Lunar Secrets 653c3u

LUNAR SECRETS

From The Case Files Of The Dead CIA

Montgomery Monette/Lori Hess

Copyright © 2012 by Montgomery Monette/Lori Hess.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012922063 ISBN: Hardcover Softcover Ebook

978-1-4797-5452-6 978-1-4797-5451-9 978-1-4797-5453-3

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

To order additional copies of this book, : Xlibris Corporation 1-888-795-4274 www.Xlibris.com [email protected] 121609

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Epilogue

Glossary

Acknowledgements

So many people have helped this book become a reality, that we couldn’t name all of them. So, this book is dedicated to:

The folks in Belcourt, ND. The folks in the SLC, UT metro area. The folks in Lincoln, NE. And everyone who read “Old Friends!”

PROLOGUE

“Do some reconnaissance. See if you can pick up his trail.”

The bar was small and quiet, just across the US-Canadian line. Not a dive, but not a high-end t either. Just a bar, like any other in either country. The door swung open, and a statuesque woman with silver-gilt blonde hair walked in, flanked by two other women. All three were beautiful, even in jeans and loose T-shirts. All three moved with quiet, feral grace. They walked over to a table by the emergency exit, where a man and a woman sat over beers and sandwiches. He rose to his feet. One of his hands was swathed in bandages; marks like burns ran into his black-and-silver hair line. His blue eyes were cracked slate; his face lined with pain and desperation. “Laylah.” His voice was as broken as his body. “We didn’t expect you to come personally.” The silver-gilt blonde sighed at him. “I wouldn’t delegate this, Arden.” The waitress came up. “May I get you anything?” she asked. “Not just now,” Laylah said politely. Her gold-flecked brown eyes were on the fourth woman at the table, a lithe brunette, with red-rimmed eyes and a gaunt, shattered look. After the waitress left, the blonde leaned over and hugged her. “Cammie,” she murmured softly. “Oh, Cammie. What happened?” “He wandered off,” Cammie said numbly. He voice was flat with shock. “We

followed his trail, but… .” “The cover was too thick.” Arden shook his head, sharply, like a wolf being irritated by a hornet. “We couldn’t follow.” Laylah looked him over. “But you tried, regardless. What did you encounter?” Arden growled, literally. “It doesn’t matter.” He drew Cammie against his shoulder; closed his eyes. Laylah had to ask. She did so gently, gripping Cammie’s hands in hers. “Are you sure he’s still alive?” Cammie’s head snapped up. Her eyes, the same gold-flecked brown as Laylah’s, burned with such a fierce fire that a growl rose from the remaining two women at the table. “HE. LIVES.” The words were shredded between Cammie’s teeth. The gold her eyes began to expand, eating away at the brown pigment. The two women flanking Laylah pushed back from the table and rose to their feet with movements so graceful, their incredible speed was concealed. Laylah didn’t move. Her breathing didn’t even change. Arden murmured something in Cammie’s ear, too low even for Laylah to catch. Cammie took a breath. Another. Her eyes began to shift back to gold-flecked brown. “I’m sorry,” she murmured at last. “I just… .” “You’re frightened for your son,” Laylah said. She turned to the woman on her left, a striking female with a long fall of glossy, crow-black hair. Her eyes, like Laylah’s and Cammie’s, were gold-flecked brown. “Rowan,” Laylah said. “Do some reconnaissance. See if you can pick up his trail.” Rowan inclined her head. When she spoke, her voice held both respect and

confidence. “What about Augustus? That’s his territory.” Laylah waved her hand in a “maybe yes/maybe no” gesture. “None of us really claim the reservations. But I’ll inform him, once you cross the border.” Laylah’s eyes gleamed, briefly. “We’re Canadians, after all. We can’t have it be said we’re as rude as Americans.”

CHAPTER 1

“That’s charitable.”

Rod Poitra closed his cell phone and navigated his way through the crowds to where his lady, Tara Campbell, sat in those plastic chairs airports think are so comfortable. The P.A. switched on overhead, announcing that flight 266, headed to Fargo, North Dakota, was boarding at Gate Six. “Did you find him?” Tara’s low voice was almost lost under the background noise. “Yeah.” Rod shoved their carry-ons out of the way and sat down beside her. “He’s just outside the airport. He’ll be here in about 20 minutes.” “Good.” Rod watched her carefully out of the corner of his eye. Tara was a fit, graceful woman just starting her fifth decade, but a lifetime of dancing (she’d taught belly dance in Santa Fe before moving to the Great Frozen North) had kept her fit. She had a striking, rather than pretty, face, lit by a pair of large brown eyes framed by laugh-lines. The only indicator of her age was her hair, which, oddly, had turned snow-white long before Rod met her. Usually, she wore it pulled back in a braid that was as thick around as Rod’s wrist; she hadn’t had time to braid it this morning though, not with a 5 am flight to catch. So, it hung loose around her face, giving her an oddly fragile, ghost-like look. ’Course, it didn’t help that she was wearing a white shirt over her jeans. Usually, she wore bright, vivid colors: red, gold, purple. The white washed her out even more. He understood why, but he couldn’t wait for her to get back to normal again.

She caught him watching her; a tired smile softened the planes of her face.

“Do I look that bad?” she asked, trying to tease. “You look tired,” he said, honestly. She sighed. “I am.” She unbent enough to lean against him, resting her head against his right shoulder. Rod slid his arm around her, feeling the tension radiating from her like heat from a stove. Helpless anger made his jaw tighten. There was nothing he could say, and he knew it. When his wife had died, over 10 years ago (‘Where had the time gone?’ some part of him wondered now) he had hated the trite, commonplace expressions of sympathy. How the hell could ‘I’m sorry’ cover loosing someone? ‘But we knew it was coming, with Kay,’ he itted to himself. All the arrangements had been in place. (Chosen, creepily enough, by Kay herself, when it became clear that she wasn’t going to beat the odds again.) All Rod had had to do was pull himself together enough to survive the service. (Which, without his best friend, Derrick Lashan, there, he wouldn’t have been able to do.) But, volatile as they had been (Lashan had nicknamed them the “Dick and Liz of the res”) at least he and Kay had worked through their issues. Tara hadn’t. Now, she had all of that to deal with, as well as the earth-shattering shock of a sudden and unexpected death.

“Rod.” He looked up to see Marc Ayers, one of his best friends, standing in front of him. Marc was a tall, slender guy in his late thirties. He had a good build, but years of long-haul trucking were softening it. Today he wore a loose short-sleeved shirt, faded jeans, and a baseball cap so old you couldn’t read the logo on the front. His long dark hair was pulled back in a tail at the base of his neck. “Hey.” Rod held out a hand; Marc’s return handshake was solid. “Thanks, man.” “No problem.” Marc shrugged, like he always did, a loose, one-sided thing. His gaze moved from Rod to Tara; his expression softened. “I’m sorry, Tara.” “Thank you,” she said, calm and gracious as she had been throughout the entire thing. Marc was a married man; he knew the dangers of a too-composed woman. His eyes touched Rod’s briefly; skittered away before Tara could notice.

“Well,” he said, grabbing the handle of one of the carry-ons. “Let’s get out of here. We can grab lunch before we head back.”

Marc suppressed a shudder as he shouldered his way through the crowd. ‘Tara looked like hell,’ he told his wife, Terri, later that night. ‘She looked . . . old.’ ‘It’s her hair,’ Terri said. Marc shook his head. ‘Uh uh. She looked fragile.’ ‘She just lost her dad,’ Terri replied, stubbornly. ‘Nobody looks good after that. how bad Rod looked when Kay died?’ ‘Yeah,’ he itted. ‘But . . . I don’t know. Wait till you see her. Rod’s worried, I can tell.’ ‘Rod’s afraid she’ll leave him like Kay did,’ Terri said. Marc had given up. When Terri didn’t want to see something, you could paint it fluorescent orange and plant it in front of her face, and she still wouldn’t see it.

At least Rod looked the same, Marc mused now, hiding a sigh of relief. Honestly, Rod looked kind of… ageless, was the best way to describe it. He could be anywhere from his late forties to mid-fifties, with iron-gray hair he was growing out again (thanks to some inside deal he had with Tara, who blushed whenever Marc asked her about it,) in a short-sleeved blue shirt, jeans, and sneakers. His skin was burned a darker brown, after a week in New Mexico’s summer sun, but other than that, he looked no different than he always did. After the sudden, shocking change in Tara, it was… . reassuring, somehow.

“How goes the job search?” Rod asked as they loaded the van. Marc shrugged, helping Tara into the back seat. “Nothin’ yet. I’ve got resumes out all over, and a couple construction jobs comin’ up, so we’re doin’ okay for now.” Summer was usually his busiest time,

but, like so many other people, the recession had laid him off. He checked to make sure Tara was all right, then slammed the side door and opened the driver’s door. “Sebastian Strange called yesterday,” he said, climbing in. He shot Tara a rueful look through the rearview mirror. “I’m sorry, Tara, but they want the band for a street dance. Not this weekend, but next. Pretty big money.” A slight, tired smile softened her face. “It’s all right, Marc. You need the money, and this is a job.” “We’ll need a lead player,” Marc said as he started the engine. “Unless Lashan… . ?” Rod shook his head. “Haven’t talked to him since he checked himself into rehab,” the older man said. “Even he is able to make it, he may not want to, Marc. You know how it goes.”

Marc nodded. He’d fought his own battle with the jug years ago. Even after he’d dried out, it’d taken him over a year to be comfortable around people drinking. ‘And I’m just an alcoholic,’ he mused, pulling up to the parking attendant booth. ‘If what I heard is right, Lashan’s got more than that goin’ on in his head.’ According to Rod, Lashan had been part of a pedophile investigation, and seen some pretty horrific shit. ‘I’m not a shrink,’ the older man had said one night, when Lashan’s odd behavior had driven even Marc to make some comments, ‘but I think the booze is him trying to self-medicate for PTSD.’ The parking fee came to a whopping two dollars. Tara insisted on paying it, and Marc drove through. “So, can we take the gig without Lashan?” The Goth’s stage presence, and the chemistry he and Rod had on stage, were two of the biggest draws they had. Rod shrugged. “I don’t see why not.” “Will Shimmer sing without him?” Their third draw: the sizzling, sexy chemistry

Lashan had with their female vocalist, Shimmer. Marc had never been able to figure out why Shimmer wouldn’t sing without Lashan, but she wouldn’t. Something about Lashan being her “touchstone,” whatever that meant. Now, Rod gnawed on his bottom lip, thinking. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said, slowly. “Shimmer… she’s feral as a cat. Without Lashan holding her leash… .” He trailed off. His eyes were dark and unreadable. “What is it about her?” Marc snapped. “So she causes trouble. Big fuckin’ deal. So does Terri, when she gets drunk. For God’s sake, Shimmer’s nothing compared to Tracy Lindseth, or Amy Richards! the shit they started? For Christssake, Linda 86ed ’em both and actually stuck to it!” ‘I need this gig!’ he thought desperately. ‘I have one kid to raise, and another coming, Rod.’ For a moment, the tension slammed! down on him, and he had to fight the urge to snap at the older man.

He must have given something away, in his voice or his expression or his body language, because Rod said, “We’ll make it work, Marc. She usually behaves herself around Sebastian Strange. I’ll find a way to talk her into it.” The tension pulled back; enough to kill the panic. Marc felt like he could breathe again. “Who can we get for a lead player?” he asked, turning onto the highway. “Keith?” (Keith was Rod’s old lead player, before Rod and Lashan had gotten in with Sebastian Strange’s band.) “Drinks too much; can’t play drunk,” Rod said. “Tim?” “Same story.” “Leon?”

“His girlfriend has him by the nads. No way she’ll let him take an out of town gig. Too afraid he’ll get himself some extracurricular ass.” Normally, this kind of sarcasm would have had Tara laughing out loud. Today, all it got was quiet amusement as she asked: “Will he?” “Yeah,” Rod said. “That’s why he has kids all over the place. Thinks rubbers are only good for water balloons.” Again, Tara didn’t laugh. She just shook her head. A different kind of tension iced Marc’s blood. He shook his head mentally. ‘No wonder Rod’s worried.’

She didn’t want to eat anything when they stopped for lunch, either. Marc watched her sip Pepsi and fought to keep himself from trying to tease her into eating, the way he did with his daughter, Anna. To distract himself, he went back to the lead player problem. “Who’s left, then?” he asked. Rod gnawed on a toothpick. “You’re pretty good. What about puttin’ Jason on rhythm, and you on lead? He looks over 21, and it’s a street dance, not a bar gig.” Marc shook his head. “I’m a rhythm player, Rod, not lead.” He caught Tara’s eye. “It’s taken me years of therapy to realize this,” he deadpanned. This joke, too, fell flat. Suddenly, Rod sat up. A true grin blazed across his face. “I’m gettin’ old,” he muttered in disgust. He fixed Marc with a look. “Dave Rolend.” Marc sat back and thought about it. Slowly, a grin to match Rod’s spread across his face.

“Fucking hell,” he said, slowly. “He’s not the metal player Lashan is, but for blues and southern fried rock…” “He’s a fuckin’ genius,” Rod finished for him. “And he can sing. Even if Shimmer won’t play ball, Dave can carry a night.” Marc took a breath; his muscles went limp with relief. He’d make $500.00, easy, off this gig. ‘That’s the house payment, on time for once.’ They could get caught up on the water bill, too… . He stood up, abruptly, from the table. “I’ll go call Dave.”

Marc held his tongue about Tara until they’d been on the road for an hour. “She doesn’t look so good,” he commented, low, after checking the rearview mirror. Tara was stretched out on the back seat, out cold. “Wasn’t a good week,” Rod said, laconically. Marc switched the cruise control on. “Bad?” he asked. Rod sighed. Anger burned in his eyes. “Solid goddamn week of, “Jesus loves you, repent and be saved.” Marc blinked. “But she’s Wiccan.” “Her parents never accepted it.” Rod’s voice, though soft, crackled with a week’s worth of repressed emotion. “Ask her about it. She’ll tell ya. When they found out she was Wiccan, she was 17. And they, being the nice, kind, dyed-in-thewool Christians that they are, threw their own daughter out of the house.” “That’s charitable,” Marc drawled, dry as sand and sharp as a razor. “But that was years ago!” “Not as far as her parents are concerned.” Rod paused. Marc kept his mouth

shut. Then Rod started talking. “She had to do everything, Marc. Picking out the casket, arranging the service, all of it. I can’t blame her mother: no one saw this coming, the woman was a wreck. But no one from her family helped her. It was me, and that friend of hers, Shelia Martinez. And every time Tara turned around, it was, “But of course, how could you know, dear? You haven’t been here.” Marc choked. “They said that to her?” “From the moment we got off the plane,” Rod growled. “I can’t tell ya how many times I wanted to paste ’em, men and women.” “No wonder she looks like hell,” Marc muttered, heart twisting. “What happened at the service? You said it was a disaster, when you called.” Rod snorted. A dark, sarcastic laughter sparked in his face. “Oh, that was the best part,” he drawled, in his best relaxed-and-mocking voice. “One of her father’s friends got up there and informed the entire place that “Paul never gave up on his daughter. He had faith that she will return to the church.” Marc’s jaw dropped. “He didn’t!?” “Oh, he did,” Rod assured him. The older man was beating his fist, softly, steadily, against the armrest in the door. “Did Tara deck him?” “No. But only because I was holding her in place.” A slight, cynical grin lifted one corner of Rod’s mouth. “I’m sure it looked all lovey-dovey, but your wife’s self-defense classes have given Tara a deadly punch. If I hadn’t been holding her, she would have made Yahtzee dice out of that sanctimonious asshole’s teeth.” “Shoulda let her,” Marc growled.

