I gritted my teeth.
We went down the spiraling stairs into the inner yard of the Keep. The Pack Keep had trouble deciding if it wanted to be a medieval castle or a twenty-first-century prison. Its main tower rose, looming, forbidding, a huge square building, utilitarian to the point of being crude. Jim once told me that it was built by hand with minimal technology and took almost ten years. It probably took a lot longer. The Keep went on for many stories underground.
A solid stone wall enclosed the main tower, carving a chunk from the clearing. I had never been inside the yard before. It was spacious and mostly empty. Some exercise equipment at the far wall. A large storage shed. A water tower. To the right a group of shapeshifers stood by a tall tank full of liquid. The last time I’d seen a tank like that, it contained dark green healing solution Doolittle had magicked, and Curran floated in it naked.
This tank contained clear water. Within the water sat a loup cage: bars as thick as my wrist, laced with silver. Something dark moved in the cage. The shapeshifters moved back and forth. Among them were three near seven-foot monstrosities in beast-form whose shaggy heads blocked the view.
“What is that?” I headed for the cage.
“You’ll see.” Curran looked smug, like a cat who stole the cream and thought he got away with it.
As we crossed the yard, a dark shape blotted out the stars. A dark outline of a long colossal body armed with huge membranous wings passed in silence high above us and vanished behind the tree line.
It couldn’t be. Even during a flare, the possibility of such a creature was too miniscule to contemplate.
The shapeshifters parted before Curran. A familiar glowing body shifted within the cage. A reeve. “How did you…?”
Curran shrugged. “She came sniffing your trail after you left. We had a mild disagreement and I tore her arms off. She didn’t die right away, so we stuck her into a loup cage and drove her over here.”
The reeve floated in the water, her eyes wide-open. Tiny slits of gills fluttered on her neck. Both arms were present and perfectly functional. She had regenerated.
The reeve’s hair clasped at the bars and drew back.
“Doesn’t like silver.” Jim congealed from the crowd as if by magic.
Curran nodded. “The loup cage was a good idea. Never would’ve thought of it myself. Good looking out.”
The next chance I got an extra gig from the Guild, I’d put the money into getting the bars for my apartment made from the same alloy. My current bars were supposed to have a decent silver percentage but apparently not enough to have prevented the reeve from grabbing them.
I pulled the monisto from my leather. The reeve snapped to the bars, her lavender eyes fastened on the necklace.
“You want this, yes?” I moved the monisto to the left. The reeve followed it.
I pried one of the numerous knots open, slid the first coin off the cord and tossed it into the grass a few feet away. The reeve remained focused on the necklace. I slid the second coin and flicked it next to the first. No reaction.
“Is one of those special?” Curran asked.
“Yep. Don’t know which one.”
Third coin. Fourth.
“Hey, mates!”
I’d know that voice anywhere. I wheeled around. Bran stood atop the wall a good twenty-five yards away. He waved the crossbow at us. “What a lovely party, and me without an invitation.”
“Get him down,” Curran said softly.
Two shapeshifters in beast-form detached themselves from the group and padded to the wall.
Bran grinned. “So you’re the big man, yea? I thought you would be taller.”
“Tall enough to break your back,” Curran said. His face snapped into the “pissed off Curran” mode: flat and about as expressive as a slab of granite. “Come down off the wall and we can visit.”
“No thanks.” Bran’s gaze snagged on the monisto in my hand and jumped to the shapeshifters surrounding me. He wanted the monisto very much, but the odds were against him.
He shrugged and saw the reeve. “What’s this then? Here, let me help you with that.”
The crossbow snapped up and two shafts punctured the back of the reeve’s head, the bolt heads emerging precisely through her eyes. The reeve went liquid.
The door leading to the tower burst open and a group of shapeshifters charged across the yard. Someone screamed, “He’s got the surveys!”
“Got to run!” Bran waved a packet of surveys at us. “Thanks for the maps.”
Mist swirled and he was gone.
Curran roared.
