Bloodfire (Blood Destiny)

by Harper, Helen

  Julia was just inside the door when we entered, pinning something up onto the noticeboard. She was a tiny woman with grey hair, slightly older than John and a whole lot scarier. She’d lived with the Cornwall pack for her entire life and treated everyone as if they were naughty children. She fixed me with a death stare. “Mackenzie Smith, don’t you dare come into the keep with that…thing. It smells like Hades.”

  I lightly touched the cloth on my shoulder without thinking and then recoiled slightly at the shudder its touch gave me. “I need to show it to John,” I protested.

  “I don’t care. It is not entering this building and defiling our living space. Besides, John has already gone out.” She sniffed delicately and continued to glare at me until I rolled my eyes in acquiescence and began to back out.

  To be fair to her, despite the keep’s vaguely menacing appearance outside and shabby interior within, it was well-kept with a seemingly ever-lasting lemon fresh smell. I had long suspected that she hired brownies to clean it at nights, but had never been able to catch any of them to prove it. Tom almost ran up the stairs out of her way whilst I flounced outside and headed for an unused shed beside the north face of the keep, tying it securely to a post inside before stomping ungratefully back in. She was waiting for me in the hall.

  “When will he back?” What I really wanted to know was whether he’d called he Brethren yet and if they were really coming to our little corner to investigate.

  “He said he’d be some time dear, but that he’d probably return by supper.”

  I scowled in annoyance. Now that I’d removed the evil smelling object from her notice, she’d reverted to calling me dear again. Julia called everyone dear. I knew she wasn’t trying to be patronising but any endearments of any sort wound me up. Duck, hen, chick, even Red as Tom insisted on calling me, all annoyed me. Mack was fine. If you were Julia or John, you could get away with Mackenzie, but woe betide anyone else who tried that one. My red hair wasn’t the only fiery thing about me. I was pretty sure that from the moment of my arrival at the keep, the whole pack had been aware of my volatile temper. And it wasn’t entirely my own fault that I’d fly off the handle at times. Despite my mother’s last words to me to keep my bloodfire a secret, I’d mentioned it to Betsy, a werelynx shifter the same age as me, when we’d pricked each other’s fingers at age nine and sworn a blood pact of friendship to each other. I think at the time I’d just been happy to finally have found a friend. She’d vowed – and still to this day continued to assert the same, I might add - that she’d felt the fire inside my blood when we’d pressed our pinkies together. And, naturally, a scant three hours later the whole pack knew that I had a strange heat inside me that shaped my emotions and often directed my actions. I was pretty sure that most pack members were under the impression that it was a particular side effect of being a puny red-haired human, and my limited experience outside the shifter world meant that I couldn’t genuinely say otherwise. Certainly, since that day, I’d learned to never entirely trust Betsy with a secret again. John, for his part, had merely raised an eyebrow and gently suggested that I made sure the fire didn’t burn me out. Ha bloody ha.

  I murmured something back at Julia and headed for the kitchen, hoping I could find something to eat and avoid having to sit down to pretend to enjoy Johannes’, the resident pack chef’s, cooking with the rest of the pack later on. Betsy herself was in there washing a plate. She arched an eyebrow at me.

  “You smell….interesting, Mack.” She looked behind me. “Is Tom with you?”

  I shrugged. “He was but he disappeared when Julia started harping on at me.”

  She looked oddly disappointed for a second before returning to the sink. “Are you coming to the Hanging Bull for a jar tonight?”

  I opened the fridge and dug inside for some bread and a hunk of cheese before sitting down at the large scarred wooden table. “Nah. I want to hit the library and check out a few things.”

  “Your young policeman might be there.”

  “He’s not ‘my’ anything.” I started sawing at the creamy cheese. I’d had a very

  brief affair with the local copper. His name was, and I’m not joking here, Nick. It hadn’t lasted long. I’d had the feeling that he was looking for a little wife to keep the home fires burning whilst he saved the village of Trevathorn and its environs from dangerous washing line thieves and the local drunks. That was never going to be me. In fact, as nice as he was, I rather felt that I’d had a lucky escape.

  I finished making my sandwich and started chewing it down. Unfortunately, Johannes took that moment to enter the kitchen. He saw me eating and gave me a baleful look.

  “I…er…I’ll be here for dinner, Johannes, I just need a little snack,” I said hastily.

  He humphed grumpily and began peeling potatoes. “Dinna think that you can pull tha wool o’er my eyes, dahling.”

  “I’m not! I’ve been out all day, didn’t have lunch. I wouldn’t miss your cooking for the world,” I swore, hating myself for the lie - and Johannes for the endearment.

  Betsy choked back a guffaw. “Just make sure you give her double portions to make up for that lost lunch, J.” She leaned over to him and gave him a peck on the cheek. I forced a smile. It’d serve me right, I supposed. She winked at me on the way out and I pulled a face at her in return.

  Once the door closed behind her, I rested my head on my hands and cocked an eye up at Johannes. I knew that whilst his cooking might not tempt my palate, he was a fount of knowledge and, unlike Betsy, wouldn’t go opening his mouth to the others. I debated whether to pump him for more details on this afternoon’s revelations or not. It might save me a few hours of digging around in the library. “What do you know about wichtleins, J?”

