by Ann Gimpel
Could he work with her feeling as he did? Would it get in the way of becoming a lethal and efficient team?
Guess I’m about to find out.
One thing was certain. He wasn’t going to confront her about her shifter side. No. That was something she’d have to tell him. Maybe after she did—assuming it ever happened—he could find out why shifters and Rom weren’t supposed to have anything to do with each other. While she was at it, she needed to let him know why she’d chosen Romani caravans when discovery of her secret would mean certain expulsion. Maybe even death.
If she was going to pick a side, why hadn’t she thrown her lot in with her shifter kin?
Tairin already had the thicket open, and Elliott ducked through, branches crackling in his wake. He had a lot of questions, but very few answers.
“Are you scared?” he asked and helped her onto Flame’s back.
“Of course,” she replied. “I’d be a fool not to be.”
Chapter 3
Tairin grasped handfuls of Flame’s mane to stabilize herself as Elliott kneed the horse into a trot. It would take a couple of hours to reach Dachau, a medieval town about ten miles northwest of them. Two hours was a long time. She hoped he wouldn’t ask any more uncomfortable questions. She’d slipped up in a major way when she’d disclosed his caravan wouldn’t be the first she’d left.
Yet he hadn’t jumped on her words. Why? He was smart enough to have intuited something wasn’t quite right.
I’m reading too much into this. Maybe he was so focused on what we’re about to attempt, he skittered right past my faux pas.
Tairin didn’t exactly believe her rationalization, but shy of asking him outright, there wasn’t much she could do. She’d also used her magic to kindle her mage light right next to him. She hadn’t needed it. Her shifter vision was more than adequate to see in the underground passageway, but it would have looked odd if she hadn’t summoned her light.
All in all, it had been the better of two bad choices. Despite her gamble, he hadn’t commented on her magic feeling different. Magical ability ran the gamut among the Rom, from those as strong as Elliott to others with barely enough ability to light a candle. She’d always taken care to use her own power as little as possible, particularly once she’d rediscovered how strong the Rom side of her magic was.
Elliott didn’t seem inclined to chat, and she was grateful for silence rather than subtle, probing questions boosted by his considerable power. The sound of a distant engine reached her ears, and her heart beat faster. It was late. Past curfew—both in the city proper and beyond.
“We have to get off the road,” she said, keeping her voice low.
“Why?”
Too late, she understood he couldn’t hear the approaching vehicle—yet—since he lacked her shifter senses. “I hear a car—or maybe a truck. It almost has to be military at this hour.”
She felt the magical net he sent zinging ahead of them. “Good call,” he muttered and guided Flame down a dirt side road that led into increasingly thick timber. Once they’d put about fifty feet between themselves and the roadway, he turned the horse around so they had a filtered view of the road.
“Lucky we’re not traveling by car,” she said. “We’d never have been able to find a place to conceal ourselves in time.” The roar of a reciprocating engine grew louder. Headlamps created bizarre shadow patterns as two good-sized trucks, gray-green with canvas tarps slung over framing, rumbled past.
“Definitely military. Wonder if that’s the end of them,” Elliott muttered.
Tairin cocked her head to one side, listening intently, but the diminishing roar of the trucks moving toward Munich drowned out most everything else. “I don’t know. Are there back roads we could use?”
“Yes, but If we do, we won’t reach our objective in time for breakfast.” He kneed Flame, and they started down the roadway again, this time at a gentle canter.
To forestall questions about how she could’ve heard the trucks so soon, she said, “Tell me about yourself. I’m guessing you grew up in this caravan, but if Michael raised you, what happened to your parents?”
“It’s not a pretty story,” he warned. “Maybe not the best tale for a dark night when we’re keyed up anyway.”
“Sometimes those are the best times for the not-so-pretty tales,” she countered and felt his muscles tense where her body leaned against him. “I’ll let you know if I hear more trucks.”
