Wolf Sirens Fever: Many are Born, Few are Reborn (Wolf Sirens #2)

by Tina Smith

  “And you would be back where you started,” I offered.

  “Yes. Watching the destruction of Shade, humans being murdered in the streets, I see it Lila,” she said sounding hollow as though the thoughts haunted her.

  I steeled myself.

  “Is he alive?”

  “Yes,” she said, certain.

  My heart thudded.

  “What if this is a lie now, how can I believe you?” I asked.

  “I helped you once, twice actually…actually three times.”

  I hadn’t been sure until now if she had really helped me run. I narrowed my eyes “And you lied.” To me.

  “I let you run.” Her liquid eyes locked on mine.

  I broke her gaze. “I thought it was too easy, escaping.” It seemed so glaringly obvious now, that I felt stupid to think she hadn’t assisted me.

  “I didn’t do much, Lila, if it’s any consolation. And I want to tell you I’m sorry I lied and Reid didn’t know he was dead for sure. They even lied to him.”

  I cringed inside at hearing her defend him. She was trying to sugar-coat it.

  “What?”

  “He believed Sky was dead or would be if he didn’t convince you. He wasn’t sure until recently that he was actually alive. I could tell.”

  I felt I was supposed to sympathize with him but I knew why she would want that, she was his now, I had lost her. I tried to console myself. I bit my lip and changed the subject. I wanted to slap it out of her. But time was short, I pressed for more important information.

  “Will you fight, now?” Unfortunately, I needed her, at least for now, until she was of no use.

  “It’s now or never.” Cres smiled wryly.

  I pushed the horror of what I must do down and closed the lid. “I need you to gather everything, all the weapons. Do you know if there are any others who can help?”

  I noticed Cres suddenly stiffen.

  “Cres?” I asked concerned.

  She seemingly stared into space; I had seen the expression before.

  “Cres?” I whispered, “What have you seen?”

  “A war,” she uttered transfixed.

  “At the compound?”

  “I think so.” She blinked, no longer staring into nothingness.

  “Who helps us?” I frowned searching her face.

  “Reid and a girl, I think she is a wolf?”

  “Reid? Are you sure?” It sounded like a trick.

  I recalled my threat to him, to shoot Reid if I found out Sky was alive, and again I shelved it, not because of Cres or for Sky. I was mad at him and in pain over what he said that night in the field. I had a bullet with his name on it. But he still had a part to play.

  “What about Jackson?” I asked, recalling the pistol whip the night I escaped and my hands squeezing brutally around his phasing neck.

  “I don’t know.”

  “I need you to find out what he’s been up to. If there’s even a chance he’ll help us – beggars can’t be choosers.” I mumbled. We needed all the help we could get.

  She focused her eyes. “We could call a truce to fight against the common enemy, the Cult.”

  “They are threatening to expose us all, by being so public,” I added.

  Cres had obviously thought about it too.

  I went to the window, not wanting to risk staying too long and jeopardizing myself.

  She spoke more hurriedly then. “We all hang out at the Cabin. Jackson’s been avoiding us because he knows Reid and I are together. He can smell it,” she said flatly.

  “He’s never been a fan,” I reminisced feeling the cool night air on my face as I looked out into the dark. “Can you get him on side?” I asked, feeling doubtful.

  “I don’t know.”

  I went to jump out of the window.

  “Lila!” She stopped me.

  I turned and looked at Cresida, right into her eyes. She had the bracelet in her hand.

  “When will you be back?” She handed me the jewellery pressing and holding it firmly into my palm.

  I knew what she meant.

  “I’ll leave the bracelet if I miss you?”

  “Just leave a charm,” she pleaded.

  I nodded my head once and with that I hitched my legs out the window frame into the air and my shoes hit the earth with a thump. Cres had a plan all along with the bracelet. I wondered what other things she knew and to which she had applied her insane logic.

