This time when I opened the book and turned it around to be read in the mirror, it was an epiphany. Like when you’re at the eye doctor and he clicks that last monocle down and everything suddenly comes into focus.
In the blink of an eye, the text went from unreadable to clear as day. The English letters swirled beautifully and I was able to see my name in the middle of the verse.
“Daughter of Jourdaine,
Oh Daughter of Mine
Born of the ides will fall on two and rise on four
And will protect crown and Veil from her dark reflection.”
The light faded and the last line went back to being unreadable again. I dropped my head back against the wall with a heavy thud. “The light’s gone.”
“Good thing moonlight is a renewable resource,” Chaz said as he put the mirror back where it belonged.
Iris stood, her hand folded at her waist. “How do you feel?”
I shook my head. “I don’t understand it.”
“Some never do,” Iris sighed. “But there you have your proof. You were able to read it when you accepted who you were.”
“Because I was able to handle the shift?”
Iris simply shrugged.
“What gave you the mirror idea?” Chaz asked as he offered a hand to pull me up off the floor.
“A story my mother told me.”
He pulled a little too roughly and I flew up and almost landed in his arms, the book acting as a padded shield between our bodies.
“Is it you?” he whispered.
My eyes began to water. Something in the back of my head had said that if I could prove to them that I was the wrong girl, all of this would just go away. But I wasn’t the wrong girl. I knew it. Like I had written those words myself. The words seeped into my head, my heart and I knew. “My birthday is March fifteenth.”
I let go of his hand and took a step back. I pushed my hair behind my ear and looked over at Iris.
“When my family came over from France, they changed our name to Jordan. It was originally Jourdaine.”
“What about that second line?” Chaz asked. “The daughter of mine?”
I licked my lips. “Do we know who wrote the book?”
Iris shook her head. “It’s ancient.”
“I’ll find out for you,” Chaz offered quickly. “When I return the book to Balzac.”
Slowly, I handed the book to Iris. “Never gonna sleep now. Thanks a bunch.”
“Always here to please, your highness, now get out. I need my beauty sleep.”
Packing is not my strong suit. Somehow I had managed to get all this stuff in here to begin with and was glad for my compulsive overpacking, but I just stared at the pile of clothes on the bed and the little bag in my hand. It just didn’t seem physically possible. Could I just leave the stuff here? Seemed that I would be back in twenty-eight days.
Stuffing everything in the nylon bag, I decided to just wash everything when I got home. I was dallying and I knew it. I didn’t want to leave here, to face the real world, because this was the first place that had felt like home in a long time.
Home.
I looked down at the bed and was almost sad to leave the soft flannel sheets with little duckies. My 500-count Egyptian cotton sheets at the town house had nothing on these.
Iris met me at the bottom of the stairs with a plastic container full of cinnamon chocolate chip cookies by the smell of them.
“These are for the ride back,” she said, almost shoving the box into my hand.
I looked down at the older woman’s lower lip and it seemed to be quivering.
“Aw, are you going to miss me?” I asked as I threw my open arm around her. “Don’t worry. You’re not getting rid of me that easy.”
“Too bad,” Iris joked as she squeezed back. “Because it’s going to take me a year to get the smell of panther out of my sheets.”
The two of us laughed and I rested my hand on her shoulder. “I don’t know how to thank you, Iris.”
“You don’t have to. Just keep in touch and keep out of trouble.”
“Me? Trouble?”
Iris’s look turned dark and I knew that we weren’t joking anymore. “They are out there, Violet. And if they sent Chaz to find you,” she said in almost a whisper, “then it’s for something big. Just be careful. Keep your shields up. And I will see you next full moon.”
I nodded again. “And I’ll bring you some of that lotion I was talking about.”
I gave Iris another hug and she opened the door for me. “Work on your shielding,” she called out, waving as I went for the car. “Borders don’t build themselves.”
Chaz was leaning with his arms crossed over his chest, looking across the distance. Being the little tech-savvy girl that I am, I took out my cell phone and snapped a picture.
“Hey,” he protested when he saw what I was doing.
“What? Am I going to need to call your agent?”
He just kicked at the dirt with his boot and looked up at me. “You’re going straight home?”
“I’m surprised you’re not going to tailgate me all the way to Dallas.”
“Nah,” he said putting his hands in his pockets. “Iris and I have a few things to talk about. And I have to return that book.”
“And what advice are you going to get from the big guru?”
Chaz shook his head. “Nothing major.”
“Be careful. She wants you to replace the floor of the loft in the barn.”
I walked around to the other side of my car and opened it up. It still surprised me there were parts of the county where you could leave your car doors unlocked. Dumping my stuff in the passenger seat, I walked back to where I had been standing. “So this is good-bye?”
“Until I end up on your doorstep again because you didn’t answer your phone.”
“Still need to follow me that closely? I’m pretty trained up. Not feeling the call of evil yet. Got a little prophecy to keep me busy for at least a few hours.”
“But there still is something out there, something big. And if Haverty ever found out there was another panther . . .”