“Might not be so lucky finding cover a second time. The forest thins out before much longer, and we’ll be traveling through farm country.”
What he didn’t say was they’d still have to get back in full daylight, but she saw the thought clearly in his mind. She considered telling him it wouldn’t be the end of the world if they had to go to ground until the next nightfall, but didn’t want to admit to trespassing on his thoughts.
“You were going to tell me about yourself,” she urged. Part of her insistence was to direct his attention away from her, but she also wanted to know more about the man who sat ramrod straight behind her.
“I suppose I was.” Breath whistled through Elliott’s teeth. “I was born in Bucharest, Romania, not quite forty years ago. My parents were old, and they’d given up on ever producing a child, so I was more than welcome. After I was born, we left our home caravan and struck out on our own, remaining independent of any caravan until…” Elliott’s voice faltered. “Well, until they died, and Michael’s group took me under their wing.”
“Did they become ill?” Tairin asked. “Smallpox or perhaps diphtheria?”
“I wish it had been that simple.” Elliott’s voice turned even more somber. “Father’s ability was linking with animal intelligence, so his talent for training horses was legendary. He could also coax hens to lay, goats to produce milk, and rats to turn on one another rather than us.”
“Sounds like an amazing man,” Tairin murmured and tried not to think about the shifter father who hadn’t wanted her.
“He was. Mother’s skill was weaving magic into garments. She could create dresses that made you beautiful—or gowns that would eat you from the inside out. I was too young to understand the power she wielded, but I remember a hideous argument. A couple came to our wagon one night when we were camped on the outskirts of Hamburg. They wanted to commission a dress for one of their enemies, with the intention of destroying them. Mother refused. She took me outside and told me to remain with the horses, probably to shield me from further harsh words, but they were impossible not to hear.
“About that time, Father returned from wherever he’d been that day. The argument grew more heated. The male half of the couple threatened Mother with a curse if she refused to comply. Father said if the man had that kind of power, he wouldn’t have been soliciting a death gown.”
Tairin moved a hand to Elliott’s thigh, seeking to comfort him. “Sounds terrible. What happened then?”
“Nothing I could ever put my finger on. The man cursed my parents in Romanian, and then in a language I’ve never heard before or since. I’m not even certain it was a curse, but given what happened next, it almost had to be. I didn’t understand what I felt, but I sensed darkness, evil, as it surrounded our wagon. Mother came to get me and held me tight while I cried.
“I asked if we were going to die, because death’s presence thickened the air around us. I felt it soaking into my skin and attacking me from the inside every time I breathed. Mother soothed me, but didn’t exactly answer my question.”
“How long did it take?” Tairin asked around a dry throat and eyes that pricked with tears.
“Not long. Mother died first, maybe a week later. Father was stronger, but he was gone a few days after that.” Elliott’s arms turned rigid with pain and outrage where they lay against her sides. “Whatever it was wanted me too, but I fought it. And kept right on fighting. Michael found us—my dead parents and me—when I was close to the end of my reserves. He knew right away what had happened, and he cast spells to co
unteract the one that wanted to kill me. Just him by himself wasn’t enough. It took six more men, all working together, to cast out the evil and save my life.”
Tairin’s heart twisted in her chest. To have loving parents ripped away might be even worse than what she’d lived through. “If that couple—or the man, anyway—had that kind of power, why did they solicit a death garment from your mother?”
“I’ve asked myself that same question.” His voice was low, vibrating with pain and outrage. “Only thing I could figure was they wanted to distance themselves from whomever they planned to kill. All magic is unique to the one who casts it, and they didn’t want anyone to know what they’d done. I made a vow over my parents’ funeral pyres that I’d become strong enough to never, never get trapped the way they were.”
“They knew the spell would kill them?” Tairin asked.
“Yes, and were powerless to stop it.”
She tightened her hand around his thigh where it cradled her body. “I’m so sorry.”
“Told you it wasn’t the best of tales.” His voice had a catch in it, and he cleared his throat.
