by Lisa Ladew
“Of course not. You seek your mate.” Liquidly, her form shifted until it was Dahlia standing in front of them.
Mac cursed, but Crew only stared, his heart weighing a thousand pounds in his chest. She giggled, and it was Dahlia’s giggle that came from her. Crew held himself back from throttling her, wanting to insist she didn’t take his mate’s form for any reason.
Dahlia’s face pouted, the eyes filled with a vicious bitterness Crew knew the real Dahlia had never felt. “You don’t want to play?”
She shifted into The White Lady again, and Crew sensed she liked to show off her power.
“You’re no fun.”
“Is she alive?” Crew asked.
The White Lady stared at him for a long time. He could feel how she was relishing his full attention, maybe even feeding off of it. Her form seemed to grow and glow, while he felt more tired than he ever had in his life.
Mac growled at the old lady, but Crew put a hand on Mac’s shoulder. He could take it. When she’d finally taken her fill, she nodded. “If she is, I can help you find her.”
Crew sagged and Mac held him up. “Here, take this,” Mac said pulling a candy bar from his pocket. Crew unwrapped it, wondering when the last time he’d eaten was. Days, weeks maybe.
He made short work of the bar, but didn’t feel better. He put steel in his spine anyway. “How?”
The old woman smiled, seemingly delighted. “All you need is a little help from your friendly White Lady.” She held up her hand and a small orange pill bottle appeared in it. She thrust it at Crew.
He took it, reading the label. Rx for Crew Arcoal. Take the pill after you have finished paying for it. Only then will the way be revealed.
Crew read it three times, Mac squinting over his shoulder. He faced The White Lady. “What is your fee?”
She smiled at him and her former callousness slipped away for just a moment. She looked almost fond of him. “Ah, but you have already paid with what is dearest to you,” she said quietly. “There is but one more part of the payment to finish, and then you will be told how to find your mate. I would tell you now, because you have proven yourself to be a trustworthy and valiant sort, but I do know sometimes even the best intentions can be forgotten when something this important is at stake.”
Mac snorted. “Plain language, lady! You aren’t writing a crossword puzzle here!”
She gave him a dirty look. Crew touched him on the shoulder again. “It’s ok, Mac, I think I know what she means.”
The augur beamed at him. “Of course you do. Now, a word of caution. When you take that pill, you are going to be shown two paths. One will take you to a world where you can recover the means to bring your mate and yourself back to your world, and the other will take you to your mate. You must choose one.”
“And then what?”
“And then that’s it. You choose, and you do what you gotta do.”
Mac held up a hand. “Wait, you can’t give him a pill that will let him do both?”
“I cannot.”
“Then how is he supposed to get his mate back to his world?”
“He’s not.”
“Then why offer him the choice to go get whatever it is that can get her back? It won’t do him any damn good to find it without her.”
The White Lady shook her head and Crew sensed she didn’t mind Mac’s questions at all. Which was good, or he would have been a toadstool or something by now. “That is the way of it and the extent of what I can do. The rest is up to him.” She looked at Mac, eyes bright. “And his friends.”
The White Lady stretched her hand out to him in slow motion. “Now go,” she said, her eyes misty. “You have a little girl to help.” Crew felt the power coming and grabbed onto Mac’s elbow, holding on tight.
***
Back in their apartment, Crew let go of Mac and checked to see that he still had the pill bottle. He did. Mac cursed and turned in a circle. “What the hell? My truck!”
Crew half-grinned, his heart trip-hammering in his chest. Now to get back home. “Sorry, wolf. She sent us back home. Maybe it’s out front.”
Mac rushed to the window. “Sonofabitch. It’s out there.” He held a hand to his head. “See, I told you she was spookier than you, Spook.”
“Don’t mess with her if you don’t have to, Mac. She’s powerful.”
Mac scoffed. “She’s just a little old lady.” But Crew saw the unease in Mac’s eyes.
