Deluge: YA Dark Urban Fantasy (Shifter Chronicles Book 4)

by Melle Amade

  By the time the plane lands in New Orleans, my hands area nervously tapping on the polished wooden armrests. We’re finally here. My dad and I are in the same area and we’re going to get him out.

  “Guys, I sent you a text message with the link,” Zan says as we buckle in for landing. “Download the app when we get on the ground and you’ll see my magic.”

  “We know your magic,” Roman winks and gives a sly shimmy of his shoulders.

  I need to distract myself from the burning pain in my lower abdomen and my desperate desire to pee. I pull out my phone and click the link, staring at the wheel as it turns downloading whatever concocted app Zan created as the plane touches down smoothly.

  “Where are we?” I step out of the plane and humid air presses sticky against my skin.

  “Private landing strip on the outskirts of Baton Rouge,” murmurs Zan.

  Roman breathes in deep, stretching out his chest as if he is absorbing the moisture in the air. His smiles spreads into a wide grin.

  “It’s not home,” he says. “But it sure feels like it.”

  “Come on,” says Aiden. “We need to get out of the open.” He gives a single sharp wave to the pilot, who nods and revs the engines.

  “Where is he going?” I ask.

  “Home,” says Aiden.

  “But it’s still dark. And he’s been flying all night.”

  “There can’t be any hints of the Van Arend plane being here,” says Zan.

  I nod as if I understand, but I’m not sure I do. Still, we’re here for my father so we need to get on with it. I feel a little bit like the conquistadors when they landed on the shores of the new country and Cortez burnt their ships as I watch the plane take off. There’s no way out. We stand out in the dark on the tarmac, with the only light coming from a corrugated iron shack off to one side.

  Callum and Aiden stand side-by-side. Callum hasn’t said a word since we landed. He just looks sideways and ushers us forward towards the shack, like he’s a bodyguard. Just before we get there the door creaks open and out steps a short, bulky, dark man in a dark green suit.

  He escorts us to a waiting black stretch limosine and we drive through the dark night. I try to look out my window, but the most I can see is green moss hanging from trees over the road.

  “It’s a swamp,” says Callum into the silence.

  Zan’s eyes are closed and she’s resting against Roman’s shoulder while he has his head tilted back. Aiden dozes against the window.

  I reach over and put my hand on Callum’s squeezing it sharply. The fear that rests like a weight on my shoulders filters into my eyes as I look up at him.

  “It’s going to be okay,” he says quietly, turning his hand over and squeezing mine as we interlock our fingers. “We will get your dad back.”

  “Are you sure?” I whisper. I’m testing him to see if he can still lie to me as easily and effortlessly as before.

  “No,” he says, his gaze open. Deep concern shines through the green of his eyes. “But I will die trying if I have to.”

  I look away because I don’t want him to see the expression on my face. Misery etched into every layer of my skin at the thought of him dying to save my father.

  Why does it have to be like this?

  Why can’t we just live in peace?

  But I don’t ask the question aloud, because I don’t want to start a philosophical discussion I can’t finish. Instead I just stare out the window at the choking green vines and the overgrown swamp that spills onto the road.

  17

  I must’ve drifted off. I’m slumped over against Callum, our hands still clasped. I’m pretty sure there’s a bit of drool by the side of my mouth, but I casually wipe my hand across my face, hoping nobody notices.

  The car turns onto a gravel driveway and the sky is a pale, predawn blue as the car pulls up in front of a sprawling, white, run-down plantation home. It looks as if its been dragged out of the swamp. The trees run right up to the wrap around porch, some branches entertwining with it. Black mold creeps up the chipped walls and the crooked columns on the terrace hold up a mildly rotten and sagging roof.

  The driver’s crisp uniform doesn’t quite match the house, but he bows us out of the car and leads us to the massive double doors that take us into the plantation house. It’s hard to believe from the outside anyone actually lives here. Maybe they don’t. Maybe this is just a hideout.

  But when the doors open, the interior is spotless.

