Cougar's Courage (Duals and Donovans: The Different)

by Teresa Noelle Roberts

  “Don’t lose track of the story, Grand-mère,” Rafe urged, polite as always.

  “Yeah, get on with it,” Jack echoed, a twinkle in his dark eyes. Grand-mère threw a handful of dry leaves at him. The leaves turned into wasps that buzzed around him menacingly. He kept swatting at them, unable to actually make contact.

  The tension in the room dissipated briefly at his squirming and batting at the air, especially when the wasps turned back into leaves and fell on his head.

  But when Grand-mère began to speak again, her voice was strained, dark, barely audible and all thought of laughter fled.

  “Chenier wooed me, and he won me. He was attractive and intriguing and seemed as fascinated by our differences as I was—a European sorcerer, ruled by logic and rigid magic rules and conceiving the Powers as sort of divine mechanics, and a nature spirit who knows all the Powers intimately, Trickster as much as the Lord and Lady. I was old enough to see that we would have difficulty being together for long. I told myself I would not let myself fall in love with him. I’m sure you can guess how well that worked. When he begged me for magic that would keep him young and healthy longer, I didn’t think twice. Why wouldn’t I want to keep my human lover young and handsome and by my side?

  “Then he asked me whether I would have a child for him. He guessed that I could have a child with someone who was not my species. He wanted to see what powers the child of a sorcerer and a manitou might have, what such a child might look like—whether he could use such a child to become more powerful himself. It was, in his mind, purely an experiment and a source of power. He did not care for this would-be child, nor, I realized, for its mother. He was just curious. I said no, of course. And then the fighting commenced.”

  Across the room, Elissa gestured in what Cara guessed to be a warding off of evil. Misusing sexuality and making a child just to experiment with it had to be anathema to a red witch. To any sane person, really, but especially to a red witch.

  Grand-mère caught the gesture and nodded. “Evil indeed, child. Yet I could not bring myself to end his miserable life. Time and the hazards of life in the wilds for a man bred in a city would take care of that, I thought, and perhaps he might learn the errors of his ways before he died. I thought I withdrew my magic from him as we parted ways, but power calls to power, and his was strong. Enough of my spell lingered to extend his life. He spent years trying to win me back, or to somehow capture me and force me to bear his child. When I chose Rafe’s grandfather and we had children together, René went mad. Maybe he was mad to begin with and I hadn’t realized, because European ways were strange enough to me I might not have noticed.”

  “Chenier killed my grandfather,” Rafe said starkly.

  “Chenier captured him, tried to use him to blackmail me to his bidding. Golden Panther died rather than let himself be so used. Chenier told me about it in great detail, mind to mind so I could not kill him. I didn’t even have a body to burn.” The room grew misty as Grand-mère cried for her dead husband. “Chenier thought of duals as animals. He couldn’t believe I’d chosen one over him, as he saw it. He’s been trying to get revenge ever since—get revenge and get his hands on one of my descendants to torment and study and breed and eventually sacrifice to feed his dark magic.”

  “Now I get it!” Jack exclaimed, “Elissa was right. He thought I was Rafe. I couldn’t figure out why he targeted me, but some of the things I half remember him saying make sense now if he thought I was you. And he thought the woman on my mind was Elissa. The good news is this means some of his information is foggy, but…” Jack hesitated. A look of horror crossed his face. “Forget that. There’s no good news. The bastard knows about Jocelyn.”

  Rafe cursed, the air shimmering with his power, which rippled in darker, angrier colors than usual. “He’s responsible for my parents’ deaths, isn’t he? Because he wanted to get his filthy hands on me. I have dual blood as well as human and manitou, so there’s more power for him to play with. And now he wants our daughter.”

  “In a lovely example of irony,” Grand-mère said, “you are alive and free now thanks to the very Agency that tormented you three so. You and your parents were living across the border at the time. René’s people had attacked some unfortunate woman who resembled my daughter’s human form and stole her baby, then killed it when they realized it wasn’t the child they sought. The Agency was tracking the sorcerers. Probably the RCMP had alerted them, because there had been other crimes in Canada. The Agency alerted local authorities there might be a magical serial killer in the area, and the local police brought a sorcerer of their own with them when a neighbor called about a suspected home invasion. If they hadn’t, they too would have died and so would you.”

