by Cecy Robson
My pace dwindles, slowing me to a stop just beside him. “What is it?” I ask, recognizing something is very wrong.
He shakes his head, anger stirring his beast. “Nothing good,” he says.
Without asking, Shayna slides into the driver’s seat and turns the Jeep to face the direction we drove in from, ensuring a quick getaway should we need one. It’s a smart tactic, and one we’ve implemented several times throughout the years. You might notice we’ve been in danger once or twice.
“This isn’t supposed to be a strong witch,” he reminds me. “The brief Genevieve sent describes her as mediocre at best, and someone never properly schooled.”
“Yeah. I read the memo,” I mutter.
Shayna and Emme zip the power windows closed and hurry out, slamming the doors behind them.
I motion ahead when they reach us. “This doesn’t feel like the kind of magic a mediocre witch would cast. So either Vieve was wrong, really wrong, or she played us.”
Bren gives it some thought. “Genevieve wouldn’t deliberately screw us over, we’re too close to Aric and she’s not stupid enough to mess with him.”
“But her sisters might,” I point out, remembering it was one of her guards who suggested this little bounty hunt. “Neither said anything you or the other wolves could have perceived as a lie.”
Bren shakes his head. “I’m not buying it. Guarding a head witch is a position of honor, granted to those deemed most worthy. It’s similar to when were beasts are selected as Warriors to guard our pureblood Leaders. Genevieve’s guards wouldn’t risk their status or their lives, and Genevieve would be obliged to turn them over to the Pack if they knowingly set us up.”
He huffs when another breeze streams through the trees, the force harsh enough to lift my hair away from my shoulders and send his messy waves sweeping along his brow. “Either this witch has aligned herself with someone stronger, or she’s not the weakling everyone thought.”
I try not to react or make it about me. But it’s hard to stomach that despite Savana’s wimp status on the magic scale, Vieve didn’t think I could take her down. That’s how little she believes in my abilities. Well, maybe it’s time to prove her wrong.
“You guys ready?” I ask, forcing myself to stand slightly ahead of Bren.
Shayna fumbles through her backpack and pulls out a box of toothpicks before passing the heavy pack to Emme. Emme doesn’t need her hands free to kick ass, but Shayna does.
“So what’s the plan, dudes?” Shayna asks. “Onward and upward?”
“Yeah,” I answer, shrugging when Bren looks at me. “This isn’t the good kind of magic, Bren. With all the evil set to rise, and the bad guys needing dark witches to make it happen, you know our motto: no stone left unturned, and no scaries left to chew on our insides.”
He snags my elbow when I start to head for the dense brush. “If we can, I’ll let you make the capture. It’s the only way to keep Genevieve from sinking her teeth into you. But that thing in there—if it’s as bad as I think it is—there’s no bringing her home alive, got me? I’ll make the kill if it comes down to it.”
He doesn’t think I can take her, much less kill her. And maybe he’s right. But that doesn’t mean we can turn our backs and pretend she’s not here.
I kick at the dirt at my feet. I don’t like to kill, despite what people think and despite that it’s something I’m freakishly good at. I’ve had plenty of practice, believe me. My first kill occurred when I was just a teen, the second, moments after. It was the right thing to do given what happened. That doesn’t mean I wasn’t sick to my gut. I burned them with enough heat to smoke their chests, allowing them to feel every ounce of pain they caused me and my sisters. Too many followed after that, enough that I’ve lost count. But as much as the dead mark my bones, and stay a part of me, I’ll do it again if I have to.
I meet Bren’s face. “Dead or alive, we have to take care of Savana and whoever else might be helping her.”
“Even if it means you get stuck serving Genevieve?” he presses.
He’s not asking. He knows taking out Savana is the right thing to do. He’s just making sure we’re all on the same page. “Yes,” I answer. My focus drifts to my sisters. “Do what you have to do to stay safe. Don’t worry about me.”
It’s a stupid thing to say. Of course they’ll worry. For once in our lives I’m the one who needs coddling. Not that I don’t absolutely hate it.
