by L. S. O'Dea
“Trinity. Thank Aralado, you’re back.”
“Yeah, I got in late last night.” She wasn’t ready to talk about home. Not yet.
He put the buckets down and placed his hands on her shoulders, studying her face. “What happened?”
Mirra patted Trinity’s head and wandered away, finding a patch of sun on a branch and stretching out to sleep.
“I…can’t.” She tried to smile but her lips wouldn’t cooperate. He knew her too well; she’d never fool him.
He pulled her to him, cradling her head against his chest. “I was so worried about you. Mirra and Gaar realized you were gone almost the moment you left. I tried to delay them but…”
She bit her lip. Poor Travis, standing up to a Handler and Tracker for her.
“They didn’t hurt you did they?” He pulled back a little.
She shook her head, wiping away the tears. “No. They saved me. Again.” She told him about her trip, about the tracking devices and Troy, but she left out the part about her teeth and claws.
His face hardened and his eyes narrowed. “I wish I could kill Troy.”
“Mirra did that for you.” She took his hand and squeezed, smiling a little.
“But it should have been me.” He stared at their hands.
Was he trying to tell her that he felt more for her than friendship or was it only that he’d always tried to protect her?
He rubbed his thumb across the top of her hand and sat on the ground, pulling her down next to him.
“I’m going to go back and free my little brothers and sisters. The ones who haven’t been tagged yet.”
Her breath froze in her chest. She’d barely made it out of there alive. She wouldn’t have if it weren’t for Gaar and Mirra. He shouldn’t go, but she understood. It was his family. “Later. Stuart is a breeder, he’s safe and the others are all young. You have time.”
“Why wait? I should go soon, before we leave here.”
She turned to him, his face so familiar and yet different, older, angrier. “No. It’d be better to wait.” She held up her finger to stop him from interrupting. “The trip through the forest is not going to be easy and because of what happened at camp there are a lot of Guards hunting me. Wait until we get settled somewhere.” She squeezed his hand. “Then we’ll go together and free them.” If I’m still here and not Hugh’s prisoner.
“Thank you.” His brown eyes stared into hers, soft and warm now. He leaned closer.
She couldn’t let him kiss her. He was all she had left of home. She turned away, but leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder. She wasn’t ready to lose him yet. If she didn’t go to Hugh, she’d have to tell him about her fangs and claws, or, he’d eventually figure it out for himself, but not today. Today, she’d enjoy her friend.
CHAPTER 13
BENEDICTINE ENTERED THE pub followed by Jackson and Carla. It had been over twenty-four hours since he’d sent the message to the shopkeeper and that was unacceptable. He should have been contacted by the Handler last night at the latest.
The bartender met his gaze and tipped his head toward the back corner of the establishment. There was a small door partially concealed by shelves. Benedictine walked directly toward it, not bothering to be casual. He was done with this cloak and dagger stuff. His hand was on the doorknob when Jackson stopped him.
“Me first.” Jackson opened the door. “Carla, wait here.”
Benedictine rolled his eyes. Jackson was too concerned with security. No one would dare assault an Almighty.
He followed Jackson into the room. It was dark with only a little light from a dirty window painting the walls gray. Jackson pointed toward the back where the Handler, partially concealed in the shadows, sat at a table. The creature wore the facial hair of the Guards but had the bulk of a Grunt. An empty plate was on the Handler’s right and a half-full mug of ale sat in front of him.
Benedictine strode across the room, Jackson following close behind. He stopped at the table and Jackson pulled out a chair. The seat had remnants of food and drink on it. Jackson shoved it aside and grabbed a different one. This one was scarred with scratches but it appeared clean. He sat, not even trying to conceal his disgust.
“Please, join me,” said the Handler sarcastically.
His lip twitched. This creature dared speak to him in that tone. He mentally counted to ten. As distasteful as it was, he needed this thing’s help. “I have a job for you.”
The Handler took a gulp of his drink.
“It should be a simple task.” He held out his hand and Jackson handed him an envelope. He slid it across the table.
The Handler picked it up and looked inside. His face betrayed no emotion. “Who told you of me?”
“Does it matter? You want”—he nodded at the envelope—“that and I want you to find something.”
The Handler studied him for a long moment with soulless, black eyes. It took all his will not to fidget in his seat. It was isolated back here. Suddenly, he was glad that Jackson was behind him. Perhaps a more friendly approach was in order.
“Gaar, right?” He forced a smile.
The Handler nodded, blinking for the first time in several moments. “What do you want me to find?”
He relaxed a bit. Sometimes these lower species believed that they deserved respect. For Jethro, he could pretend. “I lost a Producer. I want you to find her.”
Gaar looked at the piece of map one more time and then slid the envelope back across the table. “No.”
This creature needed to be taught respect, but his first concern was his son. He took a deep breath. Perhaps, the Handler was bargaining. “I have another piece of your map.”
“Who told you of me?” Gaar repeated.
The Handler thought the map was a fake. The creature was smarter than he’d thought but he couldn’t tell Gaar the truth. He tapped the envelope, pushing it to the center of the table. “It doesn’t matter. The important thing is that the map is real.”
