Meanwhile the audience was SRO with people who wanted Tristan’s head on a stick. Tristan wanted something sharp in his hand and a layer of metal between his hide and all those teeth.
“So you’re saying this Cherise Myers died of one bite?” Robert Tanner curled a handsome lip, black eyes cold.
“Yes. We did everything we could to save her, but none of our healing spells worked,” Belle said, completely ignoring Tanner’s implication she was lying. Tristan wanted to punch in the bastard’s teeth. “It was a very painful death, and it took her more than an hour to die.”
“I’ve never heard our bites are fatal to Magekind.” Linda Corley drummed her fingers on the table and looked nervously out over the crowd. She was a motherly, gray-haired woman dressed in a flowered polyester dress, who looked as if she should be baking cookies somewhere. Judging by her expression, she wished she was wrist deep in Toll House dough right now.
Tanner slanted Corley a look. “Where is the body?” “Cherise died shortly after being bitten. We held her memorial service last night, sending her body back to the Mageverse in accordance with our customs.”
“How convenient.”
Tristan glared, sick of Fido’s attitude. “What do you mean by that?”
“We have no proof this woman died.”
“Why would we lie?”
Tanner settled back in his chair and gave Tristan another lip curl. “To protect Arthur Pendragon. To protect the admitted killer of Jimmy Sheridan.”
The audience growled in savage agreement.
Tristan opened his mouth to snarl a reply, but Belle’s hand landed on his knee in a light, cautioning squeeze as she opened a magical communications link. “He’s trying to get a rise out of you, Tris.”
“I’ll give him a rise. I’ll rise out of this chair and cut that lip right off his face if he curls it at me one more time.”
Belle spoke up before he could. “Arthur had nothing to do with Jimmy Sheridan’s death, Mr. Tanner.”
Tanner leaned forward like a prosecutor smelling blood. “But isn’t it true that Arthur was furious his son was targeted by a grief-stricken werewolf trying to avenge his own son’s death?”
She didn’t even blink. “As we’ve told you before, Logan killed the assassins who tried to kill him. As far as Arthur’s concerned, that was the end of it.”
“You must think we’re fools,” Andrews spat. “Arthur wants Direkind blood, and he’s having our innocent children killed.”
“Got any proof?” Tristan demanded.
Tanner lifted a brow. “Davon Fredericks and Cherise Myers both said Arthur ordered them to kill the Sheridan boy.”
“They were under magical influence at the time,” Belle explained. “A spell compelled them to believe Arthur had given them that order when he did no such thing. It also convinced them the boy had murdered a little girl, or neither of them would have committed such a horrific crime.”
Tanner gave Belle a chilly, triumphant smile and asked the question Tristan had been dreading. “And who cast this supposed ‘spell’?”
Belle didn’t equivocate. The sound system mic picked up her answer and set it echoing around the room. “Warlock.”
Tanner stared at her, eyes wide. He was a lousy actor. “Warlock?”
“And Santa Claus cut off Jimmy’s head,” Anderson muttered. The audience hooted.
Belle ignored the laughter. “Warlock exists. I fought him last month after he tried to murder a friend of mine. He is evil and he is insane, and he’s trying to manipulate the Direkind into going to war with the Magekind.” Her eyes narrowed as she scanned the council table. “The question is, are you going to fall for the scam? Are people going to die while you play politics?”
Stunned silence reigned for almost a full minute. Tristan, knowing what was coming, had to fight the impulse to close his eyes in pain. “Belle, you just maligned their hero. They’re going to lose their collective minds.”
“Well, how would you explain what the bastard did?”
Right on cue, the crowd detonated into furious shouts. Wolves who’d been seated bounded to their feet, and those already standing shook their fists and roared.
“Warlock’s a hero—he would have never killed a kid!”
“. . . Crazy bitch . . .”
“Arthur’s the killer!”
“Fucking Magekind murderers . . .”
“If you believe these liars, you’re stupid as hell!”
“Warlock died centuries ago . . .”
“Enough!” Rosen banged his gavel down hard, though it was his growling roar more than the little wooden hammer that finally silenced the crowd. “I said that’s enough!”
