Aven dried and dressed and ran down to his room for a jacket. He snagged one from his closet, put it on, and felt something thump against his chest. When he reached into his pocket, he felt the shard of quartz he’d found that day at the mine when Dallas called, asking Aven to look for Dakota.
Aven pulled the shard out of his jacket pocket and looked at it again, at the shock of blue running through it like a lightning strike, branching off again and again into smaller and smaller streams. He eyed it, remembering something from recently, from when Flint was pining for Goldie. He had told Flint that finding a switch’s Resonant was a surefire way to help her embrace her power.
Time to take his own advice and find a way to transform that shard of quartz into a weapon fit for a killer. For Dakota.
All he had to do was figure out how.
He pocketed the quartz, his mind turning over rapidly.
***
He got Dakota to her car, then flew above her as they headed home, his mind still working his problem. In the distance, hidden by trees, the Bear Claw beckoned. Hernando would be able to help him.
He sent a message from his mind to Dakota’s. I just remembered something I need to do. Back in a couple hours, okay?
The Mustang swerved, barely. Aven heard and felt Dakota talking herself out of her momentary panic: It was on the list, remember? Shifters can use telepathy in their animal state to communicate with switches. Freaky as hell, but super useful.
Aven wasn’t sure if she didn’t know how to not broadcast all her thoughts or if, maybe, as a Belief switch, she wouldn’t even be capable. Her mood was rarely a mystery, why should her thoughts be? He sent back reassurance: You’ll get used to it, witch. See you back home.
Minutes later he landed outside the Bear Claw Diner, zipped and buttoned his fly that the everweft had left undone, and headed straight for the kitchen, nodding at Ryder and Molly as he passed them in the dining room.
Hernando was right where Aven expected him to be. Overseeing a team of prep cooks getting ready for the dinner service, and patting his secret-recipe meatloaf into a half-dozen pans.
“‘Nando, you got a minute?” Aven asked. Nobody Aven knew had as much respect for the old ways as Hernando did. If he didn’t have the skills Aven needed, he’d know who did.
Hernando turned to Aven and smiled up at him, his round, tan-with-a-sunburn face breaking into a big smile. “Anytime, Aven.”
Aven knew that Hernando wasn’t thrilled to see the fight coming back, but he admired the way the old condor didn’t broadcast it. Hernando hadn’t been around for the Reckoning like Jameson had, but he was old enough to have lost family and friends to The Cause.
Aven pulled the quartz shard from his pocket and set it on the stainless steel work surface as Ryder came into the kitchen with a brown plastic tub full of dirty dishes. Hernando looked at the quartz and made an impressed face. “Nice. Where’d you find it?”
“What I need to know, ‘Nando, is how to carve it? Can I make a knife outta this?”
Hernando squinted at the shard, his hands still busy with ground meat. “I don’t know about a knife. Maybe an arrowhead. Or a spearhead.”
Aven nodded. “Perfect. How do I do that?”
Hernando looked at him and laughed. “How am I supposed to know? I never done that before.”
Damn. Aven was about to thank Hernando and go when he felt the air move behind him. He turned. Ryder was a foot away, so silent that Aven hadn’t heard him, so deliberately blank that Aven hadn’t even sensed him. Aven caught the clouded leopard’s eye as Ryder put his phone down on the counter between them and walked away without a word.
Aven looked down and saw a video Ryder had pulled up on YouTube, of a man tapping at one rock with a smaller one, his hand cushioned by a strip of leather, shearing away tiny flakes with each impact. The larger rock changed shape, taking on first an edge, then a point.
Stunned, Aven watched for a minute. He could do that. Hell, he bet he could fly home this minute and find all the tools he needed in Credence’s garage.
Aven looked to Ryder to say thanks, but the shifter had his back to them, his arms elbow-deep in soapy water, and headphones in his ears. Aven looked back to Hernando.
The older male smirked at Aven and shrugged. “Past he’s got, he could prob’ly make a knife outta that phone.”