“It matters to me.”
“You work for us,” he snapped.
“Again, who told you about me?” The Handler leaned forward, smiling. It was not friendly.
He had not expected this. The Handler should be grateful for the task. They could force him or kill him like they had the rest of his kind.
“Only very few know of our existence and fewer yet, know that we work for the Almightys. You are not one of them.”
He shifted forward, his face inches away from Gaar’s. “I have friends who have an interest in this Producer. I would consider it a great favor if you found her and brought her to me.”
“I don’t need favors from you.” Gaar finished his drink and walked toward the small door in the back.
“You will do this job or you will be sorry.” He squeezed the arm of his chair, his fingernails digging into the wood. “I will not fail my son,” he said, slamming his hand on the table.
Benedictine sat in the carriage, glaring out the window. He would find the Producer. The surgery would be completed. Then he would hunt down the Handler and make him pay for his insubordination. The carriage halted in the driveway. A thin, unkempt Guard lurked in the street near his home. He was in no mood for strays.
“Call the authorities,” he said to Jackson.
“No, sir. Please. A moment of your time,” said the Guard, hurrying to the window.
Jackson jumped off the carriage and grabbed the Guard’s arm.
“I have information about a Tracker. A wild Tracker.” The Guard struggled in Jackson’s grasp.
“Let him go,” said Benedictine.
Jackson released his hold on the Guard’s arm.
“Speak,” said Benedictine.
The Guard bowed his head. “I’d love to, sir…” He glanced up and his hand came out a bit.
“Tell me what you know, and I might pay you for the information.”
The Guard shook his head, a small movement, almost a twitch. “My leader will kill me if I come back witho
ut anything.”
“I could kill you now.”
The Guard’s eyes widened. He was young, younger than he’d first appeared. A Guard like this might fit in with his pack, although, he didn’t need another mouth to feed. Benedictine pulled out his wallet and removed some bills. He handed them to the Guard. “If your information is valuable, I’ll give you more.”
The Guard took the money, smiling.
“If not, Jackson will kill you and I’ll take my money back.”
The Guard’s smile died and he glanced toward the woods. Jackson grabbed his arm again.
The Guard’s shoulders slumped. “Me and my pack, we was out hunting and we found out about a wild Tracker that’s been hanging around the Tracker Camp.”
“You know about the hidden camp?” asked Benedictine.
The Guard’s face paled. “We haven’t told nobody about the camp. We just thought that since you ran it you might want to know about the wild Tracker. That you might want to catch her.”
That he did. He smiled and patted the Guard on the shoulder. “Jackson, take our friend to the barn and let him bathe. Give him a warm meal and some new clothes. Then, prepare your team. Tomorrow we catch a Tracker.”
CHAPTER 14
HUGH WALKED INTO the library. It was quiet and the late afternoon sun did little to brighten the room. “Gaar,” he called out. Buddy had said that the Handler was waiting for him.
There was a slight movement from the corner. He squinted and sure enough, there was Gaar, concealed in the shadows. It was amazing how the large Handler was able to blend in with any surroundings. He should run some tests and see if he could isolate that trait. It would be worth a fortune.
“Come out and have a seat.” He motioned to the chair in front of his desk.
As Gaar stepped forward, Hugh’s pulse raced. He’d forgotten how large and menacing the Handler was. He almost felt sorry for the Producer. His heart would probably stop if he were confronted by this creature, let alone the Tracker, in the middle of the forest.
He held out his hand and they shook before Gaar sat.
“Can I get you a drink? Something to eat?”
Gaar shook his head.
So, it was going to be that kind of meeting. Sometimes the Handler was stoic, grumpy even and others almost jovial. He sat behind the desk and clasped his hands together. “I assume you received my message.”
Gaar grunted in the affirmative.
“So, you’ll take the job?” If he had another option he’d use it. Unfortunately, Gaar was aware of this.
“Do I have a choice?” grumbled Gaar.
“Are you saying that you don’t want to do it?” He’d always assumed that their arrangement was beneficial to both parties.
“Did I say that?” asked Gaar.
“Why don’t you tell me what your problem is so we can get on with this?” It was getting late. He needed to get back to the lab, not argue with a surly Handler.
“Who says I have a problem?” Gaar bared his teeth in a bad imitation of a smile.
“Fine. You don’t have a problem.” He really didn’t need this today but he did need that Producer. “Why don’t you tell me what you want me to say or do so that we can finish this meeting and both go back to doing something we enjoy?”
The Handler’s eyes narrowed.
He ran his hand through his hair. He usually had better control over his temper but he’d spent more than twenty-four hours and a small fortune setting up his home lab with the new DNA equipment that he’d need for this task and he was eager to get to work.
Gaar’s lips twitched a bit. “I never realized that you dislike these meetings as much as I do.”
He relaxed in his chair. “Truthfully, I don’t mind them when you’re in a decent mood, but when you’re…”
Gaar raised his eyebrow.
In for a penny, as they say. “Acting like a spoiled child, then they are a bit wearying.” He smiled to take the sting out of his words.
Gaar laughed. “You just might be okay, Hugh Truent.” The smile slid away from his face. “For an Almighty, that is.”
