by E. A. Copen
Sal rubbed his forehead. “He challenged me. As the defending party, it’s my right to take a short delay and let him sweat. Besides, haven’t you known enough Indians now to know we suck at keeping time?”
The joke was reassuring. This was the Sal I was more familiar with. He was back in control, but the faint glow that still touched his normally honey-brown irises told me the wolf was still inside, and close to the surface, watching and waiting for his chance to take over.
I nodded and hugged him again. “I’m fine,” he promised me, kissing the top of my head. “When you walk out of here, I need you to say that I’m fine. Not with words but with action.”
Speak without words, I thought in Chanter’s voice, though the words were a memory and not the whisper of a ghost.
I looked down at the wet marks streaking down my shirt. “I don’t think this is going to send that message.”
Sal stripped off the black t-shirt he wore and held it out to me. Sal’s shirt had been tight enough on him that it did wonderfully interesting things to his chest and arms, but I would be swimming in it. He was a little more than a foot taller than me and easily had a hundred and fifty pounds on me. The shirt would go almost to my knees. At least it wasn’t a V-neck, which meant I didn’t have to show my chest off to everyone.
I tugged off the wet t-shirt and tossed it at him. When I caught Sal staring, I gave him a mock scolding glare. “You could’ve turned around, you know.”
“So could you,” he answered with a tired grin.
Knowing that he was going to be all right, at least for now, I went back outside.
The air held the evening cool and the faint hint of ozone, the promise of a storm. Gray clouds had rolled in low and heavy, roiling one against another. There was no thunder or lightning just yet, but I caught the earthy smell of rain on the wind.
Valentino’s El Camino had pulled in behind my car. Judging by the car seat in the back, Nina had driven. Ed’s moped was parked beside my Firebird.
For the first time, looking out over the cars, I considered what an odd choice Ed was for Valentino’s second. Why had he picked the lowest ranking member in the pack? He could have chosen Nina and had a stronger standing. As far as I knew, Ed and Valentino’s relationship was strained at best. Valentino had always pushed Ed, trying to make a more passive werewolf into the killing beast he thought all werewolves ought to be. It wasn’t in poor Ed, and there was a streak in him that probably resented Valentino for it. I knew Ed was still mad at me for Mara’s disappearance and for getting both of his legs broken. Ed could hold a grudge. Maybe the choice was a dig at me, or maybe the two had suddenly become allies while I wasn’t looking.
But it was Shauna I had to deal with first. She stood at the bottom stair of the porch, arms crossed, just daring me to try to pass without talking to her.
“Sal is fine. He’ll be out in a minute. He’s doing some mental prep,” I told her.
Her eyes traveled down me and back up. “Mental prep,” she said and snorted. “If he’d think half as much with the head on his shoulders instead of the one between his legs, we’d all be better off.”
“He seems stable.”
“For now,” she said, shrugging. “The wolf side likes being angry. Likes the hunt, the kill, the challenge. Anything the wolf deems is his, he will protect.” She looked me up and down again. “You and Hunter, especially.”
“I don’t belong to anyone,” I snapped.
Her eyes lit up. “Everyone belongs to someone.”
“Does that include you?”
Shauna showed me her teeth. “I belong to the pack first. Regardless of how this fight ends, I know Sal is the better man. I would follow him through fire. Would you?”
“I’d never let him walk through it in the first place,” I said, narrowing my eyes.
Her newfound devotion to Sal had struck a nerve. I knew what she was asserting, that this wasn’t my place. Pack bonds would always be stronger than anything I had with Sal. If he had to choose between the pack and me, Shauna expected him to choose the pack. She was wrong. Sal wouldn’t ever have to make that choice. Should it ever come to that, I would walk away before the notion ever occurred to him. Not because I didn’t care for Sal, but because the pack needed him more than I did. That truth wouldn’t make it hurt any less, but I would do it just the same.
“An idealist,” Shauna snorted. “You think you can save everyone, don’t you? All hail Judah, the conquering hero. Whatever would we do without you?”
