CRIMSON SWORD STALKER
By
Morgan Blayde
OFFICIAL WEBSITE:
www.morgan-blayde.com
© Copyright July 2018
PROLOGUE:
PRELUDE TO A STORM
Because I liked the heat in Josh’s eyes, I wore black leggings, the kind that look painted on, and a pink top hanging down mid-thigh. There was a pair of aqua-blue cat’s eyes on my shirt that matched my eyes and nail polish. My black hair rose in a pile, anchored by obsidian-headed pins. A few artful spirals framed my face. Around my neck, I sported a black leather collar with a small, silver sleigh bell. It tinkled as I moved fluidly. You’d never know years had passed since I’d last professionally danced.
Before I became a werecat.
That transformation had frozen my biological age at twenty-five.
Looming next to me, leather-face bronzed by the sun, Josh looked thirty-five, wearing a tawny, short-sleeved shirt and faded jeans. His long legs ended in brown hiking boots, the kind that are good for stomping people in bar fights. He was hella-tall, with dark blond hair and the squinty eyes of a range-roving cowboy.
I couldn’t imagine him not being at my side. Forever.
Huge and tiny, arm in arm, we strolled along the southern shore of the Cross Lake Marina, on the west edge of Shreveport, of all places. There were a lot of empty boat slips and a fishing boats waiting under cover for their owners to use. Around the curve of the lake, were the rental cabins; not cheap. The three bedroom they rented cost a hundred and forty dollars a day.
Good thing I kept plenty of emergency cash in our bug-out bag. We’re not broke, but we do have to be careful.
As an ex-lawman, Josh had used his Federal contacts to get us the fake IDs we’d used to register the “family reunion” we were supposed to be having over this Memorial Day weekend.
The club house and office lay behind us. A lot of things lay behind us; mostly our life in Sacramento. We couldn’t go back and I didn’t even know all the reasons.
“I should have told Vivian not to bother with the stuff I left. They could be watching our place.”
The mysterious THEY!
“It will be all right, Kat.”
Small for a six-year-old, Zahra had the look of her Egyptian heritage: dusky skin, eyes and long silky hair black. She wore a pink dress with pink flip-flops. I saw her ahead, sitting on the wrap-around porch of a glorified log cabin, keeping a wary eye out for dangers no one else could see.
The raised porch stood on stilts, had a flight of stairs, and a boardwalk that ran down-slope to a private landing on the lake. I had a couple of our Pride’s toms out buying another car, a boat, and a trailer, in case an emergency evacuation was needed.
Zahra’s gaze met mine. The girl’s eyes flushed pale gold with the power of a seer.
Her eyes can pierce any disguise or glamour. They can see to the heart of all things, piercing the veil of time itself, never getting fooled. She’s not taking it for granted that I’m who I appear to be. That’s good.
Zahra had the Eyes of Bastet—actual eyes—not some relic as the supernatural world assumed. The little girl was an avatar of the cat goddess Bastet, gifted with a small measure of divine power. Zahra was the latest member of our small Pride. A wereleopard, she made us a baker’s dozen.
Unlucky number thirteen. Bad omen. Good thing I’m not a scaredy-cat.
I loved my husband Josh—my rock—he’d backed my play when I’d insisted on this cross country run.
We threw our lives away because Zahra said a horrible evil was coming. That sounded crazy, but she’s an honest child, and has the Eyes of Bastet. How could I argue? Especially when she said we’d be worse than dead by staying and fighting.
I sighed heavily. “So, here we are, half the country behind us. Do you think it’s enough?”
Josh shrugged. “We’ll manage like we always do. And sending Vivian back might help a lot. It’s more about her catching the watchers and gathering intelligence than you getting your favorite pumps.”
“I didn’t want her to go. She could get hurt.”
“She’s half vampire and a trained slayer. I think she can keep herself alive. She did a good job back when we fought that spirit bear. And anyone who knows her, knows she’s under Deathwalker’s protection. Besides, we asked Zahra. She said Vivian was the perfect choice.”
