Ruby Morgan Box Set: Books 6-10

by LJ Rivers

  “Ru, are you with us?”

  “Huh?”

  Charlie pointed at the waitress standing next to me.

  “Oh, sorry. I’ll have green tea and a small pasta salad.”

  “Sure thing, honey,” the girl said. “Want some garlic bread or bruschetta on the side?”

  “Just the salad, please.”

  “Gotcha. All happy, then?” She glanced at the others for a few seconds. “Great. I’ll be right back with your drinks in a sec.”

  “American,” Gemma said when the girl had left.

  “Duh,” said Charlie.

  And Sorceress, I thought. But not by a large percentage, judging by the faint aura around her.

  Gemma turned to Jen. “So, you’re really into this Glover woman, huh?”

  “Into?” Jen frowned.

  “You know, her views and political issues and stuff.”

  “Very much. Regardless of what that poseur Colburn spews out of his mouth, Millicent has a lot to offer.”

  Gemma nodded. “He’s such a bastard, that JC. And his face, the smugness when he uses her nickname. I mean, MagLover? That’s just childish.”

  “To be fair,” Charlie interjected, “Colburn himself has never used it. But he’s good at hinting at it, I’ll grant you that.”

  It had puzzled the political pundits that Colburn, who had so far stayed clear of bashing his opponent, would adhere to such tactics. His and my view of politics might be completely at odds, but I had to give him points for focusing on his own issues instead of hacking away at the others’.

  That’s why his flirting with this MagLover nickname had puzzled me, too. It had all started when Glover had been caught on live mic making fun of Colburn’s initials. Glover had forgotten that her microphone was still on after a radio interview was finished. ‘Playing the Jesus Christ initials is simply pathetic’ she had said. When the radio host played the soundbite, he quoted a response from “an unnamed source close to Colburn’s campaign”, in the form of a Twitter post.

  Jarl Colburn is proud of his heritage and name, but his desperate opponent seems to be ridden with envy of a coincidental connection with JC’s initials. Funny, really, as Glover’s own initials fit perfectly with her single talking point in his entire campaign. Her problem, however, is that the voters see ML for the MagLover she is.

  Colburn had declined to comment on the issue, but, as Charlie so aptly put it, he often hinted at the MagLover moniker without actually saying it.

  His followers, however, had no such boundaries. So, Millicent Glover had become MagLover ever since.

  Gemma ignored Charlie’s correction and focused on Jen. “I wish the people could get their heads out of their arses and see that Millicent Glover is the right person to bring this country forward. Colburn is a bloody racist and has no place in society, much less in a position of power.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” Jen said, raising a pretend glass. “When our drinks arrive, that is.”

  Charlie gave me a look. “What the fudge?” she mouthed.

  I shrugged, equally shocked by the sudden alliance between the two Shifters. Not that they were enemies or anything, but so far it had seemed they both had to work on tolerating each other. I had put it down to a form of territorial standoff between a wolf and a fox.

  The waitress returned with a tray of glasses and a teacup. As she placed my green tea in front of me, our eyes met. She held her gaze on me for a few seconds longer than necessary, squinting ever so slightly as if inspecting me.

  I raised an eyebrow. She flinched and turned away, almost running back to the kitchen.

  “—actually think Millicent Glover might be a Mag. At least some percentage.” Gemma took a sip of her ice tea before continuing. “With her in charge, maybe we can get some justice for the Mag community. We’ve been trampled underfoot for hundreds of years. It’s time for the Mags to show the puny humans who the dominating kind is.”

  “I agree that Mags should be given a stronger position in society,” Jen said, her voice calm and collected, as opposed to the overly eager Gemma. “But I’m more on Glover’s side here, I believe. Mags and humans can co-exist on this planet. There’s no logical reason why we can’t be equals.”

  “Equals? Come on. We’ve got these awesome powers, and we’re supposed to be equal to humans? No offence, Charlie, but you get my point, right?”

  Charlie was looking at her phone and didn’t respond. Maybe it was for the best. But I had no intention of letting Gemma get away with it.