It took another five minutes of snarls and curses, but the crowd finally subsided, staring at Belle and Tristan with contemptuous, hate-filled eyes.
Anderson spoke into the simmering silence. “You must take us for fools, witch. Warlock’s been dead for centuries, assuming he ever existed at all. And everyone knows werewolves can’t use magic, so it’s impossible that any of us could have cast such a spell.”
She didn’t even blink. “Actually, werewolves can use magic, and I can prove it.”
Rosen lifted a graying eyebrow. “Produce your proof.”
Belle pulled her enchanted iPhone out of a pocket and punched a couple of buttons. “We’re ready for you.”
A dimensional gate spiraled open beside their table, drawing murmurs of amazement from those werewolves who’d never seen one before. Eva Roman stepped through the shimmering oval, dressed in black slacks and a black silk shirt that matched Smoke’s fur so perfectly he seemed to grow out of her shoulder. The sight of him aroused a little growl from the audience; apparently some of them really didn’t like cats.
He shot them all a blue-eyed glance and pointedly turned his head away with feline disdain. The tip of his tail flicked against Eva’s back.
Smoke did do cat well.
Point made, he leaped down from Eva’s shoulder, changing into his Sidhe form before he hit the floor. Straightening to his full height, he let the werewolves stare, taking in his pointed ears and elegant Sidhe features. Like his lover, Smoke looked as if he’d been painted in India ink, with that black raw silk shirt and black slacks, his hair gleaming like fur as it fell from his broad shoulders to his narrow waist. A few women in the crowd sighed. He gave them a slow, seductive smile.
Yeah, Smoke knew how to work it.
Belle stood, visibly suppressing a smile at his act. “This is Smoke, a Sidhe warrior and elemental.” She nodded to the woman beside him. “And this is Eva Roman, who is a werewolf and Smoke’s partner. She’s also my proof.”
Eva transformed in a bloom of power. Magic sparked blue around her body as she shifted, growing taller, her body broadening, head lengthening into a lupine muzzle, sable fur spreading over her body like a dark silk wave. When her transformation was complete, murmurs of astonishment rose at the ghostly blue antlers that spread to either side of her pointed wolf ears.
Tanner smirked. “What the hell is she—Rudolph the Red-Nosed Werewolf?”
The crowd laughed, the sound nasty with mockery.
Eva lifted her chin like a young queen. “Yes, I’m a werewolf. But I’m also a witch.” She flicked her claws and sent a ball of blue light shooting at Tanner’s head.
He yelped and automatically threw a hand up to ward it off. The little ball promptly burst in front of his nose in a harmless shower of sparks. This time the laughter was at his expense. Tanner flushed.
Go, Eva, Tristan thought. Get the bastard.
“How the hell did you do that?” Elena Rollings leaned forward, her long, curling red hair brushing the table in front of her. “I thought Merlin’s Curse was specifically structured to keep us from being able to work magic. That was the only way we could be resistant to magical attacks.” A power Merlin had known they’d need if the Magekind ever went rogue.
“It is,” Eva told her. “And my new abilities have made me vuln
erable to magical attacks again.” She shrugged her furry Direwolf shoulders. “Nothing’s ever free.”
Rosen had produced a netbook from somewhere and had been typing. He looked up. “There’s no Eva Roman in our database of werewolf families. You’re unregistered. That’s a serious violation of Clan law, Ms. Roman.”
“Until a month ago, I never even knew there was a Council of Clans, much less that I’d be required to register by one.”
“And why not?” Tanner demanded, his gaze predatory, obviously hoping she’d say something he could turn against her.
Smoke straightened. The look in the Sidhe’s eyes said he was considering doing something to the werewolf a lot more painful than tossing a few fireworks.
Eva gave Tanner a long stare. “I was Bitten by a serial killer. He neglected to instruct me in proper werewolf etiquette before he abandoned me in the woods to die. Probably because he was more interested in eating me.”
Elena paled, looking sick. “Did you survive?”
Eva shrugged. “The cops showed up and scared him off before he could finish killing me.”