The cabin door opened as we reached the porch. Several of my people looked out on the porch. I gathered Zahra in my arms and herded her inside. I liked touching the child. We shifters are touchy-feely by nature, but Zahra reminded me of the child I’d always wanted. I’d been pregnant when I’d first met Caine, when he’d strong-armed me into become Mistress of Sacramento. Sadly, I’d miscarried. The loss and emptiness still haunted me but Zahra filled much of that hole.
I wonder if she sees that.
Blonde hardwood floors flowed throughout. Just inside the door, an arch to the right led to the dining room which connected to a back kitchen. Both those spaces had white walls and tables for entertaining. The tabbies were in there, rustling up dinner. A true tabby is a cat with a striped or brindled coat. However, other types of shifters thought this meant female. The cat Prides never bothered correcting the misconception so, over time, the term stuck and we girl cats were stuck with it. Tabby now meant female—to the irritation of striped males who could no longer call themselves what they were. By default, all males were called toms.
Except for Josh. As a wereliger, half lion, half tiger, no one dared call him anything but sir. Only I saw the deep streak of kindness under that hard exterior.
Zahra pulled away from me, crossing to the couch. She flopped down, getting comfortable, and pulled out a crossword book that helped her with spelling English. Colt had left her in Las Vegas with a parting gift—a copy of his own precocious vocabulary magically inserted into her brain. This was not as helpful as he’d intended, much of it still needing sorting out, and her writing skills lagged. The crosswords were supposed to help with that.
The scent of grilling shrimp and stir-fried rice proved a fierce distraction, but I focused on business. My stared caught one of the toms in the living room: Jaime, a thin man in khaki shorts and a black mesh shirt lounging on the L-shaped couch. He sported an unassuming goatee and had blond dreadlocks fuzzing up his head, gathered back at the nape of his neck. He thought this lent him a lion-like fierceness. It didn’t. He wore a cheap watch, and his kiwi-colored kicks were untied.
Jamie used a remote control to kill the large-screen TV on the shelf next to the brick chimney. “What’s up, boss?”
“You know anything about the shifters in these parts? It would be nice to know if there’s a friendly clan that won’t mind helping us out.”
“I’ve heard that there are Gator Clans east, and south of here over in the bayous. Here, in Shreveport, are a lot of misfit rogues that are clanless. The only real help we might get is from the Black Bear Clan. They run the city, and turn a blind eye to the rogues, as long as they don’t make trouble. The bears might resent us dragging trouble into their territory, so I recommend keeping a low profile.”
I chewed my lower lip. “Bears, huh? I don’t like bears.”
A fey Spirit bear had almost killed Josh once. I still held a grudge.
“If it becomes necessary, I’ll deal with them,” Josh said. “After all, laws of conservation and mass don’t apply to my shifted form. Unlike other shifters, I’m bigger after my changes, just like a skin-walker or fey.”
“One or two bears, no problem. But a clan?” I shook my head. “I’m not sure you’re that tough.”
Josh shrugged too casually. He apparently thought different but didn’t want to argue. “You’re forgetting
the psychological advantage I have: bears aren’t used to being prey to bigger animals. They have to stand upright to even reach seven feet. As a liger, I’m that tall before rearing. Nor do bears often get a lion-roar to the face. Something like that, out of nowhere, can freeze the stoutest heart for precious seconds.”
Jamie grinned, holding up a thumb to Joshua. “In any fight, my money is on you.”
I frowned at the male insubordination. “You don’t have any money. It’s why you lived in your mother’s basement.”
A worried look covered Jamie’s face. “Mom’s going to worry now that I’ve gone off grid.”
“Can’t be helped,” I said. “You are not to contact her. You could be pulling her into danger.”
“She’ll die.” Zahra spoke without inflection. “Hey, what’s a pod vegetable? Three letters.”
“Pea,” Josh said.
Zahra scribbled the answer.
I glowered at Josh. “I think she just wanted to know what a pod was. Don’t be too helpful. She needs to figure things out on her own.”