  “I believe I’m living proof that Mags and humans can co-exist perfectly fine, thank you very much.”

  “You?” Gemma grimaced. “One of the most powerful Mags around? Don’t make me laugh.”

  “I wasn’t planning on it,” I said. “Mum and Dad were a happy, equal couple, who would have had a long and peaceful life if Mags were accepted in society.”

  Gemma scoffed. “Your dad sounds like a great man, don’t get me wrong. And I can’t begin to imagine how it must feel to have lost him. But you have another father.”

  Jen’s throat let out that familiar, low rumble, which made me smile.

  “I have a birth father, yes. And I think he might agree with you, Gemma, at least to some extent. I just don’t think it’s the way it ought to be. Sure, we have magical powers, but that doesn’t mean we should use them to suppress those who don’t. It’s like the old saying, ‘with great powers comes great responsibility’. If humans and Mags could work together, utilising each other’s strengths, the world wou—”

  “Shh!” Gemma said.

  I slammed my hand on the table. The nerve of that girl. “Don’t you shush me, just becau—”

  “No, really, Red,” said Jen. “Shh!”

  The table started shaking, my cup vibrating on the saucer. Jen’s glass of cider toppled over, and the contents spilt on the cloth. A few shouts could be heard from inside the restaurant and from the street below us. The shaking lasted only three or four seconds before it ceased.

  “Earthquake?” I asked.

  “No,” said Jen.

  Another rumble began beneath us. And again the tables, glasses, and cups started shaking, this time much more vigorously than the first.

  I held onto the chair. “Is it coming from the tube?”

  Jen shook her head. “I don’t think so.” All the colour had drained from her face. She looked as pale as when she had the Mag-flu. “It’s almost like when the lorry crashed into our offices.”

  The shaking stopped again. We rose from our chairs and stood frozen, looking at each other.

  A cell phone started buzzing. Gemma winced and let out a tiny yelp. “Whose is it?”

  “Mine.” Charlie fished her second phone out of her pocket. “It’s the work phone.”

  “That can’t be good,” I said.

  As a third rumble ensued—this one with only a slight shaking of the tables—Charlie adopted a similar complexion to Jen, though her already tanned skin tone could never be quite as pale as our French friend. She rang off and shook her head in despair.

  “There’s been a bombing in The Forge.”

  Chapter Nine

  Someone pushed into me, then another, as Jen, Charlie, Gemma and I ran against the current of people rushing away from The Forge. I navigated the steep stairwell as best I could, carefully taking one step after another. A man bumped into me, forcing me to crash into the rails towards the water. I grabbed onto the steel, and a sting of pain in my ribs made me grit my teeth. Shaking myself, I kept going downward.

  A flailing hand moved in the crowd in my peripheral vision. I grabbed it and drew Charlie close as we descended further into the tunnel.

  “Come on,” I yelled. “I got you.”

  A head of golden hair caught my eye before Jen disappeared into the crowd below, along with Gemma. Their Shifter abilities gave them a clear advantage to move about in the chaos, whereas Charlie and I struggled to navigate through the oncoming stream of people trying to escape. Mo
re people came our way as Charlie and I made it to the bottom of the stairs and hurried along the gangway. The usual displays of wares lay strewn and crushed in our path. Splotches of blood painted the ground, which was cluttered with glass shards, crunching under my feet with every step. An array of canvases had been trampled and destroyed, a painting of a wolf shredded as if the wolf’s howl had torn the canvas. We passed another few destroyed exhibitions. Parts of an easel lay among a mountain of T-shirts, and pieces of jewellery were scattered among items I could no longer identify.

  A grey fog of dust and debris clouded my vision as we reached the dock. I inhaled and coughed as the dry air entered my lungs. Somewhere in the mist, the ferry dipped belly up in the water, moving like a shadow in the dark cloud. The reek of burning flesh permeated the air and a bitter taste of metal laced my tongue, the potent smell of motor oil making me gag.