Chapter 35 - Hawkeye
The next day Dakota drove herself and Dallas to the BBOC. He wanted to work out in the back room with the other shifters. Dakota wanted to shoot something.
She set herself up at the range, was about to put her hearing protection on and go hot when a voice behind her called her name. Dakota saw Cora and Jameson heading her way. Shit. Ten more seconds and she could have ignored them.
Not that she didn’t like Jameson and Cora. She did. It was impossible not to, and Cora had a directness that appealed to Dakota. But still. She wanted a minute here, to pretend she was still her, the old her, the one she recognized.
Dakota nodded at Jameson, like she would if she saw a superior officer in public. But he wasn’t her superior anymore. Was he? If Jameson was in charge of The Cause’s shifters, who ran the switches?
Cora and Jameson reached the range. Cora’s hazel eyes were wide as she stared at Dakota’s sidearm on the wooden staging desk. “You’ve got a gun?”
“Sure, want to shoot it?”
Cora was entranced. “I’ve never even touched one. But yours is beautiful. Can I hold it?”
Never one to discourage a woman from knowing her way around a gun, Dakota ejected the magazine and the round she’d chambered, double-checking the barrel that it was clear, then handed the weapon to Cora. The Breath switch held it in her tiny hands and it looked bigger, more threatening somehow, than it had before.
“Babe,” Jameson piped up, gesturing at the air around Cora. “You’re even glowing a lot. Must be the iron in the steel.”
Cora’s eyes went wider. “Do you think I could kill a vampire with it?” Then she made a face, like she didn’t like that idea. “It wouldn’t be as much fun as stabbing them.”
“Can I shoot it?” she asked.
Jameson leaned in. “Is that okay? Won’t it hurt the baby’s ears?”
“It’s fine outdoors, but not indoor ranges,” Dakota said.
Cora rolled her eyes. “The baby is fine, I promise. I want to shoot the gun.”
Dakota heard Jameson make a quiet sound of disbelief that Dakota interpreted to mean, Excuse me, do I not wear a gun and sleep in your bed? How come she gets to teach you?
Dakota caught his eye. “If you want to work out, go for it. I’ve got five hundred rounds and nowhere else to be,” she told him.
Jameson hesitated. He nodded, an almost-invisible smile on his face as he left.
Cora turned to Dakota. “What do I do?”
Dakota showed Cora the basics with the unloaded firearm, how to aim and shoot. Cora was a quick study. Together they loaded magazines. Dakota showed Cora how to chamber a round quickly. Then she got out another set of hearing protectors, like big headphones with no cord, and handed them to Cora.
Cora put them on with a grin and stepped up to the range’s starting line with her loaded weapon. Dakota helped her set her stance, then pointed to the targets. “Have at it.”
Cora set up for her first shot slowly, methodically, taking a second to let her breath out halfway before holding it and firing, like Dakota had shown her. She took off the ear of the figure on the target. Cora laughed. Dakota smiled.
The next dozen shots were quicker. Cora held her stance, kept her eyes open, and blasted holes all through the vampire stand-in. When the magazine clicked empty, Cora put the weapon down and grinned, pulling her hearing protection off. “That was fucking incredible!”
Dakota agreed. “You’re a really good shot. I can’t believe it’s your first time.”
Cora turned to Dakota, a sincere look in her eyes. “Thanks for doing this. I love Jameson, and I adore how old-fashioned
he is. But sometimes he forgets who I am. And that I got along fine for three decades before he showed up.”
Dakota smiled, though she had to admit she was a little surprised. Cora wasn’t the backseat-taking, roll-slowing, damsel-in-distress that Dakota had assumed most switches would have to be, kickass weapons or not.
She might have to reconsider her position on switches. Maybe.
She helped Cora reload.
* * *
Aven stood in Credence’s garage, bent over the workbench, tapping at the quartz he held in his leather-gloved hand. Another thin shard of the clear crystal sheared off, bringing it a few millimeters closer to being pointed. The shard joined the pile already on the workbench.
