by Nyna Queen
“Make yourselves comfortable, children. I’ll put the kettle on.”
Alex jumped up to follow. “I’ll help you with the dishes.”
Politely pretending not to note the female need for private talking space, Darken examined an old sailboat model on a narrow shelf, all hair-thin ropes, and delicate woodwork. His face had turned from murderous to expressionless since Rachel had mentioned her past love affair. Why he would even care about her history with that asshole Tristan, was beyond Alex. It wasn’t like he had called dibs on her, right? Must be one of those overly righteous trueborn fits again, like the one he’d had when they had encountered those dick-driven schmucks in Gomorrha. Well, he didn’t care enough for her to actually be with her, so he certainly didn’t get to fret about this, either!
Alex followed Rachel into the kitchen and leaned against the closed door. Rachel put on the kettle and bent down to the oven.
“You look exhausted, darling,” she noted.
“A little worn, that’s all.”
Turning and surveying her over the top of a delicious-looking cake, Rachel raised an eyebrow. “You’ve recently molted, Lex, don’t think I didn’t notice.”
Alex grimaced. Sure, she would notice. She was, after all, also a shaper. Also a spider, to be exact.
Alex exhaled and walked over to the open cupboard beside the sink to get the cups. “I got into some trouble recently.”
The laugh she got in response was genuine. “Darling, when are you not in trouble?”
“That’s hardly fair!” Alex scowled. “It’s not like I do it on purpose.”
“You want to tell me?”
While the water boiled and Rachel professionally frosted the cake, Alex told her friend in broad strokes what had happened to her since she’d been forced to run from the Jester’s Inn with two trueborn children in tow—leaving out convenient little bits here and there, like having it off with Darken in a hotel room right next to those kids.
When she was done, Rachel whistled softly. “Now, there’s a story.” She poured the hot water into a cutesy porcelain tea can with little pink dots that seemed completely out of place. “And you really want to go through with this ball thingy?”
Alex shrugged, feeling a little sheepish. “I told them it’s a stupid idea. But, frankly, I don’t see many other options right now. And Darken and his brother are awfully convinced that we can pull it off somehow.”
“Darken, huh?” The kettle came to rest on the counter. “So, are you sure, the two of you are not …”
“Rachel!”
“Just asking, darling. The way he looks at you …”
Alex grabbed the edges of the sink and leaned her head back. “He doesn’t look at me in any way!” And it hurt to admit it. Every time she repeated it inside her head or out loud was like the tip of a knife scratching the barely hardened scab of a wound on her heart. He had made it pretty clear that he was not interested in her that way. Repeatedly. And when were trueborn royals ever in the market shopping for shaper mongrels, anyway? Getting her hopes up would only result in further heartache and she’d had enough of that, thank you very much.
“Uh-huh,” Rachel said again.
“What?”
“Nothing, darling. Not my business.”
She placed the kettle, cups, plates, and cutlery on a salver and carried them over to the living room. Alex had no choice but to follow with the cake.
Back in the tiny living room, they settled around the small wooden table, and Rachel served them tea and cake. Alex had to admit it—her friend had a talent.
“This was absolutely delicious,” Darken said after he’d finished his last bite and scooped up the crumbs.
Rachel graced him with another dazzling smile. “That is sweet of you to say.” She put her dessert fork down and stacked the plates. “Now, how can I help you?”
That was Rachel for you. No hemming and hawing, no questions asked. Always there and ready to offer help without hesitation. It was why Alex loved her friend so much.
Wiping her finger on a delightfully mundane paper napkin, Alex reached into the tote bag she’d brought along with her, fished out the folder Belaris had given them and placed it on the table in front of her friend.
Taking out a leather etui, Rachel made a show of positioning a pair of half-moon reading glasses on the bridge of her nose.
Alex stared at her. No shaper ever needed glasses—like ever. Their genetics ensured that they had excellent eyesight that nothing short of a serious wound could destroy.
Rachel looked back, feigning a lack of understanding. “What? Nice old ladies wear glasses, I’ve been told. The kids eat it up like sugar gum.”
