Black Moon Sing (The Turquoise Path Book 1)

by L. M. Hawke

  BLACK MOON SING

  The Turquoise Path: Book 1

  L. M. HAWKE

  A dark force is targeting a secret enclave of shapeshifters in the desert southwest, delivering them to grisly fates. Suspected of witchery and cast out of her human society, it's up to Ellery Chee, a lone coyote shifter, to stop this dangerous magician before her world is destroyed.

  But Ellery will have to team up with other outcast magic-users to get the job done. It's a tall order to find witches and fae who are willing to come out of hiding to save the shifters. It's even tougher to convince Hosteen Sikaadii, an all-too-human detective, that Ellery is working for good, not evil.

  Without Hosteen's help, she won't have a chance at stopping the slaughter. And she just might be the next shapeshifter who's slated for a bloody end.

  This is the first volume in a new urban fantasy series, and contains a cliffhanger ending. Don’t miss Book 2, Red Fire Glow, available now from your favorite eBook retailer.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Ellery pulled her shades from her face quickly as she stepped through the Blue Room’s door. She kept her face turned down toward the floor, meeting no one’s gaze until she was certain the door had closed behind her and she was surrounded only by the artificial light of the bar. Or what passed for light in the Blue Room, at any rate. Like most clubs that appealed to the under-thirty set, the Blue Room was dim and briskly air-conditioned, a pleasant change from Arizona’s blistering heat and intensely sunny days.

  The club’s dance floor was more crowded tonight than usual. Bass from the DJ’s station bumped through Ellery’s body, and the lights overhead were weak enough to flatter even the drunkest club-goer, with hair mussed and booze spilled down the fronts of their tight, trend-perfect outfits. But that dim light was from bulbs and neon tubes—electricity—and so it was safe for Ellery leave her shades off. She hung them from the neckline of her tank top and sidled through the crowd, murmuring “Excuse me” and “Sorry” whenever she brushed too close to one of the Blue Room’s patrons.

  She didn’t head toward the bar. She had no interest in enjoying a drink tonight, or any night, really. Nightlife wasn’t her thing. It never had been.

  Here in Flagstaff it was generally safe enough for a Para to go around after dark. Sure, she might be subjected to a few slurs shouted from the windows of passing cars, or groups of girls walking between bars might cross to the other side of the street when they saw her coming… if they recognized her for what she was. But those reactions were nothing new. Hostile behavior was typical of most Typicals. Few Typs trusted the magic-users who walked among them, the Paras who only wanted to live quiet, normal lives in peace. And most Typs, in Ellery’s experience, were pretty good at minimizing their visible discomfort when they found themselves in the company of a Para.

  But of course, a few always had to act like asses, even in a city like Flagstaff, with a relatively large and “out” Para population. Ellery supposed it was the only way some Typs could feel secure: by yelling their slurs, by doling out dirty looks or posting garbage on social media.

  It bothered Ellery’s Para friends much more than it bugged her. The Typs in Flagstaff, and most other places she’d visited in her twenty-four years, were low-key compared to the worst Ellery had seen. She knew first-hand what kind of destruction could be unleashed when Typs’ fear of magic-users got out of hand. She’d take shouts and stares any day over outright violence.

  But even if Flagstaff was relatively chill, Ellery still didn’t like going out after dark. And noisy, crowded bars were never her favorite scene, even in daylight. If not for Vivi’s strange texts, she wouldn’t have come out tonight at all—and she certainly wouldn’t be within a hundred yards of a noisy, crowded place like the Blue Room.

  But the Blue Room was Vivi’s favorite hang. Vivi was just as likely to be at the Blue Room as anywhere else—more likely, in fact. And if she was there, grinding against some carefully disguised Para guy on the dance floor or telling raunchy jokes over her third martini of the night, Ellery was determined to find her. Something about Vivi’s messages had Ellery on high alert. She could practically feel her hackles rising.

  She slid her phone out of the pocket of her jeans and pulled up Vivi’s most recent texts, reading them again as she made her way through the crowd.