  He looked up, somewhat appeased that I was asking him for information. “Scary bleeders those ones, “ he said slowly. “Seen one ‘ave ye?”

  I shook my head. “Just a…rumour.”

  He sat down across from me. “Wichtleins ur trouble. Mah grandfaither saw one once, doon the mines. Knocked three times befaur disappearing. He hud enough guid sense in ‘im tae get the hell oot of Dodge. Less than ten minutes efter the roof collapsed ‘n twenty three men were kill’t.”

  That gibed with what I’d originally thought. “So they stay underground?”

  “For the maist part. If’n ye see one on the surface thae, ye’d better skedaddle. ‘parently they on’y dae that when thair’s summat big abrewin.”

  “What about tokens? Do they usually leave signs behind them?”

  “Thay like tha mines and th’underground so often stanes.”

  “Stanes?” I was momentarily puzzled.

  “Aye, lass. Wee hard pebbles.”

  Oh, stones. Now I got it.

  Johannes regarded me gravely. “Stanes as smooth as silk and black as a witch’s heart. Find on o’ them and running for the hills willna do you ony guid. Cos then yer card’s marked.”

  But I hadn’t found the stone – John had. I pursed my lips, worried. Perhaps I should go after him just in case. I knew he could take care of himself but a harbinger of doom directed at him in particular was not good news.

  I thought of one more thing. “What about bits of material?”

  “Material? Nae that Ah’ve heard, lass.” He leaned back and folded his arms and frowned at me with a serious expression on his weathered face. “You teck care of yersel’ min’?”

  I nodded. I appreciated that he hadn’t asked my why I was suddenly so interested in wichtleins but the gnawing worry for John ate at me. “I don’t think I’ll be eating dinner after all, J.”

  Concern flickered in his eyes. “Aye, mebbe best not, love.”

  I stood up to leave. “It’s Mack.”

  He looked puzzled. “Eh?”

  “Never mind.”

  I headed for the door, checking the straps on my arms that held my daggers as I left. I did briefly consider picking up a bow and some silver tipped arrows as well. The shifters wouldn’t
go near silver, but it didn’t affect me and was a powerful weapon against anything not wholly of this world. Chances were I’d make a mistake and end up hitting John himself instead though. I was a mean shot but I knew enough of the vagaries of prophecies of doom that they were as likely to come about by your attempted actions to stop them as anything else. Perhaps it had been clear that the wichtlein’s token wasn’t intended for John though because he would surely have known what it portended and how it worked, and acted more appropriately concerned for himself. He’d certainly known enough to know that it was to be taken seriously. I mean, after all, he was calling the Brethren in for goodness’ sake. He wasn’t anyone’s fool.

  Yet despite taking the sudden appearance of the stone seriously, John hadn’t appeared that immediately worried about his own safety this afternoon. He’d been laughing and joking around in fact. I paused. Or had he? I tried to think whether it had been both of us laughing about the repeated bunny adventures or whether it had just been me. Damnit.

  I stopped to grab my trusty hunters’ backpack and leather jacket to stave off the cold night air on my way out. Hearing Julia moving about on the first floor, I called up the stairs to her. “Julia?”

  There were a few thumps and I could hear someone cursing. Her head eventually peered down from above the shiny first floor banister. “Yes, dear?”

  “Something’s wrong. Where did John say he was going to?”

  My question hung in the air for a heartbeat and something flickered in her face. Fear?

  “He didn’t say.” There was another moment’s silence before she cleared her throat. “Should I muster the troops?” Her voice was quiet.

  I thought about it for a second. Perhaps I was just being paranoid. But if I wasn’t and John was really in danger then he’d need all the help we could give him. I’d rather look like an idiot and have him safe than risk the fact that he might be hurt. “That might be best. I’m going to head for the beach by the old cottages. Get the others to fan out from here and see if they can find him. “

  Julia lifted back her head and roared. It was unbelievable that such a small woman could create such a racket. Almost immediately the sounds of shifters running for the hall could be heard. I couldn’t wait even for them though. The fire inside me was already rising with every moment that passed. I shrugged on my jacket, swung the pack on my shoulder and left.

  Chapter Two

  Practically speaking, there was a limit to the number of places that John could have gone to. We’d been east that afternoon so he wouldn’t be there again now. Having little patience with the local humans, he generally avoided the village so that was probably out. North of the keep was the road and south was the forest then the coast. It was usually the case that any nasties around would try to avoid being inadvertently run over by a heavy goods lorry and stay in the opposite direction. And where there were nasties, that’s where I’d find John so south it was. I kept my mental fingers crossed that I was just over-reacting but made sure that I stayed fully alert and engaged anyway, and that my daggers were easily accessible and wouldn’t snag on my clothing when I needed them most.

