by Leigh Evans
A stupid exercise, description. It’s a memory game for a yearning, dreaming heart. It’s something you play, waiting for a light to change, trying to find the right word, as if that would somehow return you to that moment, help you live that feeling again. Maybe one day, I’d go back to finding the right word, but right then, caught in the heart trap of pure feeling, I was only aware of what the blue flame in his eyes meant to me. It was power, it was desire, it was a fight and a promise.
It was everything.
My gaze dropped.
Chapter Nine
“Do all Faes have the flare or just some?”
“Don’t say that,” I said sharply. “Don’t use the term ‘the flare.’ It’s a very personal thing to a Fae. It’s wrong to hear a Were say it. Just wrong.”
He’d taken my chin in his fingers to examine my eyes. They’d stopped burning, and I was fairly sure that they’d stopped flaring because the interior of the car was dark again. Trowbridge had lines around his eyes, and a blue vein under his skin, right on the top of his cheekbone. That’s the sort of stuff you wouldn’t normally see in the dark. My eyesight seemed keener than before.
“Put your glasses on,” he told me, putting the car into drive.
“Where are we going?”
“Toronto.” He glanced at his side-view mirror. “It’s damn hard to track anything in the city. Not impossible, but it will take them some time and a lot more trackers to find us.”
“I don’t want to go to Toronto.” Maybe it wasn’t so bad. Maybe I flared because he was part of my destiny; not my “one true thing”? Perhaps he’d been sent by the Goddess of Fate to help me find Lou? I tested the thought, feeling a little relieved. Surely, rescuing a fairy princess had to fall under the title “Great Destiny Options for You”?
“You don’t have a choice.” He hit the accelerator and the back wheels spun on the gravel, shooting up a spray behind us.
He drove well, but too fast. It made my Were-bitch restless. I kept changing positions in my seat as she squirmed inside me. Trowbridge rolled down the windows and turned off the heat, which cheered my Were. Her general-doggie-happiness sent goose bumps popping up on my arm. There were other physical differences. My spell-casting hand wasn’t crispy, and it should have been, considering I had propelled a commercial washing machine across the floor. My fingers felt fat and sore, but not sausage-fat and third-degree-burn sore. More like the sore you got when your hands froze slightly, when the blood came back. I held them to my nose. Definitely no scent of recent charring. No scent at all, except swamp, and the lingering woods-and-whiskey scent of Trowbridge still marking my hands.
I’d released my inner Were, and she was making herself known. Healing me, while Merry was busy cuddling up to her boyfriend. But for my Were, life was all good, right? Open window, open road. Prime mate material by her side. Free at last. There was a flutter, a stretch, low in my belly as the Were-bitch tested the walls again.
I turned sharply to him. “You said that my Were ‘answered.’ That means you called it. Stop calling my Were.”
“Trust me, I’m not calling your Were.” His voice was clipped, but a smile played at the corner of his lips. “Weres don’t call to Faes. And by the way, that’s a personal thing, ‘answering the call,’” he drawled. “It just feels wrong to hear a Fae say it.”
That’s an Alpha thing, isn’t it? Calling to the Were?
I touched Merry, and then jerked my hand away. Wrapped around the other amulet, she was twice her usual size, and foreign feeling, contaminated by the heavy, dead weight of the other amulet. The other didn’t have her suppleness, or the intelligence that I always sensed when I held her. I don’t know how she could stand being twined around it, her stone pressed hard to its center. Was she so lonely for her own kind that she was willing to spoon with a corpse?
* * *
The highway was better lit. I could see every nuance of expression on Trowbridge’s face. “Tell me about the Treaty of Brelland.”
He turned to me sharply. “How do you know about the Treaty?”
“That’s what the Fae said before he executed my mother,” I said. “‘Roselyn of the house of DeLoren, we have found you guilty of breaking the Treaty of Brelland.’”
Trowbridge shot me a look out of the corner of his eye. “So she was in on it. She took a Were to Merenwyn.”
“My mother would never have done anything to endanger us. We meant everything to her.”