“Kids?” Alex’s eyes turned as big as saucers.
Rachel nodded. “Mhmm. The neighborhood is teeming with them. They come by, mostly for my nutcakes, I suspect—they are somewhat legendary around here—but they also play in the garden and use my paint and pencils.” She pointed toward the wall, where unmistakably some of the paintings had been made with a child’s clumsy hands, showing all sorts of indefinable things and, some of them, a white-haired woman with bird feathers in her hair.
Alex glared at her friend. “And their parents don’t mind?”
“Why would they?” Rachel asked smugly. “I offer them vegetables from my garden. And in turn, they do my groceries and sometimes bring me food. It seems old ladies are also unable to feed themselves properly. Nowadays I can hardly take two steps out of this house without someone asking me if they can help me somehow. I have two casseroles and a lasagna sitting in the fridge. A couple of weeks ago, I was even invited to a barbecue.”
“Did you go?”
“I could hardly decline, could I? And, I tell you, the spare ribs were a dream.” They shared a private little smile.
Alex shook her head with a grin. “Rachel, you’ve grown soft in your old age!”
“Ah,” Rachel said, with a wink, “we grow old, but we never lose our bite! Now, let me have a look at this.”
The smile melted from her face when she opened the folder and spread the pictures on the table. She picked one up, then the next, studying them all carefully. A bird warbled outside, striking up a cheery little tune. Finally, Rachel leaned back.
“Do you know any of them?” Alex asked quietly. Rachel had connections to many shapers throughout the realm.
“I’ve never seen that one.” Rachel tapped the picture of the man with the wild brown hair, the flat nose, and bone earring. His empty eyes stared upward at an unseen ceiling. “Nor him.” She pointed to the black-skinned guy with the red stripes across his face. In death, he seemed almost gray, less threatening than he must have been alive.
“But I do know these two.” Rachel indicated the last two males. “Akio’s a snake and that one, Cedar, is—or I should rather say, was—a frog.” Her lips tightened at the words. “We were briefly acquainted a few years back and we still say ‘hi’ if our paths cross. Last I thing I knew, they were both living with a wild pack in the Scarlet Mountains.”
Alex shuddered involuntarily. A wild shaper pack.
“Wild pack?” Darken repeated, looking intensely at Alex. “You’ve talked about the ‘call of the wild’ before. What does it mean?”
Rachel’s eyebrows crept up, almost to her hairline. “It means teeth, and blood, and crushed souls.”
“Some of us shapers,” Alex cut in to explain, “choose to live outside of human communities.” She didn’t like this topic but it was better for Darken to understand the magnitude of that decision now rather than later.
“For our kind, it’s not very easy to find a job or even a place to live. People don’t want us in their precious neighborhoods, where their kids play in the streets. In terms of desirability as a neighbor, we rank somewhere between a low-key drug dealer and a convicted child molester. So, if we wish to live ‘the normal life,’ we have to hide our true nature and pretend to be completely human. It’s tedious and not all of us are particularly good a
t it.” She raised her hands and flashed a hint of her claws and the pattern of her true skin. “We ‘slip’ when we get excited or angry or tired or into any other strong emotional state.”
Darken watched her hands the way she would have studied a pretty weapon. “I don’t remember ever seeing you slip.”
“That’s because I trained myself for a long time. My control is exceptional among shapers. And even for me it sometimes gets difficult. Especially in crowds. You have to be constantly on your guard. And if people find out who really lives next door, you’ll be lucky if it is only the police waiting for you when you come home from getting the groceries. Might as well be pitchforks and loaded handguns.”
The image of a young male scorpion flashed before Alex's eyes; still more a boy than a man, pummeled to death by an angry mob after he’d slipped while kissing a girl in a pub. She quickly pushed the image away.
“That’s why some shapers decide to leave society and live in the woods and mountains, away from populated towns and cities. They live off the land. Often they form groups and make their own communities.”
Darken nodded. “I’ve heard of groups of shaper outlaws in certain areas.”
