A Shifter Christmas Carol

by Jennifer Ashley

“How do you know?” Dylan asked. “No one knew about these creatures until recently. I learned of their existence only a year ago.”

  “Now, many people know of them. You unleashed them.”

  Dylan growled. “Stop talking rubbish, lad, and get me out of here.”

  Tiger reached down and gripped Dylan’s arms. Unlike when Ben or Zander grabbed his hand, this hurt. Dylan spent some time swearing while Tiger propped him on his feet.

  “Well,” Dylan said, realizing he could breathe again. “Are we going?”

  The world didn’t spin this time. Tiger lifted Dylan over his shoulder, stepped across the rubble, and carried him from the room.

  They were outside in the blink of an eye. The world felt different, with a pall in it Dylan couldn’t place.

  The next thing Dylan knew, he was on the back of Tiger’s motorcycle, Tiger in front of him. Pain Dylan had never experienced rattled him as Tiger started up and glided down the drive to the road.

  “Where’s Ben?” Dylan asked him.

  “Dead,” Tiger said, and then nothing could be heard over the roar of the bike.

  Dylan didn’t remember time passing, but the sun was setting as they reached Shiftertown in Austin. Or where Shiftertown should be.

  The old airport, Mueller, had gradually been gentrified with offices and swanky new apartments, but the development seemed to have tripled overnight. Dylan saw no empty lots as Tiger zipped past.

  Shiftertown lay in a hollow to the north and west of Mueller, a pocket of bungalows left over from the early twentieth century.

  As soon as Tiger rounded the corner by the bar Liam managed and through the open gates, Dylan noticed the silence. The setting sun glared in his eyes and when the beam finally dipped below the trees, Tiger stopped the bike. Dylan, who could move again, staggered from it.

  The bungalows were gone. Foundations and partial walls remained here and there, but the houses had been gutted. The occasional gaping hole showed where a Shifter family’s secret space had lain, where they’d gathered those things most valuable to them.

  “What the fuck?” Dylan demanded.

  He heard the steady beep, beep, beep of a backup indicator from heavy machinery. A flash of yellow caught his eye, and he saw a bulldozer plowing away the remnants of a house down the street—Spike’s he thought.

  The home Dylan shared with Glory, Sean, and Andrea was gone, as was Liam and Kim’s house. Across the street, Ellison Rowe’s bungalow was half fallen in, derelict. There was a dank tang in the air, and the stench of decay.

  Dylan rounded on Tiger in panic. “Where is Glory? My family? The cubs? They were just here.”

  He dashed into what had been the common area, where Shifters had danced, chased each other, gorged themselves, and enjoyed being alive. In the middle, where the Yule log had burned, was a large pile of black ash, cold and stirring in the wind.

  Tiger was suddenly next to him. “Gone,” he said in a monotone. “A few years ago now. The Fae came through the ley line. And Shifters died.”

  “What?” Dylan fought to keep calm. “Tell me what the hell you mean. A few years ago?”

  Tiger nodded. “To you, it is something to come. But I witnessed it.”

  “Fuck.” Dylan turned in a circle, searching for any homes he recognized, but none were left standing. The bulldozer was steadily clearing—making way for more new development now that the Shifters were gone.

  “What Shifters died?” Dylan asked. “My sons?” Tiger’s nod destroyed something inside him. “Grandchildren?” he continued fearfully.

  “Connor got away. And my daughter. They took as many cubs as they could. I hid them.”

  Some relief in the horror, but not much. “Glory?”

  “She died like a warrior, killing many Fae before they took her down.”’

  The grief of that struck him like a sledgehammer. Dylan’s face grew wet with silent tears.

  “What the hell happened? The Fae came through the ley line? What about Andrea’s father? He’s supposed to be protecting the gate from his side.” Andrea’s father, a Fae, guarded the Shifters because of her.

  Tiger shrugged. “The Fae fight many wars among themselves. He lost.”

  “Son of a bitch.” Dylan dragged in a breath, trying to think. “He was one of their most powerful generals. I counted on him.”

  “You were not here,” Tiger said. “You could not provide him what he needed in time.”

  “What do you mean, I wasn’t here? Where the hell was I? Killed in the haunted house? None of this makes any sense …” Dylan scrubbed his hair. “Wait. Are you showing me what actually will happen? Or what might happen?”

