Air: The Elementals Book Two

by L. B. Gilbert

  It was even possible that some could have wielded the staff, unaware that it was more than it appeared.

  The possibility also existed that some eager archivist had known of its second ability, but left the staff off the rolls of artifacts earmarked for destruction simply for its historical value. They might not have considered that someone outside of an Elemental line might get their hands on it, or if they did, that they could learn how to use it.

  That was why Gia had set the present day archivists to work. The scrupulous record keeping of recent generations meant they kept an index cross-referencing Elementals and their exploits. Each volume Gia appeared in was listed in an index. So was Logan, and her other sisters. And thanks to Noomi’s need to improve the efficiency of their organization, the staff had steadily been working backward in time to include their predecessors.

  Technically, the indexing work hadn’t reached the time of Feng Po Po, but since she had been such an imposing figure in their history, they knew enough of where her records were to make a start.

  Noomi huffed around the corner, holding a pile of books pressed to her round belly. “Here we are!”

  Gia looked at the stack in dismay as Noomi dropped them on the table. It was huge.

  “Don’t worry. We’ve bookmarked the relevant pages.”

  “Thank you,” Gia said gratefully, taking the nearest book and going through it, examining each record marked with a piece of parchment.

  After a few pages, she noticed the repetition of a certain number. It was scribbled next to two stories in which the staff featured prominently. The number was repeated a third time on a more official entry that had a sketch of the staff in one of the larger indexes.

  “Noomi, what is this number?” she asked, pointing to the entry.

  Noomi, who had been opening the other books for her and laying them out, squinted at the page. “Oh, that. It’s from our old system.”

  “Our system?”

  “Yes, these first two digits are the room, these two are the cabinet, and the last is the shelf number.”

  “Wait, do you mean in the archive?”

  “Yes, that is the designation from the artifact catalog.”

  Gia’s head was spinning—and that had not happened in a long time. “So that means the staff was in the collection at some point?” she asked in surprise. “Before it moved to the island?”

  Noomi shook her head. “No, the system was modified after the move. The numbers were different. These correspond to our collection as it is today.”

  “So it was here in these rooms?” Gia frowned. “How long ago?”

  Naomi frowned at the numbers. “Well, to have these particular numbers, it would have had to be here during the last major reorganization.”

  What?

  “That wasn’t that long ago,” she observed, disquiet spreading through her like a cold wind.

  “It was in 1897, to be precise.”

  That meant the staff was still here when she’d become an Elemental. When had it gone into circulation afterward? And why hadn’t she been told?

  29

  Logan didn’t know what to say. They were back at the chief’s house, and it was tense.

  She was currently hiding in the office while the wolves snapped just outside the door.

  It had seemed like a good idea to get out of the way when the body arrived. It had been carried in a litter and laid it out in the middle of the living room. Weres had been pouring in ever since—all of them very large and hostile. And she didn’t blame them for feeling that way.

  Losing the ability to shift was one thing. The death of the chief’s third was another. This was an act of war. Only they hadn’t found their enemy yet, so they were looking at her with retribution in their eyes.

  It hadn’t helped that when he saw her, Sammy had taken one look at the staff she’d been holding and started screaming his head off. He didn’t know what it did, and after being questioned, it was obvious he still couldn’t remember his attack, but he did recognize the staff.

  She had ducked into the office after that. She didn’t believe Connell or his father blamed her. That was generous given where the staff had been found, but the rage that had filled Mara’s eyes had made her flinch.

  Logan used to think she was a people person. She’d never had the issues being around them that Diana did anyway. But this situation was extremely uncomfortable. These messy, emotional situations were new to her. Deep down, Mara probably didn’t blame her, but that didn’t mean Logan wouldn’t be an excellent scapegoat.

  I hope she doesn’t want to fight me. She had grown fond of Connell’s sister in a short time and getting into a physical confrontation with her would be a mess. She would be torn between not wanting to humiliate Mara on the field of battle, while making it clear that an Elemental couldn’t be bested so easily. Any suggestion that she wasn’t as badass and lethal as her predecessors, and Logan would have her hands full with wannabe challengers itching to take down one of her kind.

  Sighing, Logan hopped on the desk to wait, the staff held tightly in her hand. Drawing her legs up, she sat cross-legged and examined the weapon. The length was made from steel forged in Elemental fire, instead of wood, with no carvings or symbols of any kind. It was a little long for her. Feng Po Po had been at least four inches taller.

  Figures. Everyone was taller.

  With a flick of her wrist, she swung the staff sideways. There was a distinct whistle as it sliced through the air. She could feel something—a connection unlike any other she’d ever felt with an inanimate object. The bo felt right in her hands. But the true magic was the headpiece, in the little dragon Connell found so malevolent.

  It didn’t look that way to her. It was less ornate than she had thought, although it was a beautiful specimen for its time. What she found most interesting was the gaping mouth, as if the little creature was about to breathe fire on her.

  Her eyes snapped up as the door opened. She had been expecting Connell or the chief for some time, but it wasn’t them. Her visitor was Yogi. Muscles tightening, she got ready to spring up from the desk in case he decided to jump her.

