by JK Cooper
She gave him a half-smile. “I suppose I could send you to clean the ballywog tanks for a hundred years. Would you prefer that?”
Theo considered it, but knew he never could. He had an irrational fear of mud, one of his Fae inheritances. The thought of working with it for a hundred years, the filth spotting his clothes, touching his skin, or getting in his mouth, made him gag violently.
“How long will my banishment be?”
“For all time.”
No one gasped. The room had gone dead silent. You could hear breathing and nothing more. She had just pronounced the worst possible judgement that could be passed upon their kind. Everyone stared at the queen, Fae faces a mix of horror and delight.
“What? Mom?” Theo dodged another strike from the staff. “That’s insane!”
She smiled wider. “I know. It is, isn’t it? So deliciously insane.” She leaned forward again. “But I am also generous.”
A few Fae sighed in relief. She would have stipulations attached to the banishment that could lighten the sentence.
“The world is in turmoil, but there are those who can heal it. I think you may be such a soul. You have never been good at being a Fae, but you may still serve your kind. Bring me the girl with green eyes that are sometimes gold and sometimes red without the aid of glamour. She will undo your banishment.” The queen tented her long fingers. “Go. Your punishment is law.”
Theo opened his mouth to argue, but it fell shut. He felt the wave of change roll through him and the other Fae of Seely Court as her voiced law took effect. There would be no changing her mind. There would be no help from other Fae. It was law.
The officer dug sharp nails into his arm and dragged him out of the courtroom, past the elven nymphs and pixies who looked on him with adoration, pity, and hints of love. Many Fae were drawn to impossible romances with tragic endings, which is what he appeared to be at the moment.
The officer shoved him through a glowing doorway. He stumbled into a restroom in an upscale restaurant, still wearing his less than appropriate glamour of a graphic t-shirt and torn jeans, but it did at least hide his pointed ears and lavender hued eyes. He didn’t want to know what punishment he might get for being seen in his natural form while banished. He exited the restroom and entered the restaurant’s main dining area. Smooth jazz assaulted his ears along with the stale scent of old cigar smoke beneath a thick deodorizer.
A man in a pinstriped suit looked at him with contempt and raised an eyebrow. “Do they let just anyone in here now? Hasn’t the world gone mad enough with wolves and tanks roaming the streets?” he asked a woman half his age next to him in a scarlet dress that hugged her body.
Her glance lingered on Theo a moment too long, then she shrugged and buttered a roll.
Theo stepped back into the restroom, which was no longer a portal to Underhill. He looked in the mirror. He had applied his DJ persona glamour, which was almost exactly his true self, minus a few features. He applied another, one he hated, letting the illusion sink in and take hold well before he exited the restroom again, dressed in a black suit that smoldered with wealth and taste. He cinched up the tie, raised his chin, and strode back into the dining area. He gave the man at the table a sneer and conjured the snobbiest British accent he could muster.
“Seems they seat the riffraff near the washrooms.” To the woman, he said, “If you use less butter, you’ll resemble the substance less.” He turned on an expensive heel and beat a path toward the exit.
It was raining. Theo stood just before the revolving door, eyeing the puddles for mud. Seeing only water, he stepped out. He glanced at his watch, a Rolex sprinkled with rainwater. It shifted to a Timex as he rounded the corner, his clothes taking on a more mundane appearance. Someone—a woman—ran past, carrying a shotgun in the open.
Theo watched the woman as she kept running, glancing over her shoulder occasionally. That’s weird. He’d been on demon duty for the past two weeks and hadn’t been topside. What’s going on? Hopefully it doesn’t get in my way. I have a month to find this girl, before the pain starts and madness creeps in. Three months before disfigurement starts. Five before those are permanent. Living fires, did mom need to lose both her sons?
He walked past a store that had a broken front window that had been covered in plywood. Looting? Here? Maybe just a break in. Turmoil indeed. He caught his reflection in the next window that had been left intact. His heart hurt to see it. Sorry Alec. I failed you in more than one way. Duty. I’ll find this girl. I’ll also find that demon for you.