  “Your decision to meet the zilithal in New Orleans on the solstice kicked off a string of events. Beginning with the death of Ben and yourself.”

  The zilithal, the bloodsuckers. Not exactly vampires, which were humans turned into drinkers of blood, but creatures born of a dark world, who’d worked their way into the Fae realm. They’d fought the Fae hard and killed many before the Fae finally expelled them. They were trying to survive in the human world now …

  “Not survive,” Dylan said slowly. “They want to take over.” He looked at Tiger who regarded him passively, probably knowing this already. “They want to take this world, like they tried to with Faerie. Their greatest natural enemy here are the Shifters.”

  “And you are the strongest of the Shifter leaders,” Tiger finished.

  Dylan clapped his hands on top of his head and swore for a time in Gaelic. “Fuck!” he shouted. “Fuck them, and fuck my arrogant shit of a brain. I thought I was so clever setting up a meet to get them to spill everything they knew about besting the Fae. They played me.”

  Tiger nodded solemnly. “Played you well.”

  “We have to stop it.” Dylan ceased his wild pacing and headed for the motorcycle. “We have to get me out of New Orleans, and Ben too. Wake me up, snap me out of the paralysis, find me a healer—something.”

  Tiger came behind him, pushing Dylan out of the way so he could mount and start his motorcycle. “It has already happened.”

  “Don’t tell me that. We have to do something. You’re a walking genius, Tiger. Figure it out.”

  Tiger turned his head to stare at him with his enigmatic golden eyes, but didn’t argue.

  “Tiger.” Dylan gentled his voice. “Carly?”

  Tiger’s eyes warmed. “She is safe.” His voice rang with strength and confidence.

  “Good,” Dylan said, but his word was drowned when Tiger started the bike and tore out of Shiftertown.

  Tiger took them with unerring ease to the warehouse area in New Orleans where Dylan and Ben were to meet with the zilithal. The place was eerily quiet, which was why Dylan had chosen it.

  He’d scheduled the meeting to start an hour after dark. Dylan was too disoriented to know what time it was, or even what day it was, as he and Tiger rolled through the streets, but he saw shadows slipping around the deserted buildings. Tiger killed the bike and shut off the light, but he didn’t seem worried about being seen—they were still in the not-there state.

  Tiger led the way to the door of the warehouse Dylan had chosen for the meeting. Dylan had scouted the location carefully for weeks, asking Ben to help with that. This building had long been abandoned and was half falling down—whoever owned the property had no interest in keeping it up. Or maybe the property had been foreclosed on, and no enterprising person had wanted to buy it from whatever bank or mortgage company had repossessed it—didn’t matter.

  No one ever came this way. The outer warehouses were in use but this place was avoided even by gangs who roamed the territory. It was reputed to be haunted, Ben had told him. Perfect for Dylan’s purpose.

  Dylan caught sight of a bloodsucker in the shadows—he’d never have seen it if he weren’t Shifter. Tiger ignored it to wrench open the battered metal door.

  The noise of fighting came to them over the squeal of the hinges. Dylan heard roaring that was famili
ar, along with the powerful voice of Ben, shouting words he only used when he was truly pissed off.

  Tiger halted, Dylan just behind him. In the middle of the floor, a black-maned lion and Ben fought side-by-side against a horde of bloodsuckers. The zilithal had stripped out of their clothes to reveal bodies that were little more than skin stretched over muscular bone, emaciated but strangely strong at the same time. The bloodsuckers fought with swords and daggers, claws and teeth.

  Ben swung a wicked-looking knife, striking, killing. Dylan fought as his lion, huge and deadly.

  The zilithal weren’t immortal, like vampires. They were live creatures, bred in some hellhole, and they could die. Already the floor was littered with their bodies, which broke down rapidly into bones that slowly turned to dust.

  One zilithal pulled out a sword so curved it looked like a scythe, got under Ben’s reach, and struck hard. Ben’s eyes widened, and with a tearing sound, he tumbled down, split in half. The top part of his body fell forward as the bottom part went backward in a wave of blood.

  The collective zilithal went insane at the scent. They dove for Ben, but the lion was there, roaring and striking, defending the dead body of his friend.