“I don’t know what your problem with me is, Shauna, but I think it can wait for another time. There’s enough tension here tonight as it is.”
“This is my pack. Sal is my alpha.” She shook her head vigorously, and the move reminded me of a dog shaking off water. “If that’s clear, you and I don’t have a problem.”
Nina came around the side of the house with Leo toddling along beside her. She still hadn’t put on any makeup. She wore her long, beautiful black hair down. Her clothes were rumpled, and two nails chipped and broken. I noticed for the first time that she had very faint freckles on her sun-bronzed cheeks.
“Where is he?” she said, blinking bloodshot eyes.
“Busy,” Shauna growled and stepped between Nina and me.
Nina’s eyes went gold and she snapped at Shauna, who snarled back, a bold move against the highest-ranking female in the pack. If Leo hadn’t started to cry, the two of them might have broken into a fight. Instead, Nina bent down, picked up her son, and stood rigid.
“I only wanted to talk with him about the funeral arrangements,” she said.
“Wanted to come rile him up, more like,” Shauna grunted.
“Contrary to popular belief, I love my cousin, Shauna. This fight pleases me even less than it does you.”
Somehow, I doubted that. Everyone knew Nina was behind Valentino, pushing him to challenge Sal. She’d been sore he wasn’t in the top spot from the beginning.
“You know the custom,” Shauna answered, raising her chin. “If you wanted to speak with him, you should have advised your husband to withhold his challenge.”
“I am not my husband’s keeper,” Nina spat and then glared past Shauna at me. “And none of this would have happened if she hadn’t gotten involved.”
“Silencio, Nina,” said Valentino from behind his wife. He strode up and lifted Leo out of her arms without protest. “Shauna is right. That discussion can wait for another time. Let’s deal with the problem at hand before creating another.” He planted a kiss on his crying son’s forehead, a rare public gesture of affection, and then handed Leo back to his mom. “If you want to help, go and check the torches, eh?”
Nina tucked Leo’s swinging feet under her arm and cradled his head before turning and leaving in a huff. Valentino gave Shauna an unusually formal bob of his head and turned to follow his family.
I turned to Shauna. “Torches?”
“If you’re going to hang around, you need to learn more about our customs.” She gestured toward the back of the house. “This isn’t a dog fight. It’s sacred, a tradition that goes back hundreds, if not thousands of years. There are rules and roles for all of us. It’s not something that either Sal or Valentino took on lightly.”
“Do you do this every time someone wants up a rung on the werewolf ladder?” I asked, coming to stand beside her.
“Vampires have ladders,” she corrected. “We have a pack. All of us have a place in it, but only one can be the alpha. Only one has the strength of mind and body to lead.” She paused as if she were waiting for me to say something. When it became clear I didn’t have anything to say, she continued. “Chanter brought Sal in long before Valentino or any of the rest of us. When Nina brought Valentino back, Valentino was forced to submit to the two wolves already in power, Chanter and Sal. But there’s always been a rivalry there. At one time, Valentino might have bested Sal for the spot if he could have kept his temper in check, but his brother kept him distracted enough he never wanted it. Th
is is Nina’s doing.”
I studied Shauna’s face. “If Nina wants the top spot, why doesn’t she challenge Sal?”
“Because she can’t match him for strength. She could win the mind game. She’s proven that. Both she and I know that I would be the top female if I wasn’t mated to Daphne.” Shauna gave a smug smile.
“I don’t understand. If you’re stronger, why aren’t you higher in rank?”
Shauna gave a smooth but bitter laugh. “Because Daphne is... Well, I suppose the term that might make the most sense to you would be submissive, but that word fails to grasp the entirety of it. There’s also the fact that werewolf packs aren’t the most progressive groups in the world. The Silvermoon pack is more open than most, but you’d be hard-pressed to find a gay or lesbian werewolf ranking high in any pack, especially with people like Nina and Valentino around. They’re not exactly open-minded. The point is, I’m mated to Daphne, and that means, even if I’m stronger, I should bow to Nina for now because it’s what’s best for the pack. A day’s coming where that’s going to change. Not yet. Someday.” She closed her eyes and tilted her head to the side. “But I’m content to be where I am today. I would gain nothing by making the challenge. Nothing but enemies.”