  Sky was alive? Could I believe her? I wasn’t one hundred per cent sure I could trust Cresida or Reid, and the possibility of Jackson’s alliance was enough to make me shelve plans to kill Reid before I returned to Tisane’s, hoping they weren’t tracking me. With no evidence of me surfacing, the Cult may still think I was possibly dead. This could be to my advantage.

  We didn’t have the numbers for a war. I knew we would have been lambs to the slaughter. We could never destroy them all, maybe a few. Our numbers wouldn’t overpower the Cult werewolves, no matter how much determination we fought with. But Cres had seen it and a ‘girl’. I had no choice but to lay my confidence in the vision and my own will for a fight. I had no doubt in Cresida's gift, we just had to continue to work towards the battle and prepare. I felt a sadness that she had let herself fall for Reid. I knew somewhere inside that she was becoming weaker - less hunter and more wolf. I worried that the balance in her had tipped towards what once was the enemy and I hoped this wasn’t indicative of what would happen in the end.

  Tisane wasn’t in for a fight, though she would help. It was looking like Cres - if she could be trusted - and I, would have to battle and perhaps die. Maybe Reid would help but it was a long shot and Sky might help if he was alive. I had to have faith in Cres for the moment because there was nothing else. If she could convince Jackson and Reid to help, maybe it would be a civil war and less of a massacre. If we were captured it was as good as or worse than being dead.

  37. Tight Rope

  Three things worked in Lila’s favour that summer.

  Cresida made love with Reid every other night, in her room in the dark in her bed under the open window of the old white house with her aunt down the hall. Then he would disappear out the window in one swift jump. Cresida’s clever ears were the only ones in the house acute enough to hear the swish and the thud of his feet on the earth down below.

  She turned over and only then had room enough in her mind to consider the situation more honestly. She squeezed her eyes closed but could not shut out the reality of the very soon eventuality of a henchman from the Cult coming to ask her why she hadn’t found the missing hunter. The threat they posed to her little brother would be terrifyingly close. She wondered in her heart if she should do it before they would, to give him a chance at life at least, not that it was much of one to be in this world.

  The breeze blew cool air, which caused the feathers strung above her head to twist on their strings and float. Reid had added to it, over the last few weeks.

  Every day after school she’d spot him somewhere, lately more and more brazen. There he would be smiling like a sleaze or a fool as his white teeth contrasted against his dark honey-coloured skin, sweetly brandishing a feather for her collection. She never asked how he acquired them, though she knew he put effort into it, if for nothing else than to show her how much he cared. It made her heart skip and pulse inside her chest like it never had before. He warmed her temperate body against his own wolf blood and the icy exterior encasing her delicate heart began to slough away. But it wasn’t only him that weakened her. She noticed the hang nails on her cuticles hung on for hours longer than normal and that after a night out with Reid her throat felt scratchy and thick. In the mornings she yearned to sleep in, as her sore muscles relaxed. She knew it must have been his effect on her and worry about Lila and the sheer stress for herself and her little brother, finally draining her.

  All this alone wasn’t enough to completely distract her from focusing on Lila, but she had allowed it to, and she knew it. She was risking her
brother’s life, as well as her own and most likely Reid’s - and her aunt’s, though she didn’t care so much about the latter. In order to continue to live in her aunt’s house she had to be obedient – or risk being thrown into police custody. Her aunt was many things, but unfortunately she was not an enabler, and she fought Cres. Cresida noted she was softer on her own son than on her ‘fate selected children’. Part of Cresida could appreciate that, but not the part that longed to be free.

