“We need to put out a call. All the sigils must be retrieved immediately. Even your sire’s, regardless of whether or not you decide to stay.”
“You think?” Roc shook his head at Zaek. As if they could just ignore the threat the sigils posed. “Except my sire, in his ultimate wisdom, didn’t wait till I returned from my little walkabout. He passed it off to his human friend and went to ground. The son of a bitch couldn’t even say goodbye, good luck, don’t fuck-up and get lynched, Roc.”
Why Petronus entrusted something so valuable to their human friend, foolishly assuming the mortal would still be alive when Roc returned from his voyage, he would never know. Petronus was well aware of how short a human’s life span was.
Because he stopped giving a shit. And like most of his kind, Petronus long ago lost hope of being rescued. Honestly, he couldn’t blame them. A millennium was a long time even for a Khargal.
“Fuck,” Zaek growled, his expression darkening.
“Believe it or not, I’ve been looking, but shit is not that easy.” Roc stood and started pacing the living room. “My sire’s friend was rather…prolific. Do you know how many descendants one human can have, and who’s to say they even kept the sigil in the family?” Roc shook his head and snarled. “I should’ve come back home sooner. If I had known…”
The sigil was one of the reasons he traveled the world collecting art and antiquities. He’d acquired multiple fortunes, yet that one relic eluded him. In the past he wanted it because it was the first beautiful thing he coveted. The desire remained, but now there was added impetus.
“I have been working on a tracker to trace the origin of the frequency the beacon operates on. That’s why I was out when you…arrived. I needed parts. It may take me a few days to finish, but I am close.”
“I don’t have a few days, do I? They could find Petronus before then,” Roc pointed out, waving at the television even though it was no longer playing the news story.
“Then you need to go. Find your sire, and that sigil.”
“And save the world.” Roc finished the statement with a cheeky grin.
“You are an idiot,” Zaek muttered with an exasperated eye roll.
Roc’s grin widened when his friend chuckled under his breath as they headed toward the door. This was serious business, but a bit of comic relief was never a bad thing.
“Be safe. And do not fail.” Zaek slapped him on the back as he nodded farewell.
Yeah, don’t fail. Roc sighed, partially hardened his skin and leapt into the air.
meline
“Yes, sir, the Bora Bora seven-night, all-inclusive, oceanfront bungalow package does include the snorkeling and spa treatments you asked for. I’ve also reserved your private dinner and catamaran cruise on your anniversary. The price I quoted you is with the first-class airfare and transport from the airport to the resort,” she explained to the caller.
Meline tried not to choke when the man used his debit card to pay for the twenty-grand vacation and it actually cleared without a hitch, when half the time she had to check her balance to buy a latte at the café around the corner.
Which I’m now wearing on my blouse. She scowled as she looked down at her stained shirt.
“I hope you enjoy your vacation, Mr. Carter, and again, happy anniversary,” she reiterated, then hung up and pulled off her headset.
It was hard to not be jealous of whoever was married to that man. She’d kill for a surprise trip to Tahiti.
Hell, I’d kill for a surprise trip to Albuquerque. But the only way anything that exciting was going to happen to her was if men in ski masks showed up in a blacked-out van. She snorted at the depressing thought then stifled it. Don’t bitch. You’re going on your own adventure.
“When do you leave?” Jennifer asked when she pulled off her headset.
“Tomorrow. At the crack of dawn.”
“I can’t believe you’re driving to Quebec.” Jen shook her head.
“I just figured that would be the easiest way to see everything.” Meline shrugged.
“I wish I was taking two weeks off to travel,” her friend said wistfully.
Meline shut off her computer and looked around the travel agency. She’d gotten a job there hoping she’d get a good deal on trips and see the world, instead she stared at glossy posters of places she still couldn’t afford to visit.
“It’s not like I’m going on a tour of Europe, Jen.”
“No, but I hear that Old Quebec is almost the same.”
