“Kristana, you will know. Trust yourself. You are the one in charge here. You are no longer beholden to your husband. You are no longer beholden to the spell. Your life is yours now and you have a wonderful gift.”
She leaned forward and kissed him hard, then nodded confidently as she scooted off of his lap. He allowed her to walk away towards the far corner of the room; then he took Devan by the shoulder and walked her to the opposite corner.
“What now?” she whispered so as not to disturb whatever Kris was doing.
“Now we wait. We will be here if she needs us.”
Devan was curled up on the floor asleep when Kristana came back to them. She looked worn, well past exhaustion. But her aura wasn’t spiking and throbbing wildly. There was calm in her expression.
“Have they gone?”
She smiled sadly. “All but one. The tall man is still here. He’s the reason all of this happened. Brock knew he would come after him and that I would be the key to it. Devan was right; Brock was a witch. Whatever he did to Mr. Pimberton was so horrible that he won’t leave without vengeance.”
“Your husband is dead. What more vengeance can he expect?”
“I think I have a way that might slake his desire for revenge. But I need you to hypnotize me again.”
Langston peered at her carefully and felt worry claw at his insides. “I would like to know your plan.” It took effort to speak calmly. A spirit bent on a perceived sense of justice could be dangerous.
“I’m going to take him with me when you hypnotize me. I want you to ask me about Brock’s death. That’s where I want you to take me, to the moment I knew he was dead. Pemberton will feel it. He’ll know the details of it and he’ll know Brock is gone… forever. Just as I did when I found out.”
“You understand –” he paused, inhaling and exhaling deeply – “you understand this may prove dangerous?”
Kris eased close to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “I understand, and that’s why you need to know I love you. We’ve known each other barely a few days and I am completely confident that I love you.”
He tipped her chin to bring her eyes to his. “We have known each other for decades and decades, Kristana. Be very careful. I love you as well.” And he kissed her hard before guiding her back into the circle. There was no reason to involve Devan now. Kris had claimed her powers and could access them on her own now. She no longer needed Devan to magnify the energies.
She went into the trance easily. Sitting legs crossed in the center of the circle, her eyes closed. A moment of calm melted into her expression.
“Find the day Brock died. Remember the day your husband was killed. Go there.”
Her face froze like ice and then shattered into one of pain. She flinched, tossing her head from side-to-side. He saw her experience every moment of her husband’s death.
She visited each episode, transmitting the memories like a slide-show for Pemberton to see. From the immediate knowledge that Brock was gone to the formal call about the accident. Then the gruesome autopsy results of how his head had been bashed in and crushed, his body too mangled for an open casket funeral. She relived the humiliation of discovering what Brock’s life had really been; the sham, the failures, the lies and subterfuge. When it was over, she collapsed forward.
Langston caught her in his arms, but he smiled because for the first time since he’d known her, the aura surrounding her was smooth and only mildly rippled. She was finally free.
* * *
Kris found Langston in the kitchen, teaching Chelsea and the new boy, Kip, how to make peanut butter cookies. The children were aptly attuned to every little instruction and although there was flour and sugar strewn all over the table, the gentle giant maintained the utmost composure and patience. Her heart swelled with love for him.
“Now, it will be at least twenty minutes until they are ready,” he told the youngsters. “You two should run along and wake up Mr. Charlie from his nap. He will be very happy to sample your delicious cookies.”
Giggling with merriment, the children ran past her, rubbing against her legs affectionately before skittering out of the room. Kris let her eyes linger on where they had disappeared through the doorway; then she turned and approached Langston. She caressed the thick book in her hands a moment, then placed it onto the table and sat down.
“I finished it. I can see why it’s your favorite book. It’s an amazing tale about a culture I wish I knew more about,” she told him, rubbing her hand across the title Aztec. “Now will you tell me?”
He approached the table slowly, wiping his hands on his hips and then pulling a chair and sitting across from her. “This is a very accurate accounting of life in those days. The people had a fabulous, if flawed, empire.”
“C’mon, love, what are you trying to tell me? Who are you?”
His heart fluttered when she called him love. “You realize I have never told even my friend Kent who I am. He knows I am centuries old. He’s never pressed and I’ve never volunteered.”
Her thin, delicate fingers reached across the table to clasp his hand. “Langston, I understand that you are sharing something special with me. You said you wanted me to know. I’m a curious woman and you’ve teased me with this secret. Please, who are you?”
“To the people, the Aztecs, I was a god. Or at the least a demi-god. I was the last of the Toltecs, the lost giants of the great city of Tula. I was called Itztli, which in Nahuatl means obsidian knife. I can attest to the accuracy of Jennings’ book. That volume is an accurate accounting of those times although my magic allowed me to escape the Spanish conquest. I moved on, lived amongst other peoples, Native American tribes. Soon the English arrived and I assimilated into that society too. That was when I received the name Langston, which means long knife. I have traveled the centuries, followed the passage of time, known thousands of people and cultures. And through all that time, through every century, I have loved only you, Kris. Only you.”