  One of the inexplicable skills that I had, and could boast about to, er, no-one, were a few parlour mind tricks. I could hear and respond to the alpha’s Voice in the same way that a real shifter could, which admittedly might just be a side-effect of living with the pack for most of my life, much in the same way that women’s periods aligned themselves if they lived together in close quarters for a long period of time. It was just too bad the Voice didn’t work both ways, in my case or in the shifters’ cases. Unfortunately only alphas could initiate mind to mind conversation and although I shouldn’t by rights be able to hear him because I wasn’t a shifter, the rules for me were the same. I couldn’t contact him, he could only contact me.

  But I also did have superior tracking skills – for a human at least – and was often able to sense when I wasn’t alone. At this particular point in time it was all I could use because, without the shifters’ superior sense of smell, I had little else to rely upon to find John as quickly as I could. I was pretty sure at the moment that there was nothing out there hiding in the darkness and shadows though.

  Carefully checking the enveloping darkness around me as I went, I jogged steadily down through the worn forest path. I heard other shifters call out to each other in their animal voices from some way behind me. So far, nothing. The overhanging branches of a nearby tree caught my hair and pulled at it, catching some of the strands and yanking my head back. I cursed and stopped briefly to untangle myself when my gaze caught something gleaming on the leaf-strewn ground. I bent down to take a closer look before using the cuff of my jacket to scoop it up. It fell into my palm and heat started to rise in the pit of my belly. A wichtlein stone. Was this the one John had found earlier or was this one destined for me? I rolled it into my hand. It felt the same as the one from earlier but I had no way of knowing whether that was usual or whether it really was the same. I was about to bring it up to my ear to test it for the chiming sound when I realised it felt unpleasantly damp. I picked up it up gingerly between my thumb and forefinger and brought it closer. It looked like blood. I sniffed cautiously, then reached into my backpack without taking it off my shoulder and rummaged through its contents blindly. I kept my eyes trained on the stone.

  My hand finally found what I was looking for when it curved round a cold metal canister. It never to hurt to come fully prepared. I pulled out the hydrogen peroxide, twisting it so the nozzle faced the stone, and sprayed a tiny portion onto the black surface. As soon as the chemical hit the shiny surface it began to foam. It was definitely blood. The curling heat inside me rose higher and my insides felt as if they were starting to burn. The feeling of panic matched the bloodfire but I did my best to push them both back down. Neither would help me right now. I put the stone carefully into a side pouch where it wouldn’t get lost.

  The moon continued to shine steadily down, casting shadows amongst the heavy trees. I could hear the distant hooting of a night owl out searching for prey and the skitter of a small animal somewhere nearby. I ignored them all and concentrated on the signs I could see at my feet. There was something else there. Reaching into my pack again, I found my torch, and clicked it on to look closer.

  He had been this way. John was light on his feet and left little trace of his presence but I knew him well and knew this area. He’d disturbed the bush to my right, brushing past it as he ran. And judging by the distance between his steps, he’d been running fast, as if something had been after him. I frowned and arced the torch over the area, first close by then further along the path. There was something up ahead. Stepping forward, I tried separately to sense what it might be, but I was no shifter and came up short. Fuck. Where had he gone?

  I pushed on the hydrogen peroxide nozzle again and began to spray liberally on the ground in front of me, hoping it wouldn’t work. All I could smell was the damp, musk night air, with the deep smell of the earth rising up. I peered down squinting and holding my breath. The peroxide foamed in a few spots. More blood. It didn’t mean it was John’s though, it could belong to any kind of wild animal. It might even be days old. Despite these thoughts, the ever–present fire inside of me began to heat up even more and I could feel the flames licking up the sides of my stomach.

  Mackenzie?

  I almost jumped for joy before realising that something was different.

  Was that…? Julia?

  Yes. It’s me. Defeat laced her words.

  I felt my legs buckle under me. Only alphas could use the Voice to communicate and if Julia had found hers that meant that John’s was gone. That John was gone. I gulped in air and felt the pain blossom through me. From the other side of the forest, a keening howl and followed by caterwauling began. They were swiftly joined by others as the pack hunters came together in sudden horrifying grief. I couldn’t breathe and fell forward onto my hands, barely registering the damp moss beneath my palms. One huge s
ucking sob sprang from my mouth. It couldn’t be true, it just couldn’t.

  No.

  I forced myself up. The bloodfire wouldn’t allow this. He might still be okay.

  I pushed forward with the torch in front of me like a ward, spraying as I went, moving faster and trying to ignore the hard knot of tears forming inside my chest. The foaming was getting heavier and the tracks were becoming clearer. It was definitely John’s trail; I was beginning to recognize the heavy gait that slightly favoured his left knee. But if he was bleeding and in danger, why hadn’t he shifted? Then he could have fought, he could have regenerated…

  Until I saw it for my own eyes, I wasn’t going to believe he was dead.

  A cobweb brushed my cheek but I didn’t even bother to lift my hand to shake it off. The trail was leading down towards the beach and away from the keep. Whatever had been chasing him, if anything had been chasing him, this creature that left no trail, he’d made sure that we were not going to be targeted by it too. He was a weretiger though. He was powerful enough to beat off almost any of the otherworld creatures that ever made it through to Cornwall. It didn’t make sense. I gritted my teeth and kept going, up over the final rise that led to the dunes.