  Feel so weird 2nite, the first one said. Then, fifteen minutes later, Cat sick to stomach, restless. The next one came less than two minutes after: Ell do u feel this 2?

  Then, each sent within seconds of the last:

  Gotta get out of here

  Gotta get rid of cat

  But don’t want to, scared

  Call me Ell, really scared somethings going on

  Gotta get out

  Get cat out

  Going away

  The last text had arrived more than an hour ago, and Ellery had read the messages countless times since then. But still they made her shiver. It was so unlike Vivi—all of it, from the open discussion of the cat spirit she traded with, right down to the crappy punctuation and use of digits and single letters in place of properly spelled-out words. Vivi just didn’t do these things, and the sudden change in her behavior had Ellery sick with worry. And frightened enough that she didn’t hesitate to venture out after dark. Whatever was going on inside her friend’s head, Ellery was determined to find her and help her, even if roaming the night-time streets made her spine tingle with anxiety.

  Distracted by her phone, Ellery collided with the back of a tall, broad-shouldered man just as he turned from this table and headed toward the bar.

  “Sorry,” Ellery said, looking up quickly from her phone.

  The man—an Anglo, with blond hair, peevish blue eyes, and sun-chapped skin—gave her a withering look of disgust.

  “Out of my way, you fucking jick,” he spat.

  Jick: the slur of choice among the more hostile Typicals, short for “magical.” It might have upset some of Ellery’s Paranormal friends, but far worse had been said and done to Ellery and her family in the name of ignorance and fear.

  The only thing that made her give the man and his nasty attitude a second thought was the question of how he’d figured out she was a so-called jick in the first place. Indoors, her eyes were no give-away. Then he stuffed his hand in his pocket, tucking a slender smartphone out of sight. Ellery’s sensitive ears picked up the buzzing of his phone, even over the thumping bass of the music.

  An app? There’s a fucking app for that?

  She swallowed a sigh. Of course. It wasn’t just a tongue-in-cheek saying anymore; now there really was an app for everything. Apparently some chicken-shit Typical nerd-o had figured out how to make his smartphone detect the special energy frequencies Paras gave off. That very same fear-ridden geek was undoubtedly making billions by selling his app to every Typ who’d ever had a nightmare about a bunny rabbit shifter coming to suck their blood.

  Just what the world needs, Ellery thought bitterly, for all the Typs to receive an alert whenever they’re in the presence of super-spooky, possibly-definitely-deadly witches or shapeshifter or—God preserve us all!—one of those terrifying fae.

  As the guy pushed his way toward the bar, Ellery called after him, “Jick this, dickhead!” She raised her middle finger in salute, but the man only cast another sullen glare over his shoulder.

  Typical Typ. They’d insult a Para right to her face, but they were always too afraid of magic to actually tangle with one.

  Then she amended that thought with a queasy concession. Typical Typ out here in Flagstaff, anyway. It was a different story altogether on the Rez, where Ellery had grown up.

  Ellery turned her back on t
he Anglo man and worked her way to the edge of the dance floor. The smells of sweat, cologne, hair product, and every imaginable type of alcohol were thick in the air. Combined with the booming music and the press of so many bodies, the combined odor of so many people in one place felt like an assault on Ellery’s keen senses. At least there weren’t any strobe lights or whirling glow sticks—those always made her feel like she was losing her mind.

  A tall guy with a pale complexion and perfectly styled, red-brown hair danced up to her. It was obvious from one glance that the man was a Para—one of the Chanter types, based on the ethereal beauty of his flawless skin, his elegant, well-carved features, and his casual grace. But was he a fae—harmless, even friendly—or a vampire?

  “Want to dance?” he asked. His voice was as smooth and sweet as honey; she felt herself pulled toward him, as susceptible to the natural charms of a Chanter as anyone else would be. Typ or Para, not many people could evade the enchantment of a Chanter.

  But Ellery’s drive to find Vivi was stronger than his magic. She took a step back and shook her head. “No, thanks. I’m just looking for my friend.”