“Either way it’ll be good. I just wish my dad could go.” Meline frowned as she thought of her parents.
This was really a trip her mom and dad had planned. Their ancestors were founding families of Quebec, alongside Samuel de Champlain. Supposedly there was even a statue featuring her umpteenth great-grandfather and grandmother.
“Crap, I keep forgetting you’re not just going to sight see. I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing. It’s been a year since their wreck,” Meline chastised her friend.
The trip felt all the more important now that her parents had joined the ranks of their ancestors. God rest their souls.
“You sure there’s not enough money left over from selling their house for you to make a jaunt across the Atlantic?” Jennifer wagged her brows.
“Um no.” Once she paid for their funerals and settled her parents’ estate, there was just enough to take this trip.
At first she debated moving out of her little condo and keeping the house. But without her parents in it, the place just felt weird. It was almost like someone else was there. Occasionally she even thought things had been moved, but that was just crazy. As good a friend as Jennifer was, Meline still wasn’t about to admit she thought the house was haunted. Either way, selling it was the smart choice. She couldn’t move on with the constant reminder that her parents were no longer there.
“Well, girl, the French accent isn’t as sexy as a Scottish one, but it ranks up there. There’s still a chance to mark ‘torrid affair with a foreign god’ off your bucket list.”
“Stop!” Meline laughed.
She glanced at her reflection in the computer monitor and groaned at the way her brown hair hung flat over her shoulders and how washed out her complexion was.
Ugh. Yeah, like that’s gonna happen.
There was nothing glamorous about her life, from her job in a cubicle and forgettable appearance, right down to her genealogy-inspired vacation. And the saddest thing was that she was actually excited to see where her long-forgotten family had walked the Earth. It was no wonder she hadn’t attracted a man, let alone one willing to drop twenty thousand on a trip.
Oh well.
“I better get going. I still need to review my itinerary and finish packing.” She smiled and grabbed her purse.
“Send me a postcard,” Jen hollered as Meline headed for the elevator.
2
Roc
“Come on, Petronus, wake up, dammit,” Roc hissed as he wandered the dark archaeological site beneath the boardwalk of Chateau Frontenac.
He’d been here every evening since returning from Zaek’s, but his sire hadn’t made the slightest indication of rousing. And the situation was worse than he imagined. Not only was the park service excavating the old governor’s mansion, they’d turned the whole place into a tourist spectacle. Petronus was going to get left behind. Or worse, wind up the prime feature on the nightly news if he didn’t wake the fuck up.
“Did you hear me? The beacon is live. It’s time for your grumpy tail to go home.”
Roc’s heightened vision made it easy to see in the dark, yet he couldn’t make out where his sire was. He’d canvassed every inch of this place and there wasn’t a single Khargal-shaped rocky outcropping. The closest he’d come to finding a promising spot was the section of an exterior wall that still lay half buried. He couldn’t be certain why he was drawn to it. Was Petronus entombed somewhere in there, or were his memories as a youth of watching the bustling mansi
on from afar making him fixate on the location he recognized? 1640 was a long time ago, and yet sometimes it felt like yesterday.
I guess none of it matters if I don’t find that sigil. Roc pictured half of Canada going up in a blaze of glory. Sacrament, he cursed.
“Wake up and help me find the damn thing before a lot of people get hurt,” he growled at the rocky wall.
Voices near the cavern entrance silenced his tirade. The guard should’ve already locked up the site since it was past dusk. As he crept toward the gate, it seemed like every pebble shifting under his boots echoed off the walls. His heightened hearing made it seem louder than it probably was. Still, he didn’t want to alert anyone to his presence. Roc knelt and peered through the bars.
“I’m sorry, the Chateau Saint-Louis excavation is closed for the night,” the guard explained to a group of tourists.
“Okay, thanks.” One couple walked away.
“Well, shoot. I thought I read that you have extended hours? I was really hoping I’d get here in time,” a soft-spoken woman replied, sounding frustrated.