I chilled at hearing the same words in a five-minute span. “You and Iris really are on the same frequency.”
“White hate broadband,” he joked with a full smile.
“I’ll be careful, Chaz, and I will promise not to do anything stupid for at least a week,” I said crossing my heart and holding up the Girl Scout fingers.
“Guess I’ll have to take that.”
I knew I had to go. I needed to be back in town for a conference call and I needed gas and a soda for the fifty-five-minute drive. But I wasn’t sure how to say good-bye. “So do we shake like a business deal or hug like friends, or we could do that manly shake hug thing?”
Chaz laughed at me. “I don’t know. Last time I touched you, I got thrown in to a wall.”
“I promise to work on that too,” I said apologetically.
He kinda lifted up his arms in a hug offer that I took. On my toes, my chin just slid over his shoulder and was reminded of the sweet scent of the plaid bed at his house. He squeezed briefly and I could hear him, feel him, take in a deep breath as he let go.
I stepped back and smiled. “See, didn’t throw ya?”
“Better already,” he said with a half smile.
“I’ll be expecting my parole call around 9.” I walked around to the driver’s side of my car.
He nodded and gave me a half wave.
As I started up the car and started down the drive, I knew I shouldn’t have hugged him. And it was more than just the fact I now knew that under all those loose button-up shirts, the boy was hard as a rock; it was more than the way he squeezed for just the right amount of time to make it a meaningful embrace. It was more than the fact he had just embraced a panther. It was the fact that I would now smell him for the entire ride home until that night when I finally took off the T-shirt to be washed.
Chapter Twelve
Jessa called to see what I was doing on Saturday night. She wanted to catch up, since she hadn’t felt right bothering me while I was out of town on business. I let her believe that it was a writer’s retreat and not a retraining of my mystical beast.
As I got out of the car Jessa was leasing this week and looked up at the neon lights of the club, I could smell people and life ebbing out from the building before me and it was invigorating.
I waited as she handed the keys to the valet and then handed the ticket to me, knowing I would keep better track of it than her.
Before we went in, I checked my phone to make sure it was on vibrate, just in case someone happened to call.
Jessa beat her own man-trap record, but as the night went on, I think it was a setup. We got into the bar and within five minutes, an entire table of men asked us to join them. Much to my chagrin, Jessa immediately introduced me to one of them. As I was pinned between her on my left and him on my right, I felt the distinctly trapped feeling of a caged animal. But he didn’t set off the spidey sense, so I settled in with a Baileys and cream and made small talk.
My phone buzzed. I picked it up and Chaz’s picture flashed across on the screen. He was going to hate that. It made me smile. But there was no way that I was going to be able to hear him unless I went outside and I was way too deep into the club to get out now.
So I sent him a text. Checking up on me?
It was a good three minutes before I got a response.
No. Where are you?
Tiger Room, celebrating Jessa
How r u?
Good, great, never been better.
Call you tomorrow?
How about lunch?
It was another five minutes before I got a response back on that one.
Returning book. Rain check?
Sure. Be safe
I set down the phone on the table before me, completely amused, and the man next to me turned and smiled. Deep dimples formed in his cheeks and the dancing colored lights reflected off his black-rimmed glasses. His name was Brian, I think, and he was an accountant from one of the firms Jessa worked with. Didn’t catch too many more details over the loud music. I really wondered how Jessa managed to pick up so many guys in places like this. Oh wait, this was Jessa.
“You look happy,” Brian said.
“I am,” I smiled back and looked down at my very empty drink.
“Can I get you another?” he asked, his brown eyes twinkling behind glasses he pushed up nervously.
I paused for a moment at the surrealness of being asked that question. Old Violet would have said “No, thanks,” and moved to another table—if she had ever been asked, that is. New Violet was in too good a mood to be thwarted by her independent ways, so she nodded.
“I’d like that,” I answered as I slid my phone into my purse and crossed my legs and leaned forward to learn more about this man who smelled like old spice and Downy.
The Jeet Kun Do dojo was a traditional gym-looking place with mats on the floors and symbols painted in red on the wall, like Efficiency, Directness, and Simplicity, the three tenants of this particular practice.
After I got back from Iris’s, outside of getting used to the smell of the city, I had to find something to do with all this energy I had now. It was like living in overdrive. Everything tasted different, felt different. When I woke up one morning with the urge to run, I knew I needed to get into some routine to keep the panther in check. Hence, the dojo. If I was part of some mystical line of what’s-its, I was going to learn to protect myself. If anything ever happened again, I was at least going to muster a better defense than throwing shoes.
The sensei met me at the door.
“Good to see you, Miss Jordan,” he greeted with a large toothy smile.
I cocked my head. “How did you know who I was?” I asked as he took my little gym bag and pointed to where I needed to slip off my shoes.
The older man just tapped his nose and gestured for me to follow him. He was shorter than me and wore a pair of red loose pants and a white T-shirt with the dojo’s logo on it. Took away from the mysticism, but what did I know?