Shelby stared at the star-studded sky from her spot on the roof of the abandoned rest area, unable to sleep. She couldn’t stop worrying as the warm wind brought hints of smoke from the west her way. She worried about the slow-growing pack. She worried about the Hunters who were preparing to head out in the morning. She worried about her father who they wanted to go with them. She worried about the Feral who had been gathering in clumps in the forest around them, but not coming closer than that. Mostly, she worried about Kale.
The lost bond ached. It was a hole that couldn’t be filled. She knew he still loved her. He’d told her so a hundred times, but it wasn’t the same. He was sleeping just feet from her, but might as well be a hundred miles away. I miss feeling home.
I miss it too, Eira added. Skotha feels so distant.
Here I thought you might call me petulant again.
The wolf shook her head. No, it is not petulance to love deep and true. It is not childish to mourn the loss of something so rare.
Shelby hugged her chest as her heart tightened. We agree on that. She swallowed the tears that warred beneath her eyes.
Sleep, Thyra. There is much to do tomorrow. And worry is wasteful. You suffer unnecessarily if things go well and twice if things go poorly. Stop.
She stifled a laugh. Most of the rest of the camp was asleep, and she felt manic. She thought she might never stop if she let herself fall into laughter. Stop? Easier said than done.
Eira smiled back. I know. Try.
Shelby laid back down and rolled to her side but shot back up as a shadow stood at the edge of the roof. Another stood next to it. She recognized the shape of her father and calmed slightly, but anxious to see what caught her father’s attention.
A large wolf bounded onto the roof. Grant’s shadow tensed and then relaxed. It sat down, and the smaller shadow joined it. Shelby thought that it might be Bryanne. The two had taken to watching each other’s back, a professional courtesy.
The wolf picked its way through sleeping forms, gently and silently. Iorna stepped to Shelby’s side. The Mystic of the dead Goddess stared at her for a long moment. Shelby felt her concern and realized the Feral might be trying to talk to her. Shelby shifted beneath the thin blanket. Her clothes were tatters anyway.
Sorry, but I noticed you do not sleep, Iorna said.
That does seem to be the popular topic tonight.
I do not understand.
Just been discussing my lack of sleep with myself and the wolf that lives inside me. Why are you up?
Iorna sniffed the wind and looked skyward. I have been thinking about the Feral. You may want to move us north.
Shelby stretched her wolf body out, enjoying the warmth of fur. I should have done this earlier, her mind moaned to herself. Then she responded to Iorna. Why?
Most of us stick to the northern reaches of this world, where game is plentiful and humans few. The Feral will cross continents to meet you, but it would be a kindness for you to meet them halfway. It would also put space between us and our enemies. The Mystic locked her amber eyes on Shelby’s. At least until we are ready, until you are ready.
Shelby dipped her head to show acceptance of Iorna’s wisdom. Where would you suggest? Bryanne said Wyoming was full of Advent. Idaho? Montana? The Dakotas? That made Shelby start. Her heart still ached for the loss of their pack elder.
Iorna rubbed a paw at her nose. You should consult the Isluxua.
But didn’t you write it? Can’t you just s
ay?
Iorna managed to roll her amber wolf eyes. I only wrote a part of it, with the help of my scribe. I saw much that cannot be described and much I do not remember.
Shelby frowned at that. I thought Immortal Wolves remembered everything?
We do, Eira replied.
Iorna nodded and repeated the words of Shelby’s wolf. We do, but the Mystics watched shifting visions of time. Events changed. Memories changed with them. I have pieces of a thousand futures, fragments of what might have been overlapping inside me. I do not fully trust my memories, for not all of them are memories but glimpses of potential futures. The Isluxua narrows those down.
Shelby blinked. That actually makes sense.
Iorna barked a quiet laugh. Then you are truly lost. Sleep. We will consult the book in the morning.
It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was more than she had a moment before. It was enough. She padded the few feet of distance to Kale and curled up next to him, relishing the scent of manly decisiveness and responsibility on him, even if those were taking his time away from her.
