Shadow Rites

by Faith Hunter

  Eli grabbed Brute by the ear and yanked back. The wolf snapped in the air and the Ranger made a move taught by Uncle Sam’s army. Brute yelped and ended up halfway back into the living room. Eli followed and shut the door with force, if quietly enough not to wake the kiddos. I heard him say, “You do not snap, were. That’s a death sentence for your kind.”

  I walked to the leash and sniffed it. It smelled like me, and like another dog, a not me-dog. I remembered other dogs and a lone wolf werewolf we had hunted with. The dog part of my brain associated the memories and I lay down beside the harness, remembering the smells of that hunt.

  Hunger pulled my mind away from the past. More hungry than usual, my having shifted twice without eating.

  Want cow.

  I know. I smell meat. I’m sure they fixed us a nice meal.

  Ten minutes went by, according to my unreliable internal clock, before Eli walked back into the room. I snuffled at him for the scent of blood or werewolf saliva. I got nothing, which was good. If Brute bit Eli, it would have meant Eli and the Mercy Blade in bed together for a few days of magical healing, which would surely not sit well with Eli’s überhetero tendencies. Even just a platonic, no-touch, no-tongue time in bed might send him over the edge. And Brute . . . As Eli had said. Brute would have been dead. There was no leniency for a were who bit a human. None at all. Automatic death sentence at the steel claws of the grindylows in the nation, and they had second sense when a human suffered a bite.

  I whined softly as Eli knelt next to me.

  He chuckled, the sound evil, and said, “He’s fine. But he’ll think twice about snapping around humans again.” I whined again.

  “He’s okay. I’m okay. You’re okay. Step in,” he said, holding the harness out. I stepped into the harness and let him adjust the straps. “Let’s go, Fido.”

  I butted him behind the knee and chuffed when his leg buckled. He laughed and led me to my steak dinner. The steak was cooked, but just enough to get the juices flowing, and it was so much more delicious and savory and smelled so much better than when I was Beast. I loved steak. I licked the dish and raised my head, licking my drooping jowls and the floor. I licked Eli’s hand.

  “Yeah,” he said, cleaning his hand on his pants. “Right. Let’s go.”

  * * *

  I leaped from the SUV to the ground at the Elms and instantly stuck my nose in the air. And wanted to fall down and roll on the ground from the intensity of it all. The first time I shifted into a bloodhound, it had been like being blindsided by an odoriferous Mack truck, and this time was no different. Magic, blood, magic, anger, blood, magic, Evan, Molly . . . I whined and Eli scratched behind my ears. I leaned into him, sorry now that I’d tried to trip him. He said something, but with my long ears flopping down over my ear canals, my hearing was affected.

  He scratched me again and I snuffled him. Eli smelled good. Like litter mate, Beast thought. Eli jiggled the lead and led me/us along the sidewalk and around behind the house, where the scents were . . . intense. Amazing. I took breaths in little chuffs.

  A bloodhound’s nose is more sensitive than any other dog’s in the canine kingdom, and, as with the first time I took this form, it made my brain go into overdrive, identifying every scent and its breakdown components, cataloging everything, noting associations and differences, calculating, parsing it all out into chemicals and pheromones and—

  “Fido? Let’s go, girl.”

  “Fido is a male name,” Nunez said. He smelled of spices and coffee and sugar from donuts, and peanuts and chocolate from Snickers bars. He smelled good. I lifted my head and snuffled his crotch. Nunez jumped back. Eli pulled me away with a sharp flick of the lead. “Fido. Bad girl.” I chuffed and turned my head to him, remembering that my nose wasn’t supposed to take over. I was Jane. Jane Yellowrock. Not a dog. Right. A skinwalker. But Nunez still smelled good.

  Eli led me through the backyard and to the first of the exploded focal items. It smelled like magic and Evan and vampire and blood and . . . And like Ming. I stopped, my nose to the ground, snuffling and searching through the scent signatures. Ming. Ming’s scent was here. Ming was a twin. Was I certain that it was Ming of Mearkanis? And why? I snuffled to the site and buried my nose in the ground. Sniffing, snuffling, analyzing. Remembering the stench of Ming in the small cage. Yes. Ming of Mearkanis. Her blood had been used in the creating of the iron icons. Iron and magic didn’t mix, but if combined with vampire blood . . . Yeah. That changed everything. The dark magic was beginning to make sense.