“He did better than that,” Tara said, sitting up in the rearview mirror. Her hair was smashed against one side of her face, but her eyes were burning with rage. Marc flushed. “I didn’t mean… .” he began, embarrassed. Tara waved a hand, cutting him off. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “Tell him the rest, Rod.” “There’s more?” Marc demanded, torn between delight and horror. “Oh, yes,” Tara purred. “And it was beautiful.” “What?!” Marc yelped. Rod shrugged, suddenly going as mute as a stone. He stared fixedly out the window as Tara took up the tale.

“I refused to go to the reception after that,” she said, looking down at her hands. “My friend, Shelia, she took me back to the hotel. She let me cry myself out, then sat me down. “You have to go,” she told me. I told her to go to hell. “You’ll want to see this,” she said. She kept saying that, over and over, until I wanted to slap her. I finally asked why, why I had to go when I’d just been publicly humiliated. I’ll never forget the look on her face,” Tara said, giggling in a way that made chills run down Marc’s spine. “She said, and I quote, “Your boyfriend has something up his sleeve.” Marc shot Rod an impatient look. “What’d you do?” he demanded. Rod whistled to the sunny blue sky. Tara giggled again. Marc shuddered. “Stop laughing like that! You’re freakin’ me out. What’d he do?” “He called for the truth to come out, all the truth, at the reception.”

‘Huh?’ Marc’s Catholic-trained mind asked. Then he started thinking. And, slowly, laughter welled up in his throat, even as ice-water ran down the inside of his spine. “What,” he asked, slowly, “would that do?” “I heard every kind of secret come out,” Tara said, in a creepy mix of serenity, laughter, and satisfied vengeance. “From comments on tacky dressers, to leaving to meet mistresses for their weekly rendezvous, to learning that my father had cheated on his taxes for years.”

‘I didn’t know whether to laugh or cringe,’ he told Terri, later. ‘Especially the way Rod just shrugged and said, ‘I’ve always been good at truth medicine.’ It was just . . . CREEPY.’ Terri laughed, open and honest and vengeful as a feral cat. ‘I would have laughed. Those fucking assholes! They had it comin’!’ ‘You can be a vicious bitch, sweetheart.’ ‘I know,’ she purred, twining her arms around his neck. ‘That’s one of the things you love about me, ?’ ‘Hmmm. Kinda fuzzy on that one, kitten. I might need my memory refreshed.’ ‘I can do that . . . ’

“Did you really do that?” Marc asked Rod when they stopped for gas and drinks. The older man nodded, gathering up his pop and walking out of the gas station into summer’s heat. The prairie stretched out around them, blooming under the sun. A warm wind pressed against Marc’s face and made the grasses ripple beneath a cloudless blue sky. The highway stretched like a gray band across the landscape, lined by fence posts and telephone poles. All Marc could hear was the humming of the

telephone wires in the wind. Even so, he almost missed Rod’s reply. “Yes. And I’d do it again.” “Thought you weren’t supposed to use medicine lightly,” the younger man jibed. “I didn’t do it lightly,” Rod replied. His eyes were on the panorama around them. “I did it deliberately.” Marc blinked. His humor dropped to the ground, dead, between himself and Rod. Rod’s eyes slid sideways, and Marc found himself frozen.

CHAPTER 2

“Pipe-carriers were just… freaky.”

Pipe-carriers were just… freaky, in Marc’s opinion. Rod was even worse than most of ’em, because he hid it so well. (‘I mean,’ Marc had told Terri more than once, ‘he’s so . . . down-to-earth. He plays World of Warcraft, for God’s sake! He stood in line with me for 12 hours to get Ozzy Osbourne tickets!’) But you could be talking to him, just like now, and out of nowhere, he’d get this… look. A kind of distant, otherworldly look, like he was seeing and hearing things Marc couldn’t. It made Marc’s skin crawl. “Something out there?” Marc jumped as Tara materialized at his side, a liter of Pepsi in one hand, and a pack of Hostess powdered doughnuts in the other. (He’d find them, later, in the back seat of the van with only one doughnut gone.) She gave him a quizzical look, then turned to stare out at the prairie. “What are you looking at?” “Nothin,” he mumbled, shaking his head sharply. “Ready to roll?” “Yeah,” Rod said behind him. For some reason, Tara’s lips curved upward in a cat’s mysterious smile. Marc looked away from her to meet Rod’s bland gaze. Though neither of the older people said anything, Marc was sure they were laughing at him as he walked swiftly to the van.

Rod glanced around the yard as he and Marc pulled the luggage out of the van. “Where’s Jason? I don’t see his bike.”

‘Please don’t tell him.’ Jason’s voice ghosted through Marc’s memory. ‘I’ll do it myself.’ So, Marc shrugged instead of telling the truth. “At our place. Terri’s been sick; Jason’s been helping us with Anna.” The worry-lines on Rod’s face deepened. “She all right?” ‘Don’t tell them,’ Terri had ordered, before Marc had pulled out that morning. ‘I don’t want anyone to know yet.’ ‘Ya can’t hide from them forever, Terri. ’Sides, your supervisor already knows.’ ‘Mary can keep her mouth shut,’ Terri had growled, glaring at him. It had been on the tip of his tongue to demand if she even wanted the baby. The way she’d been acting, he wasn’t sure. Now, the emotions swirled through him: excitement, worry, anger, all clamoring to be released. It made him more curt than he intended: “Yeah, she’ll be all right. Touch of food poisoning.” ‘At least until you look at her sideways,’ he added silently. She was going to have to it it soon. It was getting too hot to wear the long shirts she’d been hiding under. Rod, distracted by worry and travel, missed the signs. He stood quietly, looking at his front door, absently rubbing the ears of his big, ugly-as-sin mutt dog, Gru. (The dog was roughly the size of a horse, and, to quote Rod, “smart as a box of rocks.” Rod bitched about him on a regular basis, but also spoiled him rotten.) Gru leaned against the man’s legs, eyes half-closed. He’d nearly knocked Rod off his feet when Rod had gotten out of the van. He had knocked Tara off balance, trying to lick her face.

Marc wrestled his temper under control; tried for his usual, joking tone. “He missed you.”

The younger man pointed at the dog. Rod looked down, startled, as if he hadn’t realized that Gru was there. “Damn it, Gru, ya did it again. Tricked me into scratching your ears.” Rod sighed. He picked up one carry-on, lugged it up the stairs and through the door. Marc followed him quietly, carrying the other one, and plopped it down by the couch. Gru barked, barreled through the door, and ran to the giant-sized bag of dog food by the pantry. He picked up the dinner-plate-sized food dish next to it. Ears up, tail wagging, he danced in place, ‘woofing’ around the bowl in his mouth. He looked absolutely ridiculous. Rod shook his head. “You numbskull,” he told the dog. “You deserve that ribbon around your neck.” “Sorry about that,” Marc muttered, shame-faced. “It’s okay.” Rod snapped his fingers. Still carrying the bowl, Gru came over and let the man untie the bubble-gum-pink ribbon, tied in a bow, around his neck. Rod untied it and shoved it into his jeans’ pocket. “Couldn’t she at least pick blue?” he asked, wistfully, taking the food bowl and filling it up while Gru watched impatiently.

Marc and Terri’s daughter, Anna, had started doing this every time she came over. Pink, yellow, green, the color never seemed to matter as long as it was bright. She would come into the house, hug Gru, and follow him around with quiet persistence until he gave up and let her tie it around his neck. Whereupon, he would lay on the floor with a humiliated look on his face until Rod took it off. (Rod had to wait until Anna left, because she’d just put it back on if he removed it while she was there.) A gray blur shot past Rod’s feet as Tara’s cat, Kyah, tore past him, the picture of feline outrage. Tara walked out of the bedroom, laughing, a cat collar, with redand-white hearts on it, dangling from her hand.

It was the first time she’d really laughed since boarding the plane to New Mexico. “She got the cat, too?” Rod asked. Tara couldn’t answer. She was laughing too hard. Rod turned incredulous eyes on Marc. “How does she do that?” Marc shrugged. “No idea,” he said. “But she had the most fun picking them out. She picked that out, too.” He nodded toward the large oval of blonde wood that was the kitchen table. Rod glanced over, and froze.

The center of the table was covered with flowers. Rod wasn’t a gardener (though he knew the power flowers had to improve a guy’s sex life) but he could pick out the highlights: roses, and daisies, and those ruffled ones, the ones whose name was on canned milk… ‘Carnations, that’s it!’ he thought triumphantly. And sitting in the middle of the flowers was a little stuffed cat, complete with a ribbon around its neck. Rod glanced at Tara. She’d stopped laughing. Her face was… ‘frozen,’ was the only way Rod could describe it. She walked slowly over to the table, eyes glassy. “We didn’t think they’d get to the service,” Marc said, low, behind Rod. “So, we kept ’em here.” Rod waited for Tara to say her automatic “thank you,” but she didn’t. She was slowly, gently, running just the tips of her fingers over the edges of the petals closest to her. “Thanks, man,” Rod said. He walked up behind Tara. The cards had been pulled out and lined up, with mathematical precision, along the edge of the table. (Rod recognized more of Anna’s handiwork.) “Lashan,” Tara said softly, picking one card up. Her hands were shaking. She laid that card down; picked up a second, then a third, and a fourth. “Jason and Dave. Sebastian and family. Marc and Terri.” “Anna picked out the cat,” Marc’s voice was a low rumble behind them. “She

knew you were gone, Tara. She kept asking where “the bell lady” was.” Rod closed his eyes briefly. “Bell lady” was Anna’s name for Tara, because of the bells Tara wore when she danced. A sharp sound, half laugh and half sob, tore itself out of Tara’s throat. Rod grabbed her as her knees buckled, and pulled them both into the closest chair. “Go ahead and cry, darlin’,” he whispered into her hair. “God knows, you’ve earned it.”

CHAPTER 3

‘It’s evil!’ ‘It’s nonsense!’ ‘If it’ll help my daughter, I don’t give a damn.’

She whimpered, fighting for control even now, but it was too much for her. Rod just held her, rocking her quietly. “They hate me. I don’t have a family,” she whispered, over and over, like a stuck record. “Yes, you do,” Rod rasped. “You’ve got me, and Jason, and Lashan, God help us all, and…” Damn it to hell, he was loosing control. “And me, and Terri, and Anna,” Marc’s voice said. Rod sensed the younger man come around Tara’s other side; felt Marc put his arm around her. “You and Rod, you’ve helped Anna so much…” Something covered in fake fur was pressed against Tara’s hands (Rod could feel it brush his own). “Damn it, Tara! Before you two, Anna never knew when I left, let alone understood something like a funeral. She does now! And that’s because of you, teaching her dancing, and Rod, so don’t fuckin’ tell me you don’t have anyone… !”

“And Shelia, and Maria, and Troy and Alan, those two hulking brutes who followed you around like guard dogs.” Thanks to Marc, Rod had had enough time to get himself under control; the names of Tara’s adopted family rolled off his tongue with only a little hoarseness around the edges. “Ya know what Shelia told me, before we left last night?” Tara shook her head. Rod forced himself to laugh. “She said, ‘If you hurt her, they’ll never find the pieces of your body.’ I know res chicks, darlin’, they don’t make threats lightly. She meant it.”

Tara gathered Anna’s cat against her, ducking her head in embarrassment. She was shaking, eerie, convulsive things that scared him more than he wanted to it. “I’m s… s… sorry,” she stuttered. “Nothin’ to be sorry for, darlin’.” “I’m gonna go get you guys some food,” Marc said decisively. “Jason didn’t get around to grocery shopping.” Rod heard the younger man walk across the living room and leave.

Marc leaned his head against the steering wheel and drew a long, shuddering breath. God help him, he never wanted to hear Rod or Tara sound like that again. ‘She sounded so . . . lost,’ he thought to himself. ‘And Rod . . . . I haven’t heard him sound like that since Kay died . . . ’ He shivered. But then… ‘That’s not what you’re really afraid of, is it, Ayers?’ his conscious whispered. Marc growled. Rod was one of the best friends he had; the guy had talked him through rehab and a possible divorce. When he went, it’d be like getting knifed in the gut, but all Marc could think about now was: What would happen to Anna when Rod and Tara went?

Sour bile flooded his mouth, but the parent in him couldn’t deny it. He ed, all too clearly, what it had been like before Rod had started working with Anna. Two years of rationalizations, hoping against hope that Anna would “catch up” with the other kids her age, and then the horrible, gutwrenching truth: She wasn’t going to. Marc beat his fist, softly, against the steering wheel. He still ed that day, no matter how many times he’d tried to erase it with booze. Sitting in that office, hearing that dry, disionate voice, explaining the lines on the bar graph. (As if Marc and Terri couldn’t understand what it meant):

“This black line, that is the developmental average for children your daughter’s age. Here, this red line, these are your daughter’s scores. As you can see, Anna is far below the norm . . . ”

It felt like his world had been destroyed. Terri had retreated from him completely, blaming herself for Anna’s problems. He had blamed himself. He hadn’t been an angel in high school. He’d been better at rolling ts than making it to class. The only reason he’d graduated was because he could play basketball; the principle liked the press his athletes were getting, and made sure none of them flunked out. Even now, he caught himself looking at his daughter and wondering if he was the reason she was the way she was.

It had been sheer, wild desperation that drove him to Rod, Marc itted that freely. Though Native, Marc’s parents had nothing to do with the spiritual side of the culture; they had made sure their son had as little to with it as possible, for a family living on the res. All he knew was what he picked up in school, when he bothered to go to culture class. But, you heard things. So, when Marc had run into his old buddy Rod Poitra, the year Anna was 2, he’d taken a shot in the dark. He still ed how sweaty his palms had been, the day he drove up to the very house he was sitting in front of now, an unopened pack of smokes in his pocket (custom had it you brought tobacco when you went to a pipe-carrier, even he knew that,) arguing with years of conditioning. ‘It’s evil!’ the good little Catholic boy in him had said. ‘It’s nonsense!’ his parents’ conditioning said. ‘If it’ll help my daughter, I don’t give a damn,’ the father in him had said.

Rod had heard him out in silence. Kay had been gone about 4 years, then. Rod had just come back from Minneapolis. He’d been working for the school, and working his way through rehab. Marc still ed the way the ticking of the clock had filled the silence after he had stumbled and staggered to a halt, tense as an over-tight guitar string, ready to beg, plead, or threaten to get Rod to help him. Finally, Rod had sighed, a long, weary thing that spoke of pain and ghosts and exhaustion. “All right,” he’d said. “I don’t know if it’ll do any good, but I’ll try.”

