by Shona Husk
“Enough to know that the Council outlawed bringing back the dead over a hundred years ago.”
Her eyebrows lowered in a scowl she didn’t bother to hide. What Council, and what law against raising the dead? She’d been hoping to scare him. She couldn’t raise the dead—she didn’t have that amount of power. Yet he was deadly serious.
His lips turned up, and the knowing grin came back. “You don’t know about the Council… Oh, this is perfect.”
“What is perfect?” What was he talking about? “What Council?”
She wasn’t in the mood for his games. She just needed to work out what she was going to do with him and Clary. It was a pity she couldn’t magic him away. If he’d have stayed a lion things would’ve been simpler. The cops wouldn’t care too much about her shooting a lion, but a man? How was she supposed to prove it was self-defense when he was the one naked and bleeding and weaponless?
“The Shamanic Council. The governing body of all shamans, the Council of Elders that keeps your bloodlines pure and strong. The Council that expelled your mother, Sherrie Brightwater.” He paused, then pressed his lips together as if realizing he’d said too much.
Dayna drew in a breath. He knew more about her family than a lion on a hunting trip should.
“How do you know my mother?” Her mother had never mentioned a Council, much less being expelled.
He watched her, as if gauging her reaction. She let her fingers slide over the rifle in warning. His gaze flicked to her hand as he took in the motion. He didn’t miss much, but he responded to less. His face and body language gave away no hint of what he was thinking, or if he was worried about dying.
“I read about her. How did you and your sister get away from the Council after her death?”
“Her murder,” Dayna corrected.
He nodded once, not quite an agreement, but said nothing. What did he know about that day? Did it matter? Her gaze slid to Clary. She needed to know what he knew about her family…or what had been her family.
The sense of being truly alone for the first time pressed against her until she thought she’d be crushed. Not even the bush around her house responded. It was silent. She and the shape-shifter could be the only two people left alive in the world.
Dayna took a sip of water to stall. His gaze tracked the bottle with naked hunger, and she almost felt sorry for him, sitting in the sun on a hot, still day. Almost. But he was hiding too much and lying about everything else. She didn’t trust him, and no doubt the feeling was mutual. But if she didn’t answer his questions, he wouldn’t answer hers, and she needed to know why he was here and how he knew so much about magic and her family.
“After my mother’s murder we went into hiding. We knew whoever had killed her would come after us.” The Council must be the people her mother had been afraid of. She’d left instructions for her daughters, cash and a couple of places where they’d be safe until they had worked out what to do. The warnings that had seemed so overprotective when they were growing up had proved true. Her mother’s fears had been realized.
Dayna looked at the shape-shifter with fresh eyes. His appearance on the property was no accident. He knew who she was because he was here to finish the job. Her stomach rolled with the realization. He’d come here to kill her and Clary. “Now you have.”
The only thing stopping him from killing her was a thin piece of white rope and a bit of basic magic she hadn’t used since high school. Would it hold? How far away could she get before it broke? And what then? How long until he found her? She glanced at his wounded leg…he would bleed out before the circle came down. Once he was dead she would be free. But buying freedom with blood tasted wrong. She’d much rather him be tried for her sister’s murder.
“I’m not a shaman. I’m not part of the Council.”
True. He was part lion, but he was still lying to her. “Are you working for them?”
“I work for Fendrake.”
“Fendrake? Do they work for the Council?”
He didn’t answer. It was all the confirmation she needed. She turned away from him. She had to get out of here before more came. Who knew how many others were looking for her?
“Dayna, please. If you leave me here, I will die.”
She spun back. “If I release you, will you go to the Council so they can kill me?”
“I have to tell them I found you,” he said softly.
“Then it’s my life or yours isn’t it, Lachlan?” She snarled. “What gives the Council or Fendrake the right to hunt us down and kill us? We weren’t doing anything wrong.”
