Claire didn’t laugh. Not at all. “How would you know? You haven’t really been here, Callie,” she said, with a touch of exasperation in her voice that made me wince. “You run off to St. Louis, or Italy, or some magical realm. Or you tell me to get out of town for a while because Kansas City isn’t safe. You’re either here and want me gone, or gone when I am here,” she whispered, twisting the knives buried in my heart. “So I head back to the bears in Alaska, because I don’t know what to do when I’m all by myself, Callie, and I can’t afford to let anyone know that!”
“I’m so sorry, Claire…” I whispered, squeezing her tightly.
She finally warmed up to me, her body no longer rigid and unyielding. We stood that way for a solid minute until I was sure it was okay to talk again.
“Silly old bear,” I whispered, ignoring the tears spilling down my cheeks as I nuzzled her hair. “You don’t have to pick one or the other. You’re a BAB either way.”
She pulled back, frowning up at me with her tear-filled, red-rimmed eyes. “A what?”
I smiled. “You’re either a Bad Ass Bitch or a Bad Ass Bear. BAB.” She smirked slightly but gave me only the most pathetic of shrugs in response. “I went through a similar thing last year…an internal crisis. That’s what I called it anyway,” I told her, trying a different tactic.
“All the White Rose stuff?” she asked. I nodded. “When I first heard people talking about the White Rose, it took me a while to realize the boogeyman everyone was talking about was my best friend.” She studied me thoughtfully. “Heard you killed a lot of monsters. More than a lot…”
I nodded. “I did,” I admitted. “I was having trouble finding my place in the world. I didn’t want to belong to any of my old groups. I was also pissed off that a few of my old groups had turned their backs on me. On Roland. I went dark, Claire. Really dark. I lost my way.”
Claire squeezed my biceps reassuringly. “That’s okay. It happens. Usually only once a month, though,” she said, smiling. “I’m glad to hear I’m not the only schizophrenic girl on the streets of Kansas City. What does that say about me?” she mused rhetorically.
I laughed faintly, wiping at my nose. “I really could have used you as a sounding board, so I guess I kind of know what you mean about the bear thing. I’m sorry I haven’t been here for you.”
She smiled. “Our friendship would be pretty boring if we didn’t bicker about something every now and again. Just imagine if we were always sane…how boring that would be.”
I smiled, nodding. “Yeah. Who wants stability in their relationships?”
I thought about everything Qinglong had told me, that I needed to find out who I could trust. That I needed to find a way to form special bonds with them—strengthened by something stronger than words—a blood bond like the one I’d shared with him.
And I realized that if I couldn’t trust Claire, I was pretty much done with life. I had tested her time and time again, even pushing her away to such an extent that she thought I had snapped a fuse and turned demonic the night I trapped Nameless.
But she had seen through my ruse. She was my cornerstone. My rock.
Even still, there was the chance that one of these Masters could have chosen her for that exact reason, turning her against her knowledge—using cats’ paws like Qinglong had warned.
“Let’s go sit down. I’ll tell you what I’ve been thinking lately. I could use a fresh pair of eyeballs,” I said, guiding her over towards a wicker couch not far away. Hearing her open up about her troubles, what she’d felt—but never shared—as a result of being turned to a shifter bear against her will…well, that had been as genuine and honest as friendship could get.
Turning your back on everyone or bottling up your pain only led down dark roads. I’d experienced something similar a year ago. The White Rose had been a heartless killer who had pretty much turned her back on everyone, trying to do the right thing but not having defined her purpose.
So while it was wise to be perceptive, alert, skeptical, and reasonably paranoid…I needed to have at least one person I could count on when things turned to hell. Brothers—like Cain—were great, but there just wasn’t any substitute for girlfriends.
Sisters before Misters was a rule for a reason.
“Can you do me a small favor?” I asked, my heart suddenly beating erratically.
She nodded, not looking back at me as we walked. “Sure.”