My hiking boots press into the ground as we move away from the road. They’re not what I count as cute shoes. But since my cute clothes tend to end up covered with blood and smelly supernatural fluids, here I am in jeans, a long-sleeved shirt and vest, and yeah, the hiking boots.
Bren leaps over a thick section of brush, landing smoothly as I try to figure out the closest way in. “It’s clear,” he says. “Come on.”
He means the first few feet are clear. I can’t see jack over these thick brambles. I look hopelessly to Emme, wishing I didn’t have to. She regards me almost apologetically, realizing what I’m asking her to do.
Emme is good at a lot of things: baking, scrapbooking, and keeping up on all our collective bills. But her aim sucks. So when she throws me over the brush with her force, it takes all I have not to scream. Thankfully Bren is good at catching, no matter how bad the throw.
“Christ,” I mutter as he eases me down.
Shayna inherited a bit of were from Koda’s essence. And while she’ll never heal or run as fast as a were, he gave her enough agility to clear the thick brambles without Emme’s help.
Poor Emme. Her aim isn’t any better on herself. Bren has to “go long” to keep her from slamming into a tree when she launches herself forward.
Shayna and I jog ahead to where Bren is lowering Emme to the ground. He kisses her cheek, a show of affection he often demonstrates to us, but this time she doesn’t welcome it like she once did. She meets his eyes, backing away slowly, as if she’s afraid to step too close. Bren frowns, speaking low. Emme answers with a nod, but again steps further away from him.
Shayna doesn’t seem to notice, skipping across the rugged terrain as if we’re out for a stroll and not walking into some evil crap we may have to kill before it rips us apart. But I notice. Something is definitely up with Emme. I stiffen when he strokes her cheek. And son of a bitch, it may have to do with Bren!
What the hell?
I hurry forward when I realize I’m just standing there, gaping at them.
I don’t think I take more than a few steps when something crunches beneath the sole of my left boot. I think it’s a stick, but the sound seems off, especially since the ground is so moist. I lift my foot only to jump away.
“T, you coming?” Shayna calls when I don’t move.
“T?” she asks again.
I swallow hard, hoping I’m imagining things as they run back to me.
“What’s wrong?” Emme asks. Unlike Shayna who’s fired up for all the action about to go down, I can sense the worry in her voice.
“Bren . . .” I begin, pointing to the spot near my feet. “Is that a, um, toe?”
He cocks his head. “Nah.”
Emme places her hand over her heart and sighs. “Oh, good—”
“It’s a thumb,” he answers. He sniffs the air. “Right hand, male, and the poor bastard’s been dead a long time.” He looks ahead. “Yeah, this shit’s not good. Call it in, Shayna, but type it. Don’t use voice-to text.”
“Why, dude?” Shayna asks, reaching for her phone in her back pocket.
“Because I’m not sure how well this bitch can hear, or if she has other things listening for her,” he responds.
He motions ahead to a crow. It squawks twice in our direction and flutters away.
Shayna lifts her phone to show us the blank screen. “Phone’s dead, kids.” She quickly pockets it and places a handful of toothpicks in her palm. “I wouldn’t bother, Emme,” she adds when Emme reaches for her phone. I doubt any of our phones are working.”
“She’s right,” Bren says. He shoves his phone into the backpack Emme is carrying and peels off his white T-shirt.
“This keeps getting better and better,” I mutter.
Bren strips out of his jeans, leaving only his underwear and shit-kickers on. “Em, stay behind me,” he tells her. “Shayna, you’ve got the rear.”
Which leaves me in front of Shayna and the most protected. I’ll be honest, this helpless damsel in distress role does nothing for my morale.
I march ahead, forcing myself to snap out of the shock of finding some guy’s thumb, push aside my fear and tap into my inner diva. I remember a little too late that my inner diva is louder and usually sashays in platform stilettos. I slow my steps, careful not to disturb the creepy things hiding in the bushes.