Crew tucked the bottle into his shirt pocket, hoping it would make it home with him. But now, how soon could he get there? “I’m gonna try to sleep,” he said.
Mac nodded, then caught his elbow as he headed into his room. “Crew, wait a sec. I got something to tell you.”
Crew waited, noting the use of his real name. “Crew, I, ah, I’m not real good at this type of thing, but, well, I kind of get the feeling you won’t be coming back here.”
Crew raised his eyebrows. That could mean so many things.
“Anyway, I just wanted to say that I’m glad I met you. And I hope you find her. You deserve all the happiness in the world, and I hope I never see you again.”
Crew’s throat lumped again and he clasped hands with Mac, who pulled him into a hug.
“Me too, wolf, me too,” Crew whispered.
Mac let him go and turned away quickly. “I almost forgot, I got something for you.” He ran to his room, then returned, his hand held up.
When he opened it, Crew saw the biggest pill he’d ever seen. “It’s a bull tranquilizer,” Mac said. “Vet says it won’t hurt you, but you probably should only take half.”
Crew laughed, startled into it, surprised at how much Mac thought to do for him when he wasn’t around, then his heart squeezed again as he thought of never seeing him again.
This Mac was a good male, one of the best.
Chapter 22
Dahlia stood stock still as people rushed around her in the crowded walkway, sunlight bathing them all. The day was warm, much warmer than the world she had left behind, and she sniffed the air, trying to place the unique scent it had. Flowers like she’d never smelled before and a hint of something thicker, like burning metal.
She was in a corridor between two rows of rough tents, with people walking to and fro quickly, some stopping at a tent and talking or bartering, and then moving on with new items in their hands. Their clothing was unique, though also familiar to Dahlia, like something she would see in a medieval movie. To her left, three men in brown uniforms with long, heavy swords at their belts laughed heartily, one taking an apple off a stack on a table and biting into it, not paying the vendor. Dahlia shot a look to the vendor, a young girl in a heavy dress with her hair covered by a plain brown scarf. She didn’t say a word, just followed the soldiers with her eyes. Dahlia stepped backwards, trying to make herself smaller and escape the notice of the soldiers, or anyone, really. She wished Angel could have sent her into this world with appropriate clothing so she didn’t have to draw attention to herself. Unless that was the point, to draw someone’s attention.
Brave and wild. If ever she needed her mantra, it was now. She was no superhero, no Wonder Woman with a Lasso of Truth, indestructible bracelets, and the perfect line at the perfect time. She started moving, head down, trying to escape notice, pocketing herself between two men wearing pageboy outfits and flowing surcoats, Wonder Woman lines flowing through her head.
You obviously have little regard for womanhood. You must learn respect!
Women are the wave of the future, and sisterhood is stronger than anything!
Another group of soldiers passed her without seeing her and Dahlia noted the swords at their belts. Wonder Woman had been the daughter of a goddess, had divine gifts, and was trained in several fighting styles. Dahlia? She had… she looked down at herself. Nothing. Not even a sisterhood. She pressed her lips together as her eyes started tearing, suddenly realizing she’d been counting on holing up somewhere and waiting for Crew to come and save her. She looked around. Crew was
n’t here, and all she had was herself. Time to buck up, buttercup. Quit hiding, quit whining, quit waiting for a man. She might not be Wonder Woman, but she was all she had. Oh, and she did have some super mysterious, unpredictable, and probably dangerous as hell power that she could barely control. Way better than superhuman strength or speed. Right.
She stopped mincing along between the two males and pulled herself up to her full five feet, two inches tall, looking around, meeting gazes, until someone stopped and stared at her. She gave the woman her friendliest smile and lifted her hand in a little wave.
The woman screamed theatrically. “The Dragon Lady, the king’s Dragon Lady has finally come.”
Dahlia raised a hand to her hair, patting it down, but it didn’t feel mussed. Dragon Lady? Come on.
Soldiers swooped in from all directions and Dahlia had what she’d wanted. She’d officially been noticed and was doing something.
