Sere from the Green (The Shape Shifter Chronicles Book 1)

by Lauren Jankowski

  Passion looked to her hands again, which still moved in slow methodical circles. “When we arrived, the body was gone and hasn’t been seen since. Donovan and I agreed to never discuss what had happened. We both would have faced consequences if the High Council found out that we’d returned to the apartment.”

  “I don’t think I’ve met Donovan,” Isis mentioned, glancing over to Electra. She shook her head.

  “He’s a night guardian and one who delights in needling the members of the High Council. For as progressive as he is, Donovan is a notorious cynic,” she said with a shake of her head.

  “Donovan has been on the High Council for a long time, Electra,” Passion stated with a quiet sigh. “The amount of politics he regularly has to play is enough to turn anyone into a cynic.”

  “I can understand that,” Isis said with a small shrug. “Kind of.”

  Electra glanced back at her sister, who offered her a small smile. Isis looked back to Passion and leaned forward. It was a quiet evening in the mansion, but none of the three noticed.

  “I don’t understand what is so horrible about what you did,” Isis said. “Was it going back to the apartment or helping Roan?”

  Passion leaned back a little. “It’s complicated and due a lot to archaic ways of thinking. Many older guardians still hold a very black-and-white view of evil, which they almost see as a kind of virus. They would view my helping Roan as conspiring with an assassin. There’s also a very strict rule that states we’re not supposed to be on Earth without a protector escort.”

  “So, they would’ve preferred you left a man to bleed to death on your doorstep?” Isis asked, taken aback at the thought. Humans had plenty of inhumane and unjust laws, but at least they attempted to protect good Samaritans most of the time.

  “Unfortunately, when someone has committed as many crimes as Roan did, the members of the High Council have zero tolerance. I should’ve called Jet and Lilly and let them handle the situation,” Passion explained. Her tone told Isis that she didn’t agree with the sentiment at all.

  Isis shook her head, looking between the two women. “I’m sorry, but I really don’t see how leaving someone to bleed to death is any less evil than murder. Do the guardians really believe that murder justifies murder?”

  “No, but they do think it justifies apathy,” Electra responded, unable to keep the resentment from her voice. “Remember, Roan wasn’t exactly a victim of injustice. He didn’t care about anybody. If the price were right, he probably would have killed his own mother. He killed at least fifteen innocents, including one of his own brothers, without a second thought. His body count is probably higher, but assassins are very good at covering their tracks.”

  Isis stared at Electra for a moment, before looking back to Passion. “Roan had brothers? Please tell me they’re not assassins.”

  I really need to get some kind of family tree or something, she thought as she waited for a response. Electra shifted her weight and lowered her leg back to the floor, rolling her neck to work out the kinks.

  “Roan had five brothers; all are protectors. He actually came from a fairly prestigious family. He was the son of Dayton, a legendary protector. In fact, his portrait is upstairs. The Deverells all take after him and their mothers,” Passion responded with a slight smile. Even Electra grinned at the mention of the Deverells.

  “Do they have names?” Isis asked, leaning back in the couch. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know about any more blood relations. Twisted little bunch they are, Isis thought with morbid amusement. Electra had already explained to her that guardian women only traced their lineage through the mother’s line and the men traced theirs through the father’s. The High Council kept track of family lines to avoid any incestuous relationships and nonbinary guardians chose which family line they wanted to be counted among.

  “Ajax, Malone, Devin, Nero, and Orion,” Electra answered. “They were kind of my father figures as I grew up, though I can’t really remember Orion.”

  “Why? What happened to Orion?” Isis asked.

  Electra and Passion exchanged another quick look, which irritated Isis. The two seemed to have a secret unspoken language, which they only used when debating whether or not to tell Isis something.

  “Orion was the brother Roan killed. He was the eldest of the six,” Electra finally answered. Isis looked up at the ceiling, contemplating how weird her life had become.

  “So, what about the surviving four?” she asked, keeping her eyes on the ceiling. Isis wanted to find all the skeletons in her biological family’s closet in one swoop if she could so she wouldn’t be blindsided later.

  “They never stay in one place too long. Assassins have placed a high price on the Deverell family,” Passion answered. “They travel around the world and report back to Jet and Lilly about any strange occurrences or feuds that might require their attention. Last I heard, they were in Greece, but that was a few years ago. You’ll meet them eventually.”

  Passion got to her feet. “I’m going to check and see how the interrogation is going. Don’t worry, Isis. I’ll smooth things over with Jet and Lilly.”

  “Thanks,” Isis said, although she doubted Passion could smooth things over completely. It wasn’t that she didn’t have faith in the guardian, but her own track record spoke for itself. She got on people’s bad sides, especially those in a position of authority. Even in her youth — Isis hadn’t been a juvenile delinquent, but there were plenty of adults who probably hoped to never meet her again.

  Isis watched as Passion disappeared in a brilliant flash of gold light. Electra twisted her body around so that she was facing her twin. She rested her head against her fist and Isis stared up at the ceiling again.

  “You okay?” Electra asked. Isis shrugged in response.

  “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Just finding out all that stuff and this whole thing with Coop,” Electra responded. “It’s got to be kind of confusing.”