He closed his eyes. She watched his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed. His tanned skin glistened with sweat in the sun. If it was her sitting out on the sun, she’d be burned red already. He looked so human, so pained, so unlike a killer.
“The Council asked me to find you both because they suspected a shaman was involved in some recent murders.”
That small fragment of truth had cost him, but she didn’t care. “Why us?”
Why were they always pursued? Even as children they’d moved every couple of years. They’d grown up on the run and had never stopped. She wanted to stop looking over her shoulder and settle down and be safe. She’d thought she and Clary had found a life here, but because of him she’d lost everything.
“Men who used a certain sex line were found drained of life. They were literally dried-up husks. I traced it back to you two.”
“No. Cla—” Her voice caught. She couldn’t even say her sister’s name without tears threatening to drown her. “My sister worked as a telephone psychic.”
“Clarissa wasn’t a psychic. She was drawing power through sex, the way shamans do.”
“You’re lying!” Shamans used nature, not sex.
“It’s the truth. Weren’t you ever trained?”
“No.” Her mother had stopped teaching Dayna when it had become clear she lacked the talent Clary had for magic. For a while Clary had shown her bits and pieces, but she’d lost interest, and Clary had stopped sharing. Had later lessons included something beyond tapping into nature? Clary had always had a lot of boyfriends…
She cut off the train of thought. “I wasn’t trained in killing people through the phone, and neither was my sister. Do you have any idea how crazy you sound?”
He blinked at her. “You’re talking to a were-lion you trapped in a magic circle. If I exist, why can’t what I say be real?”
Because her sister wasn’t some kind of magic sex-line killer. Because Dayna couldn’t decide which pieces were truths between his lies. Because she didn’t want to believe her sister was using the magic they had both sworn not to use.
She tipped her chin and stared at him. “For someone who claims not to be a shaman you seem to know an awful lot.”
“I’m a were-lion. The two are mutually exclusive. Shamans have a third eye in their forehead…” He paused and studied her more closely than she liked. “You don’t have the eye.”
“Eww. Of course I don’t.” The sun must be starting to bake his tiny lion brain.
“Humor me. Lift your bangs.” He smiled as if he were accepting an award, not sitting naked in a rope circle, clutching his leg.
“No.” She wasn’t playing games with a were-lion. His games had gotten her sister killed, and every moment she stood here talking to him instead of running, she was another second closer to being found.
“Fine. You will have a deep crease, almost like a scar, on your forehead. Your sister though…oh, yes…she has the third eye. No, that doesn’t work. You’re twins. If one has it, so should the other.”
Great now he was theorizing to himself. “Neither of us has three eyes because no one does.”
“Shamans do, always…well, full-blood shamans do. Those with just a hint of blood will have the mark but no eye.”
“What has this got to do with why you were sent after us?”
“Nothing. I’m curious. Aren’t you?”
She was, a little. But she wasn’t going t
o admit to it. Her mother had had deep lines on her forehead. Dayna had always thought them to be frown lines. Frown lines both she and Clary had inherited, and that they both covered with bangs. Her fingers traced over the skin of her forehead. The deep line beneath her fingers became a closed eye in her mind, and she jerked her hand away.
“My sister is innocent, and you drove her to use magic we’d vowed never to use.” Somehow the shape-shifter had coaxed Clary outside and then forced her to make the circle… But if Clary could make a circle she would have been safe from him. Nothing was making sense.
Dayna should have been here this morning. If she had, none of this would’ve happened. The grief she was trying to keep contained swelled and clogged her throat, making it hard for her to breathe.
“You vowed never to use. Your sister was using.”
“A few perverts die and this Council I’ve never heard of blames us.” She choked out the words. “Mum was right. People do hate you if you can use real magic.”
They’d stayed too long in one place, sucked into the illusion of a safe life and the hope that whoever had killed their mother had lost interest. They were wrong, and Clary had paid the price for both of them.
Dayna would rather be on the run with her sister than alone and arguing with a shape-shifter about why they were being hunted.