He didn’t appear convinced about that. Silence filled the car, except for the windshield wipers slapping away at the rain. He merged into traffic, encouraging a less confident driver into yielding. “It’s a treaty written hundreds of years before you and I were ever born,” he explained. “In the beginning, the Weres and Fae shared the same realm.”
“Here or in Merenwyn?” Weres once lived in the Fae realm?
“Merenwyn,” he replied. “They’d been fighting for God knows how many generations. Blood was being spilled by both sides; a lot of it—to the point where more people were being killed than being born. Then it stopped being a race war, and became an economic issue. Declining population meant less people to work the fields. So, the two sides brokered a deal. Three of the four kin packs negotiated with the Fae for safe passage to this world. In exchange, no Were from those packs, or any of their succeeding generations, would be able to use the portals to pass back to the Fae realm. To back that up, the Alpha of each gave a blood sample, which the mages used to alter the portal’s magic. From that day on, so the story goes, no Were could either call or cross the Gates of Merenwyn. But something changed. Ten years ago, a Were did pass through the portal, and after he’d butchered my family, he was able to change into his mortal shape, and melt away.” His eyes narrowed to little squints. “One day I’ll find him.”
“Why didn’t the Creemore pack hear the portal open?” I said. “Why didn’t they feel the earth tremble?”
“That confused me. They should have sensed the passing of the Alpha, before that … I tried to use my phone to call for help, but it wouldn’t work. I sent up a howl, but no one came. It was like I was inside a bubble that broke once I left the property. The only logical explanation for that was someone had set wards. Around the pond, and your family’s place.” He shot me a speculative look. “Someone with some magic.”
“It wasn’t my mother, Trowbridge.”
“Weres can’t open a portal on their own and they don’t have the magic to set wards. So who set a protection spell around the Alpha’s house and the pond? It wasn’t a mage or a witch. I would have scented that. It needed to be a Fae familiar with the pack. There was only one Fae woman who fit that bill.”
“It wasn’t my mother,” I repeated hotly. “Don’t blame her or the Fae for it, Trowbridge. It wasn’t just any wolf that came through the portal. It was one of yours.”
His skin released a surge of angry Were musk. It filled the car and tickled the hairs on the back of my neck. “Explain,” he bit out.
I told him about seeing the wolf come through the portal. About the confrontation on the beach. About the scentless Wolf running up the hill toward the Trowbridge house. About Dad dying and Mum being executed. I used small words and no adjectives. I didn’t cry.
“Why didn’t your dad just shoot him? Just pull the fucking trigger when the wolf leaped through the portal?”
“He was a friend.”
“What was his name?” His voice was low, focused.
“I don’t know.” I lifted my shoulder. “But I’d seen that wolf before. Sometimes he’d come during the moon time. He’d stand at the edge of the forest and wait for Dad. Not very often. But some moon runs he would wait for Dad.” I rubbed the mud off my hand onto my thigh. “I don’t think he was supposed to run with my father. Just a feeling. My dad would never answer any questions about the pack.”
“But you saw him. Describe him to me.”
“He was gray. Big.” I made a helpless gesture in the air. “He had a white str
eak in his fur.”
“Where?”
“On his shoulder. High across a shoulder.” I brought to mind the image of the wolf, waiting for Dad, at the forest’s edge. “His left shoulder.”
Trowbridge grew so still, that even the air around him seemed to freeze.
“You know him.” I sat up tall in the seat. “Tell me his name.”
He was studying his hands on the wheel, all the skin on his face so tight that those fine lines became slashes. Then he shook his head, once, and then once again, both times so slowly, I could have said, “What? What?” but I was afraid to break the silence. Afraid to move. He kept driving, sitting right beside me but a universe apart from me as he worked something out in his head.
With dull eyes, I watched the cars as we passed them. All those unknowing drivers heading for their destinations, all so unaware of what can happen in just a few minutes. There are no guarantees in life. None at all. My head felt like someone had split it down the middle with an axe.
