Andrew glanced up. The others had probably had this news already.
“What do you mean gone?” I asked. “Looking for Peter?”
“Looking for the other packs. Only the Aspens are remaining in contact with Diana. It seems the Greys didn’t like Peter’s questioning them. Either they’re afraid for their own lives—even though, as far as we know, they’ve suffered only a single loss—or they’re afraid of us finding out about them. Everyone’s saying they faked being victims, pretended there was a murder when there wasn’t so we wouldn’t suspect them. No one’s been able to get in touch lately. Now some Sables and Aspens have disregarded Diana’s word and gone hunting Greys. Or maybe even Beeches or Traeths as well.”
“The Traeth Pack has gone into hiding also?”
“No idea. This is all just now happening.”
“I hate to say it…” I glanced at Jed and back to Isaac. “But Zacharias is right. We can strengthen your homes with fences and magic, keeping everyone together—a unified force. They still have a chance at home. Diana should bring in the Aspens to join the Sables there and work together to keep one patch of safe ground.” I shook my head. “I know they’re losing faith. I don’t blame them for thinking of running. But give us just a little longer and we’ll know who we’re up against and be able to make informed decisions—if not stop them all together. Will she still listen to me? How are things going to be when we get back there? Any idea?”
“I don’t think it matters. Diana’s opinion of you, I mean. The pack is breaking—panicking. Even Diana is barely holding them together. Everything she’s tried has failed, wolves are still dying. As far as they’re concerned we’ve failed as surely as Peter. There’s very little we can do for them aside from—”
“Succeed,” Andrew said.
“Yes,” I said slowly. “That’s what we’re going to do.”
Chapter 14
My pack was accommodating as I cast spells around them. First relaxed with chants and breathing exercises to a meditative state, then coached on their intention as I used their six energies to manipulate my spells the way I would generally draw on the other elements.
Warded, guarded—becoming a dark room in case anyone might wish to look inside. I placed a glittering shield over each one and myself in turn as I worked the magic circle. These images were so powerful they were visible in snatches of light and ripples in the air even to the wolves—who sometimes flinched or shivered, though kept their places. Only Kage maintained an active watch for these phantoms, even reaching to touch the glittering impression of the shield that shimmered around him like spider’s silk for an instant.
Walking among them, I took his hand to pass on greater energy. For the rest, I touched their shoulders or, in Jed’s case, head.
While they held onto that power for me with the help of only intention and focus since they didn’t have the true magic to bring to the table, I worked through the other two pitfalls.
Following notes I’d made, I cast a spell of my grandmother’s to grant only truth, never deception or trickery to farseeing. This would break the loops and planted images sent to me by any malicious caster. It may, however, mean I started seeing nothing but black. How much about this had been planted and how much real all along? I’d have to test that.
Then I followed advice from Stefan’s scry book in combination with my own spell. I hunted for a mark, a remnant of magical energy touching my own; a sensory indicator for the vision clamp.
I couldn’t tell if there was a clamp. What I could feel was pressure, like clothes that were too tight. Something all the way around, pressing in a way that was mild yet choking at the same time. The delicate hand of a demon, the charming smile of a killer.
I slipped out of this, peeling back the pressure, disintegrating it like snow in water, then tossed it away.
I burned frankincense and vanilla incense and brushed the smoke with a tiny besom—more objects from storage in my room.
The incense was unkind to Kage and I set it in the open window to allow it to burn down, fanned outside with the negative energy as I stripped that away.
Then I sat back, counted breaths, opened my third eye, and scried.
Show me the killers. Who is murdering shifters in England?
A dark, implacable nothing and something, a wall of black, an open absence of being. I’d hit bits of the nothing all along with them. Before, though, I’d hit far more confusing images, repeats, and maybe even false leads.
Show me where they are.
The same block. I pushed against it, though not hard—leaning up to a dark window without touching the glass. I could push. I knew how now. But I wouldn’t because I also knew better. Pushing could reveal to another caster that I’d tried to disrupt their warding. Right now, I doubted they’d put too much effort into the thing. What they knew of me had to be a lot of bumbling incompetence. As long as they continued to feel that way, we were all far safer than if they changed their minds. Or at least I was safer.
One thing I would certainly not be discussing with my pack was how dangerous this could become—caster to caster conflicts. What mattered was that we used this new information and what we had gained from the shamans to find them and stop this. Still, I remembered Zar’s sudden extra fear for my safety after his shamanic visions as I eased away from getting too near that invisible window glass.
Blocked didn’t mean nothing gained.
Show me who is killing the faie.
Same thing.
Who is destroying British vampires?
Who killed the wolves in France?
The druids in England?
The single dead wolf from the Grey Pack?
Same. Blocked and blocked and blocked.
Gotcha. But you think I’m pretty amateur with my questions, don’t you? I was smiling as I sat there with my eyes closed, hands around my glass frog and my mother and grandmother’s ring, hearing the song “Windmills of Your Mind” like white noise. It had been a favorite of mine and my sister in our teens. For the first time it seemed to me I understood it.
