by Cecy Robson
“Fine,” Gemini tells him. “Tell him we’ll be there shortly.”
The young wolf shakes his head, his shaggy brown hair batting against his forehead and shoulders with how low he keeps his chin. “He says he wants to speak to your mate alone, or he won’t speak at all.”
I shrug. “All right.”
I start to follow when Gemini cuts in front of me. “Where are you going?”
“To speak to Johnny,” I reply. I try to inch around him only for him to sidestep in front of me.
“Really?” I ask.
“I know you think he’s an innocent kid. He’s not.”
“You don’t like him. I get it. That doesn’t mean I can’t talk to him.” I cross my arms when he doesn’t budge. “Gemini, he’s not a prisoner and you are not his warden. You heard the prez last night. We have no grounds to keep him.”
It was a hell of a conference call, lots of growling and yelling, mostly by Tye. Tye demands a duel between him and Johnny to determine his worth. The witches demanded Tye respect Johnny’s position within their kind, as they respect Celia and Omar. I don’t think daddykins appreciated the witches placing Celia’s importance before his, but ultimately, President Omar Gris de Leon ruled in favor of the wand-wavers, proclaiming Johnny is to be spared from harm at all costs.
“Babe,” I press. “We’ve kept him here long enough. If we continue to treat him like our enemy and captive, we’re no longer the good guys, and we risk offending the witches.”
I’m not the first person to rise in defense of the witches. But I’ve been a part of this world long enough to recognize insults to packs, clans, and / or covens aren’t easily dismissed by the species it offends. If anything it results in more distrust and paranoia.
Gemini scowls, more taken aback by the “bad guy” reference. “You know what I mean,” I stress. “Omar gave us until this afternoon to release Johnny. Let me talk to him while I still can. I’ll iron out the details of his departure and maybe get a better fix on him.”
“Fine, but I’m going with you. If he speaks, he speaks to us.”
Ever try to argue with a wolf? No? Lucky you.
I point at him. “Fine. But try not to be your growly self. You know I only like those sounds in bed.”
I strut out the door, passing the wolf who practically becomes one with the wall when Gemini steps into the hall.
Johnny was kept for the past week on the other side of the campus, as far away from Celia as Aric could manage without shoving him into a tent and handing him a marshmallow to roast. I saw him the other day when we took a walk, flanked closely by the pack of snarling weres who weren’t exactly making it a skip through the park.
Clouds loom over us as we step outside, turning the crisp mountain air colder. I huddle into the long cardigan sweater I pulled on following my shower. The sweater is warm and a lovely shade of “oatmeal”, very neutral like my jeans and white shirt, and very unlike the hot pink platforms I’m wearing.
Every woman needs color in her life, even a “weird girl” like me.
“Do you have to wear those?” Gemini asks. He keeps his stare ahead. “I assumed you learned your lesson the last time you chased Fate.”
“Hmm,” I say. “Are you trying to tell me he’ll outwit and outrun you wolves, and that it will be up to little ol’ me to catch him?” The collective scoffs from the wolves trailing us are telling enough. They’re in their human forms, not that they can’t tear something to shreds with their bare hands. “Then don’t worry about it,” I add. I wrap my arms around Gemini’s waist. “Besides, you don’t seem to mind the heels when I wear them to bed.”
A few wolves glance over their shoulder, trying not to chortle at Gemini’s beat red face. “Turn around,” I say. “This is a private conversation and considering you spend most of your lives naked and womanless, you have no room to judge.”
I adjust my hold over Gemini. “The cute shoes stay.”
He slips his arm around my shoulder. “I suppose it’s too much to ask for you to be practical.”
“In my world, fashion is more important.”
“In my world, footwear you can run in keeps you alive.”
“I can run in these,” I add, sounding insulted.
“Can you climb a tree in them?” the wolf beside me asks. He averts his gaze when Gemini narrows his eyes. I guess the wolf isn’t supposed to talk to me too soon after my being in bed with Gemini reference.
