by Ann Gimpel
“Wonder how many other Roma are wandering around Holland,” he muttered.
“A lot of them from the sound of things.” Meara dropped her hands to her sides. “There. Not much more we can do here.”
“At least the gypsies here have had a few years to develop skills to conceal themselves.”
Meara glanced at him. “You sound bitter.”
“I am. I’ve become fond of the Rom in the years I’ve traveled with their caravans. Their magic dates to the beginnings of the world.”
She shrugged. “So does shifter power and the odd hybrid magic you possess. The woman determined you were different immediately. How the hell did you conceal yourself from—?”
He made a chopping motion with one hand. “She has power the likes of which I’ve never seen in a Romani. She’s empathic, able to delve deep into what people are. And without much apparent effort from the looks of things.”
“Pfft. That’s always been part of Rom magic.”
“Not to the extent Yara has it. Nowhere close.”
“I’ll have to take a closer look—if she decides to join us. Are we still headed for that northern port city?”
“Harlingen?”
“Yes, that’s the one you identified before.”
“I still think it’s a good idea,” he replied. “As we angle north, the settlements are smaller, and the odds of covering our tracks improve. Come on.” He tossed one more layer of obfuscation over the vampire. It had stopped smoking at least, but an unmistakable burned smell permeated the area. “Can ye get rid of that stench?”
Meara shook her head. “No. It will die out soon enough. I’ve done everything I can, including obscuring our scents. It’s one thing for the vampires to locate their fallen kin. That will happen eventually, but I’d just as soon they didn’t latch onto anything overly obvious to track us. If I’d realized that nest outside Dachau had more members, I’d have taken more care with the fires and spells I fashioned there.”
Vampires were exceptional trackers. Stewart thought it unlikely they wouldn’t be able to glean enough information to come after them, but he kept his opinions to himself. If it happened, they’d deal with it. The truck was a much bigger problem. While probably not the only transport vehicle in the Netherlands, it was large, clunky, and recognizable.
They hastened back to the rest of the group. Michael stood next to the truck making hurry up motions with both hands. “Everyone’s inside,” he informed them. “We need to get moving.”
“Did Yara join us?” Stewart’s words surprised him. He’d been thinking about her but didn’t realize he’d spoken out loud.
He clamped his jaws together to keep further speculation from escaping his control. He’d been intrigued by Rom in several of his caravans, but had never acted on any of the attractions. It wouldn’t have been fair. Women needed to see him for himself before he bedded them, and that would never happen in a caravan where he masqueraded as Romani.
“Not yet.” Michael shrugged. “It’s quite a leap of faith for someone who’s been living alone as long as she has. That’s why I’m still out here. I wanted to offer reassurance in case she returned but harbored ambivalence.”
“And here I thought you were still standing here to protect her from me.” Power crackled around Meara, and she swung her body in a full circle. “She’s coming. I feel her magic. It’s distinctive, but I haven’t the time to sort it out just now.”
Michael snorted. “You can be a bit on the overwhelming side, but now I feel just plain stupid. I could have employed power and looked for myself, but didn’t.”
“Not stupid. Instinctive and wise,” Meara retorted. “Enough expended power will draw vampires.”
“But you just—”
Meara cut off his words with a withering glance. “I’m about to take to my bird form. If anyone tracks my energy, it won’t lead them back to the rest of you.” She focused her attention on Stewart. “That was why I inquired about our route. I’ll overfly things and be in contact telepathically with what I find.”
“Fair enough. We’ll drive through the night,” Stewart said. “I’d rather put as much distance between ourselves and the vampires as we can. Here’s hoping there’s not a curfew in this country like there is in Germany.”
Bright light flashed, joining the sunbaked, rosemary scent of Meara’s magic. When his vision cleared, the vulture was airborne, her wings pumping hard. “Good to have a forward scout,” he muttered.
“Indeed. I’ve come to appreciate shifters in a way I never thought possible,” Michael said.