Shifty Business
(Book 3 of the Bend-Bite-Shift Trilogy)
Olivia Hardin
Copyright © 2012 by Olivia Hardin
All rights reserve. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
DEDICATION
This book is dedicated to
FAITH, HOPE & LOVE.
That we might never forget our faith,
so that the hope of something greater
will make us open to finding love.
The oblivious conference members, who had been milling about in the hallway outside the room, suddenly became aware of the commotion within and began to crowd the broken door. Gasps and screams soon followed as some of them noticed the disarrayed room as well as the bleeding man on the floor.
Kent was momentarily riveted by what had just happened and by the vision of Devan standing there like a modern-day Amazon, her legs apart and both hands in tight fists at her side. Her back was straight and her shoulders squarely back as she continued to stare toward the spot where their attacker had been just seconds before. Her curly brown hair was voluminous and wild, longer now and flowing past her shoulders and midway down her back. She cocked her eyes at him and he watched as their black pools slowly dissolved into their usual gold-brown color.
“He ain’t gonna make it,” Nicky muttere
d, his voice flat, unemotional, and Kent’s gaze was directed quickly to his friend on the floor. Nicky’s comment wasn’t an exaggeration. Blood had pooled on either side of Langston and his breathing was becoming shallow.
“Oh, no…” Devan whispered, and she was there on her knees almost as quickly as was Kent.
“Langston, you have to concentrate. You have to heal yourself,” Kent told his friend even as he slapped both of his hands onto the wounds and tried to staunch the blood.
Langston’s eyes opened wide and he looked up, glancing from Devan to Kent then to Nicky and back to Kent. “I cannot. I have tried, my friend, but it is not working.”
“He was different, Kent. I knew he was a vamp, but there was something unusual–he had to be Adriel, right?” Nicky spoke again, but now he had posted himself at the door to the room and was keeping an eye on the panic breaking out in the hallway.
“Adriel? He’s a vampire?”
You gotta get out of there, Devvie. You have to go.
Where the hell have you been, Roon! I could have used you five minutes ago!
Devvie, I’m not kidding here. You have got to go. They’re coming for you. They’re coming for all of you and they mean business. You’re not ready.
“We have to leave,” she whispered, her face suddenly turning pale as she cut her eyes to Kent. “We have to go now.”
Kent shook his head furiously as he watched Langston’s blood gush between his fingers. “Not without Langston.”
She placed her hand on top of his. She spoke clearly, succinctly, as if explaining something to a child, “I’d never even suggest leaving without Langston. But we have to get out of here. All of us have to leave now.”
Nicky strode to their sides. “We’ll never be able to carry him. Can you bend him to the truck or at least to the room?”
Kent shook his head. “On my best day I might get him to the elevator, but–as it is now, I’m virtually spent.”
Now, Devvie. Tell him they found Gerry. They have Gerry and they’re coming. You have to leave now.
“Time, my friend,” Langston murmured and his voice had become weak and small. “We need you to give us time. Devan will heal me.”
“Me?”
“Time?”
Devan and Kent had spoken simultaneously. Kent was quicker at recovering than she was. He immediately stood and headed toward the door, but upon hearing Devan’s voice he stopped in place, “They have Gerry, Kent. Don’t ask me how I know that but they have her and they’re coming for us.”
It was Nicky who reacted, snapping his head toward her and giving her a cold look. “How can you know that?”
“Enough,” Kent said. “Langston, I’ll try to slow things down out here. Nicky, you be ready to help Langston after he and Devan have finished. When he can walk, get him out of here and I’ll go look for Gerry.”
Nicky’s voice was hard and offered no room for disagreement. “I go for Gerry. I’ll wait until Langston’s ready, but I’m gonna go for her.”
And there begins Shifty Business
(Book 3 of the Bend-Bite-Shift Trilogy)
Gerry cut a glance left then right. She extended her hand to the little strawberry blonde, who was likely ten to twelve— young to have already come into her powers. Gerry was impressed when the girl snapped her fingers into the air and contrived a silver box out of nothing. The child placed the box into Gerry’s palm and covered it with both of her tiny hands, hiding it from the others.
The box felt to be square and plain, about 4 cubic inches, too large for Gerry to hide it inside her little clutch purse. She closed her fingers around the heavy cold metal and twitched her nose to call upon her magic. She extended her shapeshifter power to the palm of her hand, camouflaging the box with her skin till it disappeared from view. When she peered down at the girl, the child smiled and nodded.
A tall, alabaster skinned man entered the room and all eyes in the room turned to him so she didn’t have time to question the child. At the moment Gerry was in disguise. She wore the image of very curvy red-head named Sylvia Newberg, the wife of a vampire here to examine possible magical child supplicants. Gerry was actually a member of the Company, a group working to stop the ongoing sale of magical children to vampires.