When she opened her eyes, the tension had lessened in her face. She just looked tired.
“Why did Valentino choose Ed as his second?” I asked her. “Does that even matter?”
Shauna nodded solemnly. “Of course. Rules and roles, like I said. Ed and me, our job is going to be to make sure those get followed. The second is responsible for that, preparation, clean up. If either one of them decides to walk away before the fight is done, it’s our sacred duty as his second to rip out his throat.”
I winced.
“So,” Shauna continued, not noticing my reaction, “choosing Ed—Ed, who would never do that—was Valentino’s way of saying he didn’t plan on backing down, I suppose. What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” I answered quickly.
“You should go around back.”
I looked up at her. “You’re not coming?”
She shook her head. “My job is to stand guard and to appear with him, just as Valentino and Ed will do. I expect it won’t be long now. If you want a front-row seat, better go and get it.”
Shauna was right. It wouldn’t do for me to walk out with Sal, not as someone who wasn’t part of the pack. All that would do was generate even more animosity toward me. I nodded to Shauna and walked around the house the way Nina and Valentino had gone.
The back of Chanter’s house had a cement patio, a shed, and some basic lawn furniture. Someone had taken the time to stack all the furniture next to the shed and out of the way. Beyond, the small crowd of onlookers milled around. The Kings were there in force, some of whom I hadn’t even been introduced to yet. Daphne and Nina, being the only members of the pack who weren’t involved in the upcoming event, moved among them. Daphne sat on the ground with Leo, her hand over his, showing him how to shake a wooden rattle. The rattle had been painted in bands of red, gold, and orange. The top was a piercing shade of blue and bore a yellow moon and the head of a white wolf. Nina paced close by, arms over her chest, ever watchful over Leo even among friends.
I took a step and paused as the crowd of leather-clad bikers parted. Istaqua and Bran stood off to the side of the shed, their prisoners kneeling, gagged, and bound. Bran’s sword wasn’t drawn, but he stood gripping the sheath in one hand so that it was at the ready should he need it.
When I saw them, I changed course. Istaqua turned his head as I approached, the look on his face one of boredom. The corners of his mouth turned up slightly. “Ah, speak of the bitch, and she will appear.”
“I’m nobody’s bitch,” I spat back and leaned in, lowering my voice so that only Istaqua, Bran, and I (and presumably the prisoners) could hear. “And whatever your game is, you don’t get to win it. Sal is done being your pawn.”
Istaqua’s smile widened into a snake’s grin. “Is that so? Did he send you with the message, girl? Or did you think that up yourself.”
I didn’t answer him, so he stepped out from behind his prisoners and started circling me. I didn’t move. Istaqua wasn’t the first to try that trick, walking around me with judging eyes, sizing me up, thinking about how many bites it would take to chew through me. He wasn’t near as scary as he thought he was. Coyotes weren’t half the predator a wolf was.
They were, however, faster and I misjudged his intent. When he paced around behind me, he was a good five or six feet away, too far to be within arm’s reach. If he made a move, I should have had plenty of warning to counter. Had he been a werewolf, his body language would have betrayed him first.
He jumped forward on the balls of his feet and back, more like a playground bully throwing out taunts than a monster trying to eat me. I jerked back and he smiled, pleased at my reaction. The second time he moved, I stood firm, determined not to let him think I was afraid of him. It was the wrong move. Istaqua dove forward. I thought he was going for a tackle and shifted right. At the last second, he threw himself into a graceful roll that took him through the narrow space of desert between his prisoners. When he came up, he was holding the silver chain bearing Chanter’s feather and talon. My hand went instinctively to my chest even though reason should have told me there couldn’t be two of those and I wasn’t seeing things.