That doesn’t stop me from answering. “Why would I need to climb a tree?”
“To escape,” he mumbles, careful to keep his gaze off me. “You know danger. Human women have been known to do that.”
“Sweetheart, I’m not exactly human,” I remind him. “And if I’m in danger I’m not climbing a tree. I’m burning it and the whole damn forest down if I have to.”
I hop up the stacked stone steps when we reach one of the original structures. This building was always a dorm and used during the time of war to house were families fleeing to safety. I try not to think about how fast it will fill back up, especially if the shapeshifters do come a-calling and try to bust down the doors.
“Any word on the shapeshifters?” I ask as we step inside. “Or their nematodes?”
“Neophytes?” he offers.
“Same difference,” I say.
He smirks. “No just more chatter linking them as the probable leaders of the Dark Alliance.”
I pause as we reach the bottom of the steps. “Like what?”
The wolves turn to face him, scenting the same thing I sense, that we don’t know everything.
Gemini crosses his arms. “We were going to brief everyone this afternoon,” he says, more to them than me. “The Chinese Imperial coven killed a shapeshifter early yesterday, an old one by the name of Shakur.”
My jaw drops. “He went after Genevieve?”
“Not exactly.” Gemini doesn’t seem to want to answer. “He targeted Ines’s daughters. They’re teens and not as formidable. He would have succeeded had the Imperials not been guarding them.”
“Are the Imperials all right?” I ask.
“Four didn’t survive the onslaught. They were too young and not as experienced,” he explains, his jaw hardening. “The others were more mature and strong witches in their own right. They were close to destroying him when Ines arrived. She finished him off, then cut out his heart and burned it.”
“Why?” I ask. It’s not that I’m surprised a head witch would be so brutal, it’s more like I recognize her actions as a message.
“Shakur tried to rape and kill her daughters. If it weren’t for the Imperials, he would have brutalized them.” He watches me carefully. “Burning the heart was a warning meant for his mate.”
No wonder I’m just now learning of this. He was trying to spare me from the gruesome details, not his pack.
“The shifter was mated?” I ask.
“Yes.”
Except for my lips, I’m not able to move. “That means the mate will seek revenge.”
“And make Ines her first target,” he replies, finishing for me. “More Imperials have been summoned, in addition to several were packs in Europe.”
His head jerks up, almost at the same time the wolves growl in the direction of the second level.
My arm twitches as Johnny’s magic spills into the foyer. “What is it? I ask.
“Blood,” he replies, racing up the steps.
Everyone bolts past me, I don’t think I’m even to the fourth step when the door at the far end of the hall is thrown open.
“Son of bitch,” I say, my heels stomping as I race forward.
The wolves huddle outside the room which is odd. I expected everyone to storm in and, I don’t know, carry out Johnny’s broken and limp form. I don’t realize what’s happening until I move closer and see Gemini with his arm out, keeping everyone back.
A large wolf with a heavy coat of brown fur steps in front of me when I snake my way around the other weres. He must have bee
n assigned to guard the room.
Deep creases form around his eyes when he frowns, making it clear I’m not allowed through. I bend and pat him on the head. “You must be new here,” I say, my smile as friendly as his scowl. “If you weren’t, you would know that’s my mate and you don’t get to keep me from him.”
He exposes his fangs when I straighten. My right arm flares with blue and white flames. “Two things,” I tell him. “You’re pissing me off and more importantly, you’re pissing off Sparky. Get out of my way.”
“Let her through,” Gemini says, his voice oddly hollow.
The other weres rub their arms as if itchy. Something is off. I reach the door, jerking my chin in the same way I would if I smelled something bad. But there’s no bad smell.
It’s simply magic.
I move slowly. All the furniture in Johnny’s loft has been pushed against the wall, creating a large open space where he sits at the center. He’s barely dressed, wearing a pair of jeans and nothing else. Piles of broken glass lie around him, separated according to color, the largest piece, a red one, clutched tightly in his hand.
“What are you doing?” Gemini asks.