“Do any good,” Marc whispered now. He raised his head, staring at the house. “Good God, man… .” Over the last two years, they’d found a mood-stabilizer that helped with Anna’s anxiety; a speech therapist she actually seemed to like; a child psychologist who didn’t scare her to death. And Anna was talking. Slowly, and far below her age level, but she was talking! She recognized him, and Terri. She interacted with people. Not well, no; but she did! She had made so much progress she was able to understand that Tara was sad, at the very least, and want to pick out a gift for her. Rod himself refused to take any credit for the changes. ‘It’s not me,’ he’d say, every time the subject came up. ‘Others are helping her. I just . . . . well, I just put them in with each other.’

Tara said the same thing. ‘Don’t thank me. Thank the Goddess. I’m just the channel.’ ‘They’re both whacko,’ Marc thought now, all the concern flaring, all at once, into anger. Anna’s counselor called it some fancy, scientific name (art-based or assisted therapy) but Marc and Terri had another word for it:

Medicine. It had been one of those purely-chance things, last summer. Terri had been at work and their usual sitter on vacation when Marc had gotten a call for a oneday construction job. He couldn’t afford to up 200 extra dollars, so he’d called Rod, who, as usual last summer, had been at Tara’s place in Rawlins. “Sure,” the older man said. “I’ll watch her.” When Marc had gone to pick Anna up that evening, he’d found Rod standing silently at Tara’s back door. Rod had motioned him over, also silently. Curious, Marc had looked out the door to see… Anna, doing her best to copy Tara as the woman slowly danced to some music on the CD player.

It had been like watching two kids play that old game, “Mirror.” Tara would raise one arm, or sway one direction, and Anna would mimic her. Tara would repeat the motion, even slower, and Anna would follow her lead. It was like they were in their own, private world, a bubble where time ran differently just for them, and in that space, Anna was able to interact in ways she never had before. Marc had stood there, in perfect silence, watching his daughter do something he’d never hoped to see out of her, and felt his throat tighten. Then CD had fallen still. And in that silence, his daughter had turned around, recognized him, and smiled. It had been like a knife through the heart. He’d decided then and there that Tara wasn’t what people said, and he’d work three jobs, if he had to, to get the money to pay her to teach Anna to dance.

It hadn’t taken money. (She wouldn’t even take tobacco, which Marc had offered. “I’m not a medicine woman,” she’d said gently. “Please don’t get people mad at me by giving me tobacco. I don’t want anyone thinking I’m trying to claim that

title.”) It had taken a solid month of talking, pleading, and (Marc suspected) a few pipe-carrier-to-Witch talks to convince Tara. It still wasn’t like dancing. It was more like a game. Anna got to pick the music, and then sometimes Tara would mimic Anna, or Anna would mimic Tara, or they would just move to the music. Rod had started, slowly, teaching Tara some Native dances. Sometimes, he’d drum for them while Tara led Anna through the steps… ‘Food,’ his memory prompted him. ‘You said you’d get food.’ “Right,” Marc muttered, and backed the van out of the driveway.

An hour later, he finally made it home. Marc slammed the door to the van and stretched, feeling the vertebrae in his back pop! ‘I gotta get off the road,’ he said to himself, again, looking around. Terri’s truck was in its usual spot; beside it, a bright, shiny new motorcycle, a helmet hanging off one handle bar, leaned on a kickstand. Marc grinned. Rod had bitched and growled, that was what Jason Rolend, his 20 year old nephew, had wanted for a graduation gift. (He’d completed his Associate of Science degree in May.) Marc opened the gate, stepping carefully around a whole slew of brightlycolored, plastic kid’s toys. Heat lay like a blanket across the yard, which was a fenced-in square of green with a swing-set in one corner, and tomato plants climbing through the diamond-patterns of the fencing. The house was the usual for this part of the country: a three-bedroom rambler with a peaked roof. Offwhite siding seemed to glow in the early-evening light; he caught the hum of the swamp cooler as he got closer.

One of the oddities of the place was that the door that faced the road opened into the kitchen. Marc shouldered the screen door open. “Hey,” he called out. At the kitchen table, coloring a picture with Anna, Jason said, “Hey, Dad.”

Marc grinned. Jason, his hair loose around his face, in a faded Marilyn Manson T-shirt, and jeans with both knees blown out, wasn’t what any sane person would pick for a babysitter at first glance. God knew, Marc hadn’t. But Jason, for reasons known only to himself, had adopted Anna in the two years he’d lived with his uncle. It made no sense. ‘Why,’ Terri had asked Marc more than once, ‘would a kid like Jason want anything to do with Anna?!’ ‘No idea,’ Marc was forced to it, each time. ‘But he’s good with her.’

Now, he watched Anna hand Jason a crayon, and point to the place she wanted the color to go. “What?” Jason asked her. “What?” Anna parroted. Since she had started talking again, Anna had developed echolalia. According to the doctors, this was a common thing for children with Anna’s type of challenges. It meant that Anna would repeat the last few words she heard, whether they made sense or not. Ask her if she wanted a cookie, and she’d say “cookie”; ask her if she wanted a triangle, and she’d say “triangle.” Her speech therapist said it was positive a sign, though, and encouraged them to prompt her to talk. So, now, Jason just sighed, and said, “Do you want the color to go there?” “There!” Anna agreed. “Okay.” He started coloring, while she stood at his shoulder and watched. ‘Makes no sense at all,’ Marc said to himself, watching them. He opened the fridge; pulled out a pop. ‘But I feel better now that she has a ‘brother’.

That was the joke, you see. Everyone on the res called Jason Anna’s brother,

even Jason himself. So Marc had no problem responding to Jason’s greeting with, “Evening, son.” Marc ruffled Anna’s hair. “Hi, kiddo.” She looked up. At seven, she was all legs and elbows, with hair that her parents had let grow to shoulder length. Today she wore a white tank-top with blue butterflies on it, denim shorts, and sneakers. The medicine wheel pendant Rod had given her hung on a green cord around her neck. Her dark eyes touched his, moved away, came back. She squeezed his hand. “Da,” she said, leaning against him. “Have you been good for your brother?” he asked her. “Yes,” Jason said. He put the crayons back into the box. “She told me all the names of the colors.” “You did?” Marc gave her a one-armed hug. “Good for you! Let’s go find mama.” “Bad idea,” Jason said. “She’s been sick again.” “Damn,” Marc sighed, looking toward the hall that led to the bedroom. “Is it like this for every woman?” Jason asked, leaning his arms on the table. “Don’t know.” Marc shrugged. “She wasn’t like this with Anna.” ‘Of course,’ he added silently, since sound carried very well from the kitchen to the rest of the house, ‘If she’d take the meds the doc prescribed to help with the morning sickness, it wouldn’t be this bad. But, what do I know?’ He caught Jason’s eye; changed the subject to one equally touchy. “By the way, son, your uncle’s back in town.” Jason flinched. Marc kept his expression neutral. He liked the kid; he’d bought Jason a beer for what he’d done. But regardless… . . “You gotta tell him. You know that.” Marc said quietly.

“Yeah, I know. Just not tonight.” “But you will tell him,” Marc pressed. Jason sighed. “Yes, Dad.” “Good. You don’t want me to tell your mother you kipped out.” Jason snorted wryly. Marc grinned and ventured down the hall to his bedroom.

Terri was laying on the bed, with the swamp cooler cranked and the lights off, but Marc could still see her pretty well. Her long black hair hung loose around her face, which was drawn and pale under her tan. She wore a long, loose shirt that hung on her like a tent and shorts. The morning sickness had been so bad she’d lost weight, so was still able to fit into most of her clothes, but it added one more worry to Marc’s shoulders. He settled carefully on the edge of the mattress. “I’m back.” “I heard you pull up.” Her voice was gravelly. He’d meant to tell her all the gossip from the drive immediately, but changed his mind. “You want me to get you anything?” “No.” A pause, then: “How’s Tara?” “Not good.” “Did you tell them about our son?” “Neither the adopted one, nor the one on the way.” “I hope Rod doesn’t kill him. He did a good thing.” “Rod won’t.” “Good.”

CHAPTER 4

“Somethin’ happened while you guys were gone, Uncle Rod.”

It took Jason three days to tell his uncle. It wasn’t intentional. The first day after Rod and Tara got back, Terri was so sick she didn’t even try to go to work, and Jason had Anna all day. The second day, Jason spent up to his shoulders in boxes, doing inventory for Tara’s internet business, and then hauling orders for that business to the post office. The third day, Marc had a job interview, so Jason watched Anna again. “How’d it go?” he asked, toweling off his hair. He and Anna had been running through the sprinklers. (This really meant that sometimes he’d coaxed her through the water, and sometimes he’d carried her. His arm, shoulder, and back muscles burned from the exercise.) Marc took off his suit jacket (‘He must really want that job, to put on a monkey suit,’ Jason thought, looking at him) and slung it over the top of the fence. Then, ignoring his fancy dress shirt, Marc gathered Anna up and started drying her off with her favorite towel. “They’ll let me know,” he said. Jason shook his hair back out his face. The sun felt good on his skin. Marc was watching him, he realized. “What?” he asked. “I’m here,” Marc pointed out. “You can go talk to Rod.” Jason blew his cheeks out in a sigh. He folded his towel with careful precision. “Yeah,” he itted. “It’s not gonna get any easier,” Marc pointed out gently. “And you don’t want him hearing it from someone else first.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Jason itted. He gnawed on his lower lip, then pulled his shirt on. “Wish me luck, Dad.” Marc traced a cross over Jason’s head. “Go with God, my son.”

20 minutes later, Jason leaned on the handlebars of his motorcycle, staring at the door of his uncle’s place. ‘At least Tara’s not here,’ he thought in relief, noting the empty space where Tara had parked her own motorcycle before leaving for New Mexico. He liked Tara (she was a hell of a lot better than some of the gems his uncle had fallen for) but… ‘I don’t want her hearing this.’ Jason sighed. ‘He’s gonna kill me,’ the youth thought, miserably. ‘He’s gonna fuckin’ kill me.’ Gru barked as Jason unlocked the front door and walked in. “Hey, big guy.” The dog climbed off the couch, stretched, and walked over to him, tail wagging. Jason scratched his ears, looking around.

His uncle’s place was nice, in a bachelor kind of way. The living room was a large rectangle, spacious enough to hold the couch Gru slept on, a full entertainment center, and Rod’s drum set. Across the living room from the drum set was a counter, with cupboards above it, marking the border to the kitchen. (Usually, the counter was covered with disemboweled computers. Jason and Terri, between them, had cleaned it off while Rod had been gone.) Sunlight spilled in through windows on the south wall, decorating the beige carpet with blocks of gold. There was no door into the kitchen, just a shift from carpet to tile. A large, oval blonde wood table and matching chairs dominated the space. (All the flowers where still there, but Anna’s cat wasn’t.) A short hallway off to Jason’s right led to the spare bedrooms and Rod’s workroom. It was eerily quiet. “Where is everybody, boy?” Jason asked the dog.

“Right here.” Jason looked up. His uncle, in a loose shirt and jeans, was standing in the doorframe set in the wall to Jason’s left. That led to the master bedroom. “Hey, Uncle Rod.” “Good to see ya,” the older man said, padding into the kitchen, his socks making no sound on the floor. “How’s Terri?” “Better,” Jason said. He pulled his backpack off and put it on the counter. He unzipped it and pulled the plastic grocery sack out. “What’s that?” his uncle asked. Jason shrugged. “I tried some of that chai stuff Tara likes. Not my thing, so I brought the rest over here.” “She’ll kiss you,” his uncle said wryly. “Put it in the fridge. Want coffee?” “Nah.” Jason tossed the box of chai into the fridge; went back into the living room, and leaned on the living room side of the counter, watching Rod pull a coffee mug out of the cupboard. “Where is she?” “Her place. She wanted to get back to work.” Normally, this would have made Jason cringe, thinking of all the work she’d mess up in his inventory system. Today, he was too nervous to do more than nod. “How is she?” Rod puffed his cheeks out in a sigh. “Hard to say.” “Was the house in good shape when you got here?” “Yeah,” Rod said. “Thanks for keeping an eye on things.”

“No problem. Sorry I wasn’t here when you got back.” “Zall right.” His uncle walked to the table and sat down, and waited, coffee in hand.

Jason took a breath. His heart was pounding in his throat. ‘Here we go,’ he said to himself. “Somethin’ happened while you guys were gone, Uncle Rod.” Rod tilted his head slightly, eyes never leaving Jason’s. “What?” “I got arrested.” His uncle carefully set his coffee down. “Why?” he asked, quietly. Jason licked his lips. “I beat the hell out of Ernnie Richards.” Rod nodded, also slowly. “Why?” he asked again. “He made a comment about Anna.” Rod went very, very still. “He what?” It wasn’t loud, and it wasn’t sharp, but Jason’s skin shivered. When his uncle got really angry, he got quiet. The quieter he got, the worse things were. When he got as quiet as he was now, it was a good idea to hide all the firearms in the house.

“We were at the grocery store,” the youth said. “Ya know how her doctor recommended her for that animal-assisted therapy stuff? Well, the only program is clear down in Fargo, so Marc and Terri have been looking for a puppy for her, instead. We were all up at the lake and she found this baby pup, someone musta left it there to die… .” He was blabbering, trying to avoid laying the whole thing out, and he knew it… . ‘Get to the fuckin’ point, Rolend,’ he snarled at himself. “Anyway, Marc and I took her and the pup to Leon’s, to get it food ’n stuff. Anna wouldn’t leave the puppy, but you know how they are down there…” “Yeah,” his uncle rasped. “They’d let her in with it. Get to the point, Jason.” Rod’s voice was mild. Almost bored. It made Jason think of the quiet before an explosion. “Marc was in line. I was getting a pop out of the vending machine. Anna was just inside the door, holding the pup, when I heard her… ya know how she kinda moan-screams when she’s scared?” “Yeah.” “I turned around, and… . Ernnie had her backed against the wall. He was…” The blood was pounding in Jason’s ears. “He… was running his hands through her hair, pushing some of it behind her ears… . and I heard him say how… pretty she’d be in a couple years.” His hands were hurting, Jason realized dimly. He forced himself to relax his grip on the edge of the counter. “It was how he said, it Uncle Rod. That sick bastard was eyeing her up, and she’s… she’s just a kid!”

“What happened next?” Rod’s voice sounded funny in Jason’s ears, like they were talking through tin cans. “I lost it,” Jason growled. “I hit him with everything I had.” That got a reaction. Rod half-bolted from his chair, a look of pure fury on his face. “In front of Anna?”