  “You can relax. I’m here to make sure no one bothers you.”

  She raised a brow. “So you don’t think I drove this thing through your friend’s chest?”

  The end of the bo wasn’t sharp, but Logan had the strength it would have taken to force it through the ribcage of the Were. So would another wolf—but only a very strong one. Like Connell or the chief…

  Well, it wasn’t one of them. And she didn’t know enough of the others to be able to point fingers.

  “I don’t believe it,” Yogi said. “But I might have if you hadn’t saved Sammy.”

  “That doesn’t mean I didn’t do it,” she couldn’t resist pointing out.

  “You wouldn’t have bothered to save him if you were the one behind this shit.”

  He had a point, although a more devious thinker might have done the same in order to throw them off. She appreciated that it didn’t occur to him. Wolves were refreshingly direct that way.

  “How is Mara?” she asked, still wondering if the female Were was going to challenge her.

  Yogi looked at her sideways. “So you know about her and Malcolm?” He shrugged, not waiting for an answer. “She seems okay, considering. Pissed off like we all are. She might have fantasized about doing him in a few times after that Riley situation, but she didn’t want him dead. At least, I don’t think she did…”

  “Oh.” Had Mara been involved with Malcolm when he slept with Connell’s ex?

  “Stop gossiping about my sister,” Connell interjected, coming in from the hallway and closing the door. “Mara has enough to worry about right now.”

  “Does she blame me?” The suspense was killing her.

  “No, imp, she doesn’t. That’s just Mara. Her primary reaction to grief is anger. She knows you didn’t kill him and has said so to more than one person out there.”

  That w
as good. But Logan felt terrible for Mara, even if she didn’t quite understand what had been happening between her and the dead man.

  “Okay,” she said, turning the staff over one more time.

  “Any luck figuring out what the hell it does?” Connell asked.

  Logan fingered the open mouth of the little beast. “I have a few ideas.” She took her phone out to examine the photo of the painting her mother had sent once more.

  “This painting is a copy of a masterpiece by Gu Kaizhi,” she said, holding out the screen so the men could see. “The original was destroyed years ago, but this copy has been handed down in my family for generations. I think the original may have looked a little different. Do you see her fighting stance and these squiggles?”

  She pointed to a few lines in front of the small dragon’s head. “I think the original stance might have had her pointing the head in front of her like this,” she said, holding the staff out to demonstrate.

  “Who cares?” Yogi asked with a frown.

  “I do,” she said, flicking him an irritated glance. “If the head was facing out then the squiggles would have served a purpose. In this version, she is in a traditional fighting stance for the period when the copy was made. I suspect it was altered to make it fit. It’s a small adjustment, but now the dragon head is pointing down at the ground.”

  “I still don’t get why the change is significant,” Connell said.

  Logan held up the staff. “If it was pointing up like I think it was, then those squiggles that look random actually represent something coming out of the dragon’s mouth. If that was the case, then it means Feng Po Po somehow channeled her talent, her chi, through it.”

  Yogi stepped closer, his eyes wide. “You mean that little statue actually breathes fire?”

  “No. Feng Po Po was an Air Elemental like me. So it would breathe wind.”

  Yogi no longer looked impressed. “That’s not as cool.”

  Connell scowled at him, exasperated. “I don't give a shit how cool it is. What I want to know is what good that will do us.”

  Logan rolled her shoulders. “Well, normally, it wouldn’t do us any good. Not unless you want another wolf stripped. But…”

  “But what?”

  “Well, since this is an instrument designed to channel magic, there’s a chance I might be able to force it to run the other way.”

  “How?” Connell asked, crossing his arms.

  She held up the headpiece. “It’s a conduit, right? I direct my magic in and force it through the body of the dragon and out its mouth. Well, I’m wondering if I can call the shifter energy from the aether—provided it hasn’t dissipated by now—and pour that out the mouth of the dragon instead.”

  “You can do that? Do you even need the staff for that?” he asked.

  “When I strip talent, the magic bleeds off into the aether with the air currents. If I called it back, I wouldn’t be able to focus it or channel it.”

  “But you might with this?”

  “Well, maybe,” she answered honestly. “I can try, but there’s no guarantee it will work.”

  “Because it might be gone already?”

  She nodded. “If it dissipated, it probably happened right away. But there’s a chance it stuck together and is still floating around out there or can be called back into a cohesive force. We won’t know until we do this.”

  “We should try, guarantees or no,” Yogi said. “I don’t want Sammy to grow up without his wolf. It’s bad enough being the runt of the litter.”

  Connell nodded in agreement. “What do you need?”

  Logan thought about it. Technically, she didn’t need this, but she wanted it.

  “Can everyone leave?”

  30

  Logan had been asked to wait until after the funeral to perform her experiment. In truth, she had been grateful to postpone it. Once she got the go-ahead, the complexity of what she proposed began to feel daunting.

  Pushing her misgivings out of her mind, she went up to Mara as the chief and Connell built a fire in the clearing. Everyone was here tonight. Even Sammy, who was waiting with his family on the other side of the clearing.