I took a deep breath, set my shoulders, and stepped up beside her. “I need you to drink some of my blood.”
She froze, blinked a few times, and then slowly turned to look at me with a thoughtful expression. She opened her mouth, but then closed it. Finally, she shrugged her shoulders. “Okay. But we already shared blood as kids, remember? I didn’t drink it, though,” she said pensively, resuming her walk. “Think that makes a difference?”
I flinched, feeling as if I’d just been struck between the eyes.
She…was right. We’d done one of those childhood blood pacts where we sliced our palms and shook hands to prove our undying friendship.
“Fuck me…” I breathed, catching up with her. Was that why Claire was always so reliable? Had we already made one of the blood bonds Qinglong had shown me? Even though she hadn’t tasted my blood, we’d exchanged blood. Wasn’t that even more meaningful?
I closed my eyes, focusing inwards like I had done with Qinglong. Almost immediately, I sensed a low, steady thrum between us, and I saw that a cord of light as thick as braided rope connected us—much stronger than what I’d seen with Qinglong. But he’d been a god and I hadn’t exchanged blood with him like I had done with Claire so many years ago.
“Just to be clear, that wasn’t you asking me for a second favor, right?” she asked, having stopped with me when I closed my eyes. “I’m all for taking one for the team, but—”
I opened my eyes, laughing as I realized she was referring to my fuck me comment. “No! That wasn’t a request, jerk.” I gripped her shoulders, shaking her excitedly. “I can trust you!”
She narrowed her slowly darkening eyes, looking about ready to punch me right in the mouth. “Of course you can, idiot.” She cocked her head quizzically. “What’s going through that head of yours?” she asked, frowning uncertainly. “Did you doubt me?”
I laughed, shaking my head fiercely. “No! Well, yes, but not because of anything you did. It’s…” I struggled with where to start. “It’s Hocus Pocus stuff,” I explained, waving my fingers dramatically. “But I can tell you all about it, now!”
Because my previous explanation to her and Richard had been topical, avoiding so much of what I’d learned from Qinglong that might put them—or me—at risk. Now, I could actually get into the Masters thing. Well, we weren’t protected by my mother’s laboratory, so I would still need to be careful, but I now knew for a fact that Claire was on my team.
Sensing Claire staring at me warily, I wrapped her up in a hug, squeezing tightly before shoving her onto the wicker couch. “Let’s chat. You have no idea how much better I feel to get this off my chest…”
And I began to tell her what I had learned, what I suspected, what I planned, and what I needed her to do.
The look on her face as I unveiled my plan was priceless. It was fuel for my heart, slowly repairing the damage it had taken to learn of my parents’ decisions, and more importantly, of how badly I’d screwed up as a friend to Claire. Pretty soon we were both crying and snotting all over each other.
Sisters before Misters. A very powerful magic.
Take heed, gentlemen. Never interrupt one of these rituals, unless you want to volunteer yourself for the sacrificial altar…
We will oblige you.
Chapter 38
We talked for half an hour or so, maybe longer. And as I listened to stories of her time in Alaska—very detailed stories as opposed to what she’d told me before—I felt my soul stitching itself back together, stronger than ever. To know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I could trust her—t
hat she couldn’t be turned by the Masters…
I had needed that more than I had cared to admit. A rock to clutch onto in a raging river.
Because I was definitely about to jump back into the white-water rapids of current events in Kansas City. Hell, I was about to stir shit up from the Missouri to the Mississippi river, from Kansas City to St. Louis, and it was absolutely going to cause some flooding. My crazy plan actually excited me. I felt like I’d spent so much time sitting down and being beaten in the face with knowledge—from Xuanwu to Qinglong—that I considered the risk of physical danger much like a tube of Icy Hot on sore muscles.
It was time to remind everyone who I was. In a way they would never expect.