My ride-along companions weren’t happy either. Were-bitch had finally stopped moving, but she kept dribbling more anxiety into the stress pool I had swelling in my gut. And Merry kept moving, back and forth, rubbing a tendril along my skin, like I was the dry twig, and she was the person intent on starting a fire. I knew she was hungry. I touched her with a finger, grimacing as I felt the hard, cold metal of the other amulet entwined with her own gold. I will find you food soon, I silently promised. She wrapped a tendril around my thumb, and I felt a burst of warmth, a feeling of almost comfort.
My eyelids suddenly felt heavy.
“You know what you should do when a whole pack of Weres are after you?” he asked, startling me out of a near-doze. “Run. Just keep chewing up the miles until you’re out of their territory.” He glanced in the rearview mirror an instant before maneuvering out and around a slower-moving vehicle. “Do you have any friends? Friends from out of town? Casual ones, ones that you haven’t mentioned to anyone around here?”
“Why?”
“They’re going to be searching for people who know you and places you frequent. They’re probably at your apartment right now, going through everything you own. They’ll look at every piece of paper, smell every sweater, interrogate neighbors, run down people you worked with. They’ll search until they find you or you’re out of their territory. Their Alpha is strong and motivated, and he’s got a lot of foot soldiers.” A muscle moved in his cheek. “He’s got some excellent trackers.” He glanced at me, quickly, his eyes a flash of that crazy bright blue under a fringe of black, before returning his gaze back to the road.
“But he won’t go beyond his territory,” he continued. “Not now. It’s too hot out there for him. So, this is what you need to do. You need to give him what he wants, and make tracks. FedEx your amulet to Creemore. Then get out of the province. Or even better, out of the country.”
They’ll interrogate your neighbors. Bob. I fumbled for Scawens’s cell phone.
“What are you doing?”
“I have to warn Bob,” I said, fitting the battery back inside the phone. “I have to tell him to not go back to the store.”
“Put the phone away. They’ve likely already found him,” he said. “You have to think of yourself as a Rogue now. Just cut the ties. If your friend’s still alive, calling him may put him in more jeopardy.” His musk was an invisible pungent cloud around us that sharpened and grew hotter with every word he spoke. “If you care about him, the kindest thing you can do is head in the other direction and never look back.”
I ignored him and started punching in the store’s number. His hand whipped out, and crushed mine on the phone. “Turn it off,” he said, “and take the battery out of it. They can track you through the GPS.”
I gaped at him, momentarily speechless. Then I took the cell apart, shaking my head as I did so. “This is beyond paranoid.”
“You want to call the guy? Fine. I’ll find you a pay phone, but don’t you use that phone until you’re miles away from me.” He glanced over his shoulder, cut into the slow lane, and took the next exit off the highway. To the right was the suburban sprawl of Mississauga: miles of curling residential streets all sucking you into a labyrinth of more curling streets. To the left was the industrial park, low flat buildings squatting in the dark.
He turned left.
Chapter Ten
He had a nose, all right. He’d driven us, tight-lipped and brooding, through the dark streets of the industrial park and found me a phone.
“A strip club?” I eyed the sign mounted over the doorway of what could have been a mom and pop restaurant except for the fact that there were no visible windows. The blue and pink sign flickered and the words “girls, girls, girls” were replaced by three images. What bright bulb had thought up three strippers posing in a martini glass?
“It’s a gift,” Trowbridge said, pulling the car into a parking spot. “It doesn’t matter where I am, I can always find a drink when I need one. It’s not the Ritz, but my options are limited.” He pulled his shirt away from his body and inspected it. The sleeve had a hole in it, and a long darkened patch where the blood had stained his gray shirt dark maroon. “I’ve got an hour before closing time, and I need a drink,” he said, ripping the sleeve off. He wadded it up and scrubbed the dried blood off his bicep. His skin had healed. There was just a suggestion of pink where the bullet had torn his flesh.
“I’m not going in there.”