  They were only a mile or so into the forest, not far from the compound’s main buildings. Every wolf in a hundred-mile radius was there. And not just the males this time. The women had finally been allowed out of their houses. Little girls dotted the group along with the little boys.

  Aware that most eyes were on her, she stepped into the space next to Mara, who was standing some distance away from the others.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “Thanks,” Mara said. Her green eyes were flat and fixed on the pyre currently smoldering in the damp night air.

  Logan turned back to the fire. She had never realized how much wood was needed to burn a body. The logs had been chopped from the trees around them by several young male Weres. Then they had been piled into a tall rectangle in the middle of the cleared space. Malcolm’s body had been covered in a black shroud and placed on top of it.

  “He texted me.”

  Surprised, she turned back to Mara. “What did it say? Did it mention what he was doing before…”

  The Were looked down at her. “Before someone turned him into a kabob?” Logan winced, and Mara’s lip curled. “Sorry. No, it was personal.”

  Oh.

  “It said I’m sorry. Please give me another chance.”

  Crap on a cracker.

  “So you two were a couple?” Logan asked as quietly as she could.

  Mara didn’t seem to care if they were overheard. “No. But there was…an expectation.”

  “I see.” She racked her brain for something comforting to share. What would Gia or Serin say at a time like this?

  “I wasn’t going to forgive him,” Mara whispered.

  “Err.”

  “Riley’s a bitch,” Mara continued in that same low tone. “And yes, I’m a bigger one, but in a different way. I never wanted her with my brother. When I found out Malcolm slept with her, I lost all respect for him. Any half-formed ideas I had about him, about us, went out the window. But I should have forgiven him, I guess—except I’m still mad at him.”

  Logan looked down, acutely uncomfortable. “Just because someone dies, it doesn’t mean they weren’t flawed,” she said in a low voice. “I know there’s an unspoken rule about speaking ill of the dead, but the dead weren’t perfect. And there’s no law that says you have to forgive all their sins just because they’re gone.”

  She glanced at their audience and edged closer to Mara. “I’m still angry at my father for dying. And I loved him. He was a great dad. But I still feel that same rush of anger at him for getting himself killed. It was a car accident. To me, he was a superhero, and he shouldn’t have died in such a normal, stupid way.”

  She had never told anyone that, not even her mother.

  Mara focused on her. “I’m sorry.”

  Logan shrugged. “My point is that you’re allowed to feel conflicted about the dead. They weren’t saints, and neither are you.”

  A hint of a smile appeared on Mara’s face for a moment, but a log on the pyre shifted, and they both turned their attention back to the fire.

  “I wish Diana was here.” This would be over if her Fire Elemental sister was in charge of the blaze.

  Mara didn’t answer. Her eyes were distant, and Logan decided to stay quiet for the rest of the burning. She studiously avoided meeting the other wolves’ eyes, deciding that in this case, discretion was the better part of valor. Not that anyone was looking to start something. Not with Connell and the chief so close.

  After tending to the flames, Connell came to stand next to her and Mara, a grim, silent sentinel with his arms crossed. The chief stood a little away, next to Sammy and his father.

  Eventually, the excruciating service was over. Every wolf stayed till the last bit of the body was consumed, and then they started to take their leave. By the time the last stragglers departed,
the moon was high in the sky.

  Logan suppressed a shudder and dematerialized to the top of the tree behind her. She had hidden the staff in the top branches before the funeral had started. At her request, only Connell and Sammy’s family were going to be present for what happened next.

  Reaching up, she fingered the staff and looked down. There appeared to be a slight disagreement among the few remaining wolves.

  “I don’t want anyone to be out in the woods by themselves,” Douglas was saying.

  “You’re being ridiculous. No one is going to catch me off guard,” a larger older man said. Logan thought it was Sammy’s father.

  “I have to find the monster who did this to my boy,” the man continued.

  Yup, that was Bishop. Douglas leaned in and said something else, but the guy put his hands up. “I won’t go alone.”

  “Yogi’s staying with Sammy,” Connell pointed out.

  Bishop waved off their concern. “I’ll take someone else. Several someones.”

  Logan waited, but they weren’t able to talk Bishop out of leaving. Once he was gone, she dropped down to the forest floor with the staff in hand. Douglas gestured. As a group, the wolves fanned out and started walking back to the main house. They headed to the clearing in front of the porch where a much smaller and less tragic bonfire was built.

  Logan wanted to be outside for this.

  “Any reason why you didn’t want the rest of the pack around?” Douglas asked as she drew a few runes in the dirt.

  She inclined her head and held up the staff. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to show more people how to use this thing—if I succeed, that is.”

  The chief narrowed his eyes at her. “My people won’t betray your trust.”

  Logan didn’t have time for a last-minute pissing match. “Rumors can spread faster than you can spit. Connell said you heard about me stripping the Burgess witch immediately after. There’s no need to give anyone a detailed description of this staff.”

  “Won’t you destroy it afterward?” he asked.