Jason’s hair stung his neck, he shook his head so hard. “No! I pulled him into the parking lot, away from her.” Rod paused; Jason saw him take a breath. Then he settled carefully into his chair again. “Then what happened?” “That’s fuzzy,” the youth itted. “Everybody was yellin’, and the pup was barkin’ and growlin’ and tryin’ to get to Ernnie, and then somebody grabbed me, and then Marc got there, and Ernnie was tryin’ to get in my face… .” “Okay. What’s the next clear thing you ?” “The guy who pulled me off Ernnie was Brad Vervalen.” (A cousin of his uncle’s, and one of the tribal cops.) “Was Brad on duty?” “Yeah.” “What’d he do?” Jason’s lips peeled back from his teeth in a bloodthirsty grin. “Told Ernnie he had one minute to vanish, or the story would be Brad caught him trying to assault a minor.” A dry, dangerous chuckle rose from Rod’s throat. “Always did get along with Brad,” he drawled. Then he shot Jason a blade-keen look. “Is that when he arrested you?” “No. Things were really bad. I’ve never seen Anna like that.” A brief pause fell. Jason could hear the clock ticking behind him. At last his uncle asked, “Is Ernnie pressing charges?” “No,” Jason rasped. “What could he say? He hit on a seven year old and got caught?! Everyone in there saw him touch her, heard what he said. Everyone in

there knows his reputation.” “Why didn’t you call me?” Rod asked. Jason shook his head, tight, controlled. “You had enough to deal with, and I didn’t want Dad knowin’.” (The thought of what his father, Dave Rolend, would have done to Ernnie, made Jason’s blood ice.) The news should have been enough to get his uncle pacing like a caged cat, but Rod just sat there, staring into space, coffee cup poised motionless in his hand. “Uncle Rod?” Jason asked, carefully. No answer. “Uncle Rod?”

CHAPTER 5

‘I warned that sonofabitch!’

Rod heard Jason just fine, but he couldn’t get his mouth to work, in large part, because he was planning a murder. ‘I warned that sonofabitch!’ he said to himself. ‘I warned him.’ The entire Richards family was fucked up, in Rod’s opinion. The sister, Amy, was a self-centered bitch who made no secret of the fact she considered herself better than anyone else on the res because she lived in Rawlins. (A grand distance of 3 miles.) Until, of course, the treaty money was handed out. Then she was the first one waving her degree of Indian blood and holding her hand out. The bother, Ernnie, was even worse. He was slime. Actually, he was beneath slime. He’d had his ass kicked by every father on the res (even the dead-beats), and no few of the mothers. He wasn’t quite a pedophile (or Rod would have dropped a word in Derrick Lashan’s ear years ago, and taken the karma with a clear conscious) but he liked ’em young. Very young. Rod had heard him make comments about 12 year olds. How the sick bastard had lived this long without getting a bullet between the eyes, Rod had no idea. And now he was eyeing a child he knew wouldn’t be able to understand what was done to her, or identify the one who did it. All right, maybe Ernnie hadn’t actually done anything (this time,) but just the thought of that pervert watching in the wings as Anna matured, biding his time, making her the subject of his sick fantasies… . ‘Ernnie, your luck just ran out.’

Someone was shaking him, he realized. And his coffee was gone from his hand. “Uncle Rod.”

Rod looked up to see Jason standing over him, pale beneath his tan. Rod’s coffee cup, still full, sat on the table. “You really are pissed,” the boy said. Jason took a breath, squared his shoulders, and said tonelessly, “I’ll get my stuff. Marc and Terri said I could move in with them.” “What?” Rod asked. “What the hell are you talkin’ about?” “I’m not sorry.” Jason’s eyes caught fire. His voice was low and savage. “I’d do it again. The pervert had it comin’. But, if you don’t want me here because of it… .” ‘Oh, for the love of God!’ Rod thought, exasperated. “I’m not pissed at you, Jason! Whadda ya take me for?!” He grinned, a dark, vicious thing that made Jason take an involuntary step back. “I would have done it too. And I bet Marc told you the same thing?”

Jason blushed. Suddenly, the rock-steady man was gone, and in his place was a 20 year old kid who grinned goofily. “He did. Bought me a beer, too.” “Just one?” Rod snorted. “He’s getting to be a lightweight in his old age.” Jason laughed. “Terri would have killed us both, comin’ in drunk,” the youth said. “And with her bein’ pregnant…” “WHAT?”

Jason froze like a deer in the headlights. Then he cursed. “Don’t let on ya know,” he begged. “Terri doesn’t want anyone to know, yet.” Rod felt a true grin spread across his face. “So Marc finally ed where to put it. It’s about time.” That goofy grin was back on Jason’s face, too. “That’s why I’ve been over there so much.” Now that he knew Rod wasn’t going to scalp him, kill him, or throw him out, Jason relaxed, grabbing a chair and straddling it. “Terri’s been really sick. I been watchin’ Anna for ’em.” Rod winced. Jason shuddered. “I feel bad for her,” Jason said. “I hear her talkin’ to Marc, sometimes. She’s terrified that this one’s gonna be like… .” he trailed off. “Like Anna,” Rod said softly. Jason growled. “There’s nothing wrong with Anna!” he said, staring into some past only he could see. “She gets a lot more than people think she does.” Rod raised an eyebrow. Jason caught it; his jaw locked stubbornly.

“She does. She just can’t explain it.”

Rod kept his mouth shut. He knew who Jason saw when Jason looked at Anna. Jason saw himself. Jason had been a lonely kid. His mother, Rod’s sister-in-law, was, as Kay used to say, “a res statistic.” Jason had raised himself, pretty much, except for those times he lived with Rod and Kay, and, later, Rod. He’d had no friends, except the ones he hung out with at school, and carefully kept people away from his house, protecting the secret, like humans did, even when the secret didn’t deserve protecting.

Rod ed a 10 year old kid, living off fry bread (that he made himself) and peanut butter in a filthy house while his mother was ed out due to whatever drugs she’d fucked herself up with. That time, Rod had packed Jason up and taken him to Rod’s place in Minneapolis. He’d called DCS, and the cops, and gotten his sister-in-law thrown in jail, then rehab. David Rolend, Jason’s father, had come up and taken Jason home with him, over Rod’s vehement protests:

“You’re not a blood relative,” the social worker had told Rod, gently, sympathetically. “You’re working two jobs, one in a bar band, at night . . .” ‘You’re a wreck,’ her eyes had said, bluntly, going over his worn clothing, short hair, and the tell-tale signs of hard drinking. “He’s lived with me before. With us, I mean. Me and my wife, before she died . . . He’s used to my place,” Rod had argued. “He has his own room, and he’s comfortable there. He won’t have to change schools or leave his friends. I don’t need the bar gig. I can make enough as an IT tech for both of us!” “I’m sorry, Mr. Poitra,” she’d said, firmly. The manila folder holding Jason’s case file had flipped closed with an ominous snap! “But I have to do what’s in the best interest of the child.”

Rod shook the past out of his mind, but a distant sadness lingered. ‘No wonder he attached himself to Anna,’ he thought to himself, studying Jason’s face. ‘In her own way, she’s just as lonely.’ Jason was quiet, staring blankly into the air. Rod saw ghosts moving in his eyes, and Rod’s own anger surged back, out of the past and into the present. ‘Maybe I couldn’t do anything about Jason then,’ he vowed grimly, ‘but I can sure as hell do something about Ernnie now.’ “You got anything to do today?” he asked abruptly, getting to his feet. Jason

blinked, coming back from wherever he had been. “Not unless Marc or Terri need me,” he said, warily. Rod grabbed his coffee; downed it in one pour. “Mind tellin’ what you did to Ernnie? And why?” Confusion fogged Jason’s eyes. “No,” he said. “Good,” Rod said curtly. “Let me put my shoes on, and then we have some people to see.”

CHAPTER 6

“Brad around?”

The tribal police station was sleepily quiet as Jason followed his uncle through the door: just a bunch of men and women, going through their usual day. Jason twitched slightly, ing the feel of cuffs around his wrists; the strain in his shoulders and arms as he was shoved into the back of a cruiser. ‘Never want to do that again,’ he itted to himself. Rod walked up to the main desk; leaned on it companionably. “Morning, Kyle,” he greeted the officer easily. “What can I do for ya, Rod?” the cop asked. “Brad around?” The officer gathered some paperwork together, tapping it against the desk to organize it. “In back.” “Thanks.” Rod motioned Jason to follow him, then walked around the desk, weaving through the office furniture, toward a desk in the very back, where a guy in uniform was sitting at a desk. Jason felt his skin crawl slightly as he looked at the cop. Brad Vervalen was a big guy, almost as tall as Rod’s friend Derrick Lashan. But where Lashan had the slender, if muscled, build of a knife-fighter, Brad was built like a football player. Seeing the silver threading through Brad’s short hair, Jason snorted.

‘False advertising,’ the kid muttered to himself. Brad didn’t react when they came up. He just kept typing. “No,” he said, without looking up. “Good to see you too,” Rod drawled. He sat down in the chair before the desk without being invited. “You treat everybody this way?” “No, just you.” “You don’t even know why I’m here.” Brad quit typing; leveled a steady, knowing look across the top of the computer monitor at his cousin. “You’re here to see if I know where Ernnie is. Well, I don’t. And even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.” Rod leaned forward, grabbed a pencil out of the coffee mug on Brad’s desk; began walking it across his fingers. Brad didn’t say anything. Neither did Rod. The pencil made three full circuits of Rod’s hands before he replaced it. “Actually,” he said, as if they’d been talking all this time, “I was wondering if you knew where Thomas was.” Brad raised an eyebrow. Suddenly, Jason could see the family resemblance. “You. Want to talk to Thomas?” he asked, as if Rod had just told him Rod wanted to use a Ouija board to talk to Elvis. “Yep,” Rod drawled. Brad blew out his cheeks in a sigh. “Now I’ve seen everything,” he told the ceiling. “Far as I know, Thomas is up at

his place.” “Thanks, Brad.” Rod stood up. “We’re playin a street dance down by Sebastian Strange’s place weekend after this one,” he said, before he walked out. “Come on down, if you can get the time off. Dave Rolend’s playing lead for us.” Jason’s jaw sagged. “He is?” he asked, low and quick. His uncle shot him that whacked-out grin of his, but his eyes were kind. “Yep.” “Sounds like fun,” Brad drawled. “Dave should make even your drumming sound good.” Rod rolled his eyes as Jason snorted. “I’ll try. Jason,” the cop said, changing the topic abruptly, “I was just doing my job.” His voice was quiet, and oddly… . apologetic. ‘He didn’t want to arrest me,’ Jason realized, in a flash of insight. Somehow, knowing that made him feel better. “I know,” he said. Brad grinned suddenly, a low, feral thing. “Go for his knees next time. Ernnie blew ’em both out playing football with me in high school. Hurts him like hell. ’Course,” Brad winked slyly, “you never heard that from me.” Jason felt an answering grin start on his own face. “Heard what?” he asked. Brad and Rod laughed. “Exactly,” Brad agreed. His eyes moved past Jason; focused on something past the youth’s shoulder. His expression changed so suddenly it was like watching a mask fall down over his face. “I have work to do.” “Uh… right,” Jason stammered. Brad nodded, face as cold as ice, and went back to his typing. Jason turned to see… The shift captain, standing right behind him.

Jason felt his skin crawl. The captain’s name was Brandon Lavallie, and he hated Rod on sight, because Rod had turned Brandon’s uncle, Morgan, in for having kiddie porn on his computer eight years ago. Rod had also testified to his findings during the trial, which had put Morgan in prison for life. Blood being thicker than water, Brandon hated Jason, too. Jason returned the favor with equal intensity. “Stayin’ out of trouble?” Brandon asked now. “Yes,” Jason growled, his voice just-this-side of getting him arrested again. Brandon’s eyes flared. Jason straightened his spine, not giving an inch. “One day your attitude’s gonna get your ass kicked, kid,” Brandon growled. Jason opened his mouth to say, “Who’s gonna do it, old man? You?” but his uncle grabbed him by the arm and dragged him past Brandon by brute force. “Talk to ya later, Brad. Thanks.” He nodded to Brandon (who didn’t return the favor) and frog-marched Jason out the of building.

“You wanna get arrested again? And have it stick, this time?” Rod demanded, exasperated. “Brad couldn’t do a damn thing if you started something inside the fuckin’ police station!” Jason growled, glaring out the windshield of the truck. “That guy’s a fuckin’ ass,” he snarled. “Yes, he is,” his uncle agreed, climbing behind the wheel. “But he’s got relatives on the tribal council and seniority on the force. Watch your step.” “I will.” Jason didn’t catch the tone in his voice, or the look his uncle shot him. ‘He’s not always going to be in uniform,’ the youth was thinking. ‘And then he’s gonna get what’s comin’ to him . . . ’ “You,” Rod sighed, breaking into Jason’s plans, “are too much like me.”

As they headed out of town, Jason asked, “Do you think Brad really does know something?” His uncle shook his head. “No. If he did, he’da told me.” “So what now?” the youth asked. “Now,” Rod flipped his turn signal on, checked traffic, and turned off the highway, “we’re goin’ to talk to Thomas Gyere.”

CHAPTER 7

“She’s just a KID!”

Jason felt his eyes widen. Thomas Gyere was, as the saying went, “a Traditionalist’s Traditionalist.” Since Rod had started practicing again, Thomas had been after him to the lodge Thomas belonged to. “Why him?” Jason asked. “Because he has family and connections all over,” his uncle replied. A grim, implacable tone came into his voice. “I’m gonna make sure Ernnie has no where to hide.” And he kept his word. After Thomas, Rod took Jason to see Mike Belgarde, another pipe-carrier and member of a different lodge; then another Traditionalist, Sean Curtis. Each time, Jason found himself laying out exactly why he’d done what he’d done while the older men listened quietly. It didn’t cool his anger. If anything, it made it hotter, more concentrated. “She’s just a KID,” he’d snarled through gritted teeth to Sean. “A kid! Sayin’ something like that to a little girl… ?!” “They’re supposed to be cared for, protected, people like that,” Sean said quietly, looking out into the trees. They were up at his workshop, a shed like the one Rod had, set inside a small clearing ringed with scrub oak. Sean turned his attention to Rod. “What do you want, Rod?” “I want the word to go out. Let people know what he is.” Rod sat in one of the lawn chairs Sean had. “He’s getting worse, Sean. We both know it. Anna’s 7; she can’t understand what he meant. If he’s fanaticizing about little girls… .” Sean nodded. His eyes were bottomless pools as he thought.

“Who else have you talked to?” “Thomas and Mike. Tried to find Pete, but he’s out of town.” “All four lodges,” Sean said quietly. “This effects every person with a daughter, sister, niece, cousin… .” Sean’s fingers beat a staccato pattern on the arm of his chair. “Goin’ to a sweat next weekend,” he said. “I’ll talk to some people there.” Rod held out his hand. “Thanks, Sean.” The other pipe-carrier smiled, suddenly, sharp and vicious as a shark. “Don’t thank me,” he said, getting to his feet. “I have two daughters.”

CHAPTER 8

“You got anything else to do today?”