“Life isn’t a fairy story. There’s a whole lot of evil in the world. It’s why we have to make certain Rom magic doesn’t die out.”
“A worthy goal, but easier said than done. We’re almost to Dachau. You don’t have to come inside with me, Tairin. You can stay with Flame.”
“Nice try, fellow. I’m coming. Wasn’t the whole purpose of tonight to determine if we have what it takes to be a team?”
Instead of answering, Elliott guided the horse down a side street and then another, until the prison camp’s walls came into view in the distance. Light from multiple guard towers turned the night into one harsh glare. He drew Flame into an alleyway that appeared mostly unused and dismounted.
She got off too and began the incantation to render her invisible.
Hands dropped onto her shoulders from behind; Elliott turned her until she faced him. Tairin let go of her fledging spell. Before she could ask what was going on, he gripped her head between his hands. Eyes that had darkened to midnight bored into her.
“Talking about my parents reminded me how hard it is to lose someone I care about. I’ve kept an eye on you for years. When you first joined our caravan, you were kind of like a little sister, and I watched out for you but made sure you didn’t know it. I don’t want to have to live with your death on my conscience.”
She creased her forehead and worked to make sense of what he’d just said. “Your parents’ deaths weren’t your fault.”
“I wasn’t able to save them.”
“You were five. No child has that kind of magic.” She gripped his forearms. “Hell, you’re lucky you’re still alive.”
“Alive and planning to remain so,” he said through gritted teeth. “If you come with me, you have to do exactly as I say. Understand?”
“I’ll do my best,” she hedged. If things turned to shit, she’d shift to protect both of them. Hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that.
“What I told you riding here,” he went on. “It’s not a tale I’ve bandied about. Michael and the men who labored to save me are the only ones who know. I was ashamed, felt I’d failed Mother and Father, so I asked Michael and the others who came to my aid not to tell anyone what condition they’d found me in. They agreed.”
“Why’d you tell me?”
His eyes, deep pools of inky blue, snared her. A woman could get lost in those eyes and never resurface.
“I don’t have an answer for you,” he said, “and we need to get moving.”
He let go abruptly and stepped away. She felt the zing of magic as he shrouded himself in spells. She did the same and followed his broad back as he ran lightly to the walled enclosure a quarter mile distant.
Tairin had to remind herself no one could see her. Brilliant lights mounted on every tower made her feel vulnerable, exposed. The wall was solid brick and concrete. Eight feet tall, rounds of barbed wire scrolled across its top. Clearly, the gated entrances were the only way inside.
Elliott loped toward the front gate. Relief rattled through her when she saw it was open. A phalanx of uniformed prisoners was filing out. Hopelessness radiated from their slumped shoulders, dead eyes, and thin bodies. When she looked hard at them, her heart hurt. It was clearly a work detail heading out for the day that had yet to begin.
“Careful.” Elliott breathed the word into her mind. “Some of those are Rom.”
Which meant they might sense her and Elliott. Tairin thought it unlikely. The men and women walking double file were beaten. They’d long since given up focusing on anything beyond their own misery.
I hope.
Tairin buried her shifter magic deep just in case. Rom might not react to sensing their own brand of magic, but they’d pitch a fit if they glommed onto shifter emanations. Tairin reined in her apprehension. Even if someone recognized the scent of power, what the hell would they do about it?
One of the women raised her shaved head and looked right at Tairin with cloudy, dark eyes. Her nostrils twitched as she tested the air, and a knowing smile tugged the edges of her lips.
Breath clotted in Tairin’s throat. The Rom woman “saw” her. Should she try mind speech? Indecision rocked her as she ran past the slow-moving line, twisting sideways to avoid touching anyone.
Words formed at the bare edges of her consciousness. “Help us. Please.”