He’d been out here for hours, ever since Dakota and Dallas left for the BBOC. His shoulders ached from the constant tap-tap-tapping of one rock against another. But he was making progress. Dakota would have her Resonant. All Aven had to figure out was what kind of handle to lash it to. He’d looked online yesterday but hadn’t found anything he liked.
Aven set the crystal down, and the smaller rock. He grabbed a small trash can and brushed the crystal shards into it. He wrapped the crystal in a scrap of leather and turned to his hiding place. Fourth drawer of the toolbox, left side, all the way in the back, behind the sandpaper, knowing Credence was probably helping Aven hide it, just like she’d provided the tools and the space he needed to make it.
Aven tucked the bundle in the way-back of the drawer. His finger brushed against something metallic. Something that hadn’t been there before, and that didn’t belong in the sandpaper drawer. He pinched it between two fingers and pulled it out.
It was a ring, like a wedding band. Copper. Its edges were hammered thin, a turquoise patina in some of the tool marks, while a line running the center of the ring held chips of some kind of shiny stone. The patina said it was old enough to be an heirloom, but... what were those stones? Aven looked closer. Flecks of blue in the shiny chips caught his eye.
The shards from Dakota’s Resonant, the ones Aven had been shearing off for hours. They were in the ring. Did that mean what Aven thought it did?
He hoped so.
Aven tucked the ring back with Dakota’s soon-to-be Resonant. He’d find a better place for it later. What he needed to do now was move his ass. He wasn’t missing another day of flyovers.
Aven charged up the stairs and out Credence’s front door, running across the shiny blue marble and pushing off into his eagle so that he swooped low over the sunflowers, his feather tips barely brushing their golden petals. He curved around for a view of Lightning Rock, pushing hard with his wings to clear the sheer cliff and the slip of air that tangled at its edge. Aven flew over the dome and followed the dirt road leading from Credence’s back door, then turned northwest. He’d start on the other side of the river and work his way back home.
First stop was Shady Pines. Aven followed the road that turned into the little town’s main drag, starting at the end where casual hangouts, delis and bars catered to the nearby private college’s small roster of students. But his main focus was the other end of town, past the side streets that led to the public elementary school and courthouse, where the student-budget spots gave up their space to artsy stores where only the well-off tourists could afford to do more than window-shop.
This part of Shady Pines had been on Aven’s fly-over list for weeks, ever since Goldie had twice tried to attack a limousine carrying vampires, right on that main street. He circled over the intersection where she’d run, or more accurately, tripped into Flint’s car.
Aven swooped lower, landed on a street sign, gazing around with his eagle eyes at the cars and humans that flowed by.
An older woman stepped out of a store on the other side of the street, wearing a bright yellow coat. She had a younger female companion with her, who waited as the older woman extended a telescopic cane in her hand. She tapped it on the ground in front of her as they walked down the sidewalk.
A charge like electricity zapped through Aven’s body. That was it. What Dakota needed for her Resonant. Aven could see it in his mind’s eye. Like a tactical baton, something that could telescope so she could use it at close-quarters, maybe even throw it if she had to. Flexible. Resilient. Like her.
The idea thrummed in his gut, feeling true. This would work. He’d craft that sexy switch a Resonant the likes of which The Cause had never even imagined. She’d never hunt again without knowing that Aven supported her every step.
That junk shop Riot had shown him had all kinds of crazy stuff on its shelves. Aven bet he could find something there. He would drop by on his way to Turner’s Mill, the next stop on his flyover route.
Aven was just about to take off when a breeze blew across his feathers, ruffling them, bringing a scent that shut down his plans and put him on highest alert.
Darby’s stalker. It was the same wholly unique blend, dark and so sleek it was almost slippery. Aven had no frame of reference to compare it to, except for that nameless something that was in both Cage’s and Maze’s scents.
But no matter how the what of the scent drove him crazy, the where of it wasn’t in question. Here. All he had to do was find it.
He took flight with a powerful push but stayed low, close to the roofline of the buildings by the sign where he’d perched. Another whiff crossed his beak and he crossed the side street, closing in on the scent’s source. It was an art gallery near the corner, where the door was propped open with a welcoming sign. The stalker’s scent trickled out like water.