  Dylan watched in horror. “Stop it,” he yelled at Tiger. “Do something.”

  Tiger only shook his head, his eyes filled with sadness. “We can’t. We’re out of time.”

  Dylan wasn’t sure if he meant they were too late or they were outside time. Tiger didn’t elaborate.

  Tiger stood motionless, tears on his cheeks as he watched the destruction. Dylan believed him when he said they could do nothing—if Tiger could have acted, he’d have been all over the zilithal and wiped them out in seconds.

  The only reason Dylan hadn’t brought Tiger to the meet was that he hadn’t wanted to take Tiger from his family on Yule.

  No, two reasons. Arrogance was the second. Dylan thought he could face dangerous beings without much worry. He’d counted on his own skill at making people do what he wanted, sure the zilithal would negotiate and become Dylan’s secret weapon.

  Instead, Dylan had led Ben into a trap. These creatures were mindless, wanting only the kill.

  But he could do nothing about it now. As he watched, the zilithal swarmed over the lion. Bodies flew as Dylan’s huge paws batted them aside, but in the end, there were too many. The zilithal stabbed and clawed, bit and stabbed some more, until the lion fell to his belly, fighting all the way.

  One sword made it to the lion’s heart. He slumped forward, blood spilling from his mouth, his eyes clouding.

  The Dylan standing by Tiger heard his last thoughts—My sons, my mate, my family … I’m sorry. And I love you.

  The bloodsuckers screamed their triumph. Then they fed. Within only a few minutes, the floor was cleared of blood, and Ben and Dylan were silent, drained corpses.

  “I won’t let this happen,” Dylan whispered next to Tiger. “Let’s go, lad. I’ve seen enough.”

  More than enough. Dylan wanted to be sick and then fall to his knees and weep. He hadn’t wanted to do that since …

  Tiger didn’t move. Dylan opened his mouth to snap at him, then saw what he did.

  Light flickered deep inside the ruined warehouse. As Dylan watched, it flared to life, a line of white that stretched from floor to ceiling.

  A man stepped out of that light, one taller than most humans, and even many Shifters. He was thin, not massive like a Shifter, and his hair fell to his waist in white-blond braids. He wore furs over leather studded with silver, with a knife and sword hanging from his belt. The scent that came with him made Dylan’s lips curl into a snarl.

  Fae.

  Only one. Dylan knew the warehouse rested on a ley line—he’d researched it—but he’d counted on that to give him an edge with the zilithal. Ben liked ley lines and grew stronger with them, even if he couldn’t go through them to Faerie.

  The Fae walked to Dylan’s dead body. The lion had shifted back into human form after death, and Dylan saw his own face, pale and lifeless, blue eyes staring, the gray in his hair stark in the dim light.

  Before the Fae reached the corpses, he halted, glancing toward Tiger and Dylan as though sensing something—as Tiger had when Zander had taken Dylan to the Yule ceremony. The Fae looked puzzled, sniffed the air, and then turned back toward the bodies.

  He took a small box from under his furs and opened it.

  “No!” Dylan couldn’t stop his shout.

  The Fae didn’t hear him. He gazed down at the dead Dylan and began chanting in the Fae language.

  The Dylan on the floor groaned. A light shot upward from his chest and solidified next to the Fae—the dim outline of Dylan himself, dressed in jeans and leather jacket, blue eyes glaring fury.

  “Gobshite,” Dylan heard his other self whisper.

  The Fae laughed, triumph on his face. He held the box toward the insubstantial Dylan, who dissolved into light and flowed into the box, cursing all the way.

  The Fae snapped the box closed, held it up, and shouted a word that sounded like a cry of victory.

  “Son of a fucking …” Dylan rounded on Tiger. “He took my soul. No Guardian to send me to dust, and he was here in seconds. They’re watching—waiting for me to die.”

  “Yes. You are valuable.”

  “Shite.” Dylan paced back and forth, fists clenched so hard he cut into his own palms. “That’s how they knew how to attack Shiftertown—how to win this war. They stole my soul and extracted my secrets. And Ben …” Dylan gazed with sorrow at the fallen Ben, whose outline was slowly changing into the giant creature he truly was. A beast of Faerie, long-forgotten. “He was a key. And I threw him away. I threw away his life.”

