Harvest Hunting

by Galenorn, Yasmine

  I nodded and ran through the events again. After I finished, Chase stared at the page, then nodded. “Let me get this over to his desk right now—and let me get a photocopy of that picture. I’ll be back in a moment.” As he stood up, Sharah entered the room.

  “Delilah, you can come with me now. Camille’s going to be okay, though she’s still a little out of it.”

  Chase touched me lightly on the arm. “I’ll meet you in there.”

  Sharah led me back to the medical unit and through the doors leading to the ER. Along the way, she shook her head. “She’s awake, but the spell wreaked havoc with her magical senses. She should be okay, but that was one heck of a jolt she got.”

  “What the hell was it? Do you know yet? Even getting near the residue made me dizzy.”

  Camille was sitting, propped up in a bed, and Sharah was right; she looked out of it. She was breathing rapidly and shivering even under the blanket, and her eyes were darker and narrowed, like those of a frightened cat’s.

  Chase came through the doors and handed me back the photo. He took one look at Camille and said, “Crap,” as he pushed past us and strode over to her. “I’ve seen you take some nasty bumps, but I’ve never seen you look like this.”

  Sharah slid onto a stool and flipped open the chart. “That’s because she was so disoriented, she couldn’t even open her eyes until a few minutes ago. Once we figured out what was wrong, we gave her a drug to counter the effects of the magic. Apparently she was conscious the entire time. Camille—try to say something now.”

  “I . . . I . . . wh-wh-what the fuck happ—. . . happened?” Her teeth were chattering, as if she was freezing.

  “What did happen? I know whatever it was almost knocked me for a loop when I started over to see if she was okay.” I frowned, hoping that whatever it was wouldn’t have any long-term effects.

  “One of our techs figured out the trap. Think ecstasy or roofies, only magical. Geared toward werewolves in specific. Though any Were will react to it,” Sharah added, looking at me. “Which is why you felt so disoriented even near the remains.”

  I mulled this over. “If I was a werewolf . . .”

  She nodded slowly. “If you were a werewolf, you would have been done in by a mere whiff. Camille reacted the way she did because, although she’s not a Were, she’s a witch, and her magic is incompatible with the effects of this magic. But a werewolf like your friend Amber . . . she’d be immediately pliable and under control if she caught a whiff or two of this crap.”

  “Well, hell.” I frowned. “Who created this spell? Could a werewolf have done it? Or, I guess the question is, would a werewolf have done it?”

  Sharah’s lips tightened. She motioned to Chase to shut the door. After he’d done so, she flipped through her notes. “A werewolf would have to be a sociopath to do something like this. Seriously. The ingredients that make up that spell compound—the gas that burst out—contain some heavy-duty dark magic. And not like Camille’s death magic, not dark in that way. We’re talking sorcery here.”

  “Oh, my gods. What are you trying to say?” I had a feeling in the pit of my stomach I wasn’t going to want to hear what she had to say.

  “I’m saying that the person who created this is a sadist. Has to be. I had Mallen analyze it, and he was just as shocked as I was to see the results.”

  “What’s it contain?” Camille managed to push herself to a full sitting position. She looked like she was starting to snap out of it.

  Sharah’s face was drawn, and she paled even further. “This is bad, guys. The herbs—not so much, but the other ingredients needed to give it a punch are pretty gruesome. Valerian, marijuana, chamomile, and grain alcohol . . . all standard for a controlling gas—and a couple of them dangerous enough on their own. But then we found desiccated scent gland extract from a male alpha lycanthrope added to the mix. And powdered pituitary gland—also from an alpha werewolf. Male, because of the amount and the trace smell. Mallen said he’s seen this sort of thing before. I’m going to bring him in and have him explain it to you.”

  She disappeared out the door, and I looked over at Chase, who shook his head. “I don’t know what it means, either,” he said.

  Pale and shaky, Camille forced herself to sit up and slide her feet over the edge of the bed, clinging to the side rails. “I know what it takes to make that crap. I’ve heard of it, though it’s not allowed in most covens or coteries.”

  “Wouldn’t we have heard about it being used around Seattle?” I asked.