She wanted to reach out and reassure the woman that help was indeed imminent, but caution—and fear—stayed her tongue. What if some of the guards had Rom blood? Or some other kind of magic? No. Her best bet was remaining as well hidden as she could.
She and Elliott passed the end of the line, and he sprinted for the northwest corner of the prison complex and the smells of food cooking. Tairin followed, trusting he knew where he was going. Drab cellblock buildings were arranged around a central courtyard. The stench of human waste and misery rose from everywhere. Not just shit and urine, but vomit, blood, and putrefied wounds.
Death too. Decay from dead bodies, and those at the brink, twisted her stomach into a hard, painful knot.
“This is a very bad place.” Her wolf spoke into her mind.
“Worse than bad,” she told it.
Elliott stood aside as a man dressed in food-splattered white clothing tugged a five-gallon bucket of grease out a doorway. The grease was rancid, and her already nauseated stomach lurched. She swallowed back sickness. She could hide herself, but not vomit spewing from her.
She skittered around the man with his revolting ancient fat bucket and entered the kitchen. Any doubt she had that she was in the right place evaporated when a swinging door at the far end slammed against its stops and a blond man, who could’ve been a poster child for Aryan perfection, screamed at the kitchen staff.
“You are late. Again.” He punctuated his words with a closed fist jabbing the air. “We ordered breakfast for half an hour ago. Get it served. Now.” Without waiting for a reply, he slammed back into what was presumably a dining room.
One of the cooks looked up from a large pot he was stirring to make an obscene gesture and spit into the pot. It was all Tairin could do not to laugh.
Guess we’re not the only ones who hate those bastards.
Elliott made hand gestures that let her know she was responsible for creating spells to poison the pots to her right. He’d take the others. She didn’t lose any time and focused lethal magic into the pots’ contents. Once she was done, she switched up her power and sent subtle suggestions into the kitchen workers’ minds. There were five of them, including grease-man, who’d just come back into the kitchen.
“Do not eat this food.”
She kept her incantation simple. No reasons. Just the one sentence. It would do the trick. She also rode herd on her spell to make certain none of it leaked out into the assemblage of SS officers and trainees she sensed on the far side of the swinging door.
Because she was occupied, she manag
ed to keep fear from immobilizing her. When Elliott quirked a brow her way, clearly wondering if she was done, she nodded. He faded out the back door, and she shambled after him. Her knees were weak, and her stomach still threatened to rebel.
They’d done what they came for, but they still had to get out of the complex before they ran their magical wells dry. The specter of being discovered made her teeth chatter from fear, and she clamped her jaws tight so the noise wouldn’t give her away.
The slow-moving work brigade was still shuffling through the front gate, but their nice, neat double file line had disintegrated. Apparently, there’d been some kind of altercation. Prisoners lay on the ground, moaning, while guards in SS uniforms clubbed them. The crack of a bone breaking punctuated by a howl of pain shot through her, and she wanted to kill the guard who’d just broken a man’s leg.
Fucking bastard. He was laughing and swinging his baton with abandon, clubbing whomever he could reach.
Fury boiled from Elliott, turning the air around him shades of red that only she could see. He raised an arm. Power arced from his fingertips, and the guard pitched facedown onto the ground.
Competing emotions racked her. She was proud of Elliott. Proud he’d killed the son of a bitch. And scared to her bones they’d never escape. Not now. People would run to aid the fallen SS officer. They already were. The crowd at the gate would become even thicker, more impenetrable…
Elliott ran to her and gripped her hand. It would interrupt the magic shielding both of them to some extent, but no one was looking their way. He pulled her along with him and raced for a small opening in the crowd of bodies jammed up against the gate. Tairin wrenched her hand away. Fear left a sharp, bitter taste in the back of her throat.
Elliott disappeared through the gap, and it closed right behind him. She couldn’t see if he’d gotten through, and she hurried forward, frantic to find a way past the opening before the guards wised up and shut the gate. Where was Elliott? Had he crossed the perimeter? Was he safe outside?