  Marble floors lead into a massive foyer with an arching staircase that rises to the second floor. It creates the kind of landing you would expect to see a debutante step onto.

  “Gone with the Wind,” whispers Zan.

  Even Darko nods appreciatively as he gazes around the sparkling white entry.

  The driver chuckles. “Now, now, Miss. Zan, don’t be getting any ideas about our little plantation. This is not Havana, this is Baton Rouge. We do things a little different here in the bayou.”

  “I’m sure you do,” Roman lets out a low whistle as he gazes up at a massive painting of a dark skinned man in a dark red suit. The man holds a cane and the look on his face makes it seem like he can see the whole world from where he stands in the painting.

  “If you can step this way, I’ll bring you to the master.” The driver leads us past the stairway, into the parlor and out towards the back of the plantation house.

  Between the derelict swap façade outside and the pristine walls inside, I’m not sure what to expect from the rest of the mansion. But something suddenly strikes me as we walk through a soaring white hallway with ancestral paintings hanging every step of the way.

  “They’re all-” I stumble over what I’m thinking.

  “Darker than my family?” Roman cracks a grin.

  “Pretty much,” Zan nods staring up at the massive paintings. “Almost as good looking, too.”

  “Is this common?” I ask Callum. Based on the clothing, the paintings are all from the 18th and 19th centuries. The portraits are dignified and elegant as their dark eyes gaze on the people walking beneath them.

  Roman’s still recovering from Zan’s compliment, but Callum shakes his head.

  “Weren’t most African Americans enslaved back then?” I chew on my lower lip. How could they own a plantation.

  “African American humans in the South,” Zan says, “But-”

  “These are shifters,” Roman finishes the sentence for her.

  “Of course.”

  The driver leads us out onto the terrace. I gasp softly, because it’s nothing like I ever imagined would be hiding out here. The wide white doors at the end of the hall lead out onto a massive wooden porch filled with wicker and velvet and freshly-picked magnolias. It overlooks a sprawling, lush, green field dotted with wildflowers and ringed by weeping willows, edging the waters of the swamp. The back of the house is just as perfect as the inside.

  “It’s just a façade,” I murmur.

  “It’s pretty amazing,” says Roman. “How do they keep the rot from spreading over the rest of the wood?”

  The swamp at the edge of the lawn has a little jetty, and the water looks as if you could walk on it, it’s thick with lilies and reeds. Trees hang low with moss, heavy, dripping, and dangling into the water below.

  I glance at Roman and he has lifted the glasses off his wide eyes and stuck them in his hair, a smile forms on his face.

  “Doesn’t it make you want to go swimming?” I ask.

  “Totally,” Roman says.

  Zan sniffs the air. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  Callum points along the perimeter of the swamp where a family of reptiles is just visible in the sun-speckled water.

  “Alligators?” Iona asks.

  “Those aren’t gators,” says Aiden.

  “Crocodiles,” drawls a raspy voice.

  We all whirl around to see a gentleman lounging in a rocking chair, lifting a small white porcelain teacup to his smiling lips. His skin is so le
athery and thick and brown, it crinkles down over his eyes in folds, but I can still see the twinkle sparkling out from underneath.

  “Kids ought to know their alligators from their crocodiles out here,” says the man. “At least some discerning qualities between alligators and crocodiles.”

  “But there aren’t any crocodiles in Louisiana,” says Zan.

  “That would be the primary difference,” the gentleman says.

  “Crocodiles are native to Africa,” Zan says. “Specifically, along the Nile from Sudan to Egypt. And most of those have been hunted to near extinction.”

  “Well, maybe we’re just not occurring naturally,” sighs the man.

  Aiden steps forward and gives a slight bow, “Lord Mubarak,” he says.

  Roman, Callum, Iona and Zan line up behind him each giving a bow and greeting.

  “Lord?” I murmur to Darko.

  “One of the ancient ones,” he says, stepping forward and greeting Lord Mubarak with a nod of recognition.