  I pulled to the next icon and snuffled it too. This one had no Evan smell, but scented of Lachish’s sweat and urine and pain. The witch smell was strong here, a witch smell that had nothing to do with the witches I knew. It smelled of vampire, of Ming, and of the unknown witches. But I knew them now, the mother and daughter witches. The daughter was by far the most powerful of the two. The daughter was alpha of the pack. I followed the scent around the yard, to another place that smelled of gunfire and lead.

  I remembered, in some odd part of my mind, that Eli had shot three of the places. Why did he shoot them? They couldn’t die.

  And then I remembered again. I was Jane. Eli was my partner. Eli shot the icons to disrupt the magics. Jane. I held to myself, pulling memories to me, memories of Brenda, one of my favorite house mothers. Memories of Eli and Alex, my family. Memories of Bruiser. Yes. I had myself now.

  I found two more sites shot by Eli. They smelled the same, set by the same two stranger witches, women I would know instantly now, even in human form. I followed the scent of an enemy witch across the lawn to the side yard and found a place that smelled of witch and iron but no gunfire and no lead. I sat and looked up at Eli. And whined. He had a flashlight and shone it on the grass. “Got it,” he muttered, and he pushed a small plastic army soldier, taped to a stick, into the grass.

  I chuffed softly, spittle flying, and led the way to the next site, where I sat again. There were three unexploded magical focals altogether, one in each narrow side garden and one in front. That seemed important, but I couldn’t remember why. I was Jane, but . . . I caught the scent again, on the sidewalk, and pulled Eli into a lope, tracking the scent down the street. Witches. Witches and vampire blood.

  Nose to the sidewalk, I pulled hard, knowing, knowing, knowing the witches. One older, with bad bones, who ate too much fat, who smelled of sugar and sickness, and one younger who . . . smelled like Ming. Like Ming’s blood and . . . Crazy woman, I thought. Like a crazy woman. And Almost like an Onorio.

  I was Jane.

  I snuffled to Eli. I had no way to tell him what I had discovered, and there was more I needed to learn, so I pulled harder. I needed to shift back while I still knew who I was, but . . . the smells pulled me forward. Along the sidewalk to an apartment building. I stopped and looked up at Eli.

  “They came here?” he asked.

  I woofed.

  “We’re on St. Charles and Second Street. The apartment building is eight stories.”

  I snuffled to the entrance and sat.

  “The women went inside,” he said.

  I gave a human nod and it brought me back from an edge I hadn’t known I was near. Back from bloodhound-nose-brain to human thoughts. I was Jane. I needed to shift. Fast. I had been a bloodhound before and, each time, my brain adjusted faster to the scent-brain. I realized that I could easily get stuck here, in a place with so many smells, in dog form.

  “Just once or many times?”

  I struggled to remember what we were talking about. I patted my right paw one time.

  “Okay. So the witches came through here to throw us off. Let’s go around the block. See if they came back out somewhere.”

  I needed to shift, but I also needed to follow the scents. They were rich and full and intense and amazing, and I put my nose to the ground and snuffled all around the building. The witches never came out.


  “They got in a car here?” Eli asked. I snuffled and I didn’t look up. Eli said same words, but I pulled on lead, searching through smells. Eli talked as I snuffled down the sidewalk. Searching. Searching. Learning. Someone had dropped chili here. Someone had bled here. Two humans had mated at this tree. Someone had peed here. A squirrel had run here. I tried to follow the squirrel, but Eli forced me into the SUV. Nunez was driving. Wanted to smell Nunez’s crotch, but Eli held me still. I chuffed and lay down. Memory of smells was wonderful, but Eli put burger in front of me. Burger smelling of pickles and ketchup and melted cheese. I wolfed it down. Was sooooo good.

  CHAPTER 15

  Dude Has Ugly Legs

  Followed handler into house. Smelled . . . smelled things. Smelled people. Smelled witches. Knew them, but not how. Not where. Was important. And . . . sounds came in fog of confusion. Was important.