Catching Claire up on my own journeys—how I briefly became Kansas City’s Jackie the Ripper with my White Rose letter jacket, more depth on my experiences through the Doors, the dragon living in my mother’s laboratory, and other things—had been a great feeling, too.
Because something many people didn’t understand was that there were two levels to a story. Much like the part of the iceberg visible above the ocean’s surface was one level of a story—the factual side. But the gargantuan size of the iceberg below the surface was the real meat of a story—the emotional side.
Put another way, the bricks of a story—the facts—were held together by messy, goopy mortar—the emotions. Without that sloppy gunk, you just had a tower of loose rocks.
And since Richard and Solomon had stepped away, we had nothing better to do. Well, I had one thing I needed to do, but I needed Richard’s help to do it.
I’d approached this whole mess in Kansas City too timidly. I’d been running around everywhere demanding answers—like a rookie level policeman trying to put a report together so that he could fill out the paperwork and set it on his boss’ desk and clock out for the day.
Like trying to learn martial arts by only watching fights from the audience or on a TV.
There was a time and place for that type of learning, but it was usually only after you’d stepped into the ring a time or two and bloodied your nose. A way to add some perspective to your wounds.
To truly learn the thing, you needed to do the thing.
There was no substitute for a good punch to the jaw to really deliver an understanding of the nature of fighting to one’s basal ganglia. So far, I’d been screaming and hollering at the TV, complaining when my fighter lost, yelling at the referees, cursing out the opponent.
But it had really been the time to act. To get punched in the jaw. To spit out some blood, tongue my loose tooth, and grin through a bloody maw at my enemy as I climbed back to my feet with my fists up.
Because I had a piece of work ahead of me, and no amount of planning was going to get the job done.
My fight with Eae and Arthur had firmly put me in the Shepherds’ bad graces. I really didn’t see a point in seeking out the First Shepherd anyway, even if I could, but it wasn’t going to make my job any easier, either. My real problem was with Roland and his Dracula obsession. Whether he intended an alliance of some kind or to harm Dracula in some way—robbery or murder—didn’t really matter. Both resulted in dire consequences for my city.
I saw Richard walk through a different set of tall doors to reenter the balcony alone, Solomon nowhere in sight. I closed my eyes for a moment, focusing. Then I opened them again to smile as he approached, shoving the object Claire had given me into the back of my jeans. I didn’t ask where she’d gotten it, but she had to have stolen it since she’d arrived here naked. I guess that also meant she’d stolen it from me, in a way.
“Is he okay?” I asked as he slowed a few paces away from us, probably wondering why we looked all splotchy and sticky. Rituals were messy and he was wise enough not to comment on or question questions about the dark arts of sister-craft.
“Sleeping,” he answered tiredly. “He’s getting worse. I’m not sure how much time he has left, to be honest.”
I’d assumed as much, judging by the thorns poking out from his flesh. Claire was giving me a stern look. “He will be fine for a few more days. I’m sure of it.”
Richard narrowed his eyes at me. “Care to elaborate?” he asked, his voice strained.
“My mother left a journal that talked about the ward she used. I’ll need to study it, but I know for a fact he has at least three or four days. I’ll take care of him well before then or arrange for him to be taken care of if I’m unable to make it back in time,” I promised. “Don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to him, Richard. But I need you to drop it. Now.”
He clicked his mouth shut stubbornly, but finally gave me a stiff nod. “Okay.”
“I need your help. And I need you to not ask me any questions about it.”
He looked up sharply, considering the serious look on my face. “What would you have me do?” he asked, not necessarily answering me. I waited patiently, arching a brow at him. He finally sighed, rolling his eyes. “Okay. No questions other than that,” he finally muttered.
“Who’s a good boy? Dandy lion is a good boy! Yes he is!” Claire cooed in her old veterinarian voice—the one she had used for sick pets before and after their check-ups.
Richard curled a lip at her. “What I would do for a Klondike bar right now.”
Claire laughed, clapping her hands. “Nice.”