“You got anything else to do today?” Jason blinked. They were sitting front of his uncle’s place, after the drive back from Sean’s, still in the truck, its doors open to let in the slight breeze. “Not really,” he said, carefully. “Good.” Rod got out and slammed the driver’s door. “Come with me.” He started walking toward the lake, leaving Jason to scramble after him. “We gonna lay the smack down on Ernnie?” he asked, jogging to catch up. Gru barked from his place by the porch. Jason stopped, unchained the dog, and then ran to catch up with his uncle, Gru trotting alongside. Like Sean, Rod used a small shed as his “workshop;” unlike Sean, Rod’s was on the bank of the lake behind the house. As he climbed the stairs, Jason felt his skin shiver. He looked over, and saw a wooden plaque hanging in a tree. He suppressed a shudder. His uncle had made that plaque, two years ago. Rod wouldn’t say any more than that, but Jason was mortally sure that Derrick Lashan had something to do with it. He’d seen Lashan out there last Halloween night, laying things on the ground beneath the plaque. When Jason had gone out there the next morning, driven by insatiable curiosity, he’d found marigolds, candy, even toys, inside a ring of tobacco. “What was it?” he’d asked his uncle. “It was creepy.” “Did you touch anything?” Rod had demanded, sharply. “Move anything?” “No.”

“Good. Leave it alone.” “But…” Rod had sighed, a deep, weary thing, that spoke of ghosts and confidences shared. “Lashan… .” he had said, slowly. “He… investigated a pedophile ring. He saw some pretty bad shit, and that’s all I can say about it. Let him, and those offerings, alone, my boy.”

“Jayse?” His uncle’s voice stepped out of memory and into present time. Jason’s attention snapped! back to the shed. His uncle stood in the doorway of it, looking at him. “Yeah,” Jason said, shaking his head. “What are we gonna do?” “I’m gonna teach you the song I have for Anna.” This was so unexpected, so unlike what Jason had been expecting after the day’s events, that he just stared at his uncle, stunned. A slight, puzzled smile touched Rod’s face. “Don’t you want to me to?” he asked. Jason blinked, giving himself a severe mental shake. “Why now?” he asked. Rod’s eyes moved past him, out to the lake. “I just got back from a funeral, Jayse. Reminded me I’m not gonna be here forever. You said you’d never seen Anna that bad before. Well, I have. She was like that a lot when I first started working with her. Sometimes it would take me hours to calm her down. Sometimes it still does.” Rod paused. Finally, he shrugged, a loose, one-sided thing that was eerily like the movement Jason used. “If nothing else, if you learn the song, we can spell each other off, when she has her bad nights. But we can wait, if you want.”

Jason stared at his uncle, chilled for no reason he could name. There was an oddly wistful sadness on the older man’s face, something Jason didn’t want to read. All his life, Rod had been there, even when Rod was falling-down-drunk and wallowing in guilt. Jason had lost count of the number of times he’d shown up on his uncle’s doorstep and been taken in, no questions asked; lost count of the number of rambling, late-night discussions they’d had. “I’m not dying, you idiot!” His uncle’s voice snapped him, again, out of reverie. “And I’m not planning to, so quit looking at me like that!” Jason couldn’t help it: he laughed, and the tension that had been simmering in him all day drained away. “Yeah,” he said. “Knowing that song’ll come in handy. What do I need to do?”

CHAPTER 9

‘She’d turn Ernnie into a greasy pile of ash.’

Rod watched Jason roar off down the road in a haze of dust and sunset. He sighed, looked at the house, and turned away from it. Tara hadn’t come back yet; she’d taken her cat with her when she left that morning, so she might be staying at her place tonight. He didn’t blame her. She needed time to herself as much as he did; it was one of the reasons they’d developed this odd, back-and-forth arrangement they had. Thinking of Tara reminded him of something Jason had asked, once they were finished with things. ‘Don’t tell Tara about Ernnie, okay?’ Jason had half-pleaded. Rod had looked at him, stunned. ‘Why?’ he’d asked. Jason had actually shivered. ‘I what she did to that Lavallie woman,’ the youth answered, slowly. Now, Rod had to it, Jason had a point.

Two years ago, an old enemy of Rod’s had made Tara the target of a hatecampaign. Threatening letters had escalated to physical violence, and Tara had wound up in the hospital, with injuries to her face, neck, and arms. After she’d gotten out, Tara had lost her temper. She was a practicing Witch, a very powerful one. Rod had been there when she called up a mythological creature out of Egypt and set it on the track of her

tormentors. The memory still gave Rod nightmares. It had taken over a month, but Tara’s magick, medicine (call it whatever fit) had driven all of those involved out of the shadows. Scalps included three cops from the Rawlins PD, several postal employees from three separate towns, an idiot named Marcie Wilkie, and Brandon Lavallie’s mother (Morgan’s sister) a female Traditionalist named Maggie Lavallie. Rod still ed bursting into Tara’s house the day things had come to a head, with Lashan and Jason, to see Maggie Lavallie, rage making the air ripple around her, facing down a white-faced, glittering-eyed Tara, who had a dagger in one hand and an actual sword in the other. He still ed seeing the creature Tara had called on pick Maggie up in its mouth and shake her like a terrier shaking a rat. He still ed hearing Tara laugh in triumph.

‘No,’ he decided now. ‘She’d go nuts, if she knew what Ernnie pulled.’ What she could do, given a target for all the anger and pain she was currently dealing with, on top of her natural outrage… . ‘She’d turn Ernnie into a greasy pile of ash.’ He sighed; turned to look back at the house. He’d forgotten to turn the AC on. Inside would be hotter than a tin box. Out here, it was hot, too, but he could feel the breeze off the lake getting stronger and cooler. He went in long enough to turn the AC on; then came back out and followed the track Gru’s paws had worn in the grass around the left side of the house. The sent of green and growing things surrounded him as he walked, coupled with sun and dust. The trail broadened out into an actual path. He didn’t plane and gravel it every year now, but it was in okay shape. The path dipped down, trees opening onto the bank of the lake, gleaming beneath the clear sky. Sunlight danced across its surface in a wash of golden diamonds. A small red-stained shed, Rod’s workshop, stood off to one side, no longer padlocked, except when he was gone for long periods of time. To the shed’s right, the path ran arrowstraight up to a small dock, its surface faded and warped by long exposure to the

elements.

The man walked out to the edge of the dock and sat down, pulling smokes and a book of matches out of his pocket. The scent of cigarette smoke rose into the air. “Well,” he sighed to the trees and the water, “this is gonna be interesting.” The day’s events shifted quietly through his thoughts as the sun began sliding gently toward the west. ‘You’d be proud of Jason, Kay,’ he thought to his wife’s memory. ‘Somehow, that kid’s turned out okay.’ He smiled slightly, imagining Jason pounding Ernnie into the pavement. “Wish I could have seen it,” he murmured aloud on a stream of smoke. Then a slight, wry chuckle rose up out of his chest. “Maybe I should turn him loose on the lodges, too…” Ideally, the medicine lodges were supposed to work together, for the benefit of the people. It was a lovely idea, and maybe at one point in time had been true. But now? Rivalries and grudges simmered between them, while people fought over the “right” way to practice. ‘Even more politics than the Council,’ Rod thought in disgust. ‘And what do you think you’ve been doing today, Poitra?’ his conscious pointed out. ‘Playin’ politics.’ Rod’s mouth twisted. All three of the men he’d talked to today had been after him to the different lodges they represented. (“Like NFL coaches after a 1stround draft pick,” to quote Jason.) He knew it, and he’d used it to his advantage. ‘But I’m doing it for a GOOD REASON! Ernnie is dangerous,’ Rod argued. ‘The ends justify the means, then?’ his better side asked. ‘ALL the means?’ That was the puzzle, you see. Rod could ensure that the lodges did what he wanted them to.

He could Derrick Lashan, his might-not-be-human best friend, and ask him to back Rod’s play. Lashan might look human, but he had abilities no human being on this planet had. It would be child’s play for him to manipulate those men, and they would never know. Or, Rod could Lashan’s half-Elven children, using the medicine pipe they had gifted him with two years ago, after Rod had forced Lashan to confront the horror that had driven Lashan mad, and helped him come to with it. All he had to do was light the pipe, and Arianna or Tria or Ioni, Lashan’s grandson, would appear. Rod could ask them to send dreams, omens, to the other pipe-carriers, dreams that would lead them right where Rod wanted them to go. God, he wanted to do it. He even started to get to his feet. Then he stopped. His willfully-ignorant memory reluctantly kicked into gear. Lashan’s daughters were beautiful, powerful, and feral as cats. They were not human. As Tria, Lashan’s youngest, had told Rod more than once over the past two years, ‘Human law isn’t.’ He could practically hear her voice, the subtle, ultimate contempt in it. ‘They wouldn’t send omens to the lodges,’ Rod realized. ‘They’d kill Ernnie.’ Immediately, if Ernnie were lucky. Slowly, if he wasn’t. ‘And Lashan would feed him to Shimmer.’ Shimmer was Lashan’s lover, a vampire-lycanthrope with the body of an angel and a soul as feral as a cat’s. ‘I don’t want Ernnie dead,’ Rod realized. ‘I want him in prison, taking it up the ass from a guy with 12-inch schlong.’ “Death would be kinder.” Rod jerked!, startled, and nearly fell off the edge of the dock. He had heard nothing, sensed nothing, and yet there was someone sitting on the dock beside him. Rod swallowed. “Grandfather,” he said, carefully.

CHAPTER 10

James Longbow

Rumor had it this property was haunted. (No surprise there, every acre of the res had some story attached to it.) The ghost for this place was the spirit of an old pipe-carrier named James Longbow. According to the story, he’d died some time around the late 1920s. Details varied according to who was telling the story, but either he was beaten to death on the property, and stayed, waiting to be avenged, or had given the property freely to his last student, then died, and stuck around as a kind of protective spirit. Rod had heard the stories all his life. His mother had told him about seeing the old man when she was just a little older than Anna. Rod himself had slept outside with his friends more than once, hyping themselves up with other ghost stories, and hoping either to see the ghost, or hear the fiddle the old man was said to have played. Then he’d grown up and forgotten about it. Until he answered Sebastian Strange’s request to come help Derrick Lashan, four years ago.

At Strange Acres (as Strange called his home) Rod had learned several things, among them that Strange himself was not, and had never been, human. He had also met Arianna, Tria, Ioni… . And a man who called himself James Longbow. Who seemed to look whatever age he wanted to at the moment, still laughed over meeting Rod’s mother at age 10, and spoke the native language like Rod’s grandparents had. That same man was sitting beside Rod now.

Now, Jim (who wasn’t a ghost, but wasn’t completely human anymore, either) just nodded. Today he looked to be in his early thirties, with a fall of glossy black hair, the build of a hunter and knife-fighter, and eyes that were far older than his face. He wore a loose shirt, pants, and a sash, with a hunting knife in a sheath on one hip, and a leather pouch on the other. When he spoke, it was in a mix of French and Cree, but with an accent like Arianna’s. “You worry too much.” “Maybe,” Rod said. He held out his smokes. Jim smiled. Like his eyes, the expression was far older than his face. He opened the pouch on his belt, pulled out a pipe and packed it with tobacco. The pipe lit of its own accord. Jim took a pull of the pipe, then handed it to Rod.

“They all ready know,” the newcomer said, in a cloud of smoke. Rod carefully pulled the smoke into his lungs. His head was spinning. Jim had never offered to smoke with him before. As they talked, the pipe went back and forth between them. “Who knows what?” Rod asked, taking a few moments to the words. (He hadn’t heard this pronunciation since his grandfather died; he had to the knack of it.) “Arianna and Tria. They already know about the…” Jim slipped into another language for a few syllables. Rod didn’t need to know the exact words to recognize the insult. “What are they going to do?” he asked, chilled. Jim shrugged. “No way to tell.” His voice was completely neutral. “Whatever they do, it’s their choice, not yours.” “I was the one who asked them to help Anna,” Rod protested stubbornly. “It’s my responsibility.” One side of Jim’s mouth smiled.

“You’re a lot like your grandfather, when Rhys was your age,” he said kindly. “But you don’t control the memekoshe, boy. They are their own people; they make their own choices. You asked Ari and Tria, yes. But you didn’t force them to care for that girl. They decided that for themselves.” Put that way… . Rod stared out over the water. He could feel the sun across his shoulders; smell the sweet scent of the pipe tobacco. “What do I do, then?” Clothing rustled as Jim shrugged. “You’ve done what you can. The lodges…” A profound sadness filled his voice. “I know they’ve changed since my day, but I think they’ll do what’s right.”

Another thought popped, unbidden, into Rod’s mind. He turned to the other being beside him. “That girl’s parents have another child coming,” he said. He took a breath. Jim was as chancy and unpredictable as a wolf… .”Would you carry a message to Arianna for me, Grandfather?” To his astonishment, Jim tilted his head back and laughed. “Am I still that imposing?” he asked the sky. Then he looked at Rod. “From the look on your face, I am.” He shook his head, wryly. “Yes, boy. I’ll the message on. A blessing for the mother?” “Yes.” Rod sighed, the tension running out of his shoulders. Jim flowed to his feet with an Elf’s eerie, inhuman grace and silence. “Don’t worry so much. Thank you for the smoke.” He was gone before the last word faded off the air. Rod sat where he was for a long time after Jim left. When the mosquitoes finally began to buzz around his ears, he took another cigarette out of his pack, crushed it, and let the tobacco fall onto the dock.

“Thank you, Grandfather.”

CHAPTER 11

“Your nightmares are back, aren’t they?”

By midnight, it was clear that neither Jason nor Tara was coming back to the house that night. Rod sat back in his office chair, looking at his computer. ‘I can do the rest tomorrow,’ he decided, running down his work list. Summer was a slow time for his IT business. People were outside, traveling, not inside working at desks. The college was out for summer break. He had a few software upgrades to do; a printer to fix; some websites to update. Nothing that needed immediate attention. And the house was finally cool enough to sleep in. He leaned forward and turned off his monitor.

He was almost asleep when he heard a motorized something pull up outside. Gru didn’t start barking, which meant it was either Jason or Tara. Rod rolled out of bed and grabbed some cut offs laying on the floor. (Jason always forgot his house key, and Tara wouldn’t “intrude on his privacy” by accepting one.) ‘I’ll have a copy made for her,’ Rod decided, shaking the hair out of his face. He was walking into the living room when a frantic pounding exploded against the front door. Startled, Gru sprang to his feet and ran, barking, to the door, Rod behind him. It was Tara, in shorts and a nightshirt and barefoot, hair hanging like a banshee’s around her face. She sprang through the door and wrapped her arms around his neck in a death-grip. It was at least 80 degrees tonight, and she was shaking so hard he could hear her teeth rattle. “Tara? What… ?” He stumbled back, kicking the door closed. Then he wrapped

his arms around her. “Your nightmares are back, aren’t they?” he asked. She nodded mutely, head pressed against his shoulder. She’d had nightmares since she’d gotten to New Mexico. Even Rod’s medicine hadn’t been able to block them. ‘Damn,’ he sighed to himself. ‘I was hoping they’d stop once he was buried.’ “Tara,” he asked carefully, “what are they about?” ‘She’d refused to tell him, but he had a pretty good idea, regardless. “He’s trying to haunt me.” Her voice was muffled by his shoulder. “It’s always the same. I’m in a place where he felt powerful, and he has me backed against the wall, ranting. Sometimes I’m a little girl, sometimes I’m a teen-ager. I thought, in my own space, he wouldn’t be able to reach me. That’s why I went back to my place tonight. But…” “You’re okay, Tara.” Rod fought to keep the anger out of his voice. He reached around her; locked the door; then pulled her toward the master bedroom. “Gru, don’t trip her.” (The dog was pressing himself against Tara’s legs, a worried look on his face.) “I couldn’t wake up, Rod.” She was actually scared, he realized, deeply and truly frightened, this woman he had watched call a mythical being out of the Egyptian pantheon to deal with her tormentors two years ago. “I tried. I knew I was dreaming; but I couldn’t get it to end . . .”