  “Electra, a few months ago, I was a human only child with a job I hated. Now I’m some sort of mythical creature living in a mansion — which is actually more like a castle — who will probably be expected to save the world or something at some point,” Isis explained, sounding a little amused. “Very few things can shock or confuse me anymore.”

  Electra smiled and shook her head. Isis continued to look up at the immaculate ceiling, resting her hands on her brow. The shape shifters in charge of cleaning were miracle workers. Isis was still impressed by how the mansion could be so clean and still feel so cozy. It truly was home for the shape shifters who lived there.

  “Do you really think Coop is a threat?” Isis asked, turning her eyes over to her twin. Electra shrugged.

  “I don’t know. It’s possible he has some kind of malicious intentions, but I also know that people sometimes surprise us,” she answered.

  Isis stood up and stretched, feeling the need for solitude. “I'm going to take a walk and get some fresh air.”

  “All right,” Electra got up. “I'm going back to the Meadows. I’ll tell you when I hear anything.”

  Electra disappeared in a flash of silver light. As soon as she had vanished, Isis walked the short distance to the main hall and the large front door. Opening the door, she stepped out into the night. For a while, she just walked the grounds, enjoying the pleasant evening. The warm temperature and the darkness were soothing. Isis closed her eyes and inhaled the sweet air. The mansion’s isolation protected it from the unpleasant smell of cars and industry. She had actually grown rather fond of the mansion.

  Isis soon found herself at the mansion’s front gates and heard a soft whistling in the distance. It was odd that someone would be out walking, so late at night and so close to the hidden property. Something about the whistled tune was almost hypnotic, though. Without thinking, Isis opened the gate and began walking down the winding road. Rubbing her arms as a cool breeze wrapped about her, Isis decided to walk just to the end of the street to see if she could fi
nd the source of the sound. Her mind was racing with the evening’s events and she needed a few minutes to clear it.

  Isis was so absorbed in thought and the whistling, which seemed to make the world melt away, that she didn’t notice when she stepped onto the main street. She also failed to notice the man fall into step just behind her. Before Isis had a chance to struggle, a strong hand wrapped around her mouth, pulling her back as a needle was plunged into her neck. She felt a warm liquid coursing through her veins and her vision became hazy. Soon, her legs started to wobble as if they couldn’t support her weight anymore. Fuck, I’m an idiot, she thought as she tried to force her body to wake up and put up a fight.

  “We meet again, daughter of the Meadows,” she heard a chilling steely voice breathe in her ear before she succumbed to darkness. The assassin smiled, switched the small recorder off, and lifted the limp woman up, bringing her to a car that was parked a short distance away. After putting her in the trunk, Blackjack returned to the driver’s side and got into the car. The engine soon roared to life, settling down to a quiet purr. Blackjack pulled away from the curb and drove off into the night.

  As the car sped away, a dark figure stepped out of the shadows and walked down the street, turning onto the mostly hidden road. He reached the mansion’s gate and approached the security box, looking up to where he knew there was a security monitor. Drawing a large Glock from a holster hidden beneath his hoodie, he shot out the camera. For good measure, he fired two shots into the security box containing the hand scanner. A silent alarm would be flashing in the mansion’s security room, alerting the inhabitants to an intruder. Soon, someone would be out to investigate. Now he had to point them in the right direction.

  The figure placed the gun back in its holster and took a deck of cards out of one of the inner pockets of the jacket. Sliding the cards out, he swiftly sorted through them and pulled out the ace and king of spades. Drawing a large Bowie knife, he moved to a nearby tree illuminated by the light near the gate. Plunging the blade through the cards and nailing them to the tree, he then jogged back down the hidden road, pursuing Blackjack.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  When Isis came to, the first thing she noticed was that she couldn’t see. She could just barely make out pinpricks of light piercing some kind of rough fabric, possibly burlap. The next thing she was aware of was the feeling of being dragged down some hard surface. Isis immediately began to struggle against whomever or whatever was holding her, kicking and scratching with everything she had. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear arguing. It sounded like a woman shouting at a much calmer voice, which spoke in a clipped tone. Someone wasn’t happy and the person they were unhappy with didn’t care.

  Isis was tossed into some kind of cell as the hood was yanked off her head. Muddied water splashed up to her stomach as she fell to her knees in a chamber partly filled with the liquid. Isis got to her feet and slammed her body against the heavy iron door, pounding it with the flat of her palm.

  “Asshole!” she yelled, giving the door one last kick for good measure. There was a sliding panel on the upper part of the door where she assumed her jailers could look down on their prisoner. Another sliding panel at the base of the heavy door was likely for food to be slid through. Isis put her hands on her hips and blocked out the awful stench of rot and decay as she forced herself to calm down so she could figure out what to do. Feeling her pockets, Isis found they had been emptied. Looking up, Isis saw a light bulb but nothing else. No windows or other openings that she could potentially escape through. An idea began to take form in her mind as she remembered her guardian heritage.

  Dumbasses, Isis thought as she closed her eyes and thought of the mansion. Time passed, but she didn’t feel warmer or see the usual flash of light nor did she hear the soft sound similar to glass breaking. She opened her eyes and looked around to find herself in the exact same cell.