“I didn’t invite you.” He tore the other sleeve off and frowned at the result. He wound a finger around some of the threads and broke them off. “There’s your pay phone.” He jerked his thumb at the curb. “And this is as good a place as any to part company.”
The Taurus subsided with a grateful rattle. During the silence that followed, I counted the beats of the song playing inside the club. There were no discernible lyrics. Just thumping bass.
“Are you going to kill the scentless wolf?”
His voice was hard as whip. “Kid, a platoon of Rogues wouldn’t stand a chance getting close enough to kill him.”
“Then I’ll kill him. Tell me his name.”
“You listen to me.” He looked at the blue and pink neon sign blinking over the door. “You don’t need to know his name. You forget all about him. You don’t stand a chance of pulling it off. Do you understand? You’d be dead three seconds after thinking it.” He released his breath, slow and controlled. “Forget about revenge. Right now, you have other problems. The Alpha of southern Ontario wants that amulet. He’s a powerful man, and he’s a stone-cold murderer. Don’t ever mistake him for anything else.” He darted a glance at me. “You’re such a kid.” He scowled at his hand on the wheel. “For once, don’t be a stubborn little girl.”
“I’m not a little girl.”
“Then behave like an adult.” He was all sharp cheekbones and forced calm. “Think it through. Find a box, put your amulet in it, and send it express to the Scawens family in Creemore. It will find its way to the Alpha after that.”
The club’s blinking neon sign painted a wash of color across his knuckles. It kept changing, now hot pink, now electric blue. Would I ever understand this man? “Don’t you want to avenge your family?”
Trowbridge slowly tilted his head toward me—ear up, head hanging to one side. A strand of his black hair swept over his brow to shadow his eyes but within them I saw a spark of blue fire. The flare was gone as fast as it appeared, and then his eyes were dark, and perhaps a little sad that I was still so young and dumb that I needed to pose such a question.
“Will it bring them back?” he asked quietly.
Maybe it was that all-knowing superiority that pissed me off, maybe it was his patent indifference. I searched for a pointed stick and poked him with it. “What about Candy?”
Suddenly all the oxygen went out of the car, as if he’d inhaled it all, and processed it through his hot lungs, and thrown it back to me, except now the air was stinking of fury and some sort of sodden, mixed
-up emotional mess that I couldn’t understand other than its added weight made the air somehow heavier, and it hurt my ribs to suck it in.
“You don’t speak her name,” he said, through clenched teeth. There was a pause. A pit opened between us, and things fell into it. Things I wouldn’t put a name to, but recognized so well. “You don’t ever mention her name again.”
He shoved the door open with his foot. Clean air spilled into the car. “I need my amulet now.”
Merry was listening. Her temperature changed from cool to lukewarm. She was tired, I realized, touching her. Tired and hurting and something else. I closed my eyes, shutting Trowbridge out for a moment, and tried to search for it. Still desperate.
“I can’t do that,” I said, staring ahead. I wanted to remember him as he was in my mind. Buttoning up his shirt. Looking at me with lust in his eyes, and caution in his heart. I could remember that. Treasure it. Pull it out when the humans overwhelmed me. Examine it in the years that stretched in front of me … if I was lucky enough to live through the next few hours.
“Can’t or won’t?”
I stared sightlessly at the glove compartment. “Both.”
“I can take it off your neck right now.”
“Yes. You could try.” The air inside the Taurus suddenly felt heavy, charged like the atmosphere before a thunderstorm. “But I don’t think the two amulets will come apart.”
“Try it anyhow.”
“I didn’t put them together. It happened when I put your amulet around my neck. This—” I went to touch Merry, but drew back my hand at the last second. “This is something I don’t understand. I didn’t glue them together.” The heavy air was moving; I could feel it, prickles on my skin.
“Try.”
“No,” I said softly. Inside the car, the air got hotter, more layered with Were. It smelled like a wild, unmapped forest, before the crackle of the storm. Trowbridge gave an exasperated huff, and reached out for them. He flipped the pendant over, found a piece of the dead amulet sticking out and tried to tug it free.