Roc couldn’t see much of her besides a white sweater and blue-striped skirt past the guard, but the way her shoulders slumped, she was obviously disappointed.
“The site will open again at nine.”
“I guess I’ll have to come back. I’ll have more time to look around anyway. My family’s from Quebec. Louis Hébert was my ancestor,” she replied.
Half of Canada is related to that man at this point. Roc snorted then stifled it and looked wide-eyed at the group, certain he’d betrayed his presence, but no one acted any the wiser.
“Welcome home then, madame,” the guard said in a chipper voice that made Roc roll his eyes.
“Thank you,” the skirt chuckled, obviously charmed by the man’s cheesy reception. “I guess I was overly excited to get the sightseeing started. One of my great grandfathers, Nicolas Peltier, supposedly worked on this building in the 1640s and built the roof of Notre Dame de Quebec. It’s kind of exciting getting to see the places he wrote about in his diary.”
Roc froze hearing the name from his youth. He was barely a teen when his parents fled France in search of a safer place to raise him. They had arrived in Quebec just as the roof of Notre Dame was being built. The virgin city wasn’t nearly as crowded as the Old World. The new cathedral, while a pale comparison to its namesake in Paris, was the tallest monument in the city, so that’s where they went late their first day on dry land. Roc recalled the burning resentment and shame as he was relegated to the shadows wearing the cape he always donned to hide his less than normal appearance while his human mother kept watch for locals. Just because there’d been a few mishaps in France as he learned to camouflage himself and take to the skies… How was he supposed to learn? After all, wasn’t this why they’d forsaken civilization for the barren New World?
As angry as he was for not being allowed to go with his sire to scout out their new home, he was still in awe as Petronus appeared to meld with the stone then scaled the church wall. Petronus had the broadest wings and could fly for hours carrying him and his mother without getting winded. Roc intently studied the way his sire fearlessly walked along the parapet of the lofty height, his tail swaying like a counterbalance. It was such a simple feat, and yet one he himself couldn’t accomplish. His mother claimed his agility would return once he stopped growing and eating everything in sight, and it had, but her kind words had made him feel even more like a babe.
They’d thought all the craftsmen had gone home for the night, but a lone man rounded the half-built spire and came face to face with his sire. The human lost his footing and with arms flailing, tumbled off the precarious ledge. Roc still remembered the feeling of relief when Petronus swooped in, saving the man from certain death. He’d seen enough death when they fled their old home to last a lifetime, most of it by Petronus’ hand. To this day Roc wondered why his sire risked exposing them again by rescuing the human. Undoubtedly his mother’s influence had softened the Khargal’s stony exterior. Luckily from that day on, Nicolas Peltier was a true friend, keeping their secret safe. And he was the only man Petronus would’ve trusted with his sigil before going to ground.
“That’s neat that you traced your family back that far,” another tourist commented about the skirt’s brief story.
“Thank you. Well, I guess I’ll be back,” the woman sighed and headed off.
Roc realized he better follow her. She’d mentioned something about Nicolas having a journal, which was news to him. This was the best lead on the sigil he’d had in ages, and couldn’t let it slip through his fingers.
Before the moment passed him by, he sprinted to the rear exit and raced up the stairs, emerging on the boardwalk, without bothering to reseal the gate. The brisk evening breeze rolled over the Saint Lawrence River and whipped up the hillside, threatening to blow off his hat and expose his horns as he darted across the deck toward Chateau Frontenac. He flanked the imposing edifice, sticking to the shadows as he neared the other entrance of the excavation site.
Dammit! Where is she?
Roc panned the terrace surrounding the stately hotel. He snarled in frustration when he saw none of the people milling around the statue of Champlain were her. She couldn’t have gone that far. He ran alongside the hotel, toward the main road, ‘til he caught a wisp of blue and white entering the nearby park.