Gru shoved the door to the bedroom open with his nose; jumped on the bed. He wasn’t supposed to (the dog was a walking wood tick factory in the summer, despite the tick drops Rod put on him religiously) but tonight the man let it slide. “Lay down, Tara.” Gru forced her to by climbing into her lap. Tara wrapped her arms around the dog’s neck, burying her face in his ruff. Rod sat on the edge of the bed and held her. Gru licked her hands. She rambled, alternately ranting and pleading. “Does he hate me that much? How could you hate someone that much? I tried so hard…”

“It’s not your fault.” He kept his voice low. “I can’t live like that, Rod. You saw them: all terrified of hell, seeing things in black and white, unable to enjoy life because it might be a sin… . I used to have nightmares, when I was a little girl, that I was drowning in fire…” “It’s okay, Tara.” Something between a sob and a yell (God, he hated that sound!) wrenched itself out of her body. “I should banish his ass!” Anger now, deep and potent. “To the ninth level of his beloved hell…” “You’re okay.” “And I dragged you into that. Goddess, I’m so sorry.” “There was no way I was gonna let you go alone.” “They were so horrible to you…” “Not the first time I’ve been preached at, darlin’. Funerals being out the worst in people. Don’t worry about it.” “I do worry about it.” He stroked her hair. “You’re exhausted. Try to sleep, okay?” “He’ll find me again.”

Something inside him snapped. He could put up with comments about himself. He could understand why her family had kept him at arm’s length. He wasn’t blood; he wasn’t engaged to Tara; he wasn’t pushing her to get married (and hadn’t that raised some eyebrows!) But he would not tolerate this.

‘Like hell he will.’ “You’re on my turf now, Tara. He won’t reach you here.” His voice must have given something away. She looked up him, light from the beside lamp turning her eyes into dark pits in her face. “What do you mean?” He kissed her, gently. “One of your nightshirts is in the dresser. Get comfortable. Gru and I are on the case.”

A cool shower helped her calm down, and gave Rod time to plan out what he was going to do. When she came back into the bedroom, in a loose white shirt that came to mid-thigh, her hair in a soft night-braid down her back, Rod had his medicine tools ready. He watched her eyes touch the sage incense in a burner on the top of the dresser (purists would say he should use sweet grass, but the last time Rod had used a sweet grass braid Gru had thought it was a chew toy and took off with it while it was still lit); the pouch of tobacco by his knee; the lighter. “What do I do?” Her voice was calm. (There were benefits to working medicine for a Witch. Tara didn’t ask the usual, ““Is this evil/Will it work?” crap.) “Just relax and go to sleep.” “You’ve tried the no-nightmares thing before, mi amor,” she said, as gently as she could. “He gets through that.” Rod smiled a blade’s smile, sharp and deadly. “I’m doin’ something else this time.” She nodded; the motion continued all the way down her spine. “All right. I trust you.” She stretched out on the bed, Gru beside her.

As exhausted as she was, it didn’t take her long to fall asleep. Sitting on the floor, his back against the dresser and legs stretched out in front of him, Rod lit the incense. And as the smoke began to drift upward in sweet-smelling spirals, he went to work. Tara was right. He did have a song to prevent nightmares; he chose another one, one his grandfather, Rhys, had taught him, for all-out protection. If Tara’s father really was trying to haunt her, he wouldn’t be able to get through this. Rod sighed, clearing his mind, letting the rhythm of his heart fill his ears. That was what the drums at powwows represented, anyway, your own heartbeat. When he was ready, he started chanting, keeping his voice low, so Tara wouldn’t wake up. One repetition. Two. His skin began to tingle. He relaxed into the rhythm, and the song began to take on a life, a flow, of its own, resonating with power, medicine, energy, call it whatever you feel comfortable with. And he felt it. Something pushing back against him, something angry, defiant, used to total, complete power. On the bed, Gru growled. The dog’s head was low; he gazed fixedly at the door to the living room, hair in a ridge down his back. Rod bared his teeth. ‘Oh, no, you don’t, you bastard. You’ve caused enough heartache for one lifetime.’ He closed his eyes and focused his will. He heard shouting, like someone trying to be heard over a windstorm, and a blast of defiant panic. Clearly, Tara’s father had been a man accustomed to power. Just from listening to her family talk about the dead man, Rod had been able to tell that. Paul

Campbell had ruled his wife, his circle, with an iron hand. All except his equally strong-willed, independent daughter, who had had the courage to break out of the cycle, forming her own life, separate from his influence. ‘You’re dead,’ Rod told the ghost. ‘You are not welcome here. Leave. Now.’ Oh, Paul Campbell didn’t like that. The pipe-carrier could feel the ghost’s outrage as Rod’s will dominated Paul’s. Then something unusual happened. A second voice ed Rod’s, one as strong and solid as the Earth itself. Power surged through the song, so potent Rod had to fight to keep the necessary balance. ‘Relax, boy,’ Jim Longbow whispered in his mind. Chills ran down Rod’s arms; actual drums filled his mind. (Or was it his heart? He couldn’t tell. Did it matter, anyway?) Rod felt reality shift, with that peculiar opening/falling sensation that told him he was stepping into a vision. There was a moment of struggle, always, as his body tried to keep him tied to the mundane world; then it eased, and his mind opened… .

CHAPTER 12

“You’re not welcome here, Manitou.”

Jim Longbow was standing outside the front door of Rod’s place, facing out into the dark, two unsheathed knives in his hands. A little girl about Anna’s age stood behind him, her dark hair in pigtails, wearing a pink nightgown. Rod had never seen her before, but, somehow, he recognized her. This was what Tara had looked like as a child. At the base of the stairs stood a man with the heavy frame of a former athlete. Rod could still see how, in his prime, the stranger must have been physically imposing; he still had the air of a man accustomed to using his size to intimidate. He was shouting Tara’s name. She was crying, trying to hide behind Jim’s back. The biggest fox Rod had ever seen (it was easily the size of a coyote) stood on one side of her; a raptor of some kind perched on the railing of the porch. It was easily the biggest bird Rod had ever seen, with talons washed in gold and a firelike sheen to its feathers. (‘Yeah right,’ his conscious mind commented sarcastically. ‘Like this many people, let alone two predators, could stand together on the porch without it collapsing. This is definitely a vision.’). The fox’s head was down; its ears flat back against its skull, but it wasn’t scared. It was silently, steadily watching Paul Campbell. The raptor was still as a statue, watching the man with a predator’s flat, chilling gaze.

The man swore and started to climb the stairs. The fox snarled; the raptor screamed, spreading its wings over Tara’s head. Jim moved with a lethal, silent grace. One knife went to the intruder’s chin; the other rested against his stomach, poised to eviscerate. “You’re not welcome here, Manitou.”

His low voice was flat, final, absolute. And yet, Rod could hear him chanting; feel the incredible power he was adding to the song. Rod stepped up before Tara. (He knew he did it, but at the same time he knew he was sitting against the dresser, listening to Tara mumble in her sleep.) Paul Campbell, in the same suit he had been buried in, backed down the stairs. “Tara Elizabeth, you come down here right now!” His voice was a bully’s, arrogant and cruel. His eyes were Tara’s in shape and color, but where hers were kind, his burned. This was a man who had believed in only one thing: His own way. Tara shook her head. She wouldn’t look at him; she cringed as if each word he spoke was a blow. “Don’t you defy me, girl.” In that one sentence, Rod saw years of domination, a child’s love and desire to please turned to fear and dread. Jim looked over his shoulder at Tara. “You have to face him, chi-fee. He’s dead, and you’re alive. He can only hurt you if you allow it.” “This is between me and my daughter!” Paul Campbell roared. Or tried to. The ghost’s voice was oddly flat and static-y, like someone on the other end of a bad long-distance connection. “You have no right to interfere!” “I have the right.” Rod had had enough of this arrogant bastard who was still trying to throw his weight around even after he was dead. “This is my land. You are not welcome here.” “She’s my blood!” Tara drew a knife’s breath. Her head came up. With typical dream/vision logic, she was suddenly an adult, her hair the beautiful, pure white Rod knew. A deep, profound anger stiffened the lines of her face. She ghosted around them all, somehow, and stood on the step above her father. Her hands were clenched in the fabric of her nightshirt.

“You wanted no part of my life when you lived!” she screamed at him. “I’m not a little girl you can intimidate anymore. I’m alive! You. Are. DEAD!!!!!!!!!!!! LEAVE. ME. ALONE!!!!!!!!!!!”

Rod heard Tara’s physical breathing change; heard Gru growl again, low and dangerous. He also felt the force of her will hit her father like a sledge hammer to the chest, knocking him backward like a twig in a hurricane. “I cast you out of here,” Rod said, adding his own will to hers. “And take her into my family. Leave.” Rod reached into a dream pocket (or was it a pouch?) and pulled out tobacco. He walked down the stairs and stood beside Tara, eye-toeye with the dead man’s ghost. “You heard her. The dead cannot stay.” He bent down, and placed the tobacco at Paul Campbell’s feet. “Leave. You aren’t welcome here.”

Something picked the ghost up, an invisible current Rod could feel, but not see, even here. Paul Campbell screamed, writhed and fought, calling curses down on his daughter’s head, his face twisted with fear and fury.

Suddenly, Tara was wearing a linen gown; her body glowed underneath the sheer, gauze-like material. Her ritual sword gleamed like molten silver in her hand. Head high, dark eyes depthless with a strange mixture of strength, resolve, and grief, she stepped down, away from Rod and Jim, the animals, and the protection they gave her. “In the name of the Mother, I separate myself from you, Paul Campbell,” she said, slowly, formally. A tension sprang up in the air, like a too-tight guitar string. Rod could feel it vibrating against his skin. The sword tip sliced through the Earth at her feet, leaving a glowing silver trail. “In the name of the Maiden, I separate myself. From you, Paul Campbell.” A second cut, following the first, reinforcing it, deepening it. The almost-audible humming rose in pitch and intensity. The bones in Rod’s ears began to vibrate. Jim shook his head like a wolf being tortured with a dog whistle. Tara stood tall and straight, unfazed. “In the name of the Crone,” her voice simultaneously dropped to a whisper and rang

out like a gong, “I. Separate. Myself. From you, Paul Campbell!”

As she made the third cut, Rod felt something snap! and the flames blasted! upward with a roar. Across the wall of fire, he thought he could hear Paul Campbell yelling, but it grew more and more distant, like a fighter jet flying away from him. Tara stood quietly, looking out into the darkness. When she finally turned to look at him, she was both the woman Rod knew, the little girl with dark brown hair in pigtails, and a teenager with long hair so dark brown it looked black. “I had to,” she said, her voice oddly tripled, like three people singing a chord in perfect harmony. “I know,” he said. “What do I do, Rod? My mother… she followed his will, always. I have no family now.” “Don’t be stupid, chi-fee.” Jim’s words may have been harsh, but his voice was kind. When Rod looked at him, he was an old man, with long gray hair in two braids down his back, face lined and weathered like a piece of leather left in the sun. The knives were still there, though, gleaming like hungry teeth. “The boy already told you: you’re part of his family now.” Tara’s dark eyes tracked between Jim and Rod. “It’s that easy?” “For us,” Jim said. “Happened all the time in the old days. I was adopted, after my family died.” Tara looked at Rod, and suddenly he was drowning in her eyes. “I meant it, darlin,” he said. “Every word.” She walked up the stairs, sword still in one hand, and stood looking at him.

“You want me?” she asked. “A white girl? A Witch?” “You want me?” he countered. “A ’Skin? A shaman?” Slowly, a smile started to tug at the corners of her mouth. She fought it for a moment, then let it bloom across her face. “Yes,” she said. Just before the vision dissolved, Jim’s voice echoed through Rod’s mind, full of laughter: “Rhys is right. She does have nice breasts.”

CHAPTER 13

“We shared the dream.”

Rod came back to mundane reality with a gasp. His muscles were rigid with tension; his neck ached. When he glanced at the clock on his night stand, only fifteen minutes had ed since he’d started; the incense hadn’t even burned a third of the way down. Tara slept like the dead. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. It happened that way. Sometimes, you spent what felt like a brief time in the spirit realms, and returned to this reality to discover that you had been gone for hours of mortal time; sometimes, the reverse was true. He felt like he’d run a marathon, but he was too wired to sleep. Moving on cat’s feet, he stood up and walked out of the bedroom.

He had just poured himself a cup of coffee when Tara came into the kitchen, Gru at her heels. The dog jumped on the couch as Tara studied Rod, eyes still alight with anger from the dream. “Did you send me that dream?” she asked at last. “No,” he said. She nodded; ran a slightly-shaking hand through her hair. “A message-dream, then.” “A vision,” he corrected her. She shrugged. “Tomato, tomatoe,” she snapped with odd impatience. “Did you see it, too, then?”

“You were a cute little girl,” Rod said. “And the old man had one knife.” He deliberately got that wrong, testing her. And she ed: “He had two knives, not one.” “You’re right.” She froze. Rod saw her eyes widen. “We shared the dream,” she whispered, in a low, wondering voice. “Yes.” “Sweet Isis… .” Her voice trailed off. “I need a drink.” She turned abruptly, opened the fridge. (This told Rod just how rattled she truly was, since she always asked before getting something, even after two years together.) “Chai!” Her voice rose up from behind the fridge door. “Thank you, Goddess!” “Jason got it,” Rod said, sitting down at the table. “Said he tried it, but he didn’t like it, so he brought the rest over here.” “But it’s not even open,” Tara said, confusion in her voice. Her head came up; they exchanged a look over the top of the fridge door. Then Rod laughed, wryly. “That kid,” he sighed. He heard Tara get into the cupboard; heard liquid being poured into a glass. Then Tara walked past him, carrying the drink. She sat down across from him, cradling the glass in her hands like it was the only thing holding her to this reality. “So he really was trying to haunt me,” she mused. (Another advantage of working medicine for a Witch. Tara didn’t doubt the veracity of her experience.) “Yeah,” Rod said. She was quiet for a while, sipping the chai. Then, “Who was the old man?” Rod shrugged. “When he lived, his name was Jim Longbow. He was a pipe-carrier up here in the 1920s. He comes and goes.”