  Zan sniffs the air. I grab her wrist. It doesn’t really seem appropriate to walk into a man’s house and start sniffing around. But Lord Mubarak just laughs a rich hearty sound that rises up from his stomach and shakes his entire body .

  “You stop that, girl. You will make me spill my tea.” The saucer shakes in his hand as he places the white china down onto the small tea tray on the white wicker table.

  “I never believed you were real,” Zan says.

  “But you can smell my hide now,” smiles Lord Mubarak. I can’t help wondering what he’s lord of.

  “You’re descended from the crocodiles of upper Sudan,” Zan says. “You are the stuff of legend. You were supposed to have disappeared with the uprising of the West.”

  “Well, as you can see I haven’t disappeared yet. Well not exactly. But it’s pretty easy to disappear in these swamps,” the Lord says.

  “How long have you been here?” I blurt out.

  Callum shoots me a look with a slight shake of his head. I can tell he doesn’t know much, but he knows a little more than me, so I clamp my mouth shut.

  Mubarak looks at me and smiles. “There’ll be time for that soon enough, young one.” He cocks his head and his old silver eyes peer at me. Callum takes step in my direction.

  “You’re a different bird,” Lord Mubarek says. “Crocs may be slow, but they see a lot. ‘specially ones as old as me.”

  For a moment I think we’re going to be stuck talking about me but instead Mubarak swivels and looks over at Aiden. “So, it seems like our young lord here is run into a little bit of trouble with the Order.”

  “Not him,” I say, stepping forward. “It’s me, my father. They’ve taken my father.”

  His eyes narrow and he nods his head.

  “Can you help us get them back?”

  “People don’t mess with the Order,” the Lord says. “It’s hard to go against a group with its claws so deep in everyone’s hides.

  I glance at Aiden. “Why are we here?”

  “Everybody needs a place to sleep,” says the Lord. “I am offering you my hospitality.”

  My breath comes in sharp and quick. He might be an ancient, but we are on our own. Darko leans over. “Don’t be discouraged,” he says. “Crocodiles are the Swiss of the shifter world. They’re going to stay out of everyone’s way. It’s pretty impressive he lets us stay here.”

  “Now I know you took a long journey to get here,” Lord Mubarak continues. “And you sure do have a lot going on, but it’s time for my morning swim. Thomas here will take you to your rooms, where you can refresh, and I will meet you for lunch. Then we can discuss the problems you have with the Order.”

  Mubarak grins and stands up with long, slow movements and a wide crocodile grin. He walks past us, down the terrace steps and slowly to the small dock.

  The crocodiles on the far bank look over and slowly start to slide into the water. Without so much as a pause, Lord Mubarak steps off the jetty and by the time his body touches the water, he’s a crocodile. He splashes in, sending waves over the bank and into the green grass, and silently disappears. He’s the most massive crocodile I’ve ever seen in my entire life, well over twenty feet long.

  “I didn’t even see him shift,” I say. “It’s like a man disappeared and a crocodile appeared.”

  Thomas laughs. It’s almost an echo of Lord Mubarak. “The Master has been doing this a long, long time,” he says. “He can merely think, and he becomes it. That shifter is something else. Now come inside, and I will take you to your rooms.”

  I shake my head. “No. We’ve had enough rest. We need a meeting room where we can strategize.”

  Thomas raises his eyebrows. “Well, that would be the parlor.” Without waiting another moment, he leads us into another set of double doors and into a stunning regal room. Like the rest of the plantation the room is all white with white columns down the center, diamond chandeliers and floor to ceiling windows at either end. The curtains are small sconces of gold letting pale green light filter into the crisp space. This room has no paintings, just large mirrors that reflect the light and show off the antique wood and marble furniture. Curving settees and tall chairs covered in pale blue fabric nestle around the room. The dark wooden floor looks polished to within an inch of its life and is protected by massive blue and gold area rugs.