“Comes of keeping an open mind.” Stewart jerked his chin toward the sound of boots pelting toward them. “Get into the truck. Yara and I will be there soon.”
Michael nodded and trudged toward the back of the truck. Worry flowed from him, but he had it well in hand before he lifted the heavy canvas cover and climbed into the back. Part of any caravan leader’s job was to project confidence, so your people didn’t lose hope. That had become progressively harder as Germany sank into a war touting Aryan supremacy as the sole standard for survival.
A war where everyone who wasn’t blonde, blue-eyed, and part of the master race was at risk of imprisonment…
Magic had to survive. If it didn’t, the world would devolve into chaos.
Yara came into view and cut off the troubling flow of his thoughts. Her arms overflowed with cloth bags. He hurried toward her, intent on helping.
“Guess ye’re planning to stay,” he joked and tugged a couple of sacks out of her hands.
Color stained her thin cheeks. “Silly of me, but I hated to leave anything behind. I may not have much, but—”
“’Tis all right. I ken well enough. I was teasing. None of us have aught by way of possessions. We planned to return to our caravans near Munich, but changed our minds after we attacked a German prison camp on the outskirts of Berlin.”
“Were you successful?” A savage tone lay beneath her words, as if she were rooting for them to have slain as many Nazis as possible.
“We were.” They reached the truck and he helped her inside, handing her belongings to her before jumping onto the high bed.
The engine was already running, and the truck began to roll. “Angle northwest,” he told the driver.
“Not toward Amsterdam?” The bear shifter sounded surprised.
“Meara and I decided on Harlingen on the northern coast. Sorry. Meant to say something, but the vampire got in the way.”
“Glad I asked,” the driver grumbled. “Harlingen is probably safer. I used to drive a delivery truck. My route included the Netherlands, Belgium, and France. The easiest port used to be Havre, but France is crawling with Nazis.”
“The country will be occupied soon enough,” Elliott spoke up. “Apologies for listening in, but you didn’t bother to shield your telepathy, and I’ve seen France overrun in visions.”
“No apologies needed,” Stewart said.
“Are Nazis coming here too?” Yara trained her unusual eyes on Elliott.
“Yes. I can’t tack the time down exactly, but it will be soon. A few months at most.”
“Oh. Maybe a good thing I’m leaving then.” Brave words, but they lacked conviction, and she sounded sad. “I might have listened in on your conversation with the driver too. Harlingen is a reasonable choice.”
Stewart motioned to Yara, who sat surrounded by her things. Maybe talking would help her feel less isolated from the rest of them. “Tell us about yourself, lass.”
A crooked grin made her look young and vulnerable. “Funny, but I was about to ask you the same thing. Who are all of you? And why are Rom and shifters working together? Doesn’t it violate some long-ago edict?”
“Fair enough,” Tairin said. “I can see why you’d be curious about us and wondering if you made the right decision.”
“Not so much that. I know this country. If it turns out to be a bad call on my part, I can always retreat to my cave. Maybe. Travel will become even
more dangerous if the Nazis show up.”
Cadr eyed her speculatively. “If ye werena planning to stay, ye’d not have brought all those things.”
“No point going into any venture unless you have hopes for its success,” she countered. “As for my things, they’re all I have, and I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving any of it behind.” She scrunched her face into a thoughtful expression. “I do want to know about you, though.”
“I understand about abandoning things,” Tairin said. “Long ago, my caravan discovered my mixed blood and kicked me out. I had a small sack with me. Not much, but it was all I could carry and still travel.” She hesitated before continuing. “Someone stole it, and it made what came next much easier because I had nothing left to lose.”
Stewart’s heart went out to the shifter. She’d revealed what she was several weeks ago to up their odds of destroying a nest of vampires. Rom weren’t strong enough to withstand vampire mind control tactics. Shifters were, so she’d hunted down her long-lost father, the man who’d abandoned her, to demand help.
Something about his last thought jolted him, and he held up a hand. “Aron. Come closer.”
“Why?” The young man angled his head to one side.