“Guardian spirit?” “When he feels like it,” Rod said. “He likes to play tricks, too. A couple years ago, before you moved up here, some kids camped out on the other side of the lake on Halloween. I was on my way around the lake to kick ’em out, when I heard them start yelling. Few minutes later, they went tearing off on their quad runners. I don’t know what they saw or heard, but I could hear the old man laughing.” “He didn’t want them here,” Tara said. “’At’s my guess,” Rod itted. “Hmmm…” She ran one finger around the rim of her glass. “Why would he help me? I’m not Native.” “Maybe he doesn’t care,” Rod offered. “How do I thank him?” “Tobacco.” She nodded, but didn’t say anything. Rod could see the thoughts moving like currents through her eyes. “Isis have mercy,” she whispered. Only an idiot wouldn’t know what she was referring to. “You did what you had to.” Then he paused. The sword, the fire, the odd, snapping tension replayed through his memory. “What did you do, Tara?” “I cut the karmic cord between him and me.” Her voice was so low, Rod almost missed it. And at first, he didn’t understand what she meant. Then, as her words settled into his mind, and he began to understand the full impact of what she said, a chill raced down his spine. “To the Ancient Egyptians,” she said, staring out the patio doors into the blackness of the night, “the world was a constant battle between the forces of

chaos and Ma’at, universal harmony. Ma’at created order, life. It was hinged on certain things. Loyalty to the gods. To the pharaoh. To your family.” A shudder racked her bones. “Good God, Rod. Have I damned myself? Will my soul fail at the final balance? Will I be fed to the Easter of Souls?” “Tara, don’t.” He had to try twice before he could get the words out. “If anyone has to worry, it’s him. He was you parent. He was supposed to care for you and you, not dominate you. Not bully you.” He wanted to reach across the table, hold her. He didn’t. This was something Tara had to work through herself. So he held himself quiet as she stared out into the dark, thinking.

His coffee had grown cold before she stirred, shaking the hair back from her face. “I broke the cord for the remainder of my life,” she said. “I didn’t do it for all lives. That would have been against Ma’at. Not what I did.” She looked at him, and she looked like herself for the first time since she’d gotten the call from her mother. “My f…” she started to say. “Don’t.” Rod stopped her. “There’s a bit of medicine: The dead aren’t talked about. If you truly want to be free of him, don’t say his name, or any name you knew him by, for 12 calendar months. Let him go now.” Given the path she followed, and the importance the Ancient Egyptians had attached to names (okay, so he’d done a bit of research since he’d paired up with her) he could understand the chill that crossed her face. It was replaced by resolve: the same resolve Rod had seen in the vision. She nodded, once. Then she finished her drink and stood up. “I think I can sleep now.” “Me too.” He copied her, except he left his cup on the table, whereas Tara put hers neatly in the sink. “Let’s go to bed.”

CHAPTER 14

“Some women might take that as a proposal, Rod.”

“What did he call me?” she asked, in bed. “The old shaman, I mean.” Rod smiled into the dark. “Chi-fee. Little woman. More like calling you, little one.” Her delighted laughter lit the darkness. “It’s been a long time since anyone called me that! Thank you, Grandfather!” she said to the ceiling, still laughing. “I’ll find the best tobacco I can for you!” “You’ll never get rid of him now,” Rod teased. Jim’s laughter ghosted through his head, followed by a teasing run on a fiddle. “Just , you’re part of my family, not his!” He meant it as a joke, but somehow it changed between his mind and his mouth, into something else entirely. Suddenly, unexpectedly, he was wide awake, and everything was different. “H… how…” she stopped; he heard her swallow. When she tried again, he voice was full of forced humor, tension buzzing under attempted casualness. “Some women might take that as a proposal, Rod.” And it was his turn to swallow, licking suddenly-dry lips. “I know.” ‘You IDIOT!’ His common sense bellowed. ‘What are you thinking?! Forget the fact she just lost her father, you’re proposing over a DREAM?! What kind of lunatic are you??!’ Good God, it’d serve him right if she got out of bed and went home. This wasn’t

how he’d wanted to do it, the few times he’d allowed his thoughts to go this direction… . . Beside him, Tara lay very, very still. Rod could hear her breathing: quick, agitated, frightened. “H..How…” He heard her swallow again “How do you want me to take it?” ‘God,’ some part of his mind moaned, ‘why do women always make you spell it out?’ He could feel sweat crawling down his back; his heart was defying all the biology texts and hammering in the base of his throat. “Marry me, Tara.” The three hardest words in the entire English language. ‘Maybe I shoulda tried French,’ he wondered wildly. She was silent for so long, Rod was sure he’d pissed her off. He raised himself on one elbow, looking down at her face. “Tara?” When he touched her face, he could feel tear tracks running out the corners of her eyes. “Yes,” she whispered, softly.

CHAPTER 15

“NO CHICKENING OUT ZONE”

A man who had just proposed marriage should be as jittery as a speed-freak. Unless, apparently, he’d been working medicine for a good portion of the day and proposed to a Witch at 3 am. Rod slept like the dead, and only woke up because something pulled him out of bed like he was on the end of a leash. He pulled on jeans and a T-shirt, skin shivering. The air seemed to sing around him, voices he could almost hear whispering in his ears. Tara was gone. So was Gru. The door to the bedroom stood open. The “leash” tugged on at him, insistently. Rod shook the cobwebs out of his brain and followed it.

Whatever was going on, it wanted him outside the house, now. Rod snarled as he was forced to the coffee-maker. Even if he had been a morning person, it was too early: still cool, with dew on the grass that darkened the cuffs of his jeans as he walked around the corner of the house. Curiosity brushed his mind. Not his, but others’. The almost-understandable whispering grew “louder,” if that was the right word. He could feel the pressure increase behind his eyes, the way his grandfather had described the beginning of a migraine. The he heard music. He stopped, staring in amazement. Every nature spirit on the property was awake, and no few human spirits. Rod caught glimpses of faces in between the trees; something that felt like wings brushed past his cheek. Jim Longbow leaned against a tree, arms across his chest, a look of professional curiosity on his face.

Gru was laying beside the old man. All of them were watching Tara, as she danced on the grass at the edge of the lake.

It wasn’t the first time Rod had seen her dance. It wasn’t even the first time he’d seen her work her medicine by dancing. But it was the first time he’d seen her work with this much energy. He could almost see it, a golden shimmering on the air, that grew stronger as she moved. Tara herself was dancing with her eyes closed, face simultaneously relaxed and focused. Rod was close enough he could see the sweat darkening her clothes; hear the rasp of her breathing. She had reason to be sweating. This was no slow piece. The music spun and danced, and Tara moved it, dawn light gliding her skin with gold. She must have unbraided her hair after getting up, because it lashed around her face like sea-foam, small strands sticking to her skin. And with each step, each turn, each shift of her body, he could feel her magick, medicine, energy (call it whatever fit) growing stronger. As the music (she’d brought his cd player outside and set it on the dock) picked up in speed, she danced faster, and Rod found himself leaning forward, urging her on, as the tension on the air grew tighter, brighter, like a chord progression reaching its height. The music cut off, sudden and sharp as a blade falling. The energy Tara had raised flared. (Rod half-expected to see physical sparks, like the grand finale of the firework display on the 4th of July.) Instead, it flowed like an invisible wave across the grass, the lake, the trees, sinking into them as quietly and easily as water sinks into dry soil. But where it touched, the grass seemed a deeper green; the sun burned brighter, and the air carried a sweet, refreshing sent. ‘Powerful,’ Jim Longbow noted, musingly, in Rod’s mind. Tara stood still, breathing hard. Then a huge smile spread across her face. She pressed her hands together and bowed to the sun peeking over the tops of the trees. The watching spirits nodded and slipped back to wherever they came from.

“Interesting tune,” Rod commented, the musician in him ever curious. “What’s it called?” Tara’s eyes blinked open. She stared at him for a moment, coming back from wherever her ritual had taken her. “Santiago,” she eventually replied, voice raspy and dry. “By Loreena McKennitt, off her The Mask And Mirror album.” “Nice drum line,” he said, fingers itching to pick up his sticks and give it a try. “That’s why I like to dance it.” Suddenly, she blushed. “Did I wake you?” She stood half-looking him, oddly shy. “Not the way you think,” he said. “They wanted me to see what you were doing, I think.” “I know.” His Witch stretched. Rod heard her spine pop! “I had to know if I could practice here,” she said, seriously. Then she stopped. “That didn’t come out right…” “Tara,” he said. “I didn’t do anything,” she added hurriedly, earnestly. “This is your place. I wouldn’t do anything without your permission…” “Tara,” he repeated. She blundered on. “It was just a general blessing, the way I do it, just to show them…” “Tara.” She blushed again, finally falling silent. “It’s okay.” Rod had to work to keep the laughter out of his voice. He walked over to her; stood looking her averted face. “I it I look like hell,” he said wryly, “but I made sure to take my horns and claws off.” That startled her into laughing. Rod grinned at her. “Unless you’re having buyer’s remorse?” he half-teased, looking down at his not-25 body.

Her breath caught. For some reason, his mouth dried out. “No,” she said. “Not at all.” The question hung between them, all the louder for being unspoken. “Don’t make me ask again,” he begged. Tara pressed a hand to her lips, laughter bubbling out of her throat. Her eyes shone like great, black pearls in her face. “You meant it,” she whispered. “I wasn’t sure…” Rod rolled his eyes. “Of course I meant it, woman! You think I like being this freaked out?” “You too?” she asked wryly. “Completely.” A sigh shuddered out of her. “Thank God, I’m not alone.” she said fervently, and his heart went back to the place biology textbooks said it should be. A grin bloomed on his face. “So, how do Witches get married?” he asked. “Same as everybody else,” she answered abstractedly. He could see thoughts moving like currents behind her eyes. “But I don’t want to wait.” That raised his eyebrows. “Whadda ya mean, you?” The res slang fell off his tongue like it always did when he was really stressed. She looked at him, and a grin brimming with mischief spread across her face. “Let’s just do it. Today.” Nervous laughter bubbled out of her throat. “Now. Before I loose my nerve.” He should talk her out of it. She’d just lost a family member; they were both strung-out from a night a medicine, magic, and emotion. Waiting was the rational, logical, socially-correct thing to do.

But he didn’t want to.

He looked at her and felt an answering, reckless joy well in his chest. “You sure?” She nodded. “We can plan something later,” she said. “Something we both want. But today…” “We’ll need witnesses,” he said, brain kicking into high gear. “Marc and Terri,” she said. “Jason,” he said. They looked at each other and chorused, “Anna.” Tara giggled, hugging herself like a teenager. Rod grinned at her, blood singing like he’d downed three venti espressos. Convention be dammed. This felt right. Neither of them were kids; he’d been married three times before (or once, considering all three marriages had been to the same woman.) “You know they’ll have something set up by the time we come out of the courthouse,” he said. “Terri’s the biggest gossip on the res.” Tara blushed again, shrugging. Rod laughed.

Later, he could never what actually happened between the moment they decided to just drop their hat and do it, and the time the judge said, “You may kiss the bride.” He must have called Terri and Marc, because he ed seeing Terri’s truck come tearing into the yard. He must have told

Jason, because he ed the youth’s white grin as Jason and Marc held up a “NO CHICKENING OUT ZONE” sign before the doors to the courthouse. He must have posted about it on his website and Facebook page, because his email was stuffed with jokes, ecards, and email for the next week solid. But to Rod, it really seemed as if he blinked, and he was standing, not in his backyard with Tara, but in the local café, laughter and jokes swirling around him, getting sprayed with foam from several cans of shaken-up pop. (And how had Marc talked Trisha LaFromboise into allowing that in her restaurant?)

Rod yelled, lunging at the closest assholes gleefully drenching him. They laughed, dancing backwards and catcalling: “Save it for tonight, Rod!” “Yeah, you’ll need it, old man!” “Cool him off, Tara!” “Cool me off, Tara!” “No hitting on my wife, you schmuck!” Rod yelled. Tara turned so dark a red, Rod half-heard the pop on her face sizzle. She ducked, hiding her head in her hands. “Oh, no you don’t!” Terri reached over the table and pulled Tara’s hands away by brute force. “This is your punishment, for trying to sneak away and do it quietly!” She pulled one of those disposable cameras out of her purse, brandishing it like a trophy above her head. “Boys!” she yelled. “Get ’em ready for the pictures!” The next thing Rod knew, Marc and Lee (and where the hell had Lee come from, anyway?!) where strong-arming him into position beside Tara, who was herself pinned by Jason and Lee’s wife, Cassie. “Smile, kids,” Terri ordered, sweetly poisonous. The flash sent little spots dancing across Rod’s eyes.

Gagging sounds rose up from the crowd. Rod recognized the voices of the catcallers. “Do it again! You can still recognize Rod!” That was Keith, Rod’s former lead player. (Had Marc called every guy Rod had ever jammed with?!) “Nobody can make Rod look any better!” RJ, one of Rod’s best friends (until now, that is.) “Tara looks like someone hit her with a board.” Janice White Horse. (Rod made a mental note to highjack her Facebook page in revenge.) “That’s ’cause Rod did,” Chewie (Rod’s former, and never-to-be-again-afterthis-stunt, bass player) drawled, “That’s how he got her to say yes.” “No!” Tara yelped, her voice shaking. “No, that’s not it at all!” “Me thinks the lady doth protest too much,” Brad observed at the top of his lungs. (God, why was Rod’s idiot cousin here, anyway?!) “All right, all right!” Terri yelled. “Silence please, artist at work!” “Where?” Marc wanted to know. And somehow, suddenly, Rod was laughing. He kept laughing as Terri flashed more pictures; as he and Tara ran a gauntlet of bullet-hard commodity rice to get to the truck; and as he gunned the engine out of the parking lot.

But it wasn’t until later that evening, when he walked into the bathroom to put his cell phone on the charger he kept in there, and found Tara lounging in a tub full of water, that it really became real to him. He slammed to a halt. His throat closed. Suddenly, he could smell the perfume Kay had used; see her with her head back against the rim of the tub. ‘Oh, God . . . ’ A hand seemed to brush his cheek.

‘Don’t be stupid,’ a familiar, acerbic voice whispered to him. The hair rose on the back of his neck as the scent of Kay’s perfume intensified. ‘I’m not angry. We’ve talked, she and I. Live your life, my beloved idiot.’ Tears flooded his eyes. For a horrifying, humiliating moment, he thought he was going to burst into tears. Other people’s ghosts he knew how to deal with. His own left him powerless as a newborn babe. Phantom lips brushed his jaw. Then the scent faded, and he was left, shaky and disoriented, looking at the too-wise face of his new wife.

“Does she approve?” Tara’s low voice was part of the sound of the water splashing softly around the tub. Of course she’d sense a ghost’s presence; and it wouldn’t take a genius to guess who that ghost may have been. He laughed, a sharp bark of amusement and grief. “Yeah. I think so.” He walked over and sat on the edge of the tub. “She never let me do this, ya know,” he said. His hand reached out of its own accord; traced the water-wet skin of her lower lip. “She’d yell and throw things if I walked in on her in the tub.” Tara’s eyes were half-shut. She shivered as his fingertips slid across her skin. “Hmmm. She was missing out.” “She said you talked.” Utter, tactless stupidity, to be talking about his first wife with his new wife naked and all but purring, but, well, he and Tara were what they were. Weird seemed to work for them. “We did. A few times, in dreams and meditations.” She caught his wrist; drew his hand down her neck. “She was a strong personality, wasn’t she?” “Yes.” He watched her nipples tighten as he circled them. Tara arched her back, water splashing. “Goddess,” his Witch whispered. “Don’t stop.”

