by Kristie Cook
"What do you mean you don't think? Don't you know the truth?" I demanded.
"That's part of my problem. I haven't felt the real truth in things for a while. It's so … disorienting. And my memories aren't quite as clear as they usually are. Yes … I think she had lost some of her Otherworldliness."
"You think she was ousted?" Char asked.
"Not exactly. I felt then she was helping the Amadis, and faeries, as a group, don't get involved in our affairs. Not to this extent. She'd gone through such lengths to disguise herself and make sure I drank that potion. I thought her intent was about converting Lucas, so I didn't think much of it at the time."
Mom stopped again, and her expression bothered me. She looked so lost, not like herself at all. I was about to ask if she really was okay, but both the front and back doors burst open at the same time. Owen dropped Mom and Char's luggage in the foyer and rushed into the kitchen just as Tristan pulled Dorian through the rear door.
"Mimi," Dorian squealed, and he ran into Mom's arms. "I missed you!"
"Did you get my text?" Owen asked Tristan.
"Sure did," Tristan said, holding his phone up. "Let's move."
"What's going on?" I asked.
"I finally got word about the Okeechobee wolf pack," Owen said. "They're gathering tonight, and I know exactly where."
"We're going for a bike ride," Tristan said. "Get dressed."
I moved for the doorway but Char grabbed my wrist. She held the mug out to me. "Drink up. Then Sophia and I have something for you."
I pinched my nose and swallowed the foul tea in three large gulps. A shudder ran up my spine, and I fought my stomach's desire to expel the liquid back the way it came.
"A little early to be drinking hard stuff, don't you think?" Owen asked.
"Come on," Char said, ignoring her son. She took my wrist again and pulled me toward their luggage in the foyer.
"Can't this wait?" Tristan asked. "It's not exactly a short ride."
"I don't like this idea one bit, Tristan," Mom said, sounding like my mother again, at least for a moment, "but … you will at least have as much protection as possible. Especially Alexis."
Tristan threw me a questioning look. He saw the changes in Mom, too. Before, she would have been adamant about trying to stop us, saying it was an absurd idea. I returned his gaze with one that said, "I'll tell you later."
Char opened one of the suitcases, grabbed something black, examined it and tossed it to Owen. She picked up something else and tossed it to Tristan. She continued throwing things at them and finally started tossing stuff to me. First, a black leather jacket. It wasn't heavy; in fact, the leather was thin and supple, and it reminded me of the one Char herself wore. Second, a bustier made of black leather and adorned with purple-dyed suede and silver embellishments. Third, pants made of the same kind of leather as the jacket and a belt with several loops hanging from it, and, finally, a pair of combat boots.
"Are we going to a bike rally? Is this supposed to make me fit in?" I asked, not quite understanding why Char and Mom brought me leathers. Not that I had any–we weren't the rally kind of bikers, and I didn't need them to protect my skin from road burn.
"These are warrior clothes," Char said. "What we all wear out in the field. The leather's enchanted for maximum protection."
Warrior clothes. Of course. We could no longer leave home without being prepared for a fight.
"And your weapons," Char said, waving her hand over the suitcase. She lifted what had appeared to be the bottom of it, exposing a hidden section. She handed me a small knife that flipped in and out of its own hilt, much like a pocket knife, but bigger. "This is your back-up weapon."
I took it and examined it, flipping it a few times to get used to it. Then she pulled out something longer, nearly as long as my forearm. A silver vine with leaves wound around the gold hilt, circling to the center, where it ended with an amethyst the size of a nickel. The blade hid in a black and purple sheath that matched my bustier.
"Your dagger, Ms. Alexis," Char said with a bow of her head as she held the hilt toward me.
I took the dagger and pulled it out of its sheath. The sun coming through the window shone through an intricate design of vines and leaves that was cut out of the center of the blade.
"It's a hand-me-down," Mom said. "The same dagger Andrew gave to Cassandra."