Istaqua lifted the necklace above his head, his nostrils flaring as he sniffed at it. Then he lowered the feather into his mouth.
“Hey!” I shouted, and several of the Kings turned our way to see what was going on, though none intervened.
“Did you know,” he said after pulling the feather back out of his mouth and smacking his lips, “that both Coyote and Raven were tricksters in the old stories? Of course, Coyote was often depicted as a sort of folk villain, bearing the brunt of the story’s lesson. And Raven… Raven just had a twisted and dark sense of humor. People today do not remember Raven, not like they do Coyote.”
I pushed past the two kneeling men and reached for the necklace but Istaqua jerked it higher. He had me when it came to height, and short of climbing up his arm, there was no way I was getting it. Restrained laughter came from behind me as I stretched and stood up on my tiptoes to get it.
Istaqua’s unbearable smirk widened, and he lowered it after I gave it a few tries. When I grabbed the chain, he danced behind me in such a way that it tightened against my throat. I had to let it go or let him wrap my neck in it. Istaqua leaned down and sniffed my hair. “Without your werewolf pet here to protect you, you’re just another pretty face, aren’t you? Does he own you, or do you own him? Which is it? It cannot be both.” His hand came down on my shoulder.
I brought my elbow back against his nose with a loud crack. The old-timer stumbled back, his head lifted toward the sky and spurting blood. He left his head up and pinched it with a hiss of pain.
“Touch me again, old-timer, and I’ll break more than your nose.”
Chanter’s back yard grew silent.
The coyote shifter grinned at me, showing bloody teeth. “What does a woman have in common with a horse?”
I ignored him and bent over to pick up the chain he’d dropped in favor of stopping his bleeding nose. The feather was damp and coated in dust, but that was all the damage he’d done.
“Both are only useful if you can ride them.” Istaqua chuckled at his own joke. “You have the horse spirit in you. Too wild for your own good. Like a horse, you’ll only know your true potential once someone breaks you.”
I closed my fist around the necklace. “Anytime you want to try that again, feel free. I’ve got more where that first one came from.”
He took his hand away from his nose and spat again. The blood had already begun to clot. “Did I say I would break you? That’d be a waste of my time. Perhaps you have the raw talent, but you waste it breaking old men’s noses. Such energy would be better suited to something more fun…like fireballs.”
I had no idea what he was talking about. It seemed he’d slipped into that strange mode of speaking old Indians often fell into. The twinkle in his right eye, though made it seem as if he was laughing at a joke I didn’t get.
“Stay the fuck away from me,” I growled and stomped away.
The rest of the Kings wisely paid me no mind as I stormed past them only to come to a sudden halt when I reached a drop off that had not been there before. The sandy desert had been dug out, the dirt gathered into a pile around it to form a mound. The walls of the pit were practically sheer ninety-degree angles until the bottom where they sloped into a circle. It was maybe thirty feet in diameter, the center of it marked with a cross of stones.
I looked out over the pit. It was clearly marked with oil-burning torches. While I’d been confronting Istaqua, Nina had begun walking around the circle, lighting the torches with a long stick that held a small fire on the end.
Rules and roles, Shauna had said. This is sacred. Standing on the edge of the circle, I finally understood what she meant.
Almost all traditions of magick have the circle in common. The circle is a symbol of perfection and order, called upon by practitioners to serve as both a barrier and a buffer between magick and bystanders. Any circle could be powered, from the pit in front of me to a hula hoop, if enough of the right conditions were met. Powering a circle usually meant shedding blood. The more blood used, the more powerful the circle was, and the more you could do with it. But make a circle, charge it and leave it open, and it creates a strange vacuum of power. Most people wandering into a powered but open circle just get a jolt of uneasiness or exhilaration—depending on who had made the circle and for what purpose. They’d move on without any ill effects. Because I was blessed with sensitivity to auras and the flow of magick in general, stepping into such a circle would make me light-headed and nauseous, maybe give me a headache. It was a form of sensory overload.