Lachlan cocked his head. “There are plenty of magic users in the world. Shamans and fey are the biggest non-human users. Some humans can rustle up a bit in a pinch but they usually have a non-human in the family tree. Did she never tell you about any of them?”
Her mother hadn’t. She hadn’t told her about the Council or Fendrake either. What else had she left out? Dayna shook her head. How could she even be thinking of believing a word that came out of the were-lion’s mouth? He was lying.
The day was hot and there was no breeze to offer relief. Lachlan watched her with a predatory glint in his eye. His leg was coated in blood that oozed between his fingers despite his attempt to put pressure on the wound. He would say anything, and do anything, to save his life.
“She taught us magic. She taught us to be careful.” Without thought, her gaze drifted to Clary in the charred circle.
Clary had admitted to using a little magic on some of her clients. She was the one who’d set up the plant defenses. Was it possible she had a third eye and had worked for a sex line and not a psychic hotline? Over the past few months Clary had become more withdrawn, rarely coming out of her bedroom and never letting Dayna inside.
No, her sister wouldn’t put them both at risk by using magic.
Dayna would prove him wrong. Prove the Council wrong and then make them pay for killing her sister and mother. She left the drink bottle on the railing for the were-lion to think about, and went inside.
In the house that she’d shared with her sister, out of sight of Lachlan, her careful control buckled. Her breathing tightened as she fought back the tears. With her back against the door, she drew in a slow, deep breath and tried to find some balance. And failed. Her sister was dead, there was a were-lion in her backyard, and the Shamanic Council wanted her and her sister for murder.
Tears welled and trickled down her cheeks. Everything her mother had warned them about was happening. Dayna had believed that by not using magic they would be safe, but Clary hadn’t agreed. They’d argued about magic a lot but stuck together because they were a team—especially since Clary wouldn’t go outside alone. Their mother’s death had hit her sister the hardest—she’d lost both mother and magic teacher. Clary had believed magic was their best defense and their best weapon. It hadn’t helped her today.
Dayna sniffed and tried to get moving, but the pain remained in a tight band around her chest and refused to let her go. With Clary she’d been able to do anything. Now she was alone, and she didn’t know what to do. The idea of moving terrified her, locking her muscles so they refused to respond. Is this what Clary’s agoraphobia had been like?
If she didn’t move, she was dead. She couldn’t let the Council find her, not after her mother and her sister had given their lives. She forced her fingers to release the rifle. They’d bought it as a precaution against feral animals that roamed the bush, mostly pigs, foxes and dogs. She’d never expected to use it on a lion, a were-lion.
Her stomach lurched. It wasn’t just the Council that wanted her; the police would as well.
She should call the police and let them deal with Lachlan. Tell them he was an intruder she’d shot in self-defense. But how would she explain the evidence of magic? No, the police wouldn’t help her. They hadn’t helped her mother. She was on her own. A sob broke free. She didn’t want to be alone, and she didn’t want to run away. But the Council wouldn’t believe she was innocent unless she found proof that she and her sister were wrongly accused. The police wouldn’t be able to protect her from a magical Council—they’d think she was crazy.
Dayna wiped her cheeks and sucked in several deep breaths that sounded more like gulping sighs. If Clary were here, she’d give Dayna a shake and tell her to get moving. Tell her she could cry later when she was safe. To be safe she had to prove Lachlan was wrong about her sister.
One step at a time Dayna forced herself to act. At Clary’s closed bedroom door she hesitated. She’d never gone into her sister’s room. Clary had liked her privacy, but it didn’t matter now. Nothing did. She pushed open the door and paused. The room was messy where hers was neat. Clothes and papers were strewn over the floor and bed.
Dayna picked up a photo of them both with their mother. They were all smiling in front of a rosebush magicked into full bloom as snow fell around them. They’d been living in the Blue Mountains—it was the place they’d stayed the longest, and this was the last photo of them all together.