  Luckily, the stranger things surrounding Cresida became, the more her god-fearing aunt withdrew. But she knew not to push her too far. Aunt had her limitations of comprehension and told herself until Cres was eighteen she had to bite her tongue – after that if her aunt went mad and became an unfit guardian it wouldn’t matter but that day had come and gone. Cres was determined to take the reins – she knew her brother would be safer in her world. Because then she would be free to hide him and let him into the loop or at worst let Reid change him. Though she didn’t like to consider it, she had to agree Reid had a point. And there was always the possibility he could become like her, a hunter. This was more likely in the event of her death or others like her- in the event of Lila’s death, even – though the Cult leader had made it clear he didn’t want Lila dead, just controlled. He had obviously realized the more hunters they killed, the more are born. Paws was steadily increasing his numbers at the compound and year-by-year the innocent went missing. It used to be high school kids mostly, but there were all ages now, and they didn’t all go missing - now they were openly ‘converting’. Like Shelly Bealy, the newlywed high school teacher. Anyone over eighteen was a possible target. That way there was nothing anyone could do. Their converted were silent while their frightened families believed they had willingly become Cult members. Paws had spoken out to the papers that they were a peaceful religious group and no harm would ever befall its members, amid cries of fear from the valley’s people, that there would be mass suicide.

  It was more conspicuous – the wolves were getting smarter and more strategic. Cres had a feeling someone else was now the brains of the operation, feeding Paws better and more manipulative battle plans, someone more brazen. This was turning into a game of chess, more than a violent clash of interests. Cresida knew she was now a pawn and she had learnt the hard way not to make hasty decisions. Lila was doing well so far, at lying low, despite her lack of training in the matter. Cres, notwithstanding her best efforts, was at a loss as to where her student could be hiding, and for some reason this made her happy - whatever room there was left inside her heart for that emotion. Reid was beginning to think Lila was dead and Cres did not to try to convince him otherwise – for all she had known, it was true. But her intuition told her otherwise.

  Three things worked in Lila’s favour: Cres was distracted, she was taking her time and in her gut she wanted Lila to succeed, but in doing this she risked her little brother. Her only family.

  38. Monster’s Moon

  Tisane came with me. Under a half moon I handed her the shovel that I had found in her shed. I was unimpressed with her attire, but held my tongue, ignoring the socks and sandals and cumbersome long skirt. We weren’t picnicking.

  “Dig.”

  The air was still and cold - as it tended to be at 3.00 in the morning. In the dim light we each jabbed at the soil. Tisane had told me if we hit a coffin that was it for her – from then on I was on my own. Despite the fact that I had reassured her he couldn’t possibly be under the earth, I couldn’t deny the possibility. Curfew existed in all corners of the valley and the town of Tarah was dead at night. As an extra precaution we were here in the quietest of hours on a week night, when not a soul in the valley would be awake. I chipped at the dry soil, scraping the weeds in clumps from his grave. We dug closely together scattering earth over our feet as the hole grew deeper. There was no point in digging a coffin-sized hole, and we were aiming for the head. I was here to prove to myself that he wasn’t under the stone, nothing more. Tisane’s weak arms gave out about halfway and I continued with drive, methodically shovelling until the shovel blade started to strike something hollow, and unable to believe it, the hole narrowed as I desperately scraped away the soil to get at it. Unfortunately I hadn’t planned on the coffin being there, or that it would be hard to break. Indiana Jones had made it look so easy. This coffin was solid, the weight of the earth hadn’t caved it in and neither had it rotted.

  “Maybe we should have dug the whole thing out.” I said realizing this was going to take longer than I had thought. It was rapidly approaching 5.00 a.m. and we had dug quite deep. People would be up soon and there would be cars on the road. I used the blade of the shovel to beat the exposed coffin.

  All of a sudden the wooden handle gave and snapped. I caught some of the grey jagged splinters in my arm.

  “Shit!” I gasped.

  “What?” Tisane whispered loudly above me.

  “The fucking shovel just snapped, fuck.” I hissed looking at the blood oozing from my burning forearm and feeling it on my fingertips.

  Tisane peered down at me.

  “Pass me yours.” Tisane carefully lowered down the metal handled spade.

  “Here.” I handed her up the two broken bits. I was suddenly glad she had come.

