Ghosts of Winter: A Dark Shapeshifter Urban Fantasy (Echoes of the Past Book 2)

by H B Lyne

  His house was only a few blocks from the edge of the territory that the Blue Moon had claimed. Beyond the border lay Fenwick, the territory of the Witches, who had undoubtedly played a part in the attack on his pack. He pulled up outside his house, lights were on inside and he dashed up the path and in through the front door.

  'Chloe?' he called. 'Chloe? Where are you?'

  'Here!' she came running from the family room to meet him in the wide hallway. Eyes breathed a sigh of relief and ran forward to embrace her. He held her head against his chest and breathed in the scent of her perfume, her auburn hair brushed against his cheek and he kissed the top of her head several times. 'They're saying it might be terrorists,' she gasped, pulling away from him and dragging him into the family room. The TV was on, the volume set low and Eyes glanced at the baby monitor on the bureau next to it. He could just hear the faint, snuffled breathing of his daughter over the monitor.

  'It can't be terrorists,' he said quietly. 'Don't worry, it's all over now.'

  The news channel was broadcasting from the two locations and a ticker ran along the bottom of the screen with other news headlines, while the anchor woman talked with well-practised calm concern. Eyes watched carefully for a few minutes, checking the backgrounds for signs of anyone he knew. There were none.

  He collapsed on the sofa, letting his head fall back onto the soft cushions. Chloe curled up next to him and rested her head on his shoulder. He drifted off to sleep to the sound of the TV and his wife's gentle breathing, with the occasional murmur on the monitor from his precious daughter, Amy.

  Eyes dreamed of fire, of Speaks-With-Stone's cold, dead face, Fortune yelling at him to run and of running in fear and panic away from the fight. Coward. The word haunted his nightmare.

  He woke with a start some time in the early hours of the morning, covered in a fine sheen of sweat. The TV was off, Chloe was gone but she had covered him with a blanket and taken his shoes off. Eyes sat up slowly and took a few deep breaths. He ran his hands through his hair and fought back the disturbing ideas and memories from his dreams. He hadn't acted out of cowardice; he had followed orders and rounded up the survivors.

  He slipped through the dark house, checked that all the doors were locked and went silently up the stairs. He found Chloe in their bed, with Amy sprawled out next to her, her blond curly hair spread out like a halo. With a resigned sigh, Eyes slipped across the hall to the spare room and slept the rest of the night there, mercifully with no more nightmares.

  The next morning Eyes went into business mode. The panic and fear of the previous evening was behind them and now the fledgling pack faced the daunting task of getting themselves established.

  He ate a rushed breakfast with Chloe and Amy, kissed them both goodbye and set off for Grove Street. He let himself into the house and found the rest of his pack eating steak in the kitchen and raised an eyebrow.

  'It's all there was in the freezer,' Weaver explained. 'We'll go to the butcher today.'

  'OK, no judgement from me, it was just an odd sight.' Eyes winked at her.

  'I need to find Flames's notes today. I need to work out how to repair the tear in the veil,' Wind Talker told them. 'It's not something he got around to teaching me.'

  Eyes thought he could detect an edge of sadness and humility to his pack mate's voice; he was relieved to notice it and nodded in solemn acknowledgement.

  'Me and Weaver are going to the DIY shop in Northgate to buy supplies this morning, we can go via the butcher on the way back.' Stalker explained. 'This was just a bolt hole for Flames, but we should make it a home and base.'

  Eyes nodded in agreement, he was thankful for their initiative. Once breakfast was done, Weaver and Stalker set off and Wind Talker held up the set of keys that had let them into the house.

  'I bet one of these gets us into the attic,' he said, jingling them. Eyes smiled and followed Wind Talker up the stairs.

  They tried half a dozen of the little keys on the packed ring before Wind Talker found the one that turned in the lock. With a smile, he opened the door. A shower of dust fell like light snow as the door swung open. There was no natural light in the poorly converted attic space, but Eyes found a switch next to the door and a dim bulb slowly came to a warm glow. The floor had been badly boarded and boxes were piled up all around the cramped attic.