  “I’m not so sure. But—”

  Sharah entered the room again, followed by Mallen. She nodded for him to go ahead. “Go for it.”

  Mallen gave us a brief smile, then launched into an explanation. “What we’re dealing with here is known by several terms. Wolf Briar, for one, and on the streets it goes by the nickname ‘hair of the wolf.’ As Sharah said, it’s a combination of herbs and desiccated adrenal glands and the powdered pituitary glands of an alpha werewolf.”

  “They’d have to be killed, wouldn’t they, to extract those glands?” I was beginning to understand the underlying issue.

  “Oh yes, but there’s more. Not only are they killed and dissected to retrieve the glands, but they’re enraged before death to heighten the flow of adrenaline and testosterone.” Mallen, an elf, was probably far older than we were, but he barely looked old enough to shave. When he spoke, his presence was quietly commanding.

  Chase looked confused. “What does that mean?”

  “It means that most of these cases involve imprisoning male werewolves, goading them into fight-or-flight stances, and then murdering them. Most likely involves torture, as well.” Mallen had a look of faint distaste on his face. Elves were good at keeping their emotions close. That look alone told me he was upset.

  Camille let out a little snarl. “Fucking pervs. But how can they possibly be capturing enough alpha males? Wouldn’t somebody notice?”

  A question we’d all been thinking, by the nods Sharah and Chase gave her. But Mallen shook his head.

  “Here’s where it gets even worse. Some sorcerers—and usually sorcerers are the ones who conjure this evil mess—have devised ways to force a beta male into temporary alpha status. Nobody notices the lone werewolf who vanishes, or the raggle-taggle whipping boy of the Pack who suddenly disappears. Happens all the time—low wolf on the ladder strikes out to make a life on his own rather than get shoved around. Most of the lycanthrope Packs are hierarchal to a bureaucratic degree. And most are highly patriarchal. You catch one of these betas, feed him enough steroids, and boom, you have a forced alpha male.”

  I sucked on my bottom lip, thinking. “How long does the Wolf Briar last? Does it travel well?”

  Mallen shook his head. “No, this is one of the brews that you have to use right away, in order to preserve the energy of the glands.”

  “So, for example, someone couldn’t bring it all the way from Arizona and be sure it will still work?” If Rice had stooped to using Wolf Briar, knowing what its ingredients were, then he’d most likely have brought it with him.

  “No. My guess? Locally made in the past few days. There’s probably a dead werewolf body hanging around somewhere. If you can find the corpse, you’ll find he’s been dissected.”

  Camille winced. “People are extremely good at getting rid of bodies when it suits their needs, and we can be sure that this won’t be the first time the sorcerer in question has stooped to making it. These potions are tricky and take many years to learn how to craft. We’re going to be looking for someone skilled. A necromancer wouldn’t bother with this crap. But a sorcerer, seeing the chance for good money . . .”

  “Magic shop?” I asked. “We should start dropping in around town trying to find someone who fits the bill.”

  “Right.” She nodded. “But skip the neo-pagan FBH shops. They wouldn’t have the know-how or skill, though perhaps a strega might. But the sorcerers—they’re another matter. And we can’t rule out that it might
be someone from OW or from the Sub Realms.”

  “Meanwhile, where is Amber?” I turned back to Mallen. “Just what will Wolf Briar do to a female werewolf? And a pregnant one, at that?”

  “Make her pliable. What it does to any non-alpha male and any female is amp up the innate reflex to obey authority that werewolves are born with.”

  I glanced at Camille. “So we can be sure that the Wolf Briar made Amber passively obey whoever kidnapped her. You know, Rice might have used it to avoid creating a scene.”

  Camille paused before gingerly trying to stand up. She dropped back on the bed. “Fuck, this stuff is bad. We need to establish whether Rice is still in Arizona. Of course, he could be working through someone else, but I think it would behoove us to find out where he is. He may be abusive, and he might want Amber back, but would a werewolf really chance challenging the Pack leader by using something so anathema to his race?”

  “It doesn’t make sense, does it?” With that thought, I let out a long sigh. “You think you’re ready to head home for now? We need Menolly’s input, and maybe the boys have found out something about the sixth spirit seal.”

