep breath, his belly swelling against the seams of his overalls, and let it out slowly.

  “Sorry, sweet pea. I reckon you’re right.”

  Pauline responded with a satisfied humph. “I’m always right. Now, Agent...what was it, again?”

  “Call me Lakota,” the Seer replied, quickly.

  “Whatever flogs your log, sweetheart. But if you ain’t here to accuse us of nothing, what is it you want?”

  “I’m looking for answers.”

  “This ain’t no church,” Pauline sassed, drawing a series of titillated giggles from the gathered crowd.

  Lakota, clearly unamused, waited for the laughter to die down before trying again. “I’m here about the bloodless cadavers left to rot up and down your bootlegging route. Does your little...congregation happen to know anything about that?”

  Every adult in the whole camp stilled as one. That is until Zeke began howling with laughter. Within seconds, the crowd joined in like baying dogs, their snaggle-toothed grins raised to the sky as dozens of terrified birds abandoned the surrounding trees.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Miss FBI,” Zeke said once the cacophony finally died away, his bumbling manner usurped by something much more menacing. “We’re just a bunch of like-minded folks trying to get by in a cruel and unforgiving world. But, seeing as how we have a permit to be here, and ain’t done nothing to earn any federal attention as far as I know…”

  Lakota shook her head in response to his unasked question, confirming his supposition.

  “Well, then,” he continued, “I think it’d be mighty kind if you and your friend here were on your way.”

  To my surprise, Lakota nodded. “We’ll do that. Mind if I ask one last question before we go?”

  “So long as you don’t mind leaving without an answer.”

  “Fair enough.” Lakota turned a slow circle, her voice raised. “Earlier today, the sheriff’s people found a body a couple miles east of here. I was wondering if anyone in your pack was missing?”

  The crowd stirred at her use of the word pack, and I noticed Zeke’s hands had balled into meaty fists at his sides. The instant Pauline put her hand on his hairy shoulder, however, he relaxed. Lakota, meanwhile, continued to scan the faces gathered around us as though waiting for someone to come forward, or at least speak up.

  No one did.

  “Sorry to disappoint, Miss FBI,” Zeke drawled.

  “That’s alright. It was a longshot, anyway. Here’s my card in case you or any of your people think of anything else.”

  Pauline snatched the card from Lakota’s outstretched hand and pocketed it, staring daggers at us both. “Go on, then.”

  We left the way we came, though I couldn’t resist the urge to glance back at the motley collection of faces, wondering what could have possibly driven this assortment of supernatural beings to live the way they did. Was it the freedom? The threat of discovery? Whatever the reason, I couldn’t wrap my head around it. But then, who was I to throw stones?

  I couldn’t even rent a glass house.

  “I’m really sorry about before,” Lakota whispered as soon as we were well out of even a werewolf’s earshot. “Jimmy said he thought you already knew.”

  “I guess I did, sort of,” I confessed, my stomach knotting with the anxiety of having to hold this particular conversation, especially after having worked so hard to not think about it. “I mean, his old partner told me Jimmy had gotten married.”

  “But not to whom,” Lakota supplied, groaning. “Dammit. I should have known the instant I saw you. No one is that Zen. I just assumed, what with how long you’d been gone, and the fact that you came with another man...I really am sorry.”

  “God, stop,” I snapped. I halted and took a deep, bracing breath. “Stop apologizin’, please. It was an honest mistake.”

  Lakota didn’t reply. Indeed, for perhaps the first time since we’d met, the Seer refused to look me in the eye. Which is what made me realize she wasn’t simply apologizing for the shitty way I’d found out that my ex had married someone I’d considered a child when we last parted ways. No, she was apologizing because she felt guilty—the same guilt any decent person would feel when dating a friend’s ex without at least their tacit permission.

  Unfortunately, part of me thought she should feel guilty.

  Which made saying what needed to be said that much harder.

  “I’m not jealous,” I began, though I had to hold up a hand to keep Lakota from responding. “I’m not even surprised, really. I could t
ell ye two were close back in Moscow. Hell, ye had him carryin’ your bags for cryin’ out loud.”

  Lakota snickered at that.

  “What I mean to say,” I continued, pasting a smile on my face, “is that I’m happy for ye both. I truly am. Will it take some gettin’ used to? Probably. But ye don’t have to take me into account. Which means if I notice either of ye tiptoein’ around me out of pity or in an attempt to spare me feelin’s, ye should know I’ll have no choice but to beat ye both to death.”