  The two shifters stepped as softly as they could into the attic and started to look around. Eyes opened the nearest box, it was packed full of dusty papers, each page was covered in tiny scrawled writing, which he recognised as belonging to Flames-First-Guardian.

  'Wind Talker,' he whispered, though he wasn't sure why. 'I think these are records of some kind.' He leafed through a few pages and Wind Talker came to look over his shoulder.

  'They're songs of the bards,' Wind Talker said quietly, his voice full of awe.

  'What does that mean?'

  'Records of packs,' Wind Talker replied. 'Scroll Keepers like Flames keep a written record of all of the songs, poems and myths that shifters tell of their deeds. These will probably be Blue Moon songs, but there may be others too.'

  'I see. We'll need the deeds to this house,' Eyes said. He closed the box. As tempting as it was to dive into those records, they had urgent matters to attend to. 'And a will. What was his human name?'

  'I don't know,' Wind Talker said stiffly.

  'Ah.' Eyes rubbed his face with his hands; this wasn't going to be simple.

  Propped up in front of one of the piles of boxes was a cork board with a map of Caerton pinned to it. Eyes moved over to it and picked it up.

  Wind Talker followed and looked over his shoulder.

  'What is it?'

  'A map of the city. What are these markings?' Eyes asked, pointing at the strange runes, some with crosses through them, dotted around St. Mark's, Northgate, Redfield and Crossway, the areas of the city that the Blue Moon had claimed as their territory.

  Wind Talker looked carefully at the map, squinting in the low light. He tapped one of the markings.

  'That was a rat's nest,' he said abruptly. 'I helped clear it out in my first week with the Blue Moon. It was a restaurant with a problem, the rat demons had infested the place and we exterminated them. I think these are all problem areas, the ones with crosses through are the ones that have been dealt with.'

  Eyes looked over the map carefully, there were a lot more markings with no crosses than there were crossed off ones. With a sigh, Eyes put it down; it was a starting point for them to get on with the routine maintenance of the territory, once they were established.

  They searched for what seemed like hours, though it was really little more than one, going through boxes one by one. Wind Talker kept getting engrossed in piles of notes, which frustrated Eyes, but he silently plugged away. Eyes shuffled a pile of boxes away from the edge of the room and pulled them towards him. He blinked away the dust that billowed up and saw a small bureau hidden in the shadows behind the boxes. He tried the handle, but it was locked.

  'Can you pass me the keys, please?' he asked Wind Talker, who approached a moment later with the keys in hand.

  'Here,' Wind Talker handed the keys to Eyes. 'What's this?'

  'What we're looking for, I hope,' Eyes said as he went through the keys for a suitably small one. He found it and tried it in the lock, it clicked and the little door fell open. Inside were a few neatly folded papers, Eyes took them and quickly flicked through them. 'Oh, thank goodness, the house deeds.'

  There were a few other important documents, but no will, much to Eyes' frustration. He was going to have to forge one if they were going to hang onto the house. 'Why wouldn't he leave a will?' Eyes asked, not really expecting an answer. 'He owned property, surely he must have considered what he would want to happen to it in the event of his death?'

  'He probably never imagined that his pack would all be killed along with him, and assumed they would take care of things like that. Do you have a will?' Wind Talker was leafing through papers nearby and peer
ed up at Eyes with a strange look. Eyes ignored the look and simply nodded in reply.

  'I'm going downstairs to make some phone calls. I know how to get around this, but I'm going to have to get my hands dirty. If the authorities find out about this I'll be dis-barred,' he grumbled as he strode towards the stairs.

  'You'll be fine,' Wind Talker called after him. 'First day on our own and already having a barrister in the pack is turning out to be useful.'

  Eyes heard him barking with laughter behind him as he trudged down the stairs. He had been an honest man all his life, he had worked hard to earn his law degree and pass the bar, and he was an up and coming star in chambers. Now it all hung on the brink, he was going to have to carve out a life of lies and criminality in order to hide his pack's activities.