  “Santíssima Virgem Maria!” Charlie exclaimed when we entered the town square and came to a stop. Fires crackled around us from the remains of the surrounding buildings, flames licking high from several smaller fires scattered about everywhere I looked. Somewhere in the distance, a neon-blue ‘A’ flashed in a heap of burning wood, near where the Avalon club had once stood. A charred, gaping hole glared at me from the remaining structure. But that was hardly the worst part.

  Moans and cries mixed with screams and a cacophony of agonising sounds from the people in the square. I shuddered. Despite the intense noise, the air sounded almost quiet. Severed limbs and bodies littered the ground, and a stream of blood washed across the cobbles.

  “Evan!” a voice yelled to my right. “Evan, where are you?”

  I squinted. I recognised that voice.

  A raven-haired woman dug through a pile of bodies, discarding the dead one by one. She lifted her chin and sniffed the air.

  “Erica,” I called, dragging Charlie with me towards her.

  Erica tilted her head at me as if she didn’t quite see me. “Ruby, have you seen Evan?” The perky bartender I’d met a few weeks back had a grim look on her face. Soot covered her face like war paint, and blood seeped down her chest.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know who that is.”

  “My brother. He was somewhere around here.” She raised her head higher, exposing a gash across her collarbone. Her arms were covered in soot as well, and her black spaghetti top was torn, one strap hanging loose under her arm. “I can’t smell him through this disgusting odour.”

  “What does he look like?” Charlie asked.

  Erica shook her head, tears glinting in her eyes. “Like me. Sort of. Same hair.”

  I looked around, but all I could see were bodies upon bodies, tangled and torn. A woman reached out and grabbed weakly at my ankle. I forced back a sob. Half of the skin on her face was shredded, exposing the muscles and singed flesh underneath. Blood gushed out from where her legs used to be. “Help!” she croaked. My healing power immediately surged to life, and I crouched next to the woman. She heaved, and her eyes rolled back. Her arm fell to the cobbles and her body went limp as I put my hands on her. I pushed my healing out, encasing her in a cocoon of light. It was like hitting a wall. Sobbing, I withdrew. It was too late. I stared at the surrounding scene. There were too many of them, too many who needed my help, and too many who were already gone.

  “Over here,” Charlie bellowed. She dragged at someone’s arm, trying to pull the person out from under two others. A wave of straight, black hair fanned out underneath the people on top.

  “Coming.” I darted to her side and waved my hand at the bodies, carefully pushing the dead aside.

  “Evan!” Erica cried. She bounced over to Charlie’s side, her inner wolf evident in her stride. She fell to her knees next to the boy and pulled him to her. “Evan!”

  Charlie met my eyes and shook her head as Erica let out a spine-chilling howl, piercing through the other noises. She bowed her head, rocking her brother back and forth.

  “I’m so sorry.” I touched Erica’s shoulder, to no response from the wolf bartender.

  “Ru!” Jen’s voice broke through the clamour. “Over here.”

  I looked up to find Jen and Gemma sprinting towards us.

  “Erica?” Jen said in a hushed voice.

  I sniffled. “Her brother is dead.”

  “Poor pup.” Jen kneeled next to Erica and put her hands on her shoulders. She said something I couldn’t grasp, then slid her hands under Evan’s body and scooped him into her arms. Erica snarled and the wolf inside my friend gave her a stare that could break glass. Erica bowed her head and the two wolves disappeared into a nearby street where the explosions had mercifully left most of the buildings untouched.

  Gemma crossed her arms, her teeth bared. “This is barbaric,” she snarled. “The Lionhearts have to pay for what they’ve done.”

  “We don’t know that it’s them,” Charlie protested.

  “No? Who else hates us so much they would do something like this? Someone said something about hearing three explosions when Jen and I passed. This is a massive operation, organised and carefully planned.” Her nose wrinkled in disgust. “I’ll have their heads on spikes if I can.”

  “Gemma!” Charlie exclaimed, but Gemma didn’t seem to acknowledge the tone in her voice and instead looked at me. “Perhaps you should phone His Highness. He’ll be able to help us.”