  Darko smiles comfortably and reclines on one of the settees. Clearly this is his type of setting. The rest of us sit down around the largest marble coffee table as Zan pulls out her computer. In a few moments, she has a line drawing up on the screen and she’s pulling her computer back to show us.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “Lafayette prison,” Callum says.

  “You’re looking at the multilayer map of the prison,” she says and moves her mouse a bit. The layers shift and turning. At the top, it looks like a flat plane where a cemetery is, and then it drops down the wireframe of an elevator that goes straight down into a complex collection of mazes and bunkers.

  “It’s underground?” Iona asks.

  “Yes, and there are only two entrances.” Aiden points out. “The easiest to access is through the cemetery right here. Both entrances are guarded by a clan.”

  “Berzerken in the cemetery,” Roman says, because of course it’s bears.

  “And the other one by cats,” Zan says.

  “What kind of cats?” Darko asks and he licks his lips as if we’re talking about dinner.

  “Lynx,” Callum says.

  Great. Just what we need. Another killer predator with claws and teeth.

  “If the only entrance is above ground, in a cemetery, doesn’t that make it kind of obvious to humans? Won’t they see the shifters going in and out?” I ask.

  “Well the place doesn’t get much traffic,” Zan shrugs. “Not too many people come out.”

  “What about the guards? Don’t they have to go home?” Roman asks.

  “They come out through the second entrance in the office building. The one protected by the lynx. If you look here, this building looks like a normal, multistory office, but if you have an access card you can go to the top floor, where you then switch elevators and go to the bottom floor, the entrance to the detention center.”

  “And that building is owned by the Order,” I say, looking at the sleek glass structure on Zan’s screen.

  “Aiden’s family isn’t the only one to have made a bit of money over the years,” Roman says.

  “Well it’s a nice choice. How the hell are birds going to infiltrate an underground prison protected by bears and cats?”

  “Two ways,” Aiden says. “We can’t access the cemetery, but I can get in the building. There’s no reason why the Heir to Muiderkring West can’t inspect a prison in our territory.”

  “Okay,” I shrug. “So, you’re going in alone with an all access pass? Don’t you need back up?”

  “That’s where I come in,” says Roman. “Nobody can be underground without air from somewhere.” He points
to another part of the map. “Over in this underground tunnel that travels under the river, there’s a ventilation shaft accessed through a massive fan.”

  “A massive moving fan, I assume,” Iona asks.

  “Yes, but if we can get through the steel-plated door,” Zan points at Roman, “we can stop the huge fans blowing air through the ventilation shaft just long enough for all of us to get in.”

  “But the minute we stop those fans, the Berzerken will know something’s up, so we’re going to have to hurry to find your dad.” Callum finishes the explanation of how we’re going to rescue my dad like it’s as simple as moving hay out of the pasture, but we’re going to have to beat a rain storm.

  “Let me get this straight,” I say. “Aiden is going into the high-rise office building with all the workers, past the security guards and somehow get a card to go in the front door.”

  “Yes,” Aiden nods. “Being Heir still holds a little weight, so we’re hoping it will cause some distraction.”

  Callum stands with arms folded over his chest looking at the pictures. “While we sneak in the ventilation shaft.”

  “How are we going to find my dad?” I ask.

  “I’m going to sniff him out,” says Zan.

  “That’s my bloodhound.” Roman winks at her.

  “It’s the craziest plan I’ve ever heard,” I say. “It’s not like we’re walking through a pasture, Zan. It’s going to be dirty with thick walls. You’re going to need some indication of where he is.”

  “I can help with that,” Iona says.

  I look at her and wonder what sort of spell she’s cast over Callum that makes him think bringing her along was anything like a good idea.

  “Hear her out,” he murmurs to me.

  I just stand there, staring at her

  “I’ve been in there,” she says, ignoring our surprised looks. “My father is in there, too.”

  “Is that why you’re here ‘helping?’” I ask.

  “Is there something wrong with that?” she counters. “Do you have any more right to your father than I have to mine?”

  I scowl. “Your father tried to overthrow Aiden’s family.