Let me be the first to tell you, woods are bullshit and top the scales on the scary meter, second only to graveyards. It’s the reason so many horror movies are based here, and why I’m watching out for psychos with machetes lurking behind trees. But given our past experiences, where danger lurks, so do the dark ones. I’ve had my fill of alleyways, construction sites, abandoned structures, but especially these damn eerie woods!
With every step, the canopy of twisting branches above us tightens, darkening the forest. But it’s the shift in the air that sends goose bumps skittering up my arms. Instead of warmth, the surrounding breeze grows dank and heavy. My stare darts in every direction, knowing we’re no longer alone.
Something shoots out from beneath an old log, scuttling like a crab and moving so fast I barely catch sight of it. It skitters beneath a spread of thick ferns, causing the cluster of leaves to tremble as it passes, only to come to an abrupt stop.
Okay. So much for not disturbing the creepy.
I back away from it, only to slam into Bren. “Was that a spider?” I ask.
“No,” he responds, his voice gathering that edge it does before he sprouts fangs.
“It wasn’t?” Emme stammers, inching closer to Bren. “It moved like a spider. A really big spider. I mean, it had legs and everything.”
“Those weren’t legs,” Bren mutters. He turns to Shayna. “I point, you shoot. Got me?”
Shayna’s eyes narrow, demonstrating her focus. The small amount of sunlight trickling through the overhanging branches shimmers along the length of the toothpicks as she transforms them into long and deadly needles.
Bren inhales deep and closes his eyes. No one else moves. Hell, no one else breathes. His hand shoots up, pointing down and away from the line of ferns. Shayna doesn’t hesitate. Her hand whips out and the needles shoot forward. Again, Bren points. Again, Shayna sends a long needle soaring, further away between a tight row of trees. The motions repeat, causing whatever it hits to scratch frantically against the earth.
“What are they?” Emme asks, barely able to get the words out.
I shake my head, unable to respond. Whatever those things are, they aren’t happy about being caught. They’re not just scratching, they’re clawing at the ground, trying to break free and causing the mounds of ferns camouflaging them to shake violently. This, I may add, also does nothing for my confidence.
Bren opens his eyes slowly, releasing a satisfied breath. “Okay. You got them,” he says. He frowns as he takes another whiff. “At least those close by.”
“And what exactly did she get?” I force myself to ask, longing for spiders.
“I’ll show you,” he says, marching forward. “This way.”
We follow in silence, but it’s the sweat slicking his broad back that makes me want to ask if he’s okay. His face doesn’t give much away, but the perspiration running down his spine shows me how hard he’s working to contain his beast.
The wolf inside him wants out, likely to maul whatever he senses. I almost hate that my sisters are here. Bren is protective in general, but with more of us present, there’s more his beast wants to protect, making him edgy and hard to contain. Yet when we near the first of Shayna’s captives, I’m glad my sisters are with me. You can even say I’m tickled pink.
Emme bumps into me when I grind to a halt. Bren stops in front the tree trunk where Shayna’s needle has punctured through a hand. That’s right, a freaking hand! Chunks of drying muscle shrivel into what remains of the wrist, but doesn’t exactly hide or muffle the brittle bones clicking beneath the layers of skin.
But the disturbing imagery doesn’t end there. Oh, hell no. The fingers are scrambling, circling and pressing against the trunk, desperate to get free.
“Humph,” Bren says. “Just as I thought.” He pulls the needle out and examines the quivering hand still trying to scramble away while I do my best not to face-plant on the forest floor.
“What is that?” I manage, doing my best not to hurl.
“A hand,” Bren says.
“I know that much,” I snap, fear and nausea making me irritable. “But how—I mean, why? Why is it moving?”
“Because it’s not completely dead,” he answers like I’m the stupid one.
He steps closer to us with the hand in, well, his. We step back because yeah, we’re collectively skeeved out. As it is, the thing is losing it, shaking and squirming and making grabby motions.
“You see that?” Bren says, pointing beneath it to a dark spot on the palm.
Whatever it is flakes off and falls to the ground. “Yeah,” I say because in truth, I have nothing else and it beats screaming like I very much want to.
“That’s rotting skin. It’s a zombie hand—not like yours, no offense.”