“Ye attacked the vampire.”
“Yeah. So what?”
“So he wasn’t able to control you. You’re Romani. You should’ve been an easy mark for him.”
Understanding flared on faces ringed around the truck’s bed. “Do you suppose that thing Meara did to him changed him somehow?” Ilona asked and focused a worried expression on her brother.
Magic shimmered as several of them reached to examine Aron.
“Sheathe your power. The vampires havena gone away.” Stewart kept his voice low, but made certain the command was obeyed. “Aron, come close enough for me to touch you.”
This time, Aron slithered across the expanse of truck bed separating them, and Stewart placed a hand over the back of his head. Directed magic, anchored by touch, wouldn’t seep outside the truck. He took his time, probing carefully. Aron’s primary ability was future-seeing. It was intact, but Stewart located places Meara had made alterations in the overall warp and weft of Aron’s magic.
He removed his hand.
“Hey! Am I a shifter now?” Aron asked excitedly.
“Nay. Not even close,” Stewart replied. “Meara transformed the areas where vampire magic made you even more susceptible to their hypnosis.”
“The thing that happened after they fed on me, right?”
“Exactly,” Stewart concurred. “Anyway, she not only got rid of their insidious incursion into your free will, she made certain they couldna mesmerize you at all.”
“Good to know. Means I can fight them all I want.”
“It does not,” Ilona said sternly. “They can still sink their fangs into you and turn you.”
“Aw, Sissy. I was just joshing.” Aron crawled back to the blanket he’d been lying on.
“Some of you were Rom and now you’re shifters.” Yara spoke up. “Is that an easy transformation?”
“No,” Michael answered. “Nor is it sanctioned by either of our people. Tairin began with mixed blood. Her mother was Rom, and you’ve met her father, Jamal. Elliott and Ilona became shifters because they were dying. Linkage with a bond animal was the only way to save their lives, and the sole condition where transformation is allowable.”
“I see, but Aron wants to be a shifter.”
“Who wouldn’t? He grinned. “It’d be like having the ultimate imaginary sidekick.”
Ilona ruffled his hair. “My wolf just pointed out that it’s far from imaginary.”
“Why’d you come to the Netherlands?” Yara asked. “There’s lots more I want to know about all of you and how you ended up together, but—”
“This country will be occupied by the Reich in a few months,” Ilona broke in. “So will France. At least according to Stewart, our magic will be stronger in the British Isles, and we’ll have a better chance of sabotaging the Reich from there.”
“At first, we’d planned to stage raids on prison camps—in between taking on vampire nests—but the logistics of traveling in Germany were harder than we anticipated,” Tairin added.
Yara narrowed her eyes in thought. “Stewart told me you attacked a prison camp. I’m not seeing how moving across the North Sea will give you any advantage, no matter how strong your magic becomes. Not that I’m questioning a strategy you’ve decided on as a group.” She lowered her gaze to her hands. “Sorry, I spoke out of turn.”
“Ye dinna. All opinions are welcome.” Stewart dragged his attention away from her, but it wasn’t easy.
“Vampires joined forces with the Reich. Did you know that?” Elliott asked.
A muted gasp escaped Yara. “No. I couldn’t figure out why there were so many of them all of a sudden, but that explains it.”
“Hitler believes he can control them.” Michael snorted. “He has no idea what he’s up against.”
Stewart nodded. “Aye, they’re only playing along because ’tis advantageous. Gives them access to blood and death in the prison camps.”
“Doona forget all the sex they can handle.” Cadr jumped into the conversation.
A blush etched into Yara’s fair skin, and Stewart sent a pointed glance Cadr’s way. “Och. Sorry if I was a wee bit blunt,” Cadr said.
“Blunt is fine,” Yara retorted. “It’s better than beating around the bush and having your words misinterpreted.”
“I’ve likely spent more time in close quarters with vampires than any of the rest of you,” Jamal said. “They were common as caravans in Egypt. They’ll tire of Hitler and his rants. When that happens, we may gain an unlikely ally, so long as we don’t make the mistake of trusting them.”