“There’s an imposter amongst us,” the pale, black-haired man advised, his gray gaze moving in a slow circle around the room, peering at each witch with suspicion. Gerry held steady, maintaining her persona with careful calm.
A tickle touched her temple when his eyes fell upon her, and she reached a hand up to the spot before she realized what was happening. The psychic vampire had his creepy mental feelers edging into her head. She dropped a stone wall around her mind in an instant and closed him off from her inner thoughts. Still, she could feel his power, and she was afraid she might not be able to hold him off for long.
“I’m Tylie.”
All eyes flicked down to the little strawberry-blonde. First, she peeked her head around Gerry’s body, then she stepped out of her shadow and into the open.
“She can’t be Tylie,” one of the other witches insisted.
“She’s never spoken. We don’t know who she is,” a male witch said from the opposite corner.
“Tylie?” The vampire laughed a nasty, grating sound. “The Tylie. Well, it seems my day isn’t a total loss after all.”
He reached a clawed hand toward the child, but Gerry placed her palm on the little shoulder and shoved her backward, causing the child to stumble. “She’s mine. I’m placing a bid and will match any counter.”
“If she’s indeed who she says she is, then she’s not for sale.”
Gerry pursed her lips. “Is this or is this not a child auction? If she isn’t for sale, then what the hell are we all doing here?”
A short and squatty fellow tripped over his feet to get to the forefront. The vampire and Gerry stared at each other with unflinching, steely eyes, and the little man held both hands up, one toward each of them, then faced Adriel. “But she can pay top dollar. I assure you she has the means.”
The broker, she thought. He knew “Sylvia Newberg” and Gerry imagined he probably salivated over his potential commission.
Adriel laughed and waved the man’s hand away. “You’re just a dealer. Tylie’s not for sale.”
The man shrank away, backing up with careful, soft steps. The alabaster man oozed evil, and Gerry was keen enough to realize her actions were doing little to keep her off the man’s radar. It was clear this child, and her silver box, were important.
“Release. Her.” Adriel said the words as an order. His voice was soft as a breath of air. The force lay in his eyes and the stone protections rattled and threatened to crumble inside Gerry’s mind.
Another person entered the room, diverting all the occupants’ attention. Gerry nearly forgot herself and called his name when she saw Nicky rush inside. He didn’t look directly at her, but his knife was out and he was crouched low, clearly prepared for battle. Adriel laughed again.
Gerry sucked in a deep breath to steady herself and a familiar scent assailed her nostrils. Citrus—orange and lime—and the undertone of sex. She sniffed again. Yes, sex. Her gaze darted to the female witches beside her. She examined their eyes. They seemed skittish, uncertain, but neither of them could be Dysis.
Dropping her chin close to her chest, she turned her face to the side and glanced behind her. There was a door, but no sign of anyone else. Again, she inhaled. Definitely Dysis. What the hell was she doing here?
Nicky made his way in her direction. While everyone was distracted, she stepped behind one of the witches and with a twitch of her nose and a shimmer of light she returned to her natural image. She retained only the glamour that kept the silver box hidden in her palm.
The corner of her lip curled up into a sly smile then she raised her hand, palm flat. The sound of rushing air pervaded the room as she shoved her hand forward away from her body. The three witches and the broker were flung into the far wall. Ger
ry took Tylie’s hand, and the girl grabbed the hand of the child behind her and so on until they all headed toward the exit like ducks in a row.
Adriel’s gray eyes shot back to her, and she stopped. Nicky jabbed at the vampire with his blade, but the pale-skinned man continued chuckling as he swatted him away with a flick of his hand. The knife was black with blood and that wasn’t a good sign. She ground her teeth together.
Nicky was dhampir, half vampire and half human. He was a natural vampire hunter and his blood was deadly to vampires. If he “cooked” his blades in his own blood, it would make the weapons as lethal to bloodsuckers as a stake to the heart. Once the tainted knives interacted with vampire blood, they turned black, which meant the effectiveness would be diminished to almost nothing.
Releasing Tylie, Gerry used her free hand to dig under her skirt for the knife she kept strapped to her thigh. Once unsheathed, she pursed her lips and whistled loudly. When Nicky’s dark eyes met hers, she tossed him the blade. He reversed the move, catching the offered weapon as he tossed her his own. She caught the used knife before she looked down at the children again.
All four of them were gone! Panicked, Gerry swung her gaze left and right to search the room. The witches and the broker were still stunned, and the children were nowhere.
“Tylie!” she cried. “Tylie, where are you?”
The vampire laughed again, and an icy hand clamped onto her arm. Her mental feelers told her it was Nicky coming up beside her. All the other occupants of the room were moving on wobbly feet toward the back door with Adriel in the lead.
“As much as I’d like to finish you two off,” the vampire quipped as he motioned the others through the doorway, “I have a witch to track. I’ll have to just take my children and go.”
“Goddamnit, Nicky!” Gerry hissed, snatching her arm from his grasp and hurrying to the door where the vampire disappeared. “They’re gone.”
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