  Camille nodded, turning to Sharah. “Am I cleared to go?”

  Sharah checked her over once more, quickly. “You look okay. Call me if you have any signs of a relapse. Meanwhile—a lot of fresh air and water to get the residual Wolf Briar out of your system, and you rest tonight. No gallivanting around.”

  Chase promised to stay in contact, and we headed out to my Jeep. As I helped Camille into the passenger side from the wheelchair—Sharah wouldn’t let her walk to the car—she winced and rubbed her temples.

  “Headache?” I lightly massaged her neck, and she sucked in a deep breath, then slowly let it out again.

  “Yeah, aftereffects. Sharah warned me I might have a few periods of dizziness and that I could use a good solid night of sleep.”

  “We’ll make sure you get it.” I swung into the driver’s seat and fastened my seat belt. Frowning, I shook my head. “This sucks. This all sucks. I wish we could just chuck it all and go home to Otherworld and settle down on a farm and I could raise rabbits and animals, and you could worship the Moon Mother, and Menolly could . . . well . . . she could do whatever she wanted to do.”

  “Do you really wish that, though?” Camille asked. “Would you truly change things with the Autumn Lord if you had the chance? I’m a priestess now, I’m going to have to start training with Morgaine, and I’m pledging myself to Aeval’s court, which will most likely make Father boot me out of the family. But . . . I wouldn’t trade it for a cozy cottage and a flower garden. Those things would be nice, but I don’t think I’d turn back the clock, except for Shadow Wing. I’d really rather not be fighting him and his cronies.”

  As I maneuvered the Jeep out of the parking lot, I thought about what she’d just said. “I don’t know. I can’t answer—not yet. Let me think about it for a while. In the meantime, what next?”

  Camille frowned. “We go home and figure out what to do next. I also think that someone should pay a visit to Carter this evening and talk to him about Stacia, the training camp, and the best way to proceed. He seems to have his finger on the pulse of the Demonkin, and I trust him. In fact, let’s do that before we go home.”

  “Are you nuts? Look at the shape you’re in. Sharah would kill you. And do you really want to visit Carter without taking Vanzir? Don’t you think that’s a little dangerous?” To be honest, I was intrigued. Carter fascinated me.

  “I’ll be okay, I won’t do anything strenuous, and we’ll go home right afterward.” She fell silent, then said, “How are you doing now? You know . . . after seeing Chase.”

  I flipped on my left blinker, and we turned onto the freeway, heading toward Carter’s. He didn’t live far from the FH-CSI building, not in relative terms. Barring bad traffic, we’d end up in his neighborhood in ten minutes.

  “I’m trying to keep calm about the whole thing. There’s nothing I can do. If I tried to hang on to Chase, he’d come to resent me. If I argue and fight, then our connection with Chase will be strained, and that would not be a good thing. It was bad enough when I caught him with Erika.”

  Erika had been trouble . . . or rather, Chase had gotten himself in trouble with her. A little voice in the back of my head whispered that, regardless of the fact that I’d forgiven him for lying to me, regardless of the fact that I’d decided to give our relationship another try, my trust in him had been permanently damaged.

  The fact that he’d slept with her wasn’t the problem—it was the fact that he hid it, that he lied to me about it. I was beginning to think that maybe I wasn’t cut out for a monogamous relationship. Camille certainly wasn’t. Menolly wasn’t. Maybe I was more my father’s daughter than I’d tried to believe.

  Camille let out a slow sigh. “I’m going to say something, and then I’m going to leave it alone. I’m pretty sure you’ll get an earful from Menolly when she gets you alone next and finds out what happened.”

  I grimaced, but they were my sisters, and we nosed our way into each other’s lives all the time. “Go on.”

  “I honestly don’t believe you were ever set up to make it with Chase. You’ve had a good run. You both gave it a good try, but I predict that the day he finds a woman willing to stay at home, have his children, and not make waves is the day he’ll really fall in love. Chase is a decent man, he’s a damned good cop, but he can’t give you what you need, Kitten. Not for all of your sides. And unlike my three men, I don’t think he’s truly willing to share you—not in the long run.”