Aven pushed himself up and over the buildings, into the alley behind them where the staff parked and the dumpsters were stored. He shifted, gave himself a quick once-over to make sure nothing important was out of place, then jogged around the corner to the front of the store and scented again.
Darby’s stalker was still inside. Aven had been worried he’d lose him in the thirty seconds he hadn’t had eyes on the place, but whoever it was hadn’t left. Now, the question was whether he confronted the guy right off, or held back and watched.
At least he shouldn’t do it in the store. No sense upsetting the locals. Aven backed off to the other side of the street, where he could watch without being seen.
It didn’t take long. A few minutes later the owner of the gallery and her patron made their way to the front door, chatting and laughing with smiles on their faces. The air swirled toward Aven, confirming what his sinking gut had already told him.
It was Thorn. Again. The same guy who Aven had already confronted once, and whose reaction had made it clear that he was ignorant of the accusations Aven had thrown at him.
It still didn’t make sense to Aven. A vibe was a hard thing to fake. Not impossible, but definitely not something everyone could do, and not something this guy should be able to do. It was easier to make a vibe disappear altogether, like Ryder had done at the diner.
Aven had to accept it, Thorn wasn’t the guy. He was something sketchy, and maybe the same unknown species of shifter as the suspect Aven was chasing. But he wasn’t Darby’s stalker. He had been wrong. He was wrong. This was all wrong.
Aven backed away from the street, between two buildings, and pushed into his eagle again. He flew straight up, located Thorn, and rode the currents as he watched the stylishly-dressed man make his way a block down the street before turning. Aven considered following him, but he reined in the impulse. It was just the frustration of unanswered questions making him think Thorn was involved. He had a real job to do.
He tipped a wing and let the wind catch him, carry him to the east, his thoughts weighing him down. Aven pushed harder, flew higher, until the worries dropped away and he could focus again on his duty. He set his heading for Turner’s Mill, to complete his fly-over route.
Chapter 36 - Crazy As A Loon
Dakota and Cora had so much fun shooting, they lost track of time. When the sun started to set, Jameson walked back to the range and promised Cora he’d make her dinner if she’d finally leave.
The pregnant switch looked at her watch. “I guess I can stop, if you’re cooking.” She pulled Dakota into a bent-over hug and rushed off with Jameson.
Dakota found Dallas at the BBOC and offered him the car keys. He took them with a grin. “Luxe missed me, didn’t she? It’s okay, you don’t have to be jealous.”
Dakota smirked and punched him lightly on the shoulder, too tired in her mind, body, and soul to think of a comeback.
They were just turning onto the dirt road by Lightning Rock when Aven appeared above the convertible, keeping pace with them all the way through the tunnel to the garage.
Dallas parked Luxe in the spot next to his beige sedan, where the wall was marked with a cat’s paw print that Dakota couldn’t help but covet. The wall in front of the spot where Luxe rested was blank, but it was definitely her spot. Even if Dakota parked in another one, Luxe ended up back here every time. So why didn’t she get a special mark, like Dallas?
Probably because you wouldn’t like what would show up, since it definitely won’t be cat-related, a snarky little voice in her head griped. Dakota couldn’t argue.
Aven landed next to her door, an absent-minded, angry look on his face. Dakota reached over without getting out and touched his hand. “You okay?”
He only glanced at her, but Dakota saw worry deep in Aven’s eyes. Something was seriously bothering him. She tugged on his fingers, scooting herself over to the driver’s seat as Dallas relinquished it. “Get in. We’ll go for a drive.”
Aven nodded, still distracted, and got in the car. Dakota waved at Dallas as she turned around in the cavernous space and aimed back toward the great wide open beyond the coven’s tunnel, feeling better than she had all day. What she needed was to stop thinking about herself so much and care a little more about someone else. And there was nobody she’d rather give her attention to than Aven.
He was angry, and she didn’t know at who. Not her.
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