“I’ll replace the vase,” Johnny says.
“That’s not what I asked,” Gemini growls, more unnerved by the thick and strange magic layering the air than what Johnny has done to the room and to himself.
That’s the difference between me and him. Magic aside, this is a disturbing sight. “Are you all right?” I ask, certain Johnny has snapped.
“Would you care if I wasn’t?” he asks, smirking.
“I would,” I respond truthfully.
My honesty, and I suppose the concern shadowing my features, erases his cockiness, leaving me with the young man I first saw, and all the vulnerability I noticed.
He straightens, exposing his stomach and the blood drenching his torso. The damaged skin where the images of his bandmates once lay, as well as the other tats we destroyed, healed within a few hours. Most witches require healing herbs, or the attention of a mystical healer to tend to their injuries, otherwise they mend at a human’s pace. Johnny can heal himself. It’s one of his gifts as a Fate. But here he is, covered with blood from injuries he self-inflicted.
At first I think he’s cutting and he’s more damaged than any of us suspected. I rush into the kitchen and snag a towel, hurrying back to Johnny.
“Taran,” Gemini warns, hooking my arm and keeping me in place.
I slip from his hold. “He needs help. I’m not going to stand here and watch him bleed.
I kneel in front of Johnny, noting how he watches me when I grip his shoulder and press the towel against his stomach. He’s shocked I’m being kind to him, or more to the point, that anyone would show him kindness.
“It’s okay,” Johnny tells me.
I meet his face, growing sad as I take in every speck of his being. Everything about Johnny screams he’s endured too much too soon, and all he ever wanted was love. He’s screwed up. Be it his life, his lifestyle, or something more, he’s nothing but a ball of insecurity and misery, carefully glossed over with tattoos and cloaked beneath the façade of a rock god. “It’s really not,” I tell him quietly.
He tilts his head, his eyes brimming. I think he’s going to cry. Instead he offers me a small smile laced with enough gratitude to warm my soul. “I’m not hurt,” he says. “I’m just working.”
He places his hand over mine, stiffening at the sound of Gemini’s growls. Very carefully, he guides my hand across his torso, using me to help him wipe. I notice cuts, lots of them digging deep. But as he lifts my hand away, I realize they’re not just slices across his skin, rather an outline of a bird with long feathers.
Like an animated movie coming to life across a screen, colors of blue, green, red, and gold glisten and spread along his skin, each vibrant tone matching the pieces of the broken glass laid out around Johnny.
The bird turns its head, blinking once before shaking out its long feathers.
“It’s a peacock,” Johnny tells me. He releases my hand. I was so captivated by the image, I hadn’t realized he was still holding me. “Not one like in a zoo or the wild, more like how I see one in my head.” He leans back on his heels, exposing the entirety of the image carved into the length of his torso.
The peacock sits up and away from Johnny’s stomach, keeping its lower half seated as if nesting. It watches me closely, clicking its small beak several times before its tail feathers fan out in a beautiful spray of gold.
The tips are long enough to tickle Johnny’s skin. He chuckles. “Okay, now he’s just showing off.”
“He’s alive?” I ask.
Johnny’s smile vanishes. “As much as he can be,” he replies. “He’s a part of me, my magic, I mean.”
“Can you communicate with him?” I scan the remainder of his exposed skin, including the sleeve tattoos inked into his arms.
“Yes,” Johnny answers. “But not as much as I’d like to.”
“What do you mean?”
The peacock settles back into Johnny’s skin, becoming merely another graphic.
Johnny presses his palms into the floor and straightens his legs. “When I was little, I didn’t have any friends, and I sure as shit didn’t have any fans.” His attention falls to the peacock. “People thought I was weird and kept their distance.” He huffs. “And my folks kept me plenty far away from other witches. I got lonely and started making friends of my own.”
“On your skin?”
“Yeah, mostly,” he says, his voice drifting. “It started in grade school. I had trouble learning and understanding so instead of taking notes or whatever, I’d draw on my hand. Drawing was the one thing I was good at. Birds were my favorite. One day, the one I drew on my hand started to move.”