“It would be so much easier to follow her by air,” he grumbled as she disappeared among the trees. The sun had set but this was a popular tourist spot, so flying was far from wise.
He kept to the sidewalk as he skirted the park. His frustration grew when she headed down a narrow cobblestone footpath between a row of shops and a small church. He shook his head as he eyed the old narrow road.
“I can’t follow her down there without looking like a grade-A stalker. And even if I don’t give her a heart attack, what am I gonna say? Hey, I know I just followed you down this dark alley, but I was eavesdropping on your conversation about your family and wondered if you’d follow me to a bar for a chat,” he muttered sarcastically under his breath as he pictured the girl running for her life when she saw him coming down the alley.
But if he went the long way around, he was sure to lose her. She was a brunette, and that was the sum of what he knew about the chance descendent of Nicolas. He hadn’t even caught a glimpse of her face yet.
I blame you for this bullshit, he cursed his sire.
Tourist hotspot or not, he really didn’t have a choice. Roc glanced up at the metal rooftops on the shops and then around him. Seeing no one nearby, he pulled off his trench coat and tossed it aside. There went another jacket. At least he had sense enough to get his suits tailored for situations like this. He closed his eyes as he released his wings, letting the strange sensation roll over him as they unfurled and swiftly filled with blood. It always felt bizarre when the two large pinions emerged from his back. Surely none of the purebreds had this issue.
Roc launched himself into the air, hugging the stone wall till he reached the rooftop. He skimmed along the peak as he followed his quarry. Roc landed on the far edge and peered down at her as she neared the end of the block. The woman stopped and looked around.
Shit! He froze when she glanced up, shifting his duramna to blend in to the shadows.
meline
Meline batted her hair from her face as the wind whipped it about. Her hotel was only a few blocks from the archaeological site, but she should’ve had her head examined for walking alone after dark in a strange city.
When it was still light, she’d been in awe of how much the historic city looked like Europe, just as Jen said. She’d been absurdly excited when she parked her car and registered at the quaint old hotel situated at the end of a stone rowhouse. The pictures she googled hadn’t prepared her for being immersed in a place nothing like Connecticut, surrounded by people speaking another language. It was oddly nostalgic, like a part of her was home, and made her feel continental, as if su
ch a thing could rub off from just visiting a place.
But as she walked back to her hotel, peering down the ancient side streets and up at the dimly lit buildings, the history the city oozed had taken on an ominous air. She could swear she was being watched, like the ghosts of the past were coming out now the sun had gone down.
Why didn’t I just wait till tomorrow? Her excitement to start exploring the instant she arrived would be her downfall.
Meline turned her gaze away from the dark rooftop of the nearby building. The shadows played tricks, making it look like someone stood there. She shivered, pulled her sweater tighter and picked up the pace. Her hotel was in sight. Her Mary Jane’s struck the pavers in a rapid rhythm, reflecting her breathing, as she hustled down the block. The moment she made it through the heavy red door, she leaned against it and exhaled in relief.
Safe!
By the time she mounted the old wooden staircase to the top floor, entered her room and flipped on the light, the goosebumps on her arms had gone away. As a woman, she knew better than to walk around alone at night. She never would’ve at home.
Just because you’re on vacation doesn’t mean you abandon all rules of common sense, she admonished herself as she locked the door. She’d been way too serious lately and decided to take a little break from herself while on vacation. But that didn’t mean being reckless.
The hotel was too cute, with only a few rooms on each level. As small as the inn was, she was pleasantly surprised she had her own bathroom. Many hotels like this shared facilities, not that she had firsthand knowledge. The couple who ran the place had done a great job. Although her room wasn’t filled with décor half as old as the building, the art deco furniture and bohemian cabaret painting hanging over the bed made it feel stylish and warm.
“I guess my adventure begins in the morning,” she sighed, only slightly put out, as she stared at the sleepy buildings outside the window. From the safety of her room the old city didn’t look quite as daunting as it had moments ago.
Hard as Rock Page 2