  Trotted to low thing with witches. Snuffled witch crotch and . . . knew witch. Evan! Evan jumped with excitement! Made sound like rabbit in brush! Barked with happiness! Evan . . .

  Angie. Little Evan. Kits. Smelled Eli. Alex. Molly and Evan!

  Tail wagged, body wagging too. Happyhappyhappy! Snuffled Molly, asleep on couch. Had puppy in womb. No. Had baby. Godchild. Angie. EJ. Kits.

  With names, human words, came memories of . . . Jane. I twisted my head to Eli and woofed softly.

  “You’re back?” he asked.

  I dropped my head. Lifted it. And trotted to my room. I pushed the door shut, but not before I heard him mutter, “Thank God.”

  * * *

  At nearly three thirty in the morning, I came out of my room, fully dressed and fully weaponed up, because the feel and smell of steel and silver and wood gave me a false sense of security. In the living room and kitchen I smelled coffee and witch and magic and . . . Crap.

  I had never said it aloud, but I had a feeling that Beast kept part of the bloodhound’s olfactory genetics each time I shifted back from it. That genetic stealing might be making it harder to shift from hound to human. No. Not saying that. Not thinking that. Instead, when I closed my door and Eli and Alex looked up at me, I put a hand on the holstered nine-mil and leaned my back to the door. I said, “The devil will wear mukluks and a fur bikini before I spend that much time in bloodhound form again.”

  “Roger that,” Eli said, sounding laconic, but smelling vastly relieved. “You’re okay?”

  “Ducky. But it was too close. How long was I in dog form?”

  “About six hours.”

  “Next time, we cut it to three. Maybe two.”

  “Good by me,” he said, sounding better, smelling better.

  “Molly and Evan are upstairs?”

  “Sleeping. Evan said to keep your nose out of his privates.” Eli laughed at me, but he had the decency to do it under his breath.

  My face burned lightly with a flush of embarrassment. “Is he okay? Is Lachish okay?”

  Eli said, “His legs are a little itchy and the skin feels tender. The hair hasn’t grown back yet and Alex said he modeled his smooth calves for everyone.”

  “Dude has ugly legs,” I muttered.

  Eli said, “Lachish will be okay, barring side effects. Leo sent someone to feed her. The witches have set up a healing circle. Molly is fine.”

  We’d need to get the last names of the witches from Lachish. As soon as possible. “Have you heard anything about Edmund? I think I stabbed him.”

  Eli breathed another laugh and turned back to the kitchen. I heard oil sizzling and smelled the scent of pancakes cooking. Maple syrup. Chai with tiny piri-piri peppers in it. Eli had found the peppers at a market, this batch imported from Portugal, and he had been adding them to my spiced tea.

  I followed him in. My mouth watered and my belly cramped—with hunger, not the sickness of the Gray Between time shifts. I used a lot of calories shifting, and shifting so many times had left me little more than skin and bones. I hadn’t weighed, but my pants were hanging on my hipbones.

  “Edmund will be fine,” Eli said. “He’s at HQ, being pampered, vamp-style.”

  Which meant with blood and wild and bloody sex. Ick. “Oh. Good.” Worry slid off me like water down mountain stone, and I slipped into my chair as he placed three pancakes on my plate and poured on the syrup and melted butter. I sniffed first. I couldn’t help myself. It was heaven. Digging in, I ate everything on the plate, and then three more platefuls. And bacon. A pound of bacon. And the entire pot of tea, with extra sugar and lots of heavy fat cream.

  Out front, a motorcycle roared by. Moments later it returned at a much slower pace. I lifted my head, listening, as the sound of the engine again faded. I was either paranoid or I wanted my bike back. I hadn’t known Bitsa was so ruined when it was damaged last. Dang it.

  Need Bitsa, Beast thought. Nose in air. Good smells.

  The bike didn’t return and I went back to eating.

  When I was finished, my belly was rounded against my pants and I felt marginally better. I checked Eli out, and saw that he was fully dressed, even down to the combat boots and weapons. Neither one of us had slept, but it looked as though he was ready for more fun and games.

  “What did you learn?” Eli asked.

  “Not much that relates to the witches, except that according to the scent patterns, they’re mother and daughter. Lachish said she didn’t know who the witches were, but she had to be lying. A mother-daughter team in the city, in her coven? She knew. And she didn’t tell us.”