  “With a door you’ve ripped off its hinges,” Lakota added, bastardizing my ridiculous threat from earlier.

  “Please. We’re friends. I’d use me bare hands.”

  Lakota chuckled and resumed our march to the car, shaking her head as she went. I fell in behind her, my steps considerably lighter now than they’d been before our talk. Of course, there was no way it was going to be that simple—and we both knew it. Seeing Lakota and Jimmy together was going to be flat out tough, especially at first. Not because I had any right to be upset, but because feelings were feelings; if people could turn them off at will, they’d have done so already.

  But hey, maybe I was exempt from that rule?

  Divinity had to come with some perks, after all.

  “Oy,” I began as we climbed, “when ye said that bit about the hole in me soul, what exactly—”

  “Shhhh,” Lakota hissed, her whole body suddenly on alert. “Someone’s waiting for us at the car.”

  “Who is it?”

  Lakota relaxed. “Oh, good. It’s that kid.”

  “Kid? What kid?”

  “The one who ran off when I asked if someone from the pack was missing. Come on.”

  The kid turned out to be one of the three who’d led us to the campsite. I recognized his checkered flannel shirt the instant we cleared the embankment and found him lounging on the hood of Lakota’s rental. Though, honestly, I thought “kid” was a bit of a stretch; he may have had the gangly, pimply look of a teenager who’d shot up six inches and only just learned to shave, but everything else about him screamed jaded.

  “Get your ass off my car,” Lakota barked.

  “Damn, lady!” The teenager hopped up so fast I thought he’d been bitten by something. He thrust a finger to his lips, his eyes pleading. “Keep your voice down, alright? If Pauline finds out I was talking to you, I’m toast.”

  “Pauline, huh? Not Zeke?”

  The teen rolled his eyes. “Zeke would kick my ass, but he’d pour me a drink and we’d laugh about it, after. The guy talks tough, but he has a heart. Pauline’s more likely to cut me open and to pour that drink over my freaking wounds.”

  “Sounds unpleasant,” Lakota noted. “So, why risk it?”

  The teen clammed up for a moment, his gaze flicking back and forth as though trying to decide which of us was going to try to steal his lunch money. “How do I know I can trust you?”

  “What makes you think you can’t?” Lakota countered.

  “I’ve never met a Fed before, but I’ve met plenty of cops, and the honest ones don’t talk like you.”

  Lakota raised an eyebrow. “That’s pretty perceptive, actually. Where are you from, kid?”

  “It’s Leon,” he replied, bristling. “And I’m from Atlanta.”

  “And what brought you here, Leon?”

  “To the Ozarks? Or to your car?”

  “Both.”

  Leon sniffed. “Same thing, I guess. It’s my brother. He heard about Zeke and his crew from a friend. He was in deep with some dirty cops, and things started going sideways, so we came out here. Fresh start, you know?”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Anyway, this body you found...what did it look like?”

  “I can’t tell you that, Leon,” Lakota said, regretfully. “I wish I could, but I can’t.”

  Leon licked his lips and looked away, his body language stiff. “Did it have a robe on?”

  Lakota managed to keep a straight face, somehow, but it didn’t fool Leon; he hunkered down into himself so hard that I instantly understood why Lakota had called him a kid. It wasn’t his age she’d been referring to, or what he’d survived. It was his heart—a child’s heart.

  “Leon,” Lakota began, “why don’t you come with us, and we can—”

  “No!” Leon snapped, wiping at his cheeks. “No, I’m good. I need to get back before they notice I’m gone. I’ve got a good thing going, here. I don’t want to screw it up.”

  “I get that. But I want you to take my card. Hide it if you want, just take it.” Lakota thrust it into his trembling hands. “If things here don’t turn out the way you hoped, I want you to call me, okay?”

  Leon nodded, though I could tell his heart wasn’t in it. The shock of realizing he’d never see his brother again was just setting in. Lakota, sensing the same thing, retrieved the card and slipped it into his pocket, instead.

  “If it was Mike you found,” Leon said, his eyes staring at nothing, “then you should check out the Fairy Court. It’s this new show on the Strip. Mike wouldn’t tell me why, but that’s where he went yesterday. I remember because he was wearing that robe, and I thought it was weird. I mean, the hell was he wearing that for, anyway?”