He grunted with a satisfied look on his face before turning back to me. “So?”
“I need to visit the Armory. Right now. I need to do a little therapy shopping.”
His smile evaporated, replaced by a sickly grimace. “That’s…dangerous,” he finally said.
I nodded, climbing to my feet. “I’m counting on it. But when a lady needs to shop, she doesn’t need to do it tomorrow,” I said, already walking towards him with purposeful strides.
He raked a hand through his hair, muttering something under his breath. “Follow me, I guess,” he finally mumbled dryly. “But you’re not allowed to go alone.”
Claire piped up immediately. “Oh, I’m coming, too. I don’t care—”
I held up a hand, cutting them both off. I took a moment to consider my plan. Finally, I turned to Claire. “I need you to stay here in case Phix wakes up. She might know something useful.” She opened her mouth to protest—that Richard should be the one to stay behind since he had been caring for Phix anyway and knew the Temple better than anyone—but I used my womanly laser eyes to let her know it hadn’t been a request. That I needed her—specifically—here, and that I wasn’t able to explain why in front of the drooling man-creature behind me.
She let out her breath in a huff, nodding begrudgingly. “Fine, but I’m waiting by the door,” she muttered.
I smiled gratefully, turning back to Richard. “Lead on…Dandy lion.”
His glare darkened and he nodded stiffly, sensing that something significant had just transpired, and that he hadn’t been a part of it—even though he had seemingly won the sidekick lottery to join me on my shopping trip.
The two of us followed the lion like lionesses.
“About you somehow casting this demon disguise upon yourself but not remembering it,” Richard said, conversationally. “That’s probably significant.”
I nodded absently, studying the halls he led us through. “Probably.”
He glanced over his shoulder at my blasé response. “You had to have a very good reason to make yourself forget what you did, and why you did it.”
I nodded, still studying the walls. It really was a beautiful place. “Probably.”
His shoulders bristled at my clipped tone and another seemingly unconcerned answer.
“And I don’t understand how your mother spelled the Seal to redirect you to her rooms. It should have been impossible to do such a thing. No spell can tie itself to this place. Well, Nate Temple’s Armory is tied here, but he is leasing a secluded part of the Temple from us. We just placed an access door for him inside Chateau Falco—which is about the second safest place on the planet, I would ima
gine.”
I nodded distractedly, studying a room full of statues—a ridiculous number of them. “And look at where we’re going,” I mused, as if speaking to myself, still not meeting his eyes.
I could practically feel Claire grinning behind me, and from the look on Richard’s face in my peripheral vision, he could see her amused grin, too.
He grunted angrily, his bare feet slapping the marble floor tiles a little louder than before. I smiled to myself, holding out a hand behind my back in the universal stop gesture to discourage Claire from antagonizing him more than I already was.
We passed a library of sorts, shelves climbing at least three stories, and I saw that the far end of the room featured a pair of wide glass doors stretching all the way to the ceiling to let in light—or fresh air when opened. Tubs, baskets, and barrels packed loosely with scrolls filled one corner of the room, but we were already striding past it before I could discern anything else.
“What do you know about Dracula?” I asked casually. He glanced back at me, frowning. I knew Claire had kept Dracula’s name out of her story when catching them up to speed, so I wasn’t concerned about him reading too deeply into it. I pointed at the library we had just passed and shrugged. “Figured this place must have metric tons of documents, studies, relics, and other snippets of information. Solomon was known as a wise man.” I indicated the obviously elaborate halls, the exquisite marble, the priceless paintings hanging from the walls. “Wisdom pays well.”
He nodded slowly, turning to walk backwards. “Solomon likes to collect information. What did you want to know?”
I shrugged. “Just a thought that crossed my mind, what with all this vampire drama on my plate. Other than sucking blood from helpless humans, what other trouble did he get into?”
Feathers and Fire Series Box Set 2 Page 76