Alex inclined her head. “We call them packs, like wolf packs, because they often give in to the more instinctually driven, feral part of our soul. They follow the call of the wild. You’d probably say they are less civilized.”
It was a path to promised freedom. But it was just another kind of freedom that came at the price of a soul, and after Tristan had broken her heart and the Duke had preyed on her anguish to corrupt her for his own devious purposes, Alex had stood at that crossroad and decided not to take the easy way out. She was human too, and she wanted to remain that way.
“The wild ones make their own rules,” she added. “Mostly, they are ignored as long as they stay away from human settlements.”
“What is your interest in them?” Rachel asked, pointing at the pictures again.
Alex recounted what had happened in Manor Creek County and how it was connected to the dead shapers. She didn’t need to explain how this was another bomb whose fallout was bound to make life more complicated for shaper kind in general. Rachel wasn’t new to the business.
Rachel took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Yeah, I think I heard some of it on the news, but I must admit, I don’t pay them that much attention these days. It’s too toxic to get incensed by every public rage.” She frowned as she looked at the pictures. “These people, they aren’t the gentle sort, but I do not believe that they’ve done this for the mere fun of it. Cedar is a father himself. They have strange ways, the wild ones, but they are not the beasts people portray them as.”
“Well, I plan on finding out what is behind this,” Alex told her grimly. “Do you know where the pack is located?”
“They usually make sure they aren’t found. I’ll draw you a map, but they could have moved since the last time I spoke to either of them. And you know … they don’t like outsiders.” Her eyes flickered toward Darken.
“I’m aware. But first, we have to deal with another problem.” Alex rested her elbows on the table. “Geography was never my strong suit but the Scarlet Mountains are close to Bhellidor. Which is what—five hundred miles? Six hundred? Taking a car or the train will take us forever.”
Going there at all, a place so close to the scene of her purported crime, was giving Alex the creeps. She decided not to think about it.
“Would a long-distance coach be faster?” She’d never traveled with the trueborn magic-driven equivalent to the halfborn train but she’d heard they were as quick as greased lightning.
“A bit,” Darken said with a frown. “But we would have to ID ourselves when we embark and when we cross through provinces.”
So that was flat out. Alex chewed on her lip. “If we go back, you think your brother will be able to arrange something?”
“Not enough time.” Darken shook his head, “Not with the Summerball being only two and a half days away.”
Rachel watched the exchange. She bent forward. “If you’re in a rush, I’m sure Hugh would be willing to take you.”
“Hugh?”
“One of my neighbors,” Rachel said with an air of innocence.
Neighbor, huh? “How close is your relationship exactly?”
Rachel smiled sweetly. “Oh, we do each other little flavors once in a while. In the cold season, he chops wood for me and fires my oven.”
“And is that the only thing he’s firing?” Alex asked slyly.
Rachel’s smile sharpened, showing a hint of her true teeth. “A girl never tells.” She winked. “He is trueborn. Not one of those hotshots, but he’s got a strong teleporting talent. Runs in his family.” Her voice turned softer. “After his wife and son died in a fire several years ago, he left his old life behind. Ended up in this sleepy little community. I can ask him if he’d be willing to take you there and back.”
Alex turned to Darken. “Feeling up for a little hike?”
HUGH’s cottage was situated on the other side of the same dune, only five minutes away. While they walked, Rachel told them everything she could remember about the wild pack in the Scarlet Mountains.
At the edge of the cottage, she stopped. “Hugh knows about me, of course, but the topic still makes him a little … uncomfortable, so we try to keep it to a minimum.”
Not uncomfortable enough to keep him out of her bed, though, Alex thought with a wry grin. Rachel, Rachel, Rachel. Who’d have thought?
Alex nodded. Not that she made a habit of telling people about her true nature.
They approached the door and Rachel knocked.
No answer.
“Hugh?” Rachel called out. “Hugh?”
“Round here, dove,” came a muted, rumbling reply.
Dove?