She’d lost more than her sister, she’d lost her twin. The pain pressed hard and squeezed her heart until she thought it would stop. They’d always been two halves of the same coin. Clary was strong but shy, whereas Dayna couldn’t make a decision but loved being around people.
She gave the photo a hug and then placed it on the unmade bed—she’d take it with her when she fled.
But she needed more than her sister’s favorite photo—that wouldn’t prove Clary’s innocence. Dayna scanned the room, searching for a clue. Where did she start looking? She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The plant in the corner seemed to vibrate with life. In her mind she whispered, not expecting the plant to listen or answer.
What did Clary do in here all day?
When she opened her eyes she saw the wardrobe half open, clothes spilling out between the doors. Clothes shopping? Clary loved clothes; she knew all the best places to shop online. But her sister’s love of shopping was hardly a defense against murder. Dayna opened the wardrobe to shove the clothes back in and stopped. On the top shelf, lined up in chronological order, were their mother’s diaries. Their mother had kept a record of all the magic she’d used in them, what worked and what didn’t. Dayna hadn’t seen them in years. Clary had told her they’d been destroyed in the fire that had swept through the Blue Mountains soon after their mother’s death.
Why would she lie? The seeds of doubt Lachlan had sown began to take hold. The roots dug deep into every argument she’d had with her sister about magic. Was he right? Was Clarissa regularly using magic?
She pulled down the dairies. They were all there, plus one more. A new one. Dayna swallowed and opened up the first page, knowing what she’d find. Her sister’s scrawl littered the page. The diary fell out of her hands and hit the floor.
Oh God.
Dayna sank to her knees and retrieved the diary. She scanned each page, hoping to read about the events of daily life like any normal diary. Each page revealed a new magical working Clary had been trying. Each spell was darker and more deadly. Bile burned the back of her throat as Clary described the thrill of stealing the life out of one of the men until he died.
Dayna’s heart stuttered to a stop.
Lachlan was
right; Clary was the sex-line killer.
She didn’t know her sister at all. Every argument they’d ever had about magic had never mattered because Clary was doing whatever she wanted anyway. They’d never been a team. It had been Clarissa and good old reliable, pliable Dayna.
With a shudder she forced herself to read on, determined to find out why Clary would do such a thing. There had to be a reason. Just because Clary was a liar didn’t make her a cold-hearted killer. She wouldn’t be working magic for no reason. The last page was dated with today’s date, and the day their mother died. Dayna flipped a few pages ahead. Nothing. She looked at the scattered diaries on the floor and picked up the last one her mother had used. Her hands shook as she opened the diary to the last page with writing. The familiar script made her eyes burn afresh.
The last few pages of her mother’s diary weren’t devoted to completed works, but to a spell she was planning. Usually magic was give and take, a reshaping of energy that eventually went back into the system, never used up and never destroyed. This working was different. It involved vast amounts of power to be targeted at a specific location at a specific time.
A magical missile launch.
Dayna’s blood ran cold. Her mother had been planning on taking out the Council at their next meeting. A preemptive strike against them before they could find and kill mother and both daughters.
Had Clary been trying to repeat the spell? Dayna picked up her sister’s diary and read the last few pages again, the horror creeping through her like poison and stealing everything she knew about her sister.
Clary had been building power by stealing life in the hope of being strong enough to wield the energy she planned to rip out of the earth. Dayna shut the diary. For a moment she couldn’t move.
Had Clary known the Council was getting close and tried to make the first strike like their mother? Was she expecting Lachlan? What had gone wrong?
She stood up and looked out the bedroom window. Lachlan hadn’t moved. His eyes were closed against the sun, his hand pressed to his leg. She couldn’t think about how she’d shot him in the leg without a twinge of remorse following. Until today she’d never hurt anyone, magically or otherwise. She turned her head to look at what had once been two massive gum trees, now dead. At their feet lay the body of her twin. A woman she didn’t really know.