Wow. I actually held Cassandra's dagger. Andrew's dagger. Specially made in the Otherworld. My earliest ancestors had once wielded this same weapon.
"Of course, Ferrer enchanted it to take your powers," Char said.
"You remember how to use it?" Tristan asked.
I stepped back and made a few moves. Then Char showed me how swiping my thumb over the amethyst could make the dagger disappear and appear again.
"Not even metal detectors will sense it," she said.
"It would have been nice to have this all before," I said. "Like when we first left and had to fight Vanessa all the time."
"It wasn't ready yet," Char said.
"Then they wouldn't let us bring it to you the first time we came," Mom added.
"They didn't exactly let us bring it this time either," Char said.
"We were always good at covert operations," Mom said with a smile.
"Thanks to Martin and his help, too," Char added and Mom nodded.
Owen looked at his phone. "We need to get out of here, big guy. I'll be back in a few."
He disappeared with a pop. Tristan and I quickly changed into our new gear. I expected the leather to be difficult to pull on and uncomfortable to wear, but it came on easily and molded itself to my body, like a second skin. I moved around in it, and after a few minutes, I felt both naked, as if nothing impeded me, yet protected at the same time. I thought I might have found clothes I liked almost as much as shorts and T-shirts.
I was never one who found guys in leather pants sexy, but Tristan changed my mind. At least, for him. The leather didn't cling to him as it did me, but fit him like jeans, accentuating the curve of his perfect ass, but not in a porn-star kind of way. He showed me how to secure my weapons in my belt loops for easiest retrieval, and he filled his with his own dagger, knives and discs. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught our reflections as we strode past the bedroom mirror for the door. We looked as though we belonged on the set of some post-apocalyptic movie where the characters were armed up to fight zombies. Of course, we fought vampires, mages and shape-shifters, not zombies. I didn't think.
"Do zombies exist?" I asked Tristan.
"Only if the Daemoni want to create them. Which they might, if we really do go to war."
"I wish you wouldn't do this," Mom said standing in front of the back door, blocking our way, and I thought maybe she'd returned to herself. But then she moved to the side. "But I realize you're going to anyway. Who am I to stop you now? I don't even know the truth anymore."
"That's what we're looking for, Mom. The truth."
She nodded. "I know."
Char took my hand and rubbed my thumb over the dagger's hilt, making the weapon disappear. "No need for that hanging off your waist as you're driving down the highway."
That's when I realized how dangerous this trip really was. The Weres didn't pose the real threat. Although they'd been avoiding us, they would fight for us if they had to. The true danger came from the exposure. Owen couldn't cloak us, otherwise other drivers wouldn't see us on the road.
"Why are we taking the bikes?" I asked as Tristan and I headed out to the garage.
"We're going to a bike rally."
I ignored his obvious point. "I mean, a car's safer, isn't it? We could do it how we did when we went to Daytona."
"Owen can't get a hold of Blossom, who probably can't drop everything for us anyway. Sophia's in no shape to go, Char has to stay with her and they both have to stay with Dorian. Besides, if we're going to put our lives in danger, we may as well have fun doing it." He grinned and winked at me, and I forgot my concerns.
&nbs
p; At least until we merged onto I-75 and the lights of magic spells and curses bombarded us.
Chapter 18
Although he couldn't cloak us for our own driving safety, Owen had shielded us before we left, so the red and blue lights coming from the truck behind us bounced off the invisible bubbles protecting us. One collided with a car, sending it careening into another lane and causing an accident.
"This isn't good," I cried out to Tristan over the screech of scraping metal and the roar of the bike.
"No shit," he muttered.
"Alexis!" Owen called to my mind. "I have to cloak us, or they won't stop."
I still couldn't open my mind between two other people, not even Tristan and Owen, so I had to relay between them. Owen pulled up next to us, lifted both hands from the handlebars and thrust them out at us several times, then did the same to himself and he disappeared. I could no longer see Owen or his motorcycle, or Tristan or ours, for that matter. Without any kind of structure enclosing us, he had to cloak the bikes and each of us individually. I clung to Tristan, though, and felt the rumble underneath me. Brakes squealed and the acrid smell of hot rubber burned my nose as drivers around us panicked at our disappearance.