“We have a few clients like you, Miss Jordan,” he said as we walked back into a separate area that was similarly matted and symboled but had a different feel to it. My skin chilled as I passed through the doorway and I looked back to see a silver ornament with a red tassel hanging above the door.
“To keep us safe back here,” the man answered my unspoken question.
“What do you mean a few clients like me?” I asked as I set my bag in an out-of-the-way corner.
The sensei continued to move about the room, pulling out workout equipment and a few things I had no clue what a person would do with.
The man stopped what he was doing and looked at me with a smile. “How did you find out about this place, Miss Jordan?”
“Did some research about what kind of training I needed, and then looked you up online.” The real answer was that yoga bored me to tears. I’d fallen asleep in two classes. The teacher hadn’t appreciated that. “Why?” I asked.
The sensei laughed, finding my answer completely amusing. He waved his hands in the air as he chuckled. “You were directed here, Miss Jordan. Whether or not you choose to believe, that is your struggle, not mine.”
I stood and watched as he came to the center of the mat.
Brought here, I thought. How could I have been brought here? It wasn’t like the Powers could manipulate a Google search. Or could they? As I looked over the man before me, I caught a glimpse of something deeper, wiser and ancient in his black eyes.
“Are you Cause?”
He pulled up the sleeve of his T-shirt and a faint scar was carved into his bicep. It wasn’t the Cause tattoo that Chaz had. “Former Order.”
I gasped. “Former?”
“A few of us broke free from Haverty.”
“How are you alive? They said he killed everyone.”
“We hide and hide well. The Cause won’t have us because we are tainted by the mark. But I do believe that you were guided here. You’ve got some higher powers moving around you, Miss Jordan, higher than both the Cause and the Order answer to, more than just a little Guardian.”
Frightened, my skin goose-bumped all over, just like when I had passed through the doorway. Part of me wished that little Guardian was here with me. But I shook my head. No. I could do this on my own. It was my power, my panther. And I was going to do this.
“I will teach you how to hone your power. How to hide until it is like breathing for you.”
My head swam with questions and I’m sure he could see it in my wide eyes.
“Shall we begin?” he offered with a small smile.
Chapter Thirteen
I had written about people getting into fights at bars; some picked on purpose for some cathartic reason, some engaged for the purpose of defending someone’s honor, and some just because a good bar fight is what a dried up plot needed. But never could I have imagined actually engaging in one myself.
The group of us, Jessa, Adrianna, Carrie, and I were in a nice bar uptown minding our own business when Jessa had the urge to take out her compact and check her makeup. Again. We were all sitting around our table laughing about something that had happened on Monday when this woman came up to Jessa and yanked on her hair, jerking Jessa’s head back sharply.
Quickly, I caught the compact as it dropped out of Jessa’s hands and vaguely heard something about “looking at my man.”
The hairs on the back of my neck bristled as I slowly put the compact back on the table. Even through my shields, I could feel a Wanderer here and they were charged. It was the same feeling I got when Iris was frustrated, and when Chaz was just about to yell at me.
Jessa whipped her head around holding the sore spot that was now missing a patch of hair. “What the hell!” she yelled with a glare that could have melted metal.
The woman, short and chunky, stood behind her with her hands on her hips. Her bla
ck hair was almost blue in the smoky light and her mascara was smeared, like she had already been in one altercation that evening.
As I stood slowly and turned to back up Jessa, I knew it was not this woman I was sensing. She was nothing, just some woman who didn’t have enough sense to not take on a table of four women in stilettos.
“You’ve been eyeing my boo all night and I want you to take your trashy ass out of here before I kick it out,” the woman demanded with some fierce head movements and an even more fiercely pointed finger, complete with four-inch airbrushed nails.
“Trashy? This is Prada, bi—” Jessa started, but I quickly put a hand on her shoulder and Jessa stopped before she went too far. But she clenched her jaw and mumbled the rest of what she was thinking to herself.
“I can assure you she was not looking at your boo,” I said calmly.
“Whatever! She’s been looking in that mirror all night at him,” the woman retorted with more head swiveling.
“I wouldn’t take two looks at that,” Jessa snapped.
I winced. This was not going to be good.
The woman reeled her four-inch fingernailed hand and prepared to slap Jessa with her tiny little might, but my hand shot out almost of its own accord to catch the woman’s arm as I smoothly slid in front of Jessa.
I held the woman’s wrists firmly and looked down at her with a raised eyebrow. The woman didn’t even reach my shoulder. “Are you sure that you want to do this?” I asked softly, my panther beginning to stir at the raised adrenaline running through my system. It was like a knot in my stomach that was fuzzy and spun.
The woman, glaring at me with a hatred that had never been glared in my direction before, drew back her other hand as if trying to strike again.
It was instinctual, I guess. Wasn’t like I had been at Jeet Kun Do for long, but I hit her hard, with the palm of my hand, square in the chest and she flew backwards, over a table and through three chairs. She landed legs up in the air, exposing everything to God and anyone else who was watching.
Diaries of an Urban Panther Page 11