  “How did I end up in a human orphanage? Wouldn’t the sorcerer have known what I was? Elissa knew I was dual right away, even if she didn’t know the other part.”

  Elissa kissed him. “My magic is keyed to the body, the physical world, so I can sense things like that. Sorcerers can’t always read auras. They use logic. And logically, you looked human. Your dad really was human, and your mother chose to look that way. The Agency might not have even known why your parents were targeted, since the other victim was a normy.”

  Grand-mère nodded. “And I suspect my daughter’s last magic was spent greasing the wheels of possibility to hide you from the enemy.”

  “Now, the enemy should worry about hiding from me.” Rafe stood, shook himself, began to undress in preparation for shifting.

  Elissa laid a restraining hand on his arm. “There’s still the unseelie fae to worry about. Grand-mère, what do you know of Chenier being fae-touched?”

  “He wasn’t when I knew him,” Grand-mère said, “but our last direct contact was when he took Golden Panther, and that was well over a century ago.”

  Cara raised her hand. When Grand-mère nodded at her, she asked, “Take pity on the refugee from the normy world here. How could Rafe’s grandfather have been dead that long when Rafe’s no older than I am?”

  Grand-mère shrugged. “My daughter matured like my side of the family. By manitou standards, she was a very young mother, just over one hundred when Rafe was born.”

  While Cara was processing that, the old manitou continued. “Chenier was already trafficking with demons toward the end of our time together, though I tried to dissuade him. It would not surprise me if he was foolish enough to barter his soul away for more power, for another chance to get his hands on my descendants.” She sighed. “I know nothing of the fae. I know the man René once was and what powers he used to have, well enough that I’ve been able to keep his minions away from Couguar-Caché until recently. But the fae are a mystery to me.”

  “They’re a mystery to everyone,” Elissa said suddenly, “but the guys and I defeated one before. The trick here is to separate the fae from its host. I can banish the fae back to its own plane then.” Her expression was grim. Cara was astonished just how terrifying that delicately pretty face could be. “I hope.”

  “You’ll do it. We’ll do it.” Rafe nuzzled her, as if the cat was very close to the surface.

  “But at what cost?”

  Elissa hadn’t spoken those four words out loud, but Cara heard her clearly. A quick glance around the room told her she wasn’t alone. “Elissa, you’re good,” Cara reassured her. “You’re better than good. You’re an amazingly powerful witch, and you’ve got great backup.” She forced a laugh. “And me, of course. I wouldn’t count on my magic yet, but if things need shooting, I’m your girl. We’ll be fine.”

  Elissa didn’t answer. Jude did. “Elissa’s strong, but the spell needs to open a gate between worlds. The other time happened on spring Equinox, but that’s past.”

  Grand-mère let out a little “oof” of surprise. “That’s a huge undertaking. I can’t help with that, child.”

  “Can’t or won’t?” Jack shot out. “You’re pretty much made of magic.”

  “Which, grandson, is why we can’t do certain
things,” she said gently. “Other beings have mistaken us for gods, but we aren’t. The Powers have limited us in return for our near-immortality and high magics. Only humans can do magic that crosses worlds.”

  “Your daughter helped me save Rafe’s life last year, when my own magic was failing. She must have moved between worlds then.” Elissa’s voice was cold, accusing. “I think you fear to go against Chenier—either because he’s so strong or because some little part of you loves him.”

  “My daughter was unpredictable, like Rafe and Jack are and like your daughter will be. When duals and humans and manitou breed, the rules you thought you knew are useless.” Grand-mère sighed. “Though you may be right I still feel something for René. At the very least, I hope there was good in him once, that I wasn’t entirely fooled by an attractive face and form.”

  To Cara’s surprise, Gramps leaned forward and patted Grand-mère’s arm. “Love makes everyone stupid. One time Coyote fell in love with a rock with a hole in it.” Coyote covered his snout with his paws in what looked like genuine embarrassment.