  “For fucks sake,” she grumbled in frustration.

  “No guardian magic in this place,” a rough but amused voice murmured. Isis rolled her eyes over to the panel and saw a pair of cloudy blue eyes studying her. They were a little too rounded, like a rodent’s eyes, and the flesh around them was as chalky as a corpse.

  “Great, my jailer is a goddamn cliché,” Isis muttered under her breath.

  “Poor little mouse is trapped in the spider’s web,” the unpleasant voice taunted. “But she won’t be here for long. He’s coming to retrieve her.”

  “It’s fly, jackass,” Isis snapped in annoyance. “Spiders catch flies. Jesus. If you’re going to threaten or intimidate me, could you at least make an effort to get your goddamn metaphors right?”

  The eyes had a momentarily puzzled look in them before the panel was slammed shut. Isis glanced down to her damp jeans. They had ripped when she’d fallen and her knees were badly scraped. She scowled, irritated by the possibility of getting an infection or tetanus. There was an uncomfortable looking slab of stone jutting out of the wall to the side, likely meant to be a bed, and the gray walls were completely smooth. The water most likely deterred vermin from making their home in the small space. It didn’t look like anything could live in the space for very long. There were no cobwebs and the sloshing water kept any kind of silence at bay.

  Isis glanced back up to the sliding panel when she heard it swish open. A pair of yellow eyes appeared at the top. The flesh was a healthier shade than the man with the cloudy blue eyes and the eyeliner led Isis to believe her new visitor was a woman. Her eyes were filled with hatred — probably directed at anyone who crossed her path. The unnatural glow behind her shone in Isis’ face.

  “Where is it?” the woman growled at her.

  “You’re really going to have to be more specific. I’m not telepathic,” Isis replied, using irritation to cover her bewilderment.

  “Bravado won’t protect you, daughter of the Meadows,” the woman spat at her. “You’re in assassin territory now, a place even protectors won’t venture into.”

  Well shit, Isis thought as she continued watching the woman. “How’s the change in management going?”

  The gold eyes widened, fury flashing across them. The panel slammed shut again, leaving her in dim lighting. Isis glanced up when the light bulb above her flickered. Leaning against the back wall in the small cell, she tried to figure out just how the hell to get out of there. No answer was forthcoming, only the quiet splash of dirty water. As Isis walked around the cell, thinking about what to do, she began to hear quiet popping sounds, which filled her with dread, followed by muffled shouting and footsteps rushing around. It sounded like gunshots somewhere overhead and Isis knew she didn’t want to be trapped with assassins during some kind of gunfight.

  *~*~*~*~*

  The dungeons of the Meadows were not the same sort of prisons found on Earth. There were different levels, all designed in a similar way, with most prisoners being kept in the uppermost level. The walls were painted a neutral color, to help prisoners feel at ease. Large windows across from the cells enabled the prisoners to see outside and bright lights illuminated everything in the nighttime hours. The cells themselves were fairly well-sized. Each cell had a desk and a bed and the floors were tiled. There were three walls of brick and one of guardian glass, a material exactly like ordinary glass except for one difference: guardian glass was unbreakable. The door could only be opened by the guards. In the middle of the door was a slit where meals were passed through. It was designed to be a comfortable living space. The guardians were strictly against any form of cruelty and they always had been.

  Jet and Lilly stood in front of one cell, watching the prisoner behind the glass. Coop leaned against the desk in his cell. He had already told them his story at least four different times and judging from their stillness, he was about to give it yet again. Why couldn’t normals ever just accept simple truths? No, they had to poke and prod every little detail, no matter how insignificant. Coop kept his gaze forward on the opposite wall, keeping the protectors in his peripher
al vision.

  Coop was beginning to feel a small amount of aggravation. Or was it frustration? It had been so long since he had experienced any kind of genuine emotion that he sometimes couldn’t remember what it was like. The protectors didn’t know how lucky they were. Living in blissful ignorance, unaware of the horrendous things happening almost right under their noses. It was a luxury Coop knew he would never experience and sometimes he felt some resentment because of it.

  “Coop, did you kill the scientist?” Jet asked after a moment. At least he finally accepted that the man was most likely dead. No more beating that particular dead horse with a stick.

  “No,” Coop replied, glancing over at Lilly. She had been silent since she had arrived, observing him. Her expression was neutral.

  “Who did?” Jet pressed.

  “Nobody you would know,” Coop answered. Jet dragged a hand down his face, his expression reflecting frustration. Coop was certain he had already gotten under his skin, most normals disliked vague responses. This was especially true of normals in positions of leadership.

  “Coop, we have to catch—”

  “Even if I did tell you, you would not believe me. You live in a world much different than the one I’m accustomed to. If I’m being honest, I don’t even know how to begin explaining the situation to you and I have no desire to bring even more danger into your lives.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means you are wasting time asking me these pointless questions. I won’t tell you anything, and I have been conditioned to withstand all known forms of torture. So, you wouldn’t be able to pry an answer out of me even if you did believe in making use of enhanced interrogation techniques,” Coop stated.