  “I could be your friend.” The man moved a little closer; Ellery gazed up into his face, prepared—for a few moments at least—to lose herself in the pure beauty of his eyes.

  His eyes. That was where she spotted the give-away. There was a distance to his look, a cool detachment that no emotional, soft-hearted fae was capable of displaying.

  So he’s a vampire. Better to steer clear of this one.

  Some vampires were perfectly good people, but their incredibly long lives—and the isolation from society that longevity imposed—tended to leech more compassion out of them with each passing year. If any Paras could be called dangerous, it was definitely the vampires, some of whom were every bit as inhuman and inhumane as the Typs seemed to think all magic-users were. The older a vampire was, the less likely it was to feel sympathy or empathy—to feel anything at all, except its dark, compelling hungers. And as with most vampires, there was no guessing this one’s age.

  Ellery backed further away from the vampire, distancing herself from his enchantment as much as the crowd would allow. Typs aren’t the only ones who have certain prejudices, she thought.

  The vampire smiled serenely, allowing her to edge away, not interested in pressing the issue in a crowded place. Maybe not hungry enough to press the issue at all. His easy complacency gave Ellery a little courage. If he was out hitting on Para girls at the Blue Room, maybe he’d seen Vivi tonight.

  “Hey,” she called out to him, “maybe you can help me find my friend.”

  The vampire raised his perfectly arched brows as he moved easily to the thumping music, waiting for Ellery to say more.

  “She’s tall—a lot taller than me—and kind of curvy. Black, with dark skin. She wears her hair in an afro. And she’d be wearing her token: a gold chain necklace. Have you seen her?”

  The vampire gave a low, teasing laugh that made Ellery’s skin crawl even as it made her heart pound. “Her token, huh?” His cool eyes slid down to her cleavage—to the coyote tooth that hung from a leather cord between her breasts. “A Changer like you—another trader? It’s a bad night to be a trader.”

  A chill shot through Ellery’s veins. She squelched her caution and stepped toward the vampire. “What do you mean?”

  “Relax, baby,” he purred. And for just a second, Ellery did as he told her, lapsing into a complacent calm. “I’ve heard things tonight, that’s all. You aren’t the first person in the Blue Room who’s wondered where their trader friends are. Traders haven’t shown up for dates tonight; traders skipped out on work and skipped out on partying. Unusual behavior. Traders not returning calls. Traders sending—”

  “Odd texts?”

  His smile broadened, and she caught sight of his sharp canine teeth. “Exactly.”

  “So you haven’t seen my friend here tonight?”

  “Doesn’t ring a bell.” He began to dance off in another direction, his movements fluid and intoxicating. “Good luck. If you get tired of looking for her, you know where to find me.”

  “Shit.” Ellery turned in a slow circle on the edge of the dance floor, gazing all around the dimness of the Blue Room. But there was no sign of Vivi’s cloud of dark hair peeking above other people’s heads, no hint of her big, bold laugh cutting through the sound of the crowd. Ellery would have heard her friend’s voice for sure, even with the music thumping all around her.

  She made her way to the bathroom and gave it a quick search, then came back out again and glared at the crowd as if she might be able to cut a path through it with her eyes.

  It was useless. Vivi wasn’t there—not that night. And the vampire’s spiel about traders acting strangely made Ellery feel hemmed in, nearly suffocated by her anxiety and by the Blue Room itself.

  It took her a couple of minutes to navigate back through all those dancing, laughing, shouting bodies to the bar’s exit. She put her shades back on as she stepped through the door, out into the Arizona evening.

  The chill of a desert night was just beginning to emerge, cutting through the day’s residual heat, the heavy presence that still hung over the streets and alleys of downtown Flagstaff. The historic brick buildings towered over Ellery as she walked, rising like the dry, red walls of the canyons of her childhood home. The brick gave up the vestiges of the sunlight, its warmth and the flat, bare scent stirring poignant memories from long ago.