  That got Cara’s curiosity going. “Please tell me it was a magic rock?”

  Gramps laughed wheezily. “Nope. Just an ordinary piece of granite. At least Chenier is handsome.”

  Everyone with the exception of Jack chuckled and nodded at Gramps’s outburst and Coyote’s reaction.

  After a few seconds, Jack smiled, but he couldn’t bring himself to laugh. Chenier had an unholy amount of charisma. It was scary to think of anyone being able to plow through Grand-mère’s combination of power and earthy good sense, but like Gramps said, love made people stupid.

  He knew all about that.

  The quiet in the room felt uneasy as he thought about all the ways he and Cara had screwed things up.

  Not that he figured anyone else was thinking about that. Their silence felt uneasy because they were scared shitless.

  As was he. Which seemed to his shaman’s mind like a good reason to address the issues. “All right. So Elissa needs to open a hole between worlds and shove a bad-ass fae through it. All in a day’s work, right? In theory, a lot of us should be able to back you up magically, except we don’t know what we’re doing and your magic isn’t anything like ours. So how do we do this?”

  Elissa laughed, but it was a dark laugh, strained. “The spell I know is witch magic. It’s in Old Irish, and it’s major mojo. Major enough to be unpredictable. It didn’t work for me the first two times I cast it, and when it finally worked, it drained me completely. That time I had the Equinox on my side and more power than I’ve ever gathered before or since. We’ve all worked together before, though, so we should be able to figure out a way we can do this.” She hesitated. “Maybe. In theory. This is ancient magic we’re talking here. I think no one had actually worked the spell since the sixteenth century, back in Ireland, until we had our little emergency last spring. The spell opens gates between worlds. I don’t understand myself how it works. I just know it does. My cousin Paul could explain—he’s great at theory—but I’m not pulling someone else into this mess.”

  “I’m old magic myself, child,” Grand-mère said. “I may not be able to help you directly, but I should be able to help you figure out why the spell works.”

  “Meanwhile, we’ll also need cold iron we can use as a weapon.” Elissa’s face went dark and closed off, as if she was remembering something horrid. “To separate him from the earthly body.”

  “Some folks around here still make their own bullets so they can build blessings in. Can’t see why a simple iron bullet wouldn’t work. Plus there’s a pile of rebar out by the shed,” Gramps wheezed. “That’s easier yet—smack the heck out of the bastard.”

  “I’ll take care of that,” Jude said, “since I’m no use in the magic department.” He smiled, only Jack knew it wasn’t an actual smile. He was showing teeth that were far too big and pointy for his human mouth.

  “I’ll help,” Cara offered. “I feel more confident with a big stick or a gun than I do with magic. And besides, I’d really like to smack Chenier.” She shuddered visibly.

  Jack kind of liked that idea, at least better than the idea of her playing with unknown magic of the caliber Elissa was describing.

  But instead of saying that, he found himself translating the words of his cougarside for the others. “No,” he said, wishing he could stop himself, but knowing the words needed to be said. “We’ll need you. Except for Grand-mère, you’re the only one who’s been touched by this creature. We need you.”

  Then he put his head in his hands and said, “Oh shit.”

  “Of course you need her, silly,” Lynx said. “But not just for that reason.”

  Everyone stared at Lynx, but especially Jack. The you seemed directed at him, a tu rather than a vous that would encompass the whole group.

  “With all due respect, Lynx, I don’t need romantic advice from forty pounds of fur.”

  “Have you ever noticed,” Lynx said in her dry British voice, “how when people say ‘with all due respect,’ they mean, ‘with a shocking lack of respect’? I wasn’t talking about your fractured love life, cougar. We need to open a gate. My poor charge is already living between two worlds, metaphysically speaking, which is why she’s part of this whole mess. She is a gate of sorts. You need her, and your enemies want her, for that reason.”

  The little crowded room flooded with light.

  No, it flooded with dark.

  Maybe both.