  Lakota started to say something, but Leon had already started trudging down the hill. Within seconds, he was loping towards the campsite, moving with the eerie grace of a shapeshifter.

  Chapter 24

  That night I dreamt of fire.

  It began how the most disturbing dreams so often do: with me waking up in the place I’d fallen asleep. The hotel room was dark, the blinds closed, and the curtains drawn. I’d stuffed one of the complimentary towels into the crack below the door to dampen any noise from the hall outside before downing Circe’s potion an hour before dusk, anticipating a full night of uninterrupted sleep. If all went according to plan, Max would check on me come morning. He’d booked the adjoining room next door.

  The moment the thought crossed my mind, I realized I was in that other room. The differences were minor: there was no towel at the door and the curtains weren’t shut. There was, however, something lying in the center of the bed. I stepped closer, squinting until I could make out a glowing heart, its light winking in and out of existence like the strobe of a firefly. It suddenly felt so alive that I was half-convinced it would leap off the bed at any moment.

  And that’s exactly what it did.

  The organ shot up into the air like a bird, and I found myself chasing after that electric heartbeat as it passed through one wall after another, then from one realm to the next. We raced through worlds trapped in ice and swallowed by darkness. Worlds without water, or life. This went on for so long, in fact, that my muscles began to ache, and my every breath was accompanied by a stabbing, rending pain in my side. I slowed, unable to fight through it any longer, and watched the glowing heart continue on without me.

  I fell to my knees, reached down, and discovered Areadbhar lodged between my ribs, the tip of her blade kissing my heart. Hands brushed my shoulders and back, and I was suddenly surrounded by kneeling, faceless figures whose names were as familiar to me as my own.

  Cernunnos, the Horned One.

  Aengus, the Lover.

  Ecne, the Wise.

  Goibniu, the Smith.

  Cliodhna, Queen of Banshees.

  As I thought these names and more, the respective gods and goddesses rose and joined what sounded like a battle at my back. By the time I was done, the clamor was deafening—the high, piteous wails of lost children intermingled with the cries of dying men and women. Unable to resist, I twisted around to see what horror could break such spirits and orphan so many.

  A figure stalked a darkened landscape, her skin ablaze with an unquenchable flame that consumed everything and everyone it touched. She held no weapon and wore no armor. Instead, she reached for man after man, woman after woman, clutching them to her naked breast until their screams died away and they turned to ash in her arms while their children watched. I
n her wake, the gods and goddesses crawled like whipped dogs, bound to each other by iron chains. I called out to them, screaming their names, but it wasn’t their attention I received.

  It was hers.

  The infernal creature dropped her latest victim and reached for me; a relentless need etched across her face. No, not her face.

  My face.

  The sole remaining faceless god—whose name I hadn’t dared utter even in my own head—yanked me backwards, drawing me into her arms with the strength of creation itself. Once in her embrace, the pain at my side faded to little more than a dull ache and all suddenly felt right in the world. When at last she spoke, however, it was with a voice that could crack the world in two.

  “This is what you become. Not who you are.”

  Chapter 25

  I was sitting in the shower when I heard Max’s voice outside the bathroom door asking me if everything was alright. According to him, everyone was downstairs in the lobby snagging their complimentary breakfast and wondering where I was—which at least partially explained why the brujo had used magic to break into my room when I hadn’t answered my door.

  I certainly hadn’t given him a key.

  I hugged my legs tighter to my chest and raised my head, blinking past the merciless droplets which ricocheted off my knees and into my face, until I could see the door through a gap in the curtain. Max began banging on it so hard it rattled, shouting my name. I didn’t want to talk to him—or anyone, for that matter. Between the worsening side effects of Circe’s potion and last night’s unsettling dreams, all I really wanted was a few hours to myself to shake off the general malaise. On the other hand, if I stayed silent, he was bound to come barging in and make a fuss.

  “I’ll be out in a minute!” I called.

  Climbing to my feet was a struggle; my legs had nearly fallen asleep, my tailbone throbbed where it had been pressed against the porcelain tub, and my skin was that mottled shade of pink that generally means you’ve spent far too long in the hot water. Indeed, the reflection in the mirror after I’d wiped it clear of condensation revealed a pair of glassy green eyes surrounded by a puffy, freckled ruddiness.