  Normally the feel of the day’s last heat and the smell of dry brick or dry stone was a comfort to Ellery. But tonight, she couldn’t seem to shake the squeezing anxiety she had felt at the Blue Room.

  Vivi’s fine, she told herself. She was probably half-asleep when she sent those texts. She was probably dreaming. Any minute now, she’ll call you and ask you to meet her for a drink, and you’ll tell her to fuck off, that you’ve already been to the Blue Room once tonight and you’re not going back.

  But as she trudged on, putting more city blocks between herself and the bar, Ellery’s concern for Vivi gave way to a much more general—and much bigger—fear. Something was… pulling at her. Calling to her. The effect felt similar to the vampire’s enchantment, but far more commanding, and yet very distant.

  As she walked, she kept darting her head toward the northeast, straining as if she thought she might pick up on some auditory clue over the hum of city traffic. But even as she turned her attention toward the northeast, again and again, she knew it was useless. There was nothing unusual to see there, nothing to hear or smell. And the only thing she could feel was that jittery fear that grew stronger with each passing minute.

  Out of habit, she reached through her tokens—the coyote tooth on its leather cord and the bracelet on her left wrist, which dangled a tiny glass pendant that housed a few white filaments from a barn owl’s feather. She did it so many times, poking at the spirits of the animals with which she traded, that she felt the coyote yawn in boredom and Ghost Owl ruffle his feathers with pure irritation. (Not that it was hard to annoy Ghost Owl, even under the best of circumstances.)

  Something’s strange about tonight, she told her animals spirits.

  Ghost Owl made no reply, but Red Dust on Paws, the loyal coyote, gave Ellery an impression of a comforting lick to the back of her hand.

  That made Ellery smile, despite her creeped-out mood. She could always count on Dusty when she needed a little perspective.

  Suddenly Ellery felt Dusty’s spirit snap to attention inside her. The coyote’s tooth warmed a little where it lay against her skin. Ellery felt a strong prickle on the back of her neck—the coyote’s hackles rising—and although she was not in either of her animal forms, still she could feel the twist and tightening of a coyote’s ears swiveling atop her head. Dusty was alert to something behind them—something the trusty coyote was sure meant danger.

  Ellery swallowed hard. She turned her head to glance over her shoulder with what she hoped was a casual gesture.


  What she saw nearly stopped her heart.

  A man was following her down the sidewalk—and with his direct, purposeful stride, Ellery was damn sure he was following her, not just strolling along the Flagstaff streets, minding his own business.

  A man pursuing her was alarming enough on its own, but this man was all of Ellery’s nightmares come to life in one body. At least six feet tall and strong-looking, he wore a long black duster coat, the hem of which floated behind him with the speed of his stride. Even if he hadn’t chanced to pass through the yellow pool of a streetlight just as Ellery looked back—the light cast a sharp illumination on his unmistakably Indian features—his broad-brimmed black hat, banded in turquoise, would have been all the identification Ellery needed.

  The man was Diné—Navajo—just like Ellery. And that meant he had most likely come from the very community she had fled ten years before, fearing for her life.

  Ellery’s casual glance wasn’t lost on the Diné man. Her sharp ears picked up his speeding footsteps, and in another moment she could all but feel his hands reaching for her, grasping her, dragging her off to judgment.

  You won’t take me, too, she hissed at him silently.

  She turned at the corner and sprinted down the next street, nearly as fast as her legs could carry her.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Wait!” The man’s voice called out harshly behind Ellery as she ran.

  That settled it; he was after her. Ellery gritted her teeth and put on as much more speed as she dared. She cursed the presence of so many Typs on the city streets. If it wouldn’t incite a panic, she would have run even faster; she was certainly capable of it. But displays of paranormal abilities tended to unsettle the Typs, and often ended in far more trouble and hassle for the Para than they were worth.

  “Please, wait!” the man shouted again.

  Ellery wasn’t gaining much ground on him; he was fast for a Typical. Maybe it would be worth scooting along faster, after all.