  He sat at the kitchen table, a notepad and pen in front of him and his phone in his hand as he built up the courage to make the calls he needed to make.

  Eyes knew that he needed to alert some of the other packs of the city to their survival. They would need to assert themselves, make it known that St. Mark's, at least, was still claimed territory. Not to mention the fact that he was feeling the need for some guidance from a more experienced alpha on how to step up and lead the new pack.

  There was only one person he could think of to call. Theodore Harris. He was the alpha of the Glass Wolves, a well-established and powerful pack that claimed Burnside. It was an area of the city close to the centre that included the financial and business district. The crown court building was on their territory and so Eyes had been introduced to Theodore by Fortune within days of his first change, in order to establish permission to be on their territory for business purposes. He had a direct line to Theodore at Harris Intermediaries and there was an answer after just one ring.

  'Harris,' a cool voice stated.

  'Hello. It's Martin Davison.' Fights-Eyes-Open announced himself by his human name, part habit, part security.

  There was a long silence at the other end of the phone; Eyes guessed that Theodore was somewhat surprised to hear from him, having probably assumed him dead.

  'Good to hear from you,' Theodore said at last, his voice perfectly neutral.

  'I'd like to talk in person if possible,' Eyes said, hoping he would be granted a meeting.

  'Of course, yes I think that would be best. Can you come to my office this afternoon? I'll be here until six.'

  'That's fine. I'll head over after lunch. Thank you.' Eyes breathed a sigh of relief and for a moment didn't care if Theodore heard it.

  'Very well, I'll see you early this afternoon.' Theodore ended the call without another word and Eyes put his phone down on the table, his hand shaking slightly. He took a steadying breath and immediately regretted allowing Theodore to sense any weakness or desperation from him. He would have to put it behind him and go into the meeting with a positive and authoritative attitude.

  The next order of business was getting the house bequeathed to Wind Talker. It made the most sense, as Flames had been his mentor. There was a solicitor that he had often come up against in cases, a man known for getting the job done, no matter who the client. Eyes knew he wasn't always on the level, but right now that was exactly what he needed. He looked up the contact details online using his smartphone and made the call.

  'It's Martin Davison for Jeremy Wilson please,' he told the receptionist, a sour taste filling his mouth. She connected him to his contact, who answered the phone with an edge of curiosity to his voice.

  'What can I do for you, Mr. Davison?'

  'I need some paperwork drawing up, as quickly as possible. I understand it's something you can help me with.'

  There was a long silence. Eyes tapped his pen hard on the pad as he waited. He was confident that Jeremy was the man to contact, so there was little cause for concern, but he hated to be kept waiting, he felt toyed with.

  'What sort of paperwork?' Jeremy asked cautiously.

  'A last will and testament. It's a small estate, just a property in St. Mark's, to which my client has the deeds. I need this doing today, you understand.'

  'Yes, of course. Can you email me the details and a scanned copy of the deeds?'

  'No problem. I think I have your email address already.' Eyes let out a silent breath. 'What's the fee?' he asked, stiffly.

  'I'll have a think on that and let you know. For now, let's just say you owe me.' Jeremy was grinning, Eyes could hear it in his voice and it made his skin crawl.

  'Fine,' he replied curtly.

  'I can have it finished by 4pm and send it by bike messenger to chambers.' Jeremy spoke quickly, as if already in action.

  'No. Can you send it to the property in the will please? 32 Grove Street, St. Mark's. That's where I'll be.'

  'Of course,' Jeremy replied. 'Nice doing business with you, Martin.'

  Eyes hung up the phone and slid it across the table in indignation.

  'Everything okay?' Weaver's voice caught him by surprise, and Eyes looked over to the door to see her and Stalker filing along the hall with their hands full of carrier bags.

  'Fine,' he sighed. 'Fine thanks, just having to sully myself with a disreputable contact in order to secure this place for us. I now owe a bad man a favour and I don't like that. What did you get?' he asked, pointing at the bags.

  'Stuff,' Weaver said, grinning.