He scanned the room and peered into the dining room as well. “Where are the rest of the tabbies?”
“Sleeping. Resting up so they’ll be fresh for night-watch,” Jamie said.
I raised brows. “Oh, that’s smart.”
Jaime grinned. “I may not be your second-in-command any more, but I know procedures.”
Zahra lifted her head from her book. “What’s a giant beaked monster that lives under water?”
“Octopus?” Jamie said.
“Giant squid!” one of the girls in the kitchen yelled. Werecat hearing surpassed human; there were few secrets in a clan house, despite closed doors. Nor was there such a thing as a private phone call.
“Kraken,” Josh said. “Monster from Greek mythology.”
I huffed. “I told you guys to let her do the book on her own. That’s cheating.”
Zahra rolled her eyes. “But it’s fine when I help you? Besides, that’s not from my book. I was just wondering.”
Curious, I drifted to the couch and sat down by her. “Why?”
Zahra’s eyes had dimmed to black but now warmed with a shimmer of gold. “There’s one in the lake, waiting for dark so he can surface and not be seen.”
Joshua went to the front door and peered out its glass window toward the lake. “You have got to be yanking my tail.”
“There’s a kraken in the lake?” Jamie asked. Voices echoed the question from the kitchen.
Zahra smiled. “It’s there to protect us. Colt put it there. He’s going to join us for dinner.” She stood, took several steps toward the fireplace, and stopped.
There was a whirl of copper-red stars and curling gusts of rusty glitter like a CGI transporter effect. A silhouette of red-copper light filled out, the size and shape of a nine-year-old boy. The light snapped out. Colt stood there in a black hoodie and jeans. The hoodie had a huge white skull on its front. His feet were sheathed in brown suede hiking boots with lime green laces. His eyes shone, copper coins. His hair drank light, a midnight-red close to black.
He smiled. “Hi guys, I’m back.”
Zahra threw herself at him.
He was forced to catch her and return the hug.
I felt jealous swamp me. I did all the work of a loving mommy, but Colt got all the loving. Remembering I was the adult, I shoved my irritation down into a deep, dark hole and back-kicked fresh dirt over it.
I said, “You’re just in time for dinner. From the smell, it should be ready.”
Colt and Zahra smiled and answered in tandem. “We know.”
I left the couch, padding to the dining room, and rolled my eyes on the way.
Omniscient children! Spare me.
Not that I meant it.
Josh followed me to the big picnic-style table. I rounded it to settle on the back bench. Josh sat next to me. The tabbies carried over platters of food and a big bowl of salad. Colt and Zahra sat opposite of me and Josh, in chairs. The rest of the werecats joined us as the food passed.
Josh stared at Colt. “A kraken?”
Colt’s face brightened even more. Yeah, Mom was just going to dissect him for science, so I rescued him. His name’s Fred. He likes krill, shark, and tuna.”
At one end of the table, Suzanne picked a shrimp off her plate by the tail and dunked it in lemon-ketchup. She held it near her mouth. She made like a kraken and crunched down on the grilled morsel, chewing it with a purr in her throat. “Who doesn’t? So good!”
“You girls always do a wonderful job.” I liked to encourage my people with appreciation, and Suzanna was our head chief, gifted at what she did. Linda and Missy were her helpers. I had no doubt that if the girls were to open up their own restaurant, they’d make money hand over fist.
My stare sought out Zahra. If she saw what I was going to say, I wouldn’t have to say it.
The child sighed as if being put upon by a savage, uncaring universe. “I know, I’ve got kitchen clean up tonight.”
Bingo!
Colt paused with a forkful of fried rice hovering over his plate. He slanted her a look. “Don’t worry, I’ll help.”
“Okay.” Zahra didn’t return the look, busy snagging some garlic bread going around. She put some on her plate and his. “There you go,”
“Thanks,” he said.
A golden gleam played across Zahra’s eyes. She frowned, looking up at Joshua. “Morrie and Rick are in trouble. They’re saying a lot of bad words. One of them is bleeding. Bad. You’d better go get them.”