  “Did you get hurt?”

  “No, just a scrape.” It stung.

  “Its four thirty-five.” She whispered.

  “I know. This is taking too long,” I rasped annoyed.

  “Maybe we can cover it and come back tomorrow?”

  “No,” I said whacking the spade into the wood again. It started to crack, some dirt crumbled and rolled back down, spilling over the coffin. I separated my legs and readied my stance to strike again. As the wood broke away in splintered lengths, the shovel blade sounded as though it hit rock, I stroked it with the tip, hearing the grinding sound. I leant down and touched the rough surface of dimpled stones. When I had broken more of the lacquered buckled wood away, my hand groped around in the rubble until I felt amongst the hard stones something different and fine and I pulled my hand out to lay eyes, in the dim light, upon a feather, a white bird feather as long as my hand.

  The heat of a full moon in summer always changed the atmosphere. Tisane had sighted the Cult Pack in the mountains, several kilometres from the compound and she counted many. Hopefully that meant all of them.

  The night was bright and warm. I stalked towards the empty house, more frightened than I thought I would be. The compound was still, no animals crept around it and they at least were smart enough to avoid this place - the devil’s lair. My heart thudded. I was reassured by the fact that Tisane wasn’t a risk taker. Like an owl she had seen through the night with her big blue eyes.

  The compound seemed deserted. But impressions can be deceiving. I was winging it. I tried a few windows but they were secure. Then on a whim I touched the screen door on the second storey after scaling the drainpipe. These days I liked to climb. It opened; I stopped dead, listening, with a shaky breath. Nothing. I moved a little – still nothing. I dared to move the sliding the door. It complied, nearly as soundlessly as I hoped and my heart beat fast inside my chest.

  The smells were everywhere, like outside, but more pungent. The scent of the beast, many of them, layers of werewolf sweat hung in the living area and clung to the walls, wafting about my nostrils as I walked. How humans didn’t smell it, I couldn’t understand. It stung my eyes – except for one odour - interspersed like perfume, which made me stop and I traced its source to where it was strongest. I sharpened my eyes in the dark and listened as I crept towards the rooms where the creatures had slept.

  I searched in the darkness for things I might recognize. I bumped a table and froze, and I touched the things atop it: a glass. I steadied it, slowly, and stepped around the piece of furniture as the glass rocked. I winced and reminded myself of where I was, how I must not be impatient. I wanted to run into every room until I found evidence of him. The room to my right smelt exquisite. I wasn’t go
ing to stuff around rifling through their things because the longer I stayed the more I risked getting caught. My hands, which had been steady, trembled as I neared his fresh scent, which enveloped me like a lullaby.

  I saw nothing special in the dim light of the moon. I made out a bed, double doonas, a lamp, and an open wardrobe. I touched the sheets. This was it, he had lain here. I buried my face into the soft feather doona but it was cold. I touched the creases over the mattress and felt the sag where he had slept with the tips of my fingers and then touched them to my lips.

  I wanted to stay and roll in the blankets, to wait here for him. Only problem was I wasn’t sure his kind would let me live, or even sadly, whether he would be happy to see me.

  I took a breath and did what I had planned; I slid the cold metal from my pocket and dropped it on the bed. I wondered if it was enough. Staring at it in the dark, my eyes wide as possible to let in the light from the moon, I covered it, resisting the urge to never let the pillow out of my grip.

  I took a final glance around the room wanting to take the sweet poisonous scent with me. But I knew it was dangerous, the only thing I would steal was the elation of knowing he was here and not under the earth.

  Walking through the living area I took a soiled white feather from my pocket, smoothed the fronds and lay it on the couch carefully: a sign the white angel of death, Artemis’ daughter from the valley, had come for them.

  I left through the screen door, jumping over the balcony onto a black jacaranda tree. Landing in the grass, I headed for home, back to Tisane’s through the forest. I ran as though I had wings.

  39. The Most Devout