  Definitely it flooded with power of a kind Jack had never tasted, a wild swirling multi-hued, multi-textured energy that made his ears pop, made his pulse race with need and terror. “If you need to open a gate between the worlds,” an unfamiliar voice boomed, “why not have the shamans do it in concert with the young witch? Moving between worlds was what we created you to do.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  The voice was speaking through Coyote’s body, but it didn’t sound like his familiar raspy voice. It was blurry, androgynous, layered and huge as the cosmos.

  Coyote’s outline blurred more than usual, but what Cara saw when she peered at the place where he was wasn’t a half-man, half-coyote, but an expanse of weeping stars.

  The hair on the back of Cara’s neck stood up. Hell, all the hair on her body stood up. She began to shake. Without meaning to, she extended her hand to Jack, and Jack took it. He too was trembling.

  Lynx rolled over on her back in a posture of submission.

  Grand-mère bowed her head.

  And Jude, proud, devil-may-care Jude who acknowledged no authority other than the love of his family, sank to the floor on his knees, tugging on Rafe as he did. Rafe followed suit.

  A heartbeat later, Jack followed him to the floor, but he didn’t let go of Cara’s hand.

  The only one still standing was Elissa.

  Cara looked around the cabin, blinking, trying to make sense of what was going on. High weirdness even by her current adjusted-for-Couguar-Caché standards, but she had no idea what it was. Something powerful was going on, but as strongly as she felt…something…it wasn’t affecting her at the same level it was affecting the duals.

  Elissa glared, spoke a few words in that language Cara assumed was Gaelic, and gestured over where Coyote and the hole in reality coincided. Then an awed smile washed over her face. “That’s…that’s Trickster,” Elissa stammered. “You’re really Trickster! I thought it might be some fae playing with us, but you’re Trickster.”

  Coyote flickered back into visibility for a second and drawled, “Shit, girl, I could have told you that even before he-she climbed inside me and took me for a ride,” before vanishing again into a swirl of stars.

  “Good to know someone double-checked,” Grand-mère said. “With all the illusion magic that’s been flung around lately, you shouldn’t trust your own face in the mirror, let alone a supposed deity in the corner.”

  Tension that Cara hadn’t been able to name melted away. Not that having an actual deity in the room
with you wasn’t fucking terrifying, but Trickster had no plans to attack them. If he/she wanted them out of the way, reality in this part of the world would be temporarily suspended and they’d be squirrels or cartoon characters or clumps of mud.

  Gramps was the one who actually addressed the starry void. “But how do we open that door and toss a fae through it? I know how to find the door between worlds to guide a soul home when this life ends, and how to open a door to peek in on another place or time in this world, even how to open a door in someone’s mind, but you’re talking about forcing a hole open into a place mortals have no business going. I know Elissa has a spell, but it sounds like a big job for one witch. How can we help her?”

  A laugh tinkled out of where Coyote sort of was, but it definitely wasn’t Coyote. It sounded like Cara’s old neighbor, the drag queen from Toronto, if she imagined amazing cosmic power behind the thick makeup and the theatrically over-the-top chuckle. “Safe, schmafe. Whoever grew or learned or even had fun while being safe? Just ask the blonde, who’s one of the keys here, in case you’ve all been too slow to figure it out.”

  Every head turned toward Cara. Coyote’s head snapped around with an audible pop and a whir like gears in motion. Lynx simply rolled her huge eyes, pretending she wasn’t all that interested but still indulging her curiosity.

  Both Jack and Jack’s cougarside all but ogled her. Now that she knew why Jack had been acting particularly obnoxious and realized it wasn’t his fault, she didn’t mind being ogled by him, but the intensity of it was disconcerting—as if he was desperately trying, just like everyone else, to figure out what Trickster meant, but at the same time was reliving various episodes of amazing if ill-timed sex.

  And given who else was in the room, she figured they all knew what he was thinking.

  I wish I could just sink into the floor, Cara thought, looking for a place to hide from the curious stares and not seeing one.

  Abruptly, the floor grew soft beneath her chair, almost liquid, letting off a strange, sappy smell. Her feet and the bottoms of the chair legs disappeared into the muck. Lynx, who’d been sprawled at her feet, jumped back. “Control yourself, Cara!” Her tight Oxford voice degenerated to an angry hiss.