That scent mingled with a magical tang of oiled metal that somehow had undertones of autumn leaves. He had taken to wearing the armor rather than clothing. It was more comfortable than it looked, and she admitted it was nice not to end up randomly naked. She could tell he was half awake.
That responsibility is a heavy burden. I may not feel you, but you are still mine, Kale. I will help you carry it. She yawned and fell asleep with her muzzle on his armored chest.
Kale woke in the middle of the night. It was a common occurrence for him since taking over the pack. He had to remind himself to sleep more than he liked. He found blue-tinted fur on his chest, keeping him mildly warm. He rubbed between his eyes with a thumb while he felt the pack link, checking for any more losses and noting the addition of more than a dozen new Feral.
He checked on Genn. His mother’s thread in the pack link was safe and secure. He worried about her. He couldn’t sense her grief like Shelby, but he had plenty of his own, so he could guess her state.
She is strong, a survivor, Skotha spoke to his mind.
I know. I just wish she didn’t have to be. Surviving a loved one is a horrible thing.
Skotha nodded. It is at first, but then you see that a part of that person lives on in you. You keep them alive. It is better that you and your mother did not perish. You keep Elias alive.
There was an eagerness and anger in Skotha as he spoke. Kale thought he understood.
You want to finish what you started. You want me to give you control again, so you can hunt down Viersin.
Skotha calmed. I do miss autonomy at times. I live through another. I am lucky that your love and my love are one. And revenge belongs to both of us. Elias, countless Immortal Wolves . . . Viersin and Mareus must pay for those lives.
Agreed. He will, I swear. And I’ll give you your freedom more often. Perhaps we can agree on an hour a day to start and see from there?
Skotha nodded. Kale could feel his desire for more, but also a deep patience.
Kale checked the pack link once more. Sensing no danger, he focused on Shelby.
“Glad you finally fell asleep, love.”
He shifted, let the armor go with more reluctance than he liked, and curled into her.
He didn’t sleep long before another body pressed into his, pulling him from a dream that wasn’t pleasant. Kale started to growl but stopped himself. He didn’t have to open his eyes to recognize Bubba, who smelled like protein bars and MREs. Much of their meager rations had gone toward restoring DeShawn after the battle. Their resident PK hadn’t put on all his weight, but he no longer looked like death’s malnourished cousin.
“Share some of that delicious fur with a brother. Not fair you wolf types have them built-in blankies.” Bubba muttered something more about fleas, but it was mostly incoherent as he fell back asleep. Amanda and Chelsea rolled closer too. Sean seemed to have created a spell to keep him comfortable. Either that or he slept too soundly to note the dropping temperature. He snored softly.
Kale smiled and let his friend snuggle against him. I’ve made a weird pack. Dad would’ve liked it, I think. The smile faded. Despite the warmth and closeness of the two people he loved most in the world, Kale found himself shivering. The only thing that kept him from getting up and pacing the perimeter of their camp was an unwillingness to wake them. It took him hours to fall asleep again.
Bryanne leaned over the Isluxua with Gennesaret across from her on the rotting picnic table as the sun rose over the trees. They’d found an abandoned rest area off the old highway somewhere in northern Colorado, forgotten when new interstates took over and exits closed. It had served as a base for a couple days, most of them sleeping on the roof of the bathrooms. The inside had proven overwhelming for the Lycan sense of smell, so the Hunters claimed that.
Bryanne still dripped from the quick makeshift shower she’d taken earlier, her clothes sticking to her. She leaned back, careful to keep her lack of towel from damaging the book. The bathrooms didn’t work, but there was a manual water pump on one end of the overgrown rest area that worked. It had felt a luxury to splash clean water on her skin in the moonlight, rubbing away the dust of travel and dried blood that may or may not have been hers.
Genn and Bryanne had spent hours under the one pavilion still standing, pouring through the tome. The flashlight they’d been using died last night, so Bryanne took advantage of the break to clean up, but returned to the task with the sunlight. She was one of only four in the pack who could read it.