“I’m so sorry for what you went through.” Genuine regret softened her voice. A few women in the audience murmured sympathetic agreement. “You must be talking about Trey Devon. We had no idea he was the one who was murdering humans.” Elena sat back in her seat, eyeing Tanner as if expecting his next salvo. “He was Chosen, and his father used his influence to block the Wolf Sheriff’s investigation of the killings.”
“Fuckin’ Chosen,” someone in the crowd shouted. Tristan suppressed a smile.
“Trey Devon was an aberration,” Tanner piped up right on cue. “And his father acted out of love.”
“I knew George Devon and his son, and both of them were bastards,” Elena said tartly. “His daughter was every bit as bad. And you know it, Bob. If you weren’t so busy trying to cover the Chosen’s collective ass . . .”
“We’re off the subject,” Rosen snapped, and turned to Eva. “How did you acquire the magic? And what’s with the antlers?”
Eva tilted her head, and sparks danced around the tips of her horns. “Warlock attacked and murdered an elemental in order to rob him of his powers. His name was Zephyr, and though he occupied the body of a white stag, his powers were nothing short of godlike.”
“A magic deer god,” Andrews drawled, looking up from doodling on his notepad. “Riiiight.”
Eva flicked a pointed ear and ignored him. “Stealing his abilities made Warlock immensely powerful. Warlock then tried to kill Smoke . . .”
“And damn near succeeded,” Smoke rumbled.
“. . . And Zephyr’s ghost sought me out. He said he could teach me how to alter Merlin’s genetic spell in my DNA so I could work magic and help Smoke. The catch was that I had to permit him to share my body so he could seek revenge on Warlock. Smoke was in danger, so I agreed.”
“And saved my ass.” Smoke gave her a slow smile and threaded his fingers with her clawed ones. Somebody gasped, whether in outrage or titillation, Tristan couldn’t tell.
“Let me get this straight—you’re possessed by a magical ghost deer?” Tanner turned to Rosen. “Don’t tell me you believe this crap.”
“You can turn into a seven-foot werewolf,” Smoke observed mildly. “You’re sitting in a room with a Knight of the Round Table, and discussing declaring war on King Arthur. And you say you find us unbelievable?”
The Sidhe warrior gestured, and a three-dimensional picture appeared in midair as if projected on a movie screen. Great stone blocks gleamed in the moonlight, providing cover as the figures of Smoke and Eva crouched behind them. “This is a projection of my memories of the battle that took place last month.” A towering white figure stepped out from behind one of the blocks, glowing against the night like a ghost. “And that is Warlock.”
The crowd murmured in awe, a sound that became a startled shout as the wizard hurtled a lightning bolt at Eva and Smoke. The flash was blinding, and the boom made the room shake. The recorded Smoke deflected the strike with an energy shield that lit up the room.
“Was that a lightning bolt?” Elena demanded. “Warlock tried to hit you with a lightning bolt?”
Smoke shrugged. “We were tossing around a lot of power.”
Tanner blinked. “Can you throw lightning bolts?”
Smoke gave him a feral grin. “Why, yes. Would you like me to demonstrate?”
“No!” Rosen interrupted, in chorus with the council and half the audience. “That’s fine, we believe you.”
“Good. Then watch, and I’ll explain.”
Smoke started narrating as the image flared bright with thundering energy strikes. Tristan exchanged a satisfied smile with Belle and sat back to enjoy the show.
Dice had never been so hungry, not even as a child. But this time, it wasn’t food he craved.
He wanted magic, needed it. Craved it like a crackhead craved rock. If he didn’t feed soon, he’d be too weak to hunt.
There was magic inside the house. He could smell the sharp, ozone scent of it right through the walls: three stories of expensive cream brick that reminded him of a castle. He stalked along the perimeter of the house, drinking the smell, aching to taste its source. It was a damned good thing the place nestled in the middle of two acres of woods. Otherwise the neighbors might have spotted a certain bearlike monster and called the cops. Which would have been a bitch.