  Dylan continued to pace, anguish, uncertainty, and self-anger pushing at him. “This hasn’t happened yet, is that right? Can I stop this?”

  Tiger said nothing, as enigmatic as ever.

  The Fae finished his gloating and turned for the ley line, box held like a trophy.

  “I am stopping this.” Dylan spun, growls filling his throat, the lion inside him done with slow games. “He doesn’t win.”

  He started after the Fae at a run, clothes falling as he shifted. His lion came down on all four paws just as the slit of light that was the ley line flared.

  Dylan leapt with the ease of long experience, launching himself like a missile onto the Fae.

  Dylan went right through him. The Fae and Dylan weren’t in the same place and time, and could never touch.

  The box in the Fae’s hands flashed, Dylan’s captured soul bursting out. It sought the Dylan outside time, recognizing its own essence, having no difficulty with the line between the real and the not.

  The soul connected with the one inside the leaping Dylan, burning like the fires of the Yule log. Dylan roared in pain as white light seared him.

  The light blotted out the Fae, who looked furious, the warehouse, the smell of death, and Tiger. The last thing Dylan saw was Tiger’s golden eyes.

  Then, nothing.

  Dylan gasped as he tumbled down, and air poured into his lungs with the damp coolness of a Louisiana winter morning.

  He sat straight up in bed in the haunted house, roaring his pain.

  All was serene. Dylan was no longer on the floor, the bedroom whole and undamaged. Morning sunshine leaked through the curtains at the window. The odor of coffee drifted down the hall, along with the sound of Ben’s off-key singing.

  Chapter Six

  Dylan bounded up from the bed, grabbing shirt and jeans.

  He could move, he could breathe, and his bedroom wasn’t covered in fallen beams and ceiling plaster. The chandelier swayed, the crystals tinkling as Dylan hurriedly pulled on his clothes.

  He raced down the hall, barefoot, and into the kitchen. Ben stood in front of the stove, stirring something in a frying pan, the coffee maker gurgling.

  “Hey,” Ben said over his shoulder. “Want breakfast? I’m doing omelets, have a mess of bacon ready to go, toast in
the toaster.”

  “No.”

  At Dylan’s abrupt word, Ben turned to him in curiosity, spatula in hand.

  Dylan drew a long breath, taking in the familiar and normal scents of coffee and breakfast foods. “What day is it?”

  “Friday …” Ben said cautiously. “The day after Thursday. The Winter Solstice. Tonight we meet with—”

  “Meeting’s cancelled.”

  Ben’s dark brows went up. “The meeting we planned and sweated over all year? That meeting?”

  “Yes.” Dylan folded his arms, suddenly cold. The temperature had dropped, and he needed a sweatshirt. “It’s a bad idea. They’ll trap us and kill us.”

  “And you know this how?”

  Ben’s eyes showed perfect innocence, puzzlement, and a little annoyance.

  “I had a dream,” Dylan said. “Or a premonition. Or was given a vision. Something.”

  Ben nodded sagely. “That can happen in this house. Doesn’t mean the vision is true.”

  “Not taking the chance. You and I are going back to Austin. Right now.”

  “Yeah? And what do we tell the hell-spawn we’re recruiting to help us fight the Fae? You know, the ones who barely agreed to the meeting at all. Who will be pretty pissed off when we don’t show up. They might plan a little retaliation.”

  “Contact them.” Dylan moved to the coffee pot, which had finished dripping, and poured himself a cup. He’d need at least that fortification. “Tell them to meet us here instead.”

  “Here.” Ben stared at him, as though convinced Dylan had lost his mind. “While we’ll be …”

  “In Austin. No time to waste, lad. If we ride hard, we’ll make it for the Yule celebration.”

  Ben gazed regretfully at the finished omelet in the pan then back at Dylan. He sighed. “All right, my friend. You’re calling the shots on this one. But I’m pinning you down once we have a moment, and making you explain.”

  “I’ll tell you everything. But not right now.”

  Dylan left Ben, who grabbed a fork and started shoveling eggs into his mouth straight from the pan. He returned to his bedroom and finished dressing, caught up his backpack, and headed downstairs.