  She paused, then—as I remained silent—continued. “You’re a two-faced Were. More than that, you’re a Death Maiden, for the sake of the gods. As much as you want him to enter your world, even with the Nectar of Life, and even if he finds his own power, he’ll never be able to match you. Not unless his powers blow him sky-high. Better this happens now than twenty years down the line. Better this happens now, before you have a child with him.”

  I stared at the road, watching the asphalt grind beneath the wheels of my Jeep. With every passing inch, with every foot of pavement that disappeared beneath us, I knew she was right. I’d known all along, which is why I felt conflicted when it came to Zachary and my sexual attraction toward him.

  “What’s your opinion about Zach?” I asked quietly.

  “You really want to hear?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, give it to me.”

  “He’s too frightened to be your mate. He’s scared. He doesn’t want to be out on the front line, and it wouldn’t be fair to put him there. Last time we did . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  I blinked back tears. “Just say it: Last time we took him with us on a fight, he almost got killed, and he’s still in a wheelchair. Just part of our collateral damage,” I added bitterly. “He won’t even talk to me now, you know. He won’t answer the phone when I call; he won’t allow them to bring me back to his rehab room to see him in person.”

  “That is his choice, Kitten, not yours.” She leaned her head against the back of the seat. “Of course, you feel horrible about his injuries. We all do. And I know you find him attractive, but be honest, Kitten. You don’t love him. That’s plain to see. If you did, you would have left Chase for him.”

  “Yes but . . . we put him in danger.”

  “True, but it was his choice to go with us. He was hurt saving Chase’s life—an action he decided to take. He is a hero, and a bad accident happened. But just because he was seriously injured doesn’t mean you owe him your life. You can’t love him just because he’s paralyzed. That wouldn’t be fair to either of you. And you know Zach wouldn’t want you that way.”

  Hot tears welled up in my eyes. I blinked them away. I had never, ever vocalized how I felt about Zachary Lyonnesse’s injuries, but Camille hit the nail on the head. I felt guilty because I enjoyed him in bed, but I couldn’t fall in love with him. I felt guilty because he was hurt and in a wheelchair. I felt guilty because he wante
d me to choose him . . . and now I was free, but I couldn’t do it.

  “How’d you get to be so smart?” I muttered as I swerved onto the exit that would lead us to Carter’s home.

  “I’m married to three men. I may not know how to run your computer all that well, I may not be able to kick ass like Menolly, my magic may be fucked-up part of the time, but trust me on this: I know men. And I know you.”

  She laughed, throaty and full and rich, and my tension slid away like melting butter on a cob of corn. I inhaled a deep breath and willed the guilt to wash away, willed the pain to fade.

  “So, even though Chase and I are . . . just friends now, you’re saying that it’s okay that I don’t turn to Zach.” I glanced over at her quickly, then back to the road. She was smiling.

  “Think about it: Would you want to be picked by someone, knowing you were their second choice? In the long run, he’d hate you for it.”

  “That makes sense. For a while, I felt that Chase had chosen me only after you told him in no uncertain terms that he’d never taste your pussy.”

  “Oh no, you didn’t!” She coughed, laughing. “I can’t believe you just said that, Miss Priss.”

  I laughed along with her. “Hey, it’s the truth,” I said as I turned onto the street leading to Carter’s. “Now, let’s go have a chat with the demonmeister and then get you home.”

  And everything was okay. I might be alone again, but I wasn’t lonely. I had my sisters and my friends with me.

  CHAPTER 7

  Carter opened the door, much to my surprise. It was usually his foster daughter Kim who bade us enter. She was halfsuccubus, half-human—in particular: of Chinese ancestry. Her mother—a full succubus—had abandoned her to be sold as a slave. Carter, demon of unknown origin, had bought Kim as a baby and raised her like a daughter. The girl was mute, though no one knew why, and she doted on her foster father, keeping house for him in the basement apartment of the ten-story brick building.

  A narrow stairwell led to the apartment, but Carter had hired a powerful witch to erect a permanent grid of protection around the front of his home and the sidewalk and parking spaces near it. We could park in front of his place and never once worry about our cars being vandalized. I ended up half-carrying Camille down the steps, afraid she’d fall if I didn’t.