The truck full of mages sped up behind us. Not able to see their targets anymore, they didn't throw magic. Apparently, they decided to run us over instead.
"Hang on, ma lykita. This is about to get ugly!"
I clutched him tighter.
"Stay connected to Owen so he can see through your eyes and know what we're doing."
I'm no good at that, Tristan!
"It's just him. You don't have a choice!"
The sound of the truck's engine closed in on us, and a car in front of us blocked our way. Tristan swerved around it, onto the shoulder, and back up onto the road in front of the car. I felt Owen's mind signature and sensed him do the same, but he narrowly missed crashing into us. The shields would have kept us from colliding, but the bounce of the protective bubbles could have sent us all out of control and skidding across asphalt. I really didn't have a choice.
Owen, see what I'm seeing.
I opened my mind to Owen and wished I could open it to Tristan, too, so that his thoughts could go straight through me to Owen. But as hard as I tried, my shield wouldn't budge. There were too many people around, and it remained solid, protecting my own thoughts from broadcasting to everyone on the highway. So Owen followed us as best he could, trying to keep his eyes on the road and watch through my mind at the same time.
A car started moving into our lane right next to us, and I shrieked. Tristan and Owen both accelerated to avoid it. We weaved in and around vehicles, narrowly missing cars and semis. I stopped shrieking with every close call, but my breath caught each time until I simply held it indefinitely. My heart raced faster than we drove. I wanted to squeeze my eyes tightly shut and hide my face against Tristan's back until it was over, but then Owen would lose us.
"Relax, Alexis, or you'll block me out," Owen said. "Trust Tristan. You're in very capable hands. Besides, I thought you liked to go fast now."
He was right. Since the Ang'dora had started coming on, speed had become an addiction. The speed didn't scare me, though. The darting in and out of people's ways did. But Owen was right in that regard, as well. Tristan reacted expertly each time. I tried to relax and trust him and, once I did, the ride became exhilarating. Still, relief washed over me when we pulled off the highway onto a deserted road.
We rode for another hour, still cloaked in case any Daemoni watched us. In fact, the closer we came to the Weres' location, the more likely they'd be around. Tristan took us right past a guard station "manned" with three wolves–they sniffed our way, but didn't catch our scents through Owen's shields–and into an encampment. A few motor homes and many tents encircled a wide area that bordered Lake Okeechobee's shore.
A rough-looking crowd milled around the open space, everyone dressed in leather and denim, their exposed skin displaying piercings and tattoos. Some whooped, hollered and even growled or laughed and clapped each other on the shoulders, as if they hadn't seen their pack-mates in a while. Others strode around, their eyes constantly surveying and their bodies tense, as if on guard. We parked at the head of a long line of bikes, the engines still rumbling, when they all suddenly turned and stared at us. Owen had lifted the cloaks and shields.
Tristan gave my thigh a squeeze. I self-consciously swung my leg over to dismount, everyone still watching us, some of their eyes piercing us like laser beams, others full of curiosity. When he and Owen cut the engines, I didn't think I'd ever heard such dead silence. Then they all dropped to a knee and lowered their heads. Thinking it was some kind of Were greeting and wanting to show them respect, I began to sink down, too. Tristan grabbed my upper arm.
"They're bowing to you," he said under his breath.
Oh. Right. Royalty and all that crap. Since they hadn't responded to Owen's calls … and just looking at them … I hadn't expected all the formalities. In fact, I thought they'd be more hostile than Blossom's Aunt Sylvie. Instead, this big biker gang was honoring me.
"What do I do?" I whispered when no one made a move to rise. Nobody had bothered to teach me how to act in such situations. Was I supposed to say something? Give some kind of salute? Blow kisses?
"Follow me." Tristan took my hand, and we walked toward them, his stride full of confidence. As we reached the outer edge of the crowd, a big, burly man barged out of one of the RVs.