Or something was being done to her.
***
Even while she’d been searched for weapons, the soldiers were completely respectful with her. She’d had nothing on her at all, not even her notebook, not thinking to bring anything when she’d followed the plaintive cries of the little girl into the trees next to her house. Briefly, she wondered what would have happened if she would have stayed in her home and called the cops instead. Would she still have died? Of course she would have. That man─demon, her mind insisted─would have found her another way or another time. Or killed that little girl instead of her. She had owed that world a death, and now that it was handed over, she felt light, like she was on an adventure. She didn’t know what Crew had to do with what had happened to her, but she sensed he had also known it had been coming and been helpless to stop it.
“Climb up there, maiden,” a young soldier told her, indicating the rock he’d moved his horse next to so she could mount it.
“Why?”
“Our orders are to take you to the castle.”
“What if I don’t wish to go to the castle?”
The group of soldiers exchanged uneasy looks. Dahlia realized they didn’t want to force her, but would if they had to. One male, older than the rest, but barely older than her, stepped forward.
He bowed deeply in front of her. “It has long been our king’s greatest wish that if ever you returned to this land, you would be his most honored and cherished guest in his home, which we mean to take you to.”
Dahlia blinked hard at his bowed head. The other soldiers behind him also dropped to one knee and bowed low. She couldn’t say no to that.
“Ok,” she called sunnily, hopping up onto the rock, then putting her hands on the horse’s back, eyeing the configuration of what looked more like a piece of rough cloth tied around the horse’s middle than an actual saddle. Not that she knew anything about horses or saddles. The horse stayed perfectly still, as if it knew she was a beginner.
She gripped the cloth to steady herself and swung a leg over. The horse shifted its weight but did not move or sway. The young man climbed on behind her and she stiffened at his closeness, but relaxed when he showed no signs of trying to touch her.
The ride went smoothly, Dahlia unwilling to ask any questions, in case she needed to pretend she was this Dragon Lady. She didn’t want the soldiers to tell their king she had no idea who she was.
After what had to be at least an hour, Dahlia’s stomach muscles and butt were aching, but just when she was about to ask if they could take a breather, they broke out of a grove of trees and she saw their destination. A castle more beautiful than she ever could have imagined, with ivy growing up the sides and a stone wall built all the way around, tucked into the side of a hill, partially facing a large body of water she thought had to be the ocean by the cleansing smell of salt in the air.
Her hand went to her throat and she twisted at nothing there, her writer’s eye taking in every detail. The stocky, thick walls made from sea-worn rocks, the impossibly green grass blanketing the way there, and the tiny windows painstakingly carved into the walls. There were no flashy turrets or showy flags flying, but the castle was no less romantic for that. It was practical, made to keep invaders out and provide shelter for the inhabitants, but not to be an ostentatious display of wealth. She loved it.
The horses wound their way through an ocean-side path until they reached the front gates, which were wide open. Women worked in the large gardens stretching out to the right and the left, all of them stopping to watch and whisper as Dahlia was brought inside. Stars topped markers of graves of varying shapes and sizes that dotted the castle’s yard, with children playing tag among the headstones.
The horses stopped near the front door, and the soldier slid off from behind Dahlia, then helped her down, giving her no time to catch her land legs. They rushed inside, the soldiers almost herding her.
“Where is the king?” the oldest one cried to the first person they came across inside, but Dahlia hardly noticed as she took in the interior. Cold, dark halls lined by candles greeted them. A story began to form in her mind and her imagination was off and running with it, causing her to tune out what was going on around her until she found herself inside a great room with a table large enough to seat forty or fifty people, opposite a man who must be the king. She wished fiercely for her notebook, then filed away the story idea, praying she wouldn’t forget it. She stood tall and faced the king, waiting to hear what he would say.