He glances up when the door snaps shut. I don’t have to guess Gemini asked for privacy and ordered the weres to wait downstairs, just like I don’t have to guess that he chose to remain.
“Your drawings became your friends,” I guess.
“In a way,” he says. “I wasn’t alone when they were with me and I wasn’t the only freak in the room.”
“Is that why you have so much ink, so you don’t have to be alone?”
His lips press tight. “Something like that.”
I think back to the night of the concert, and how his tats fought so hard to save him. “So your bandmates were never real, and because of it, they weren’t real werewolves.”
All the hurt Johnny carries spills into the air, drenching it with melancholy. “They were real to me, Taran.”
We sit in silence for a long while. I want him to speak, but I won’t force him to. Whatever he feels or needs to articulate should come freely. I think the world owes him that much.
“When do I get to get out of here?” he finally asks.
I look to where Gemini waits with his arms crossed. “Technically, you’re free to go whenever you wish.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Johnny asks.
“Watch your mouth,” Gemini growls at him.
“You’re not our prisoner,” I explain quickly. “And believe it or not, we don’t mean you any harm. But there is a group referred to as the Dark Legion. They’re growing in numbers and are targeting our strongest.”
“You mean like you?” he asks.
I take another look at the peacock. “More like you,” I reply. “If they know about you, they’ll find you and either kill you or try to use your power. If you let us, we can protect you.”
“I have protection,” Johnny says, motioning to his tats. “And a fucking legion of my own. My fans would do anything for me.”
“Your fans are human. Neither they nor your magic is enough,” Gemini says. “You saw how easily we crushed everything you threw at us and how Taran alone was able to catch you. The Dark Ones won’t be as merciful to you or your fans.”
“Think of them,” I plead. “All those people who adore you could be hurt. You
’ve been hiding out in the open, but that’s no longer an option. Not after everything that happened at the concert.”
“Why not? The investigators chalked it up to being part of the show,” Johnny points out. “I saw it on T.V... But my crew, they’re going to know.”
“The investigators only claimed the effects were part of your show because that’s what we wanted them to believe,” Gemini tells him. “As for your crew, they were also taken care of.”
His face goes white. “Not like that,” I explain quickly. The investigators and everyone backstage was entranced. We have people for situations like this to keep humans from becoming aware of our world.”
“People? You mean witches,” he scoffs. “Yeah, saw all they’re good for.”
I place my hand on his knee. As a whole, weres don’t like their mates demonstrating affection to anyone aside from close family. It’s never been an issue for me and Gemini since I’m not the affectionate type. But Johnny is killing me. The experiences he’s endured: losing his parents, having no friends, being ostracized by society? I’ve experienced all of it, and that shit still hurts.
“The shifters are going to find out about you, if they don’t already know.” I sigh when he won’t budge. “They don’t care about the human populace or about being discovered. They’ll mow down anyone in their path, including your fans.”
“Then I’ll die with them,” he says, the severity in his tone alerting me to the truth behind his statement. “They loved me when no one else would.” A tear cuts down his cheek. “You saw them, right? They’re the only ones who care whether I live or die.”
“They’re not the only ones,” I whisper. It takes all I have not to cry with him. “Please, Johnny, let us help you.”
“No,” he says, his voice breaking. “I want my life back.” He looks at Gemini. “Just get me out of here, man. You don’t ever have to see me again.”
Gemini meets him square in the face. “If that’s what you want.”
“It’s what I need,” he says, punching out every syllable. He quivers, his respirations increasing. “My parents used to tell me that one day, I’d understand why they kept me away from the mystical world.” He laughs without humor. “I didn’t get it. I was excited when they told me what I was, thinking I was going to Hogwarts or some shit. I didn’t understand why they didn’t want me to be a part of it and was pissed at them for denying me friends and keeping me away from beings who wouldn’t consider me a freak.” He looks around. “I get it now. This is fucked up and I want out.”