“Where?” Josh’s bass voice rumbled.
Colt’s eyes burned bright copper-red, hazing the air over the table.
Maybe he’s conferring with one of his future selves.
This Colt wasn’t born yet; he’d traveled back in time to hang out with his dad, Caine, before things got “truly bad”, whatever that meant. Probably, the only ones who knew besides Colt was his mom and Zahra.
Colt said, “They followed their noses to a shifter bar a few blocks down the street. There seems to be an argument over a girl.”
Jamie nodded sagely. “Isn’t that always the case?”
I joined all the tabbies give him a look of disgust.
Joshua left his seat. He circled the table to Colts chair. “Take me there.”
“I’m underage. I’m not allowed in bars.”
Josh continued to loom behind him. “I’m going to have to insist.”
A copper-red light blurred Colt and swelled larger. The light seeped back inside him, leaving a stranger there. He had the same midnight red hair but the hoodie was gone. He wore black denim jeans, a black sleeveless tee, and fingerless black-leather gloves. The lack of sleeves revealed a tattoo around his right bicep: three strands of barbwire, several points dripping tears of blood. Strapped across his back was a black-lacquered sheath. Over his shoulder, I saw the hilt shimmering with an infernal red light.
Staring, I drew a sharp breath.
Demon sword.
The nineteen-year-old who resembled Colt pushed back from the table, sliding his chair as he stood. Strapped to his right thigh, a hunting knife came into view.
“What the hell?” Jamie said.
“I’m Colt, too,” the young man said. “An older Colt from further up the timeline.” He looked up into Josh’s face. “Fine. I’ll take you.” He grasped Josh’s arm. There was a wash of light, a swirl of copper-red stars, and a dusting of copper sparks that went out as they hit the floorboards.
I blinked. Josh and Colt were gone. “Hey, I wanted to go, too!”
Zahra stood by her chair, looking past Colt’s abandoned seat—
from which he’d vanished. She sighed from the depths of her preadolescent heart. “He’s dreamy!”
One of the tabbies said, “Girl, you better grab him fast. Once he hits the market, he’s going to get snatched up fast.”
Zahra glowered back. “Don’t get no ideas. I saw him first.”
“You’re only six,�
�� I said. “Boys are a long way off in your future.”
Zahra shifted her glare to me. I thought I’d pissed her off.
But then she said, “I want a tattoo. A heart made out of barbwire.”
“You’re too young,” I said. “Sit down and finish your dinner.”
“When I’m older, you’ll get me one?” Zahra asked.
Can’t you see that? What don’t you see?
She continued to stare, waiting.
I sighed. “If you haven’t changed your mind by then.”
Her eyes shimmered gold. “I won’t.”
It was Suzanne’s turn to sigh. “A hot guy in tight jeans, who could ask for more?”
“I’m hot,” Jaime said.
As if they’d practiced, the kitchen tabbies shook their heads and spoke in unison: “No. You’re not.”
Jamie picked up his plate and walked into the living room to finish eating alone. The TV came on, loud, but I heard him sniffing.
I glared at the tabbies. “That’s mean. You made him cry.”
* * *
The wash of red light peeled away. Colt and I stood outside a bar painted dark garnet. A sign over the door said Corner Pocket. The windows were tinted to the point where no light could pass. There was a lack of neon signs advertising assorted beers in those windows. I remembered passing this place on the way to the Marina earlier in the day.
Only a few cars and motorcycles were parked in the lot. I noticed a battered pickup with a trailer and fishing boat attached. The pickup was clan property. The boat showed that, if nothing else, the toms had finished their errand before turning stupid.
They were supposed to come straight back. We’re trying to keep a low profile in this town.
“Odd looking bar.” Colt moved toward a side door.
“Not a public bar,” I said. “More like a biker front. They probably deal drugs to support the club.”
Colt froze with his hand on the door, looking back at me. “By the way, I moved us in time coming here, so you can see things unfold. No one’s hurt yet.”
“So right now, I’m also back at the cabin?”
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