He was a tall man, broad through the chest, wearing the same manner of dress the other men in the market had worn, but with a bright red cloth thrown over his shoulder and belted at the waist. No crown. He had a long, straight scar down one cheek. He didn’t say a word, just looked her up and down, but not in a sexual manner, and then he glanced to the wall to his left. Dahlia looked, too, then gasped to see a painting of her friend Heather, wearing the exact clothes Dahlia remembered her in two weeks before, the night when Heather had called her to pluck the cats out of the spider webs. The night she’d found Angel.
“You are not her,” the king said, “but you wear the same style of dress. You have been sent by her?”
Dahlia thought furiously, not sure what to say. Finally, she nodded.
The king’s face broke into a wide smile. “Leave us!” he demanded to his guards who stood behind her. When they were gone, he grasped Dahlia by the shoulders. “Are you her daughter?”
Dahlia kept her expression under control, barely. She shook her head. “Sister,” she finally said.
The king’s eyes widened, then he nodded. “You look so very like her. If you please, could I know her name?”
Dahlia looked again at the painting. Did they look alike? Maybe, around the eyes and the shape of their faces. “Ah, Heather,” she said, still eyeing the painting.
“Heather,” the king mused, his eyes far away. “Truly a great and powerful name for a great and powerful lady.” His gaze shifted to Dahlia’s expression and his face fell. He shook his head. “You are here for the amulet. You must forgive me. I had given up hope that your sister would ever return here.”
Dahlia’s heart sped up. That was exactly what she was here for, and she had been brought to the home of the person who could give it to her!
The increasing sorrow on the king’s face made her blood run cold, though, as he gestured to what looked like a clay block set in an alcove on the wall. “It is encased in a magical covenant of its own making that will break only when certain conditions are fulfilled.”
Dahlia eyed the clay block. Surely if she was supposed to be here to get the pendant, it would break for her.
She started toward it, but the king got in between her and it. “I am truly sorry, lady, but I cannot let you take it. I have given my word that whoever fulfills the quest for Libeka the Protector’s egg will have a chance at breaking the covenant. If they are not pure of intention, the stone will not break for them, and then it will be yours. I swear it.”
Dahlia stared at him, swallowing hard. She couldn’t take a chance that s
omeone else might claim ownership of the pendant before she could. WWWWD? Wait. She counted the Ws in her mind. Yes, four was enough. What would Wonder Woman Do might have to become her new mantra.
“This quest,” she said hesitantly. “When does it start?”
Chapter 23
Crew blinked against the snow that was pressing against his eyelids. He rolled over with a groan, then stood, freezing, half of him wet, wondering how long he had lain there.
Long enough. He checked to be sure the pill bottle was in his pocket and then loped off at a run toward the police station. As he got close, he realized they were all there, waiting for him. The position of the moon told him it was the middle of the night, just morning side of midnight, but the duty room was lit up like it was daytime, and everyone’s cars were in the parking area.
He slowed to a walk once inside the parking lot, sending his senses into the interior of the building, counting the warm bodies there. He made his way to a door around the side of the station, wondering how few people he could get away with talking to.
He walked down the corridor, stepping lightly with his boots so that he made no noise, stopping just outside of Wade’s office. Trevor and Ella were having a quiet conversation within about the man who had reported Ella’s sister missing.
Trevor spoke. “He said he’s her boyfriend, and that he moved out here first to find them a house, but she never arrived when she was supposed to.”
“What’s he like?” Ella asked, her voice soft. Crew could tell she was hiding something related to her sister from Trevor but he stayed far away from her mind. It was none of his business.
“Big. Abrasive. Probably a criminal, but I haven’t looked him up yet.”
Ella sighed. “Sounds like someone my sister would like. What did you tell him?”
“I told him we would start an active investigation and I’d get back to him as soon as possible. He’s not her husband so we have no obligation to tell him anything. I wanted to check with you first.”
Crew slipped by the open door, hoping the couple wouldn’t see him. In his peripheral vision, he could see they were huddled on Wade’s couch, their heads together, their eyes only for each other. Crew’s heart hurt at the sight.