  Stalker dumped her bags down on the kitchen floor and wiped her hands on her trousers.

  'Some gardening and DIY supplies,' she clarified. 'But also some food.'

  'And cushions!' Weaver interrupted, pulling out a large, black floor cushion with silver embroidery on it. 'To make the living room more comfy.'

  Eyes stifled a small laugh as she strode through to the living room to deposit the cushion and evidently several more from the bags she took with her.

  'We also got front door keys cut for each of us,' Stalker said, fishing them out of her pocket and placing them on the table. Eyes took one and idly added it to his own key ring.

  'Who's going to do the gardening?' he asked Stalker.

  'Me,' she replied defiantly.

  'You?' He didn't quite believe her.

  'Me.' She looked a bit disgruntled at his disbelief. 'Well, someone has to do it.'

  Weaver returned and the three of them sorted through the shopping, putting away the stacks of meat, bread and eggs. There were a few tins of beans and vegetables and a packet of pasta, but Eyes suspected they would sit in the cupboard for quite some time.

  He went back to the table, laid out the house deed and took pictures of each page with his phone. He quickly composed an email to Jeremy with the correct names and address and attached the photos. His skin crawled and a heavy lump rose in his throat as his thumb hovered over the “send” key. It had to be done, he knew that, he had no choice if he was going to protect the property. He sent the email with resignation and slowly put his phone away. On the bright side, he felt a hint of amusement at learning Flames's real name, assuming that the name on the house deed was genuine, and decided, all things considered, he would keep that information to himself.

  Eyes glanced at Stalker as she unpacked the new tools and headed out into the garden with a determined look on her face. Eyes watched her through the window for a while, he felt terrible for her. She was so newly changed, they all were, but Stalker especially was still very connected to her humanity and seemed more overwhelmed by the events of the previous day than the rest of them. He knew he was going to worry about her for a long time to come.

  Chapter Three

  Stalker-of-Night's-Shadow

  Stalker knelt by the far wall of the garden, digging out weeds. She had already started pulling the climbing plants off the wall and had cleared a large section. A pile of debris was building up behind her.

  She could feel eyes on her, but she knew it was just Fights-Eyes-Open watching from the kitchen window. He worried about her, she knew that, but she worried about him too. She knew that he must be feeling torn in two all the time, be
tween this life and his human family. Whatever she did or didn't have with Rhys, at least it wasn't an established relationship with children.

  The thought of Rhys suddenly jogged her memory and she tossed her trowel down onto the stone, took out her phone and hurriedly wrote a message.

  Hi. How are you today? All is well here. St. Mark's is buzzing with the events of last night xx

  When she and Weaver had gone out she had heard a dozen different conversations about the explosions. People rushed about their business with their heads down, and the driver of the bus they caught home gave them the most terrified look she had seen on any passing human since her change. Everyone seemed convinced that it had been the work of terrorists, despite the headlines of the day reassuring people that there was no evidence of this being the case.

  Stalker's phone buzzed with a reply.

  I'm fine, thanks, glad to hear from you. Hope to see you soon xx

  She smiled, half with sadness and regret, half with hope as she slipped her phone back into her pocket.

  At lunchtime Weaver cooked sausages for the pack and they ate in the small kitchen, talking over what they needed to do.

  'We need to assess our new territory around Grove Street,' Eyes stated. Everyone agreed.

  'We can't lay claim to everything that belonged to the Blue Moon,' Wind Talker said as he chewed. 'We have to be realistic about what we can control at this point. We should claim a small area for now and gradually expand it.'

  'True,' Stalker said. 'But we need to make sure we let the Wrecking Crew know we're here. We should claim as much as we can north of here towards Redfield, before they try to expand any further south.'

  The others nodded in agreement.

  'We should find a fae ally,' Weaver said quietly, and a little ripple of sadness went around the group. Stalker felt the loss of Grins-Too-Widely; he had enabled them to communicate telepathically and bound the pack together. Without him, she felt very isolated, even with her pack mates right there around the table with her.