  “Lachish lied,” Eli said, laconic. “Surprise, surprise. Probably thought she could handle it in-house and not have to turn it over the Enforcer of the vamps.”

  “It also opens up the possibility that Lachish is secretly working against the conclave.” I gave a halfhearted shrug. “Not likely but we can’t completely discount it.”

  Eli made gesture that said, People are strange.

  “If you’re up to driving,” I said, “I’d like to go to vamp HQ and talk to Ming. The one in the cage, not the other one.”

  “I’ll clean up the dishes,” Alex said, “and then hit the sack.”

  I looked at him in surprise and then at his plate. He’d eaten like the still-teenaged boy he was and I hadn’t even noticed. But he was acting like a grown-up. I said, “Cool. Thanks.”

  He shrugged. “The ward is up and you won’t trigger it going out, so—” His tablet dinged and Alex snatched it up. “Oh yeah. Hang on. I got the witches’ names.” He keyed on three different tablets at once. “Oh yeah. Piece of cake. I got names and social media pages for a mother-daughter team who were at the witch circle where you were struck by lightning. I’d still like Lachish to verify, but until then, I sent the photos to your cells.”

  “Names?” I said.

  “Tau and Marlene Nicaud.”

  I was tired beyond belief, but a fierce victory shot through me. We had IDs. And maybe a relationship that would lead us to motive. And then to stopping the witches.

  “You done good, Kid,” Eli said. And he scrubbed Alex’s head in a noogie, what looked like true, if painful, affection.

  Alex gave an abbreviated nod and looked away, but I could smell the pleasure in his scent. “I’ll keep digging and send the info to your cells. Go on. Get stuff done.” He made a little shooing motion with his fingers.

  “SUV is at the curb,” Eli said, leading the way to the door. Silently I followed.

  The city that never said no to a party was still going strong, musicians on street corners, artists trying to attract the loitering tourists. More motorcycles sounded in the distance, like a whole club of them heading for Bourbon Street. I kept my eyes out the window and said, “Would you be so kind as to update me about my time as a dog?”

  Eli said nothing for a long stretch of time, during which we passed a silver space rocket on the sidewalk, in front of a bar. Riding the rocket as if it were a bar bu
ll was a half-naked woman, long purple wig hanging down her back, most of her boobs hanging out of the top part of a black corset, with garter straps on the bottom part of the corset, holding up golden-glittered fishnet stockings. She was also wearing a red sequined thong, and shaking her backside at the street while a bunch of drunk college boys applauded and a biker in a Saints helmet wolf-whistled. A local cop shook his head. Only in New Orleans.

  Then Eli started talking, and as he did, the memories of the time as Beast and as a hound dog came back. I chuckled at the parts where I sniffed people’s crotches, but really, it wasn’t funny. It was scary. I had lost myself and Eli knew it. But I knew my partner. He wouldn’t let me stay in dog form that long again.

  And it was possible that all the shifting from species to species had helped with my healing. I ran my hands over my belly and down along my right side. No pain. No tenderness. No nausea. For a gal who had just nearly lost her mind into the olfactory sense of a bloodhound, I felt pretty dang good.

  He finished the story with “And that is the story of Jane in bitch form.”

  I slanted a look at him without moving my head. “You’ve been waiting all night to get the chance to say that, haven’t you?”

  Eli’s lips twitched. “Yes, I have. I also brought along pieces of one of the icons I shot, in case we need a vamp to sniff them.”

  “Smart. That saves you from a head smack for calling me names.”

  “Ohhh. I’m so relieved. I was shaking in my boots, babe.”

  * * *

  We went through the usual security measures at the entrance, and Ro Moore, the self-proclaimed Alabama backwoods hillbilly, boxer, wrestler, and MMA cage fighter, did the pat-down, under the supervision of Brenda Rezk, the security person from Atlanta. It was professional and deft, and I said, “Thank you,” when she was done, shaking my jacket back into place. As I readjusted my weapons, Derek Lee showed up. I hadn’t seen Leo’s other Enforcer and I knew that he and Eli needed to have a chat about what had happened at the Elms and in the cemetery with Edmund, but it would have to wait. “I’m here to see Ming of Mearkanis.”