I ram my hands on my hips. “Bren, I’m not really sure how I’m supposed to take that, but for the love of all, just keep going.”
“They shouldn’t be here,” he says.
“What? The hands?” Shayna asks, glancing around like she’s missing something.
He shakes his head. “No. Zombies.” He leans back on his heels, like he didn’t just say the “z” word and as if me and my girls aren’t ready to haul ass back to the Jeep.
“My guess is that they’re a least four close by based on the amount of hands running around and whoever the thumb belongs to. This Savana chick is up to something major. We better find her and the other body parts before they find us.” He sniffs the air, frowning in the direction of a darker section of woods. “They’re over there,” he tells us. “This way.”
Chapter Seven
“Zombies,” I say, trailing behind Bren.
“Yup,” he says.
He stalks forward while me and Emme more or less stumble behind him through the uneven and littered terrain. Shayna’s Jack be Nimble steps make her more graceful. That doesn’t mean she’s any less terrified.
“Just so you know, I promised Puppy I wouldn’t be eaten,” she says. “Don’t make a liar out of me, Bren. Koda wouldn’t like that.”
“And neither would I, kid,” Bren adds.
For all we joke about being munched on like shredded wheat, we’re not really joking. There are things in this world that crave and survive on human flesh. And if it weren’t for the weres, witches, and the often begrudging help from the vamps, the human populace would be a virtual smorgasbord and overpopulation wouldn’t be an issue.
I cross my arms in front of me. It’s not that I’m cold. I’m scared. Fear is something I’ve gone to bed with too many times. But it hasn’t been this bad in years. I glance at my arm, noting how the bind presses into my skin, keeping my limb in check like a naughty child. For a fleeting moment, I debate whether to yank off the cord. Yet as much as I fear what’s lurking ahead, I fear the volatility of my arm more.
I drop my hands to my sides and close the distance between me and Bren. “I hate to sound like a complete moron,” I tell him. “But what do you mean by zombies? Are you talking Walking Dead zombies, as in suck on your brains type creatures?”
“Nah, that’s just T.V. They can’t make us one of their own and don’t eat brains.” He thinks about it. “At least not the brains of fresh kills. For the most part
they eat other dead things, road kill, rotting animals, you know, things like that.”
As nasty as the alternative sounds, you know your world is screwed up when rotted-prey-eating zombies are happy news.
“So they won’t try to kill us?” Emme asks.
“I didn’t say that,” Bren says. “I only said they wouldn’t eat fresh brains.”
“What—wait,” I say, reaching for him and speaking low. “If what you’re saying is true, we’re going to need serious back-up. I mean zombies, zombies, Bren! Why haven’t we heard of them before?”
His face shadows in anger. “Because they’re not supposed to be here,” he says. “Savana, or whoever the hell’s with her, is into some really evil shit. The dead are supposed to stay that way. To raise them is illegal and among the deadliest sins in the supernatural world.”
Emme inches to our side, keeping her head low. “Celia and Aric fought them in El Salvador. But she said they were more like skeletons.” She motions cautiously at the twitchy hand Bren continues to carry. “Based on the amount of flesh, it hasn’t been dead that long.”
“No,” he agrees. “It’s fairly fresh and newly exhumed which is a lot worse.” He pauses as if wrestling with how much to tell us. “You know what a familiar is?”
We all nod, but I’m who responds. “Something that attends to and obeys a witch, typically an animal.”
“Yeah, or in this case a person,” he clarifies. “That’s why it’s illegal, it’s like slavery, but in some ways more messed up.”
He yanks the needle free from the hand and tosses both aside. We may or may not have jumped as it scuttled away, and Emme may or may not have squeezed my breast when she clutched me.
“Sorry,” she squeaks.
“It’s okay,” I say, watching the hand disappear into the shadows. “Bren, you have to tell us more than that. How do you raise something when there’s no soul attached to it?”
“You can’t raise a body whose soul has passed, unless that soul remains trapped in purgatory,” he explains. “Or if the soul continues to roam the earth, like a ghost for example.”