It made me think of Melanie, having seen her on the shamanic journey, the lies, the fear of hurting people I love.
Time to figure out the lyrics. Time to grow from reluctant witch and amateur scry to the intellect my pack deserved and the magical powerhouse I knew I could be because of my heart, not my problem solving: my love for them, saving them.
Still hearing that sound. Seeing the puzzle.
Take me to Peter’s eyes. Show me.
I felt the strength in my own body, the height, the enhanced night vision showing limited color, though sharp movements with only the faintest light needed. The night was rich with scents of wet earth from a sluggish summer rain. The lichen on a dry stone wall, mud, material of my jacket, and leather of my boots all had their own odors. And something else, something as fast and sharp as the surge of adrenaline, the fear, the whole scene, came the rush to my nose: a smell of swamps.
I barely saw it, only a moment of confusion, shouting, calling to the others. A growl, a rush of paws slapping over mud and gravel. What should have been a quick walk back to parked motorcycles turned into a nightmare as fast as a smell, a run, and a muzzle full of long teeth hammering into my neck. Wham—into gravel, twisting around and fighting. Change, fight back—
It was too late. I couldn’t change. I could hardly yell, hardly even land a blow into soaking, matted fur, before those massive fangs slashed across my neck in a second bite that severed a vein. Bursting blood sprayed my face with the mud and hot breath and swampy reek and shouts of the others as all failed to change.
“Cass?”
“Leave her alone.”
I could still feel the wet and cold, still smell the rain and compost as I realized I was shivering, sitting up in the armchair, hands trembling on frog and ring.
I opened my eyes, blinked, and felt tracks down my cheeks that were tears, not blood.
Zar was moving to my right. Either to co
me to me or get me a tissue or something.
“Don’t break the circle.” I’d already warned them about this—that they needed to maintain the space once I cast the circle for us until I closed it with the proper ceremony.
Zar remained where he was, gripping my pillow—which I saw as I blinked.
“Peter and the other three are dead,” I said quietly, my voice steady.
“You broke the block against you?” Kage asked and swallowed.
“I can’t do that.” I wiped my face. “I’m not even trying. But I saw what happened to Peter by going about it in a way no one thought to block.”
“You … saw…?” Zar faltered, still at the edge of his seat.
The fish: the much admired trout. Like that song coming to me, I saw a flash of Jason’s fish from the mountain lake a few days ago that he and most of the pack had delighted to roll upon. Not for giggles, but because it made them smell different. If a grazing deer scented a fish on the breeze, she might look around—at most. It seemed unlikely she would panic—until it was too late. A wolf disguise.
I looked at Jed, on his feet, though remaining in his spot between Andrew and Isaac across from me.
“They were attacked by shifters in fur who smelled like swamps. Who didn’t smell like wolves at all. Peter didn’t hear them coming over the sounds of their own boots on gravel, or smell them as they blended with the smells of the wet night. Jed, when you smelled where something had been in Yorkshire that didn’t leave a print or seem like a living animal, but moved like one, that could have been done by two different tricks. Vampires’ mind games, as we learned. Or magic actually altering the imprint of a creature it enchanted.”
“Casters are turning the wolves they’re working with into stealth killing machines?” Kage asked. “Then why have we never been attacked by a wolf in fur? Why didn’t they go for us in Yorkshire when they sniffed us?”
“To the first, because I suspect they’re only getting started. We have every reason to think so based on patterns thus far. For now, shifters in skin can murder and disguise their trails perfectly well. If they really want to take out all the other shifters and magical beings in Britain or more, though, they’re going to need extra firepower. For the second, because there was only one. A shifter from the pack that is working with casters saw us that night, then retreated to tell about us. Otherwise, they’d have been keeping an eye on us, maybe even come back and attacked the night we were on the fells. But we had all of you out in fur and they didn’t follow.”
“What about the rest of it?” Zar asked. “You think shifters are killing kindred as well? Why? The kindred … they’re…”
“It doesn’t matter,” Kage said.
“Right,” Andrew said. “Trying to unravel motives in order to come up with likely suspects only matters until you have the suspect lined up. Once you have a wolf in your hands you can ask him yourself ‘why.’”
“Which is exactly what we need,” I said. “We need to get one of these wolves and ask who and why. Then we need to figure out a way to make it stop.”
“Where?” Kage asked. “Where was Peter?”
“A gravel road beside a dry stone wall. I may be able to tell more with another visit. But the details don’t matter right now. He was in Wales or Cumbria and that’s where we’re going. Oh, and the Greys aren’t faking. I asked about them and got the same response as asking about who killed the rest. They’re victims also. That’s another thing we need to do when we get back—if there’s a way we can stop Sables and Aspens from hunting Beeches and Greys like a mob with pitchforks. They’re all going to be killed by scattering and, if anything, only lead the real killers to anyone who’s hiding.”
Isaac was shaking his head. “You know they won’t listen. The only way to make them stop now is to provide the real killers.”
“We will,” Kage said, looking at me. “It’s not going to matter what those stura do. Magic’s way ahead of them.”