Especially for the cops. Rearing up on his hind legs, Dice braced his massive paws on the frame of a second-story window and looked inside. A child’s room, judging by the bed shaped like the Batmobile. Magic glinted at him from the black plastic headboard. A spell to ward off bad dreams and give the kid a deep, healthy sleep.
The witch sure loved her brat.
He backed away from the window and dropped to all fours, wondering if he could use that love somehow. Take the kid hostage, offer to release him if she surrendered without a fight?
She might not love the kid that much. God knew Dice’s mother wouldn’t have taken such a deal. Hell, Ma had once traded him for a twenty-five dollar crack rock. He’d been all of eleven, and the bastard who’d bought him had been a big, beefy fucker. Dice hadn’t had a prayer.
Wasn’t the first time, wasn’t the last.
He’d enjoyed shooting his mother. He’d made sure nobody ever found the body, either.
Dice padded onward, pausing at yet another rosebush that smelled deliciously of magic. It wasn’t much of a spell, just something to ward off bugs, but it made the roses smell like ribeye to Dice’s starving nose.
He ate the blooms one by one, then started nibbling the leaves, careful of the thorns. None of which was enough to fill his pit of a stomach. It reminded him of the pack of crackers he’d found at the bottom of his mother’s purse once, when she’d been too wasted to feed him for a couple of days.
Even peanut butter on stale cheddar still tasted delicious to a famished little five-year-old.
Feeling a bit stronger, Dice continued around the house, sniffing at flower beds and windows for more magic. He was too big to fit through the door, but there were more magical items inside. He had to get to them.
Just to take the edge off until the witch got home.
TEN
The bastard council had blindsided them.
After Smoke and Eva had finished testifying, Tanner stood up and said, “All this is interesting, I’m sure, but it doesn’t address the primary issue. Davon Fredericks has admitted beheading James Sheridan. He should be handed over to the Council of Clans for trial. I move that if Arthur Pendragon fails to surrender him, the council shall declare war.”
Even the werewolf crowd had muttered in astonishment.
Elena Rollings had made an impassioned argument that Arthur had no reason to want Jimmy dead. She might as well have saved her breath. The outcome had been painfully obvious as each council member voted, aye following aye like the tolling of a grim bell.
“Aye.” Tanner tried to look su
itably grave as he added his vote to the rest, but his eyes glinted with excitement.
“Nay.” Elena said looked sick.
“Twelve ayes to one nay.” Rosen banged his gavel. “The motion passes.” He looked down at Belle and Tristan. “You will inform Arthur that the Council of Clans demands that he hand over Davon Fredericks for trial. If he refuses, we will go to war against the Magekind.”
“Dammit, we proved Warlock exists!” Tristan exploded. “He lied to Davon, tricked him into believing he was Arthur, and compelled him to kill Sheridan.”
“But he did kill Sheridan. His reasons for commiting the crime are irrelevant.” Rosen announced. “The boy is dead. Either he pays, or the Magekind does. The ball’s in Arthur’s court now.”
“If we go to war,” Tristan told him in a low, deadly voice, “Jimmy Sheridan will not be the only dead werewolf. I’d think twice about this if I were you.”
Rosen lifted his chin. “Sir Tristan, we are not afraid of the Magekind. Hand over Fredericks and nobody has to die.”
Except Davon, Belle thought.
“Man, it was sick the way Danger Man killed that monster!” Noah crowed, bouncing a little in the backseat. “He just opened up with his Starblast and zap! The monster was gone!”
Emma glanced back at her eleven-year-old son as they drove, a smile teasing her mouth. She hated to admit it, but she’d enjoyed the movie every bit as well as her son. The 3-D effects were impressive, and the creators had done a good job computer-animating Danger Man, his sidekick Dynamite, and their various evil enemies. Plus, there’d been just enough adult-level humor to keep her husband laughing, while sailing right over Noah’s head.
Thomas tossed her a look as he drove their Camry into the development. “You giggled just as hard as I did, and you know it.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“You also cried like a baby when Danger Man got shot.”
“I did not.”
“Hey. Truebonded here. Remember who senses your every thought and emotion? Can’t lie to me.”
Master of Shadows Page 14