Rachel gestured for them to follow and they walked around the side of the cottage. An open garage that had been converted into a joinery hugged the side of the cottage. The floor was covered in wood shavings. Boards in all kinds of lengths and types of wood leaned against the left wall, while the right was occupied by a sun-bleached surfboard that looked like it hadn’t been used in years. In the back, a table held several wooden figurines and puzzles, as well as a broken checkerboard, and a headless wooden angel whose smiling face was cradled on a pillow beside it. Apparently, this was where the neighbors brought their broken stuff for repair. In front of the garage, there was a woodblock with an ax stuck in it. Beside the block was a neat pile of chopped wood stacked against the wall, covered in tarp.
A man, who had to be Hugh, was bent over a worktable with a small saw in one hand and a piece of wood in the other. His fisherman’s shirt and pants were coated in sawdust. Likely nearing the end of his sixties, he looked like your nice old grandpa next door, a little chubby around the middle, with thin hair, just off white, that was tucked under a tweed flat cap.
Imagining him and Rachel sitting together in the garden, drinking tea, was kinda sweet.
“Oh Rachel, dove,” he said, slightly flustered, as he put the saw down. “I didn’t know you had visitors.”
“It was more of a spontaneous gathering,” Rachel told him. “This is my foster niece, Alexis, and her”—she hesitated only for a second—“partner Dryden.”
“Oh, of course.” Hugh stepped over to Alex, wiping his hand on his shirt. “I must say, it’s such a pleasure to finally meet you after all the time. I heard so much of you already.” She shook his outstretched hand. His grip was firm and the skin on his fingers calloused from the wood work.
“Only good things I hope.”
“Sure, sure,” he said, his bushy brows moving up and down. “This lady here couldn’t be much prouder of anyone, I’d say.” He had a strong, elegant accent, slightly rolling his ‘r’s and stretching his ‘a’s.
Alex smiled brightly but inwardly felt like a huge failure.
Then Hugh turned to Darken, his eyes unerringly falling on the glov
es which Darken had slipped on in the car. They snapped up to his face and his skin turned a little ashen. He caught himself quickly though and shook Darken’s offered hand. “Dryden, is it? Nice to meet you.”
He knew he was shaking hands with a forfeit, so much was certain. But had he recognized him as Darken Dubois-Léclaire? If so, he was keeping it to himself.
Alex forced herself to relax. If Rachel trusted him, then so did she.
“So, I heard you’re helping my auntie out with things,” Alex said casually with just a bit too much bite. “Bet her pipes are all well oiled.”
Hugh blushed under his cap.
Rachel pushed forward. “Hugh, dear, we are in need of your special talent. The children have a very urgent business which they cannot postpone. Would you feel up for it? It would be a long-distance jump.” She put a hand on his arm. Alex saw the tenderness in Hugh’s eyes as he looked down at her, and she ruthlessly suppressed a surge of jealousy.
“For you, anything my dove.” Hugh turned to her and Darken. “So, where are we going?”
“WHAT did that guy do to you? Your ex-boyfriend.”
Alex cast Darken a sharp sidelong glance, as they climbed the mountain slope beside each other between thick clusters of Blood Maple, the ever-red trees that gave the Scarlet Mountains their peculiar name.
Still fretting about Tristan, huh? After all those hours! You’d think he would have gotten over it by now.
Alex shook her head.
While Hugh had told them that getting back to Shelston shouldn’t be too much of a problem, teleporting them here had proved a little more tricky, as he had never been in this particular area before, and his talent, which he had used as a professional teleporter in his younger years, had become a little rusty because he no longer practiced it on a regular basis. They had finally agreed that he would phase them to a small village about one and a half hour’s drive from the western offshoot of the Scarlet Mountains, where a distant cousin of his was living. In the adjoining halfborn village, they had rented a Jeep with four-wheel drive, and Hugh—who had turned out to be a surprisingly decent driver—had driven them up into the mountains. He’d dropped them off on a mountain road closest to the place where Rachel had marked her last known location of the shaper pack. It was a wild shot in the dark—the pack could have moved several times since Rachel last had spoken to one of them ten months ago—but it was the only lead they had.