“Through the demon gate to the pool of light.” Bryanne paused. “That’s not great. Demons are bad news.”
“Wait, Demons are real?” Genn asked. “I suspected, with how often they appear in ancient texts, but had hoped my suspicions were unfounded.”
“Unfortunately, they are very real. Nasty creatures that eat magic, but they rarely make it to Earth. They are also the reason Alsvoira fell.”
Genn pursed her lips. “I thought that was Mareus.”
Bryanne nodded. “Him too.”
”First things first, the key. Go back a bit,” Genn prodded.
Bryanne heard and felt movement. She glanced up to watch Grant walk past, leading a group of Hunters on their perimeter check.
Genn cleared her throat.
Bryanne blushed and read the passage to Gennesaret again, rushing a bit as she tried to hide blusher embarrassment. “Royal blood shall unlock the third. Stars in the desert, powdered with white. Signs in the mountains, roses will bloom. Bring key and lock to where palace meets brine.” The Bandruí looked up from the Isluxua and took in the expression of concentration on her Lycan friend. “That means something to you?”
Genn rubbed her temples. “Royal blood must refer to Fae royalty, right? They have that?”
Bryanne nodded. “Yes, they have a queen and king. It’s not as straightforward as human royalty, but it fits. They aren’t the only race with a structure that resembles royalty, but,” she rubbed the bow and arrow symbol at the top of the page, “this represents the Fae for sure. They are partial to that weapon.”
“Were you there?” Genn squinted at her. The Lycan had long known what Bryanne was but did not know everything. “On Alsvoira?”
Bryanne laughed. “How old do you think I am, woman? My grandmother was. She told me stories. They were like fairy tales to me at first. I wouldn’t meet one of the fair-folk until I joined the agency.”
“That makes you more of an expert than anyone else here. We’ll need you. As for the rest of the passage,” Genn paused for a long time as she considered her conclusions, “that’s either Hollywood or Salt Lake City.”
“What? How sure are you?”
Genn shrugged. “Maybe eighty percent sure it’s one of those. The puzzle works for either. Stars in the desert may refer to actual stars, the crystals left behind in the sand by the Great Salt Lake, or actors and actresses. Powdered with white is either the makeup of pampe
red Hollywood elite or the salt residue left as the lake evaporates. The middle part escapes me, but the last part is pretty clear. Palace meets brine. So, we look for a fancy building on the ocean or tucked up against the salty lake.”
“They are both quite a way in different directions.”
“Salt Lake it is,” Kale spoke up from the edge of the pavilion where he leaned against a post. Shelby was at his side. Both wore their armor.
Bryanne had felt them coming, the bending of grass blades, the movement of insects and nematodes at their footsteps. She did not jump. Genn didn’t either. Bryanne didn’t question him. It made sense. They had been moving slowly north anyway. It would also be difficult to hide the pack in the middle of Los Angeles.
He explained his decision despite no one asking. “Shelby and Iorna feel like north is the best route to take. We’ll meet up with more of the Feral on the way.” He looked off into the distance. “We need to find a faster way to travel.”
“I’ve taken care of that.” This time Bryanne jumped. She had not sensed Grant’s arrival. He stood on the crumbling concrete to her left.
He must have doubled back and avoided setting off any of her natural triggers. How did the man do that? She glanced his way. And how does he look that good after marching through alternating woods and desert for weeks? He stared back at her, a soft smile on his lips as though he knew what she was thinking. She became very aware of her matted wet hair and sticky clothing. She coughed. “How?”
“I had the Hunter network buy us a couple buses.”
Getting the Feral onto a bus is like herding six-year-olds away from a carnival. It took all of Shelby’s Omega influence and much of Kale’s Alpha prodding to convince a third of them to get on board. Iorna promised she would lead the rest of them their way through the wilder parts. They were still drawn to Shelby, so it was just a matter of time.
Time we may not have, Shelby thought bitterly.
What did I say about worry? Eira prompted.