“What else can we do, Cass?” Zar was chewing his lip as he watched me.
“You can let me close the circle. Then give me half an hour to finish packing and be ready for tomorrow. I also need time to recover from this energetically. Then … hop in the van. Dens are for pups. We’re going out to celebrate Lunaenott before the flight.”
Chapter 15
Mount Hood National Forest was only an hour’s drive from the city. We couldn’t stay out late, and we couldn’t take the time to go all the way out to Mount Hood. Even so, we could gather our thoughts and nerves, honor our respective goddesses, and take a last deep breath in a true wilderness.
At twilight, we hiked out in skin before we were secluded enough for them to change.
Zar and Isaac led prayers, all in Lucannis. There was some disagreement and reminding one another of steps, it seemed to me. Kage, Andrew, and Isaac tended to break into English as they digressed, while Zar, Jed, and Jason kept to Lucannis. It was confusing as a spectator. Possibly confusing for them as well. I gained a strong impression that, although the arguing was non-aggressive, everyone was sorely missing a spiritual guide for their service.
As I did for so many areas seeing them frustrated or troubled, I wished I could help—add a missing link. Instead, I couldn’t even understand them. Much less possess more than a very basic concept of their faith and spiritual practices.
What were their pack forms of wedding ceremonies like? Or the pedemittere—coming of age ritual once they’d mastered their ability to change and were considered adults? What did their spiritual leaders preach as Moon’s teaching? Was their interest in astrology linked to their faith, or a separate entity? What did they believe about spirit versus body, what happened in death, and so on? They talked of running with Moon, or singing with Moon, as metaphors for death, but what did they really believe? Plus, what about differences between them? Even followers of one faith have their own unique interpretations and personal views.
Being a sideline to their songs and blessings as the blue moon rose over the mountains in a stunning orange sphere, it struck me how passionately I longed to know these things. Tonight, though, it was a curiosity touched by sadness. A burning desire cooled by regret. I wanted to share their world, be one of this pack, not an outsider looking in. Just as I wanted to be all of these different things for each of them; not have to choose between teacher or student, leader or follower, nor between Kage or Isaac, Zar or Jed, even Jason or Andrew—I wanted it all.
It made my throat tight. Selfish, for one thing. Unattainable for another. I would never be a wolf. And the rest…?
They concluded by giving the vow to the moon, speaking the words aloud: “Neä uhrtoa trimus. Neä uhrtoa voimbus. Unnetum vaptis amaus Lunae et luposilauma.” And I found myself moving my lips to offer the vow as well.
“I grant my will. I grant my power. Given freely in love to Moon and pack.”
Zar had inscribed the vow into the leather bracelet he’d given me. Diana had said I could repeat it to any wolf shifter to gain favor. I’d taken that less seriously after many of the Sable Pack had quietly been turning on me. Perhaps, though, the day would still come that I would be blessed to know those words.
They stood together, gazing up to the moon, enchanted as I was by them. Zar came to me at the edge of the trees, thanked me for bringing them, kissed my hand.
“Go on,” I said quietly. Most already had their shirts off. “One more song in this country.”
There were several total wolf packs in Oregon—though the species teetered on the edge in the state—mostly northeast, and rumors of a breeding pair in the Mount Hood area. I’d already told them this while hiking out here.
While they were undressing, I walked around to embrace and kiss each—mostly on cheeks—before they changed.
“East for a couple miles before you sing, okay? I’ll see you soon. No, Zar, go on. Please. I’m fine.”
I walked slowly back to the van with a flashlight. I pulled on my coat, sat on top of a picnic table, and watched
the dazzling moon and stars on a crisp, almost perfectly clear night. The second Lunaenott of the month. The most change-filled, most dramatic single month of my life. An eclipse time: all these past weeks at once.
Yet that moon had now passed. Tomorrow was the final day of August and I would spend it on a plane.
So what do you need?
Balance.
Had I brought any? Had I helped them or hurt them? I was no wolf, it turned out. I did not understand or balance them as I should. Though I hoped that was getting better.
Was I too much their lover to be their silver? Too much their student to be their teacher? Too much afraid for their lives to be brave for them? Or were love and leadership, giving and taking, fear and courage, the definition of a balancing act?
I thought of Melanie again. That vision of seeing her becoming the witness to the burning city, the fields of blood. Melanie and Henry were the links who had brought me to England in the first place. My sister and brother-in-law were some of the few family I had left. And my pack.
Why was it that every time I should have refocused—even with magical breakthroughs happening and new momentum—I thought of my teachers like Nana and Martha, my family like Melanie and Henry, and the six individuals carrying my spirit with them through Mount Hood National Forest as they sang to their goddess?
Because heart—love—was part of the work. Part of the journey. Part of being able to do the magic that was leading us to success. That connection was the only reason we were here.
None of that made me right to worry about Melanie, or wonder about Andrew, or lose sleep over making sure everyone was taken care of in this relationship. But maybe it didn’t make me wrong either.
Moonlight Lovers: A Reverse Harem Shifter Romance (The Witch and the Wolf Pack Book 7) Page 8