  His Highness? I almost laughed. “I’m not going to phone Auberon, Gemma. There’s nothing he can do here now.”

  Gemma snorted. “Sounds like a bad call, but you’re the princess. Not that you’ve earned that title. I think I’ll move around a bit more. See if any Mags need my help.”

  A lump formed in my throat. “Me too. Maybe I can heal some of them at the very least.”

  Charlie grabbed my arm and shook her head. “No, you won’t. Look around.”

  I frowned but shifted my gaze across the chaos. “What?”

  “Those men in the shadows,” she whispered.

  I narrowed my eyes, and my breath caught in my throat. In the side streets, groups of men had gathered, untouched by the explosion, so they had to have recently arrived. Several of them were holding something in their hands. Guns? No! A flash of blue sparks made me cringe. Stun guns. “Harvesters,” I said through my teeth.

  “I guess they saw this as some kind of annulment of whatever deal they’ve had with the Forge. And blood is literally flowing in the streets. You can’t let them know what you are.”

  “But—”

  “I’m sorry, Ru, but you can’t. I won’t have you kidnapped and drained. I’ve almost lost you too many times already, and I couldn’t bear it. So, please, for once, don’t be the hero.”

  I wanted to ignore her, to run off into the crowd and heal anyone I could, but the pain in Charlie’s expression held me back. Her separation issues were something I’d had to learn about the hard way, and I knew how much it hurt her whenever she thought she might lose someone.

  “All right,” I said, against my better judgement. “I won’t. But we have to warn whoever we can about those Harvesters.”

  “That we can do. Discreetly.”

  Jen hurried out of the side street and came up to us. “So, Erica has a big family of wolves. Most of them are accounted for, apart from her father. I was thinking I might shift and see if I’m able to sniff him out.”

  I grabbed her arm and inclined my head at the Harvesters. “Look!”

  Jen sneered. “What are they doing down here?”

  “Looking for Mag donors,” Charlie said. “You can’t wolf out, you hear me.”

  For a moment, it looked as if Jen was about to shift after all, her skin rippling slightly, but it stopped, and her brows levelled as she tightened her lips. “All right, babe. Whatever you say. But we can still look for him. Erica gave me a picture.” Jen showed it to us.

  “Let’s split up,” I said. “Try to warn any Mags you can about the Harvesters while you look for Erica’s dad. I’ll keep an eye on the bloodsuckers in case they try
anything.”

  “Be careful,” Charlie said. “There are at least ten of them that I can see. Please don’t use your magic unless absolutely necessary.”

  I gave her a quick hug. “I promise.” We weaved out in opposite directions. Meanwhile, a steady stream of shapes filed into the square and moved through the haze, presumably searching for their loved ones.

  I sucked in a breath and eased down the side of a burning building, towards the side street where I had seen the Harvesters. They were on the move, and there were more than ten of them. I did a quick count and came to eighteen, one of whom came my way. He wore a black baseball cap with a red logo—a lion’s head morphing into a heart. I turned my palm out, ready for an attack, but the Harvester stopped and sat on the ground.

  Carefully, I edged closer, the flames from the nearest building licking at my back. Luckily, fire never bothered me, and as long as my clothes didn’t get too close, I’d be fine.

  My mouth dropped as I stared at the young girl by the Harvester’s feet. Her olive-coloured skin was covered in soot. Her midnight-black hair and her arms were singed, but her chest rose and fell steadily. She couldn’t be a day over fourteen. Like Kaede. The image of the young Japanese girl, bleeding out on a metal table at the Harvester farm we had both been kidnapped to, flashed through my mind. I couldn’t save Kaede, but I could do everything in my power not to let the Harvester in front of me touch this girl.

  The light from the flames shimmered on the edge of a needle as the Harvester brought out a syringe. I looked around, then slipped behind a hill of debris. I had promised Charlie to be careful, but I couldn’t just stand by and do nothing. Surely she would understand. The girl jerked away from her attacker, but her leg was trapped under a beam. The Harvester grinned and shoved his stun gun into her chest. She convulsed, her body slumping back to the cobbles.