Growing up around the other creatures that his mother had helped had taught him that not everyone revered the Almightys as they were supposed to. “So, are you going to take the job or not?”
“It depends. Why have I been asked by two different Almightys to find this Producer?”
“Who else requested that you capture her?”
“Benedictine,” said Gaar, his face remaining passive.
“That’s not possible.” Benedictine shouldn’t know Gaar existed, let alone how to find him.
“But it happened,” said Gaar. “Imagine my surprise to discover a message from Benedictine in the village when I came into town on your request.”
“I didn’t tell him anything about you.” He stood and began to pace. “No one is supposed to know about you and Mirra.”
“That’s what I thought,” said Gaar, his tone easier.
He sat. He had to get his mind around this. Get in front of it if possible. Someone other than Benedictine wanted the Producer. “Let’s consider this logically. There are only five of us who know of your and Mirra’s existence. Not counting the shopkeeper, Birdie and other such creatures.”
Gaar’s face tightened a bit.
“Sorry. No offense.” He didn’t have time for the sensitivities of the lower classes. “What exactly did Benedictine say?”
“He offered me pieces to the map,” said Gaar.
“Well, that narrows it down. There are only two who may not be aware that we gave you the last piece of the map years ago.”
“And they would be?” asked Gaar.
It was either Conguise or Wickerwood and Wickerwood should have no idea that a Producer was missing, but he needed to be certain. “What else did Benedictine say?”
“He was angry when I wouldn’t accept the job and threatened me.” Gaar shrugged. “Other than that, nothing.”
“Hmmm. That doesn’t narrow it down.” He’d like to know for certain, but he was pretty sure it was Conguise. Not surprising really. The professor was trying to outmaneuver him for the discovery of a lifetime.
“So, since you didn’t tell Benedictine about me, I’ll take the job,” said Gaar. “Do you want the Producer live, dead or it doesn’t matter?”
“Alive if possible. If not, then whatever remains you can find.” He pulled a key out of his pocket and unlocked his desk drawer. He could pull DNA from the remains, but Trinity’s death would not be easy news to deliver. “I don’t look forward to telling Tim or my mother if she’s dead,” he muttered.
“Who’s Tim?” asked Gaar.
His head snapped up and his eyes locked with Gaar’s. He must be more tired than he’d thought. He hadn’t realized that he’d spoken out loud. Gaar wasn’t a scientist or interested in anything but living his life undisturbed in the woods. “This is not to be repeated.”
Gaar tipped his head a fraction.
“I have the Producer’s parents. Tim is the father.” There was no reason to go into the fact that Tim was a House Servant. “There are some tests that I need to run on this bloodline for my research.” He opened the desk drawer.
“I’m going to need a bit more this time. Benedictine is not happy. I’m not afraid, but he can make my life a little more complicated. I think Mirra and I will take a trip for a few months.”
“Good idea.” As he suspected, the Handler had no use for the information, however, if he’d withheld it the Handler might have become surly again. Gaar would find the Producer faster if he wasn’t pissed off. “Here’s enough to last three months. I’ll send the fourth month’s to the village before you run out.” He pulled out three boxes from the drawer and slid them across the desk.
“Thanks. Will do,” said Gaar as he placed the containers into a pouch on his side.
“Where do you think you’ll go?” He relocked the desk drawer. When there was no answer he looked over at the Handler.
> Gaar stared at him unblinking.
He couldn’t stop himself from shifting in his seat. It was moments like these that he recalled how violent and aggressive Handlers could be. Even with his own Guards nearby, Gaar could kill him in a flash. “Sorry. Just making conversation.”
Gaar snorted, relaxing in the seat. “Don’t know. Winter’s coming. Can’t stand the cold the way I used to. Gets in my old bones and makes a home. Mirra won’t admit it but she feels it too.”
“My mom says the same thing.” He didn’t look forward to getting old.
The silence drug on for a moment and then they both stood and shook hands.
“Take care. Give my best to Mirra.”
Gaar stopped at the door. “Oh, Benedictine did say one thing that was a bit odd. Something about not failing his son. Not sure if that means anything to you or not.” Gaar walked out the door.
The words were like a punch to the gut. He’d trusted Conguise for the last time. He stormed into the laboratory. He needed proof of Tim’s claims and he needed it now.
CHAPTER 15
HUGH SPENT THE REST of the day in the lab. So far, the tests had all come back with the same results. It was genetically impossible for a House Servant and Producer to create offspring. He needed Trinity, or at least some of her DNA.
He glanced up as Viola entered the room. With her long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, she looked like a teenager. Her slender frame added to the illusion. She carried vials of blood from Timothy and Millie and put them in the refrigerator.
“They’re starting to grumble about giving blood,” she said.
“Tim always grumbles and if Millie is complaining then she must be feeling better.”
“Find anything yet?” She walked over to him, placing her hand on his back and massaging.
“No.” He relaxed into her touch while he looked through the microscope.
Her fingers caressed his shoulders. He closed his eyes. Perhaps, he should take a short break. Get his mind off the problem. She kissed his neck. He turned his head to capture her lips.