“We’ll never fight on the same side,” Stewart cautioned. “Best we can hope for is they’ll launch their own war against the Reich. Hopefully, they’ll weaken them enough to amplify our efforts.”
“There is that angle,” Jamal agreed. “And it’s a good one.”
“I know who’s shifter and who’s Rom,” Yara said looking at Cadr, “and I know some of your names, but—”
“Sorry. I should’ve given my name afore I spoke. I’m Cadr and this is my brother Vreis.”
Voices rose and fell as everyone in the wagon introduced themselves. “Will ye remember who everyone is?” Stewart asked.
“Yes. I’m very good at that,” Yara replied. “I could have peeked into your minds and culled names that way, but it seemed rude.”
“Your magic is odd for a Romani,” Aron piped up.
“Hush.” Ilona trained gray eyes on her brother. “That wasn’t polite.”
“People have told me that my whole life.” Yara turned her hands palms up. “It’s the way of the world. Me being different made other Romani nervous, but I was good with the Tarot cards, and telling fortunes came easy since I read people so well. The gadjo didn’t trust any of us, so they treated me like one more gypsy.”
“And your leader welcomed the coin you brought in.” Michael’s deep voice rumbled.
“Of course, he did. I miss him. He was wise and fair.”
“Were you born in the caravan?” Michael prodded.
She nodded. “Yes. My mother died when I was twelve giving birth to what would have been my little brother—if he’d survived—but he died right along with her. After that, it was my two sisters and me and Father, but he drank a lot. So much, he wasn’t good for anything. The caravan leader gave up on him, but didn’t kick him out because then my sisters and I would’ve been orphans—”
“—and another would have taken over your wagon and stock,” Stewart finished her sentence.
“Yes.” She blew out a tight breath. “Turns out that happened anyway. My oldest sister claimed sovereignty and took the wagon and team when the caravan was breaking up. It was all right. I didn’t want them. I didn’t want anything that might identify me as Romani, and wagons are a
dead giveaway. I was fifteen at the time. My other sister was a year older. She and I stuck together until she met an Irish man. He was as poor as we were, but had a silver tongue, truly the soul of a poet. He talked her into running away with him to Galway, where he was from.
“She and I wrote. Not often, but a few times a year. I haven’t received anything from her for eight months now, and I’m beginning to worry.” She furrowed her brow. “Galway is probably a long way from where we’re going, huh?”
“Aye, lass,” Stewart replied. “That it is. I’d thought northern Scotland as good a goal as any other with its Highlands and islands. Did your sister have your same magic?”
An unreadable expression crossed Yara’s face, but it was gone before he could interpret it. “No. Nor did my oldest sister. Ma’s power was weak as dishwater. And Father was drunk so much of the time, it was impossible to tell what type of power he commanded. Rom magic is dying, withering. Once we were far stronger—”
“Aye, I’m well aware of all that. Do ye have an explanation for the source of your magic?” Stewart redirected her away from what was turning into a rambling philosophical commentary, but gently.
“Of course, I do, but it shames me.” She tipped her chin at a defiant angle.
“Nay, lass, ’twould be your Mum who’d bear the shame for her choices. Did she never tell you who your Da was?”
Yara shook her head. “It wasn’t as if I didn’t ask. Not in that way because I was too young to know much about sex then, but I realized I was different and I peppered her with questions about why. No child likes to stand out—for reasons that make others shun her.”
Stewart wanted to draw her close, stroke her long, thick hair and console her, but she wasn’t asking for comfort.
Tairin scooched closer to Yara and wrapped an arm around her. “It’s all right. I understand better than you think.” Tairin’s eyes held a pinched look. “My mother never told me the truth, either—until she had no choice—and by then it was too late for both of us.”
“Romani women are all like that,” Ilona said. “Stubborn and strong-willed. It’s what’s kept us going, given us the ability to stand up to the men.”