Chapter 21
When a lion roars next to you, at first you think it’s thunder. That first sound is so deep, so frightening, it couldn’t possibly come from a living creature. It blasts your nerves, freezing you in place. All thoughts and reason flee from your mind, and you’re left as you are, a helpless pathetic creature with no claws, no teeth, and no voice.
The rumble dies and you think it’s over, but the roar lashes you again, like some horrible cough, once, twice, picking up speed, and finally rolling, unstoppable, deafening. You fight the urge to squeeze your eyes shut. You turn your head with an effort that takes every last shred of your control.
You see a seven-foot-tall monster. It has a lion’s head and a lion’s throat. It’s gray and furry. Dark stripes dash across its tree-trunk limbs like whip marks. Its claws could disembowel you with a mere twitch. Its eyes scald you with gold fire.
It shakes the ground with its roar. You smell the sharp stench of urine as smaller monsters cringe and you clamp your hands over your ears, so you don’t go deaf.
Finally Curran’s roar rolled to a close. Thank God. I thought of pointing out that Bran couldn’t hear him and even if he could, he probably wouldn’t faint in mortal terror, but somehow this didn’t seem to be the right moment for clever observations. The lion’s face quivered and snapped into the familiar chimera of lion and human I knew as Curran’s half-form. His voice boomed across the yard. “Search the Keep. Find out how he got in and what else he took.”
The shapeshifters cleared with record speed, all except Jim.
I needed to get to Bran. Time was short, the flare was almost on us, and I wanted to find Julie and her mother before it hit full force. But there was no way I could enter the mist with the monisto in my hand. Morrigan’s Hound wanted it. There was no way I could leave without it because the Fomorians wanted it, also. They would come for it.
What to do?
Jim looked at Curran. “We have bait. He likes her. He might come to visit her.”
Bastard. He screwed me over again and again. Why the hell was I always surprised? I looked to Curran. He was considering it; I could almost see the wheels turning under that mane. “Don’t do this. I have to find Julie. I can’t stay here waiting for that idiot to pop out of thin air.”
Jim reached out to me.
“Put your hand down or lose it.” I didn’t bother looking at him. “You know me. You know I’ll do it.”
“We don’t need anyone’s help,” Curran said.
Jim withdrew his hand.
I took a deep breath. I saw a way out of this mess, but it was the kind of way that only a desperate fool like me would take. It was either incredibly smart or incredibly stupid.
I held out the monisto. “The bowman wants this. I saw him looking at it. I trust the Pack to safeguard it for me until I need it.” I put it into Curran’s clawed hand. “I trust you to keep it safe. I don’t know why, but it’s very important. Both the bowman and the reeves will come looking for it. I can’t afford for it to be lost. Do you promise to guard it?”
It was a gesture of utter faith. Everyone knew Bran had breached the Pack’s security three times. The fact that I trusted Curran with the monisto would mean more to him than any revenge. I had made it personal. If he accepted it, he would die to protect it.
The golden eyes looked into me. “You have my word,” he said.
“That’s all
I need.”
I was free to do as I must. I could keep Bran occupied, assuming I found him, and no reeve would ever best Curran.
“I’m going to the bouda house to check on my friend and then I’m off to look for Julie.”
“I’ll get you an escort as far as the hyena’s territory.”
“I can find my own way.”
Curran shook his head. “Don’t argue with me right now.”
Two minutes later I rode a horse to the bouda house, accompanied by four somber-faced werewolves. They left me at the invisible boundary. As one of them kindly explained, each shapeshifter clan within the Pack had an expectation of privacy in their meeting place. The privacy wasn’t easily breached by members of a different beast clan.
The same bouda that promised to smile when she crushed Jim’s bones waited on the porch. She watched as I dismounted and got Esmeralda’s books out of the buggy still abandoned by the house.
“You’re back,” she said. “I peeked in on your chickie while you were gone. She’s hot. Does she like girls?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
“So what’s her kick, candy, music? What does she like?”
“Guns.”
“Guns?”
“Yep.”
The bouda frowned. “I don’t know anything about guns. This isn’t going to be work, is it? Bummer. Now I don’t know if I want to bother.”