"What the hell's going on?" he barked. He took in the crowd, and his dark eyes followed their attention to Tristan, Owen and me. His strides covered several yards at a time as he came toward us, a beer bottle in one hand and a cigar in the other. His black leather vest strained against his barrel chest and exposed bulging, tanned arms decorated with multiple tattoos. He went down on one knee in front of us, and his shoulder-length salt-and-pepper hair, which matched his goatee, fell forward as he quickly bowed. Unlike the others, he didn't stay down and as soon as he rose, so did everyone else. He must have been the pack's leader.
"What the fuck do you want?" he growled at us.
Tristan looked at me, back at him and raised an eyebrow.
"This is my house. If she can't handle it, she shouldn't be here." He looked me over, from head to toe and back up again. "But something tells me she can. So. What the fuck do you want?"
"Just a moment of your time," Tristan said. He sounded polite, but his jaw muscle twitched, and his voice was steel-hard.
The pack leader narrowed his eyes and lifted his finger, which he shook in Tristan's face. "I ain't talkin' to you. I ain't stupid. You got no business comin' here and ruinin' our party. Get the hell out before you regret comin'."
Tristan grabbed the Were's hand and leaned forward so their faces were only inches apart. His voice came out low, almost a growl. "Get your finger out of my face before you regret me coming. I don't think you want me to embarrass you in front of your pack. I might accidentally kill you, and I really don't want to take over as their lead. So back off and take us somewhere we can talk."
The leader's huge arm muscles bulged as he tried to pull out of Tristan's grip, but he wasn't strong enough. Tristan kept hold of him until he finally relaxed and nodded his head.
"And show some respect for my wife," Tristan added as the Were jerked his hand free. "She leads you."
"Not yet. And not ever, from what I gather," the Were mumbled under his breath. He strode past us, headed for a clump of trees and brush. He threw a jerk of a wave at his pack, who pretended as though nothing had happened and returned to their party.
Tristan, Owen and I followed the leader into the trees. When the party became a distant hum of noise, he finally stopped and spun on us.
"I ain't got nothin' to say to you," he said.
"Do you even know why we're here?" Tristan asked.
"No. And I don't want to. I ain't gettin' in the middle of things. My pack don't bother no one, and we don't want no one botherin' us."
"I don't know nothin'."
Tristan looked at me. I followed the Were's mind signature, and something flickered in his thoughts. Some kind of familiarity. Right as I was about to grasp the full thought, screams pierced the air overhead. Shadows passed over us, and we all looked up. Two gigantic, black birds tucked their wings close to their bodies and dive-bombed toward us.
I flattened myself to the ground, and Owen was instantly on top of me. Tristan and the pack leader stood on either side of us, both in protective stances. The birds dove at us again and Tristan hit them with his power. Black feathers exploded.
"Just birds, but under someone's control," he said.
Chaos erupted from the party. The screams and yells weren't playful anymore, and feral growls and bays joined the racket.
The next thing I knew, I was lifted from the ground, and air rushed past me.
"Get her in that one!" the pack leader growled, jerking his head toward the RV he had come out of earlier. He exploded into a giant silver wolf as he ran for his pack.
Owen dropped me to my feet inside the little living room of a decked-out RV.
"You okay?" Tristan asked me, surveying my head and body.
"I'm fine." I rushed to the window that looked out to the clearing full of the wolf pack. "But they won't be."
People disappeared, replaced by wolves of various colors and sizes, their were-pulp splattering everywhere–a chunk hit the RV just below the window. Daemoni vampires swarmed in from all sides. The party became a battle. Wolves and vampires lunged and knocked each other to the ground. Wolves' muzzles latched onto their enemies' limbs while vamps' fangs sunk into their necks. Blood spurted and bones snapped. Fighting duos became blurs of motion.
"They'll kill each other," I whispered with horror. "Not for us. Not again."
I placed my hand on the hilt of my dagger and flashed into the middle of the battle.