She made me think of Curran again. “Men are dumb bastards,” I said.
She nodded. “Women aren’t much better. Whiny bitches, most of them.” She thought about it. “Guys can be fun. I recommend Raphael. He’s the most patient one we’ve got, so he gets lucky more than the others. Although I think your chickie has his complete attention at the moment.”
I found Andrea and Aunt B in the kitchen at a small round table, drinking tea. The sight of Andrea bringing the teacup to her hyena muzzle struck me as hilarious. I clamped my mouth shut and tried not to laugh. It had to be nerves.
If she asked for biscuits, I’d lose it.
Andrea saw me and visibly stiffened. “How did it go?”
“With what?”
Aunt B sighed. “She wants to know if Curran’s coming to kill her.”
“Oh. No, he isn’t interested in murdering you. Believe me, right now you’re the least of his problems.”
Andrea exhaled.
“Please tell me there is coffee.”
Aunt B grimaced. “They’re already crazy. If I let them have coffee, they’d be bouncing off the walls. We have herbal tea.”
I put my books on the table.
“You look like you need some sleep.” Andrea put a steaming cup before me.
I needed to find Julie, find her mom, convince a sociopath to donate some blood for the good of mankind, and deal with a tentacled atrocity swaddled in cloth and his rabid mermaids. I needed coffee.
A male bouda sauntered into the kitchen. He wore black leather pants and a leather vest baring a chiseled chest. He wasn’t conventionally handsome, the opposite actually: his nose was too long and his face was too narrow, but he had intense blue eyes and black hair combed to shiny perfection, and he used what he had to his best advantage. You knew by some sort of natural female instinct that he would be good in bed, and when he looked at you, you thought about sex.
He glanced at Andrea with an odd longing on his face, switched his attention to me, and offered me his hand. “Sorry about our…altercation in the buggy. I was only playing. I’m Raphael.”
“The one who likes the hurting.” I moved to shake his hand and he reversed it and kissed my fingers instead, singeing me with a look that was pure smolder.
I took my hand back. “That woke me up.”
He smiled a picture-perfect smile. “Been a while?”
For some reason, I felt like answering. “Two years. And if you could tone down that smile, I’d appreciate it. Getting weak in the knees.”
Raphael took a step back. His face took on the same concerned look I saw on Doolittle when I assured him I was fine. “Two years? That’s entirely too long. If you want, we can take care of that. After two years, it’s pure therapy.”
“No thank you. Curran already offered to help me with that problem, and since I turned him down, I wouldn’t want to cause any friction between you two.” The last thing I needed was to set Curran and the hyenas on a collision course.
Raphael backed away with his hands in the air, strategically positioning himself behind Andrea. “No offense.”
“None taken.”
“Is Curran serious?” Aunt B asked.
She wanted to know if she now had to walk on eggshells around me. For once, I was happy to disappoint. “No, he’s just being an asshole. Apparently every time he calls me ‘baby,’ I look like a red-hot poker is stuck up my butt. Causes him no end of fun.” I drank my tea.
Aunt B gave me an odd look. “You know,” she said, stirring her tea, “the fastest way to get him off your back is to sleep with him. And tell him you love him. Preferably while in bed.”
I smirked and the tea almost came out of my nose. “He’d run like he was on fire.”
Raphael rested his hands on Andrea’s shoulders. “Still a bit tense?” His fingers began to gently knead her muscles.
“Will you do it?” Aunt B gazed at me over the rim of her cup.
“Not while I’m alive, no. Wait, I take it back. That should be ‘hell no.’”
“Has he invited you to dinner, dear? Gifts, flowers, the usual?”
I had to put my cup down, because my hand was shaking too much. When I stopped laughing, I said, “Curran? He isn’t exactly Mr. Smooth. He handed me a bowl of soup, that’s as far as we got.”
“He fed you?” Raphael stopped rubbing Andrea.
“How did this happen?” Aunt B stared at me. “Be very precise, this is important.”
“He didn’t actually feed me. I was injured and he handed me a bowl of chicken soup. Actually I think he handed me two or three. And he called me an idiot.”
“Did you accept?” Aunt B asked.
“Yes. I was starving. Why are the three of you looking at me like that?”
“For crying out loud.” Andrea set her cup down, spilling some tea. “The Beast Lord’s feeding you soup. Think about that for a second.”
Raphael coughed. Aunt B leaned forward. “Was there anybody else in the room?”
“No. He chased everyone out.”
Raphael nodded. “At least he hasn’t gone public yet.”
“He might never,” Andrea said. “It would jeopardize her position with the Order.”
Aunt B’s face was grave. “It doesn’t go past this room. You hear me, Raphael? No gossip, no pillow talk, not a word. We don’t want any trouble with Curran.”
“If you don’t explain it all to me, I will strangle somebody.” Of course, Raphael might like that…
“Food has a special significance,” Aunt B said.
I nodded. “Food indicates hierarchy. Nobody eats before the alpha, unless permission is given, and no alpha eats in Curran’s presence until Curran takes a bite.”
“There is more,” Aunt B said. “Animals express love through food. When a cat loves you, he’ll leave dead mice on your porch, because you’re a lousy hunter and he wants to take care of you. When a shapeshifter boy likes a girl, he’ll bring her food and if she likes him back, she might make him lunch. When Curran wants to show interest in a woman, he buys her dinner.”
“In public,” Raphael added, “the shapeshifter fathers always put the first bite on the plates of their wives and children. It signals that if someone wants to challenge the wife or the child, they would have to challenge the male first.”
“If you put all of Curran’s girls together, you could have a parade,” Aunt B said. “But I’ve never seen him physically put food into a woman’s hands. He’s a very private man, so he might have done it in an intimate moment, but I would’ve found out eventually. Something like that doesn’t stay hidden i
n the Keep. Do you understand now? That’s a sign of a very serious interest, dear.”
“But I didn’t know what it meant!”
Aunt B frowned. “Doesn’t matter. You need to be very careful right now. When Curran wants something, he doesn’t become distracted. He goes after it and he doesn’t stop until he obtains his goal no matter what it takes. That tenacity is what makes him an alpha.”
“You’re scaring me.”
“Scared might be too strong a word, but in your place, I would definitely be concerned.”
I wished I were back home, where I could get to my bottle of sangria. This clearly counted as a dire emergency.
As if reading my thoughts, Aunt B rose, took a small bottle from a cabinet, and poured me a shot. I took it, and drained it in one gulp, letting tequila slide down my throat like liquid fire.
“Feel better?”
“It helped.” Curran had driven me to drinking. At least I wasn’t contemplating suicide.
* * * *
I slid the beat-up volume of myths and legends close and flipped to the index. If I was going to see Bran, it was best to go prepared. I needed a better grasp on this situation. Unfortunately my brain insisted on replaying the memory of Curran offering me soup.
Raphael wrinkled his nose. “Your books smell like chicken.”
“They’re not mine.”
“If you’re going to look for Julie, I’ll help.” Andrea brushed Raphael’s hands off her shoulders. “She’s my responπsibility.”
I shook my head. “No, she’s mine. There is nothing I can do for her right now. But I can find Morrigan’s bowman.” I explained the coven and Esmeralda’s books, and reeves, and needing Bran’s blood, although I didn’t go into what it was for. “When the reeves attacked us, the Shepherd mentioned the Great Crow. Let’s see…”
I ran my finger down the index. No Great Crows. Loads of Fomorians but no Bolgors or Shepherds. What else? Something had to connect them all. Let’s see, what did I have? A Hound of Morrigan, bow, covens, missing cauldron…
I found the entry on cauldron: “Cauldron of Plenty, see Dagda.” Dagda was Morrigan’s main squeeze for a while. “Cauldron of Rebirth, see Branwen.” I flipped to the right page. “I will give you a cauldron, with the property that if one of your men is killed today, and be placed in the cauldron, then tomorrow he will be as well as he was at his best, except that he will not regain his speech.”
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