Rod smiled. One door gently closed, and another opened.

CHAPTER 16

‘It will cost you.’ ‘I don’t care.’

Jason woke up stiff and disoriented. Why had he fallen asleep in his clothes? Why was he on a floor? There shouldn’t be any light in his room. He’d hung a blanket over the window last week… . Blind panic clawed at his throat. Then, his memory woke up. The air gusted out of his lungs in a shuddering sigh. ‘Oh, yeah . . . ’ He was on the floor in Anna’s room. He’d crashed there sometime last night. The weight against his back was Anna herself. He vaguely ed her refusing to sleep in her bed. Marc must have given up and let her fall asleep by Jason. Jason himself was just glad she was finally quiet, though whether that was because Jason had sung her song correctly, or because she’d just been flat-out exhausted, he couldn’t say. He shuddered, as memories of last night continued to unwind in his head.

Anna did not handle crowds well. (It was the reason Marc and Terri home schooled her.) She’d gotten better, but they still tightly controlled how much time Anna spent in public places. When Marc and Rod played the Halloween gig at Strange Acres, Anna spent, maybe, a half hour with the trick-or-treaters that flocked to Sebastian’s property. Then Terri or Jason took her back to the rooms Sebastian set aside for them. The last big event Marc and Terri had taken her to was a barbeque Rod had thrown two years ago, and they’d only been able to do that because it was outside, and they could keep Anna away from the crowd. Yesterday, they had taken a chance, hoping Anna would be able to handle an excited, rowdy crowd.

They’d been wrong. By the time they’d gotten home last afternoon, she’d been so bad, Marc had honestly started to call Rod. “No,” Jason had heard himself say. “Let me try, first.” Marc had looked at him, worry warring with hope on his face. (He’d had to let Terri drive home, because he’d been restraining Anna, as the doctors had taught him.) “Uncle Rod taught me her song yesterday,” Jason had said through a suddenlydry mouth. “Let me try.” Marc’s head had tilted on his neck. Jason could hear Anna screaming in her room, where Terri was trying to get her to calm down. Marc’s eyes had tracked back to the phone. “The worst part is, he’d do it,” the older man had said, a profound guilt in his voice. “He’d drop everything and come over. Even tonight.” Anna shrieked; Marc closed his eyes, as if the sound were a knife cutting into his chest. “Try it. Please. But if it doesn’t take, soon, I’ll have to call him.” Jason nodded.

Terror had eclipsed worry as he went into Anna’s room and sat down on the floor across from her bed. Marc had taken Terri’s place. (He was strong enough to restrain Anna without hurting her or himself.) Jason had closed his eyes, his uncle’s voice ghosting in his ears. ‘Clear your mind. Breathe. To start with, you have to be calm.’ A wry, guilty laughter had gusted through Rod’s voice. ‘I hate to put it this way, but she’s almost like a horse: if you are nervous, she’ll sense it, and this won’t work as well. So, breathe. Feel the Earth beneath you: its strength, its patience. Let that fill you. Let that became your heartbeat . . . ’ Jason concentrated on his heartbeat, letting it grow louder and louder in his ears. Beneath his hands, he could feel each fiber of the carpet. As his heartbeat grew

louder, crazy though it seemed, he could feel gravel, and dirt. The scent of sunwarmed potting soil filled his mind. His arm muscles relaxed. He was being held, the way Aunt Kay had held him when he was little, and they’d go lay in the grass and make pictures out of the clouds that ed overhead. A ribbon of energy, medicine, magick (call it whatever fit) unrolled down his spine. Warmth spread across his back. He started chanting.

It was like his conscious mind floated, lulled and peaceful, above another part of his mind. Jason recognized the sensation, from years of dabbling with medicine. But this time, he wasn’t trying to drive off one of his mother’s dealers. This time, he was trying to help someone who was being shaken apart by emotions she couldn’t understand or control. Sounds rolled off his tongue, echoing oddly in his head. He could feel the medicine flowing out, using Anna’s song as a bridge; could feel it crossing from him to her; sense it begin to send smaller ribbons of peace through the chaotic mass of energy literally shaking her to bits. ‘Poor kid.’ He opened himself to more medicine; felt his spine heat. More ribbons flowed out of him, into Anna. He felt them start to broaden. ‘More. I need more.’ ‘It will cost you,’ warned a voice, deep in his mind. ‘I don’t care,’ he answered. A hand seemed to settle on his shoulder, gentle but powerful. ‘Very well,’ the voice said.

Now, Jason looked down at Anna, peacefully asleep, and knew he was paying the price he’d been warned of. He felt sick, like he coming down with flu.

But he didn’t regret it. He’d do it again if he had to.

He grabbed a blanket off Anna’s bed, spread it over her, and stumbled out of the room. It was earlier than he thought, 7 am by the clock on the microwave. Terri and Marc were talking at the kitchen table when he came in. The screen door was open, letting in the cool air of early morning. Terri took one look at him, got up, and tried to lay her hand across his forehead. “Are you okay?” Jason pulled his head back, avoiding her touch. “I’m fine.” Marc and Terri exchanged a look he didn’t catch, since he was getting a glass of water. “Jason,” Marc said softly. “Go back to sleep.” He shook his head, sipping at the water. “I’m okay.” “Jayse,” Marc’s voice had that indefinable parent tone. “Go sleep in our room. It’s cooler in there.” “Don’t call me that,” Jason growled. “Only my uncle calls me that.” It must have come out sharper than he realized, because a moment of shocked silence fell. Then: “Okaaay.” Marc drew the word out, slowly. A second look ed between him and Terri, one that Jason, again, missed. Terri drew a breath; Marc caught her hand. “Jason, why don’t you go crash some more?” Marc’s voice was carefully casual. Jason shrugged. It did sound kinda good. But…

“What about Anna?” “I’ve got Anna,” Marc said. “You sure?” “Yeah.” “Okay.” He put his glass in the sink and retreated back down the hall. He didn’t go into the master bedroom (that was just… too weird) but he did crash in the spare room he’d been using. The last thing he ed before he ed out was someone walking into the room and turning the fan on.

CHAPTER 17

“You look like hell.”

He woke up soaked in sweat, even with the fan going full blast. He growled, hating the claustrophobic feel of his shirt collar around his neck, the faintly gritty feel of wet cloth against his skin. ‘I need a shower,’ he thought in disgust. Someone knocked, cautiously, on the closed door.(Hadn’t he left it open?) “Jason?” Terri’s voice, soft and wary. “Yeah?” He staggered out of the nest of blankets the served as his bed; walked to the door; opened it. “Anna ok?” “She… she’s fine,” the older woman said, slowly. “You want some dinner?” “Don’t you mean breakfast?” he asked, trying for a joke. Terri shook her head, dark eyes clouded with worry. “Jason, it’s 5 o’clock. At night.” His knees gave out. He grabbed the doorjamb to keep from falling. Terri grabbed his free arm. “What?” “You’ve slept all day,” she said. She did that damn try-to-check-his-temp thing again. He jerked away from her. “Don’t do that,” he growled. “You are sick,” she said.

“No. I’m okay.” He shook his head, trying to get his brain to work. “I’m just…” “You need something to drink. You’re dehydrated.” “I need a shower,” he retaliated. “Okay.” Terri let him go, gently, which would have told him something if he’d noticed. “Use the bathroom in our room. It’s more private.” He stayed in the shower for a while, turning the water down when it got too hot. By the time he got out, someone had put clean clothes on the bed for him. When he finally ventured out into the rest of the house, it was almost 7.

Marc was watching T.V. in the living room. Anna and her new puppy (she’d named it Fluffy) were in his lap. “Hey,” the older man said. Jason waved. He didn’t feel like talking. Anna looked up, saw him, and tried to climb out of her father’s lap. “No, Anna.” Marc held her. “Let him be.” “Jason,” she said, making two words out of it: Jay. Son. She looked at Marc, pointed at Jason, and repeated his name. “Yes, that’s Jason. Let him be, Anna. He doesn’t feel good.” “God, I wish people would stop saying that,” Jason rasped at the ceiling. “I’m fine.” “You look like hell,” Marc snapped at him. “We tried to wake you up three times before you finally did, ya know.” Jason froze. “You what?” Marc locked eyes with him and nodded. Jason made it to the recliner; collapsed into it. “Holy shit,” he whispered. “Terri was going to call your uncle, if you didn’t wake up this time.” Marc’s

voice was serious. “You scared her. And that ain’t easy to do.” Anna wormed her way out of Marc’s grasp; girl and puppy climbed into the chair with Jason. Marc sighed. “She,” he nodded to his daughter, “has been trying to get into your room all day.” Jason flushed. Embarrassment and guilt made him feel worse. Anna’s weight against his torso made him feel sick. And the breeze coming through the window screens was actually cold… The door to the kitchen opened and closed. Jason heard Terri come in. “Marc, is Jason… ?” She walked into the living room; saw Jason. “Oh, good. You’re out of the shower. Stay right there.” She darted back into the kitchen; Jason heard the rustling of paper; cupboards opening and closing. Then Terri came back in, with a plate full of one of his favorite things: watermelon. “This is more water than anything else,” she said. “It’ll help with the dehydration… .”

The room tilted sideways. For a moment, he actually wanted to run. Every time his mother had tried to “turn over a new leaf,” as she put it, she’d go on a cleaning spree, buy his favorite stuff, and play Suzy Homemaker for a week, or a month, or three. (God, he hated that scene from “The Crow”!) Now, he looked at Terri, and saw his mother. He took a breath, and smelled, not the light, clean scent of Marc and Terri’s place, but the cloying scents of waaay too many air fresheners trying to cover stale cigarette smoke, beer, and pot. His throat closed off. His heart jumped up into the base of his throat. He seized Anna and the pup; lifted them out of his lap and lurched out of the chair. “Jason?” Terri was staring at him. Nausea lunged up his throat.

“Don’t,” he heard himself say. “Please don’t…” He couldn’t even look at Terri. He wanted out of here, now, but he couldn’t seem to move fast enough. “It’s okay, Jayse.” Marc was in front of him, bracing him. “Don’t call me that!” Then he flinched, realizing how it sounded. “I’m sorry,” he blabbered. “My mom…” “She’s not here, Jason. That’s Terri, not your mom. She won’t hurt you.” How the hell could it be cold in the middle of June? Did they have the swamp cooler on Arctic Blast?!

Voices swirled around him, snatches of conversation that made no sense: “Anna, come here.” “Get the door…” “Katie’s on her way. I’ll be there as soon as she gets here.” “ . . . . call him?” “ . . . . better. I will when we get there…” Then he was walking down a hallway that he should have recognized… .

CHAPTER 18

“You used too much.”

He was laying on a bed, in a stark white room. When he turned his head, he saw an IV taped to his arm. Slowly, dazedly, he followed the tubing up to the IV bag, and the stainless-steel hook it hung from. “I really fucked up.” “Yeah, you did.” Jason rolled his head the opposite direction. His uncle was sitting in the only chair in the room. “Oh, God,” the youth mumbled. “You wish,” his uncle rasped. “You idiot. You scared the hell out of us.” “Sorry.” “Why didn’t you call me, Jayse?” Everything else was fuzzy and distant, but somehow he knew exactly what his uncle was referring to. “Was your wedding night,” Jason slurred. “Thought I could do it…” Rod’s sigh filled the room. “You used too much,” the older man said. “I know.” “You know?!”

“They warned me. But she was so scared…” A second sigh. Jason closed his eyes. Whatever they’d given him, it had killed the nausea. Now he just wanted to sleep… A calloused hand brushed the hair back out of his face. “We’ll talk about this later. Just let the meds work.” “Sounds good,” he mumbled.

CHAPTER 19

“Wiccans call it grounding.”

Marc sat down on the bed, and sighed. Jason was in what Marc thought of as “Jason’s room.” Whatever they’d given him in the ER had hit him like a fist to the jaw. Marc had had to half-carry him into the house. The master bedroom was pitch black, but he didn’t turn on the bedside lamp. Through the closed door, he could hear Terri talking to Katie, making arrangements for tomorrow. ‘Thank God for that girl,’ he thought distantly. She’d dropped everything to come over when Terri called her. By the time Marc and Terri had gotten home, around 11, she’d put Anna to bed, fed the puppy and put him outside, and even done the dishes. Then she’d helped them get Jason inside. ‘She’s as good with Anna as Jason is,’ the older man mused. Then he winced. ‘Jason.’

The PA at the hospital had said it was severe dehydration. He’d been toying with itting Jason for the night, but Jason had flat-out refused. “He’s over 18,” the PA had said, helplessly. “I can’t force him to stay.” “Dumb ass kid,” Rod had growled. He’d been willing to browbeat Jason into it, if the PA said it was necessary. “I’ve given him 2 IV bags,” the PA said. “He should be all right.” “We’ll take him home with us,” Tara had put in. They’d been talking at the nurses’ station, waiting for the discharge paperwork.

“No.” Marc had turned to see Jason leaning against the doorjamb of the exam room. “I can take care of myself,” Jason growled. (This with the IV still in his arm, and hanging onto the doorjamb as he said it.) Rod turned on his heel. He had been cool and controlled ever since Marc had called him, but that one, simple statement pushed him over the edge. He was ready to skin his nephew alive. Marc had jumped between them. “Come with us, Jason. Anna will get scared, if you’re not there.” Yes, it had been blackmail, plain and simple, and some part of him felt guilty over using his daughter like that, but it was also the truth, and prevented a nasty scene. Marc watched the fight drain out of Jason like water. He nodded, slowly.

Marc had turned his back on the kid; caught Rod by the upper arm and hauled him out the main doors. Rod yanked free as soon as they were outside. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t paste you,” he growled, stepping back outside Marc’s reach. “I got it comin’, Rod, I know.” Marc had held his hands out, palms-up. “This is my fault, and I know it. I shoulda called you last night, but nobody wanted to ruin the night for you and Tara. Jason said he could do it. I swear to God, if I had known it’d do this to him, I wouldn’t have let him.” Rod had actually flinched. Under the harsh lights of the parking lot, he looked old. “It’s not your fault,” he said. “God… I’ve never taught anyone. I forgot… I gave him a loaded gun, and never told him the right way to use it.” The fight ran out of him, too. He looked… . Honest to God, he looked scared. Marc had felt ice-

cold feet skitter down his back. “I don’t get it, Rod. What do you mean?” “He means, Jason should have done, or had done for him, certain things after he completed the ritual.” Marc had jumped like a cat. Tara was standing behind them. “How the hell can you move that quiet?!” Marc yelped. Tara had smiled, slightly, but her eyes were on Rod. “Years of dancing,” she said. “But to get back to your original question: Wiccans call it grounding. You don’t keep the extra energy left when you complete a ritual. You send it back into the Earth. Then you eat something. It helps you… oh, . . . . reconnect, might be the best word, with this plane.” “And Jason should have done that last night?” Marc asked. He felt like he was swimming through glass, trying to hang on to what he knew. “Yes,” Rod’s voice sounded like gravel. “The are different, but the reasoning’s the same. He did work last night, Marc. Hard work. If I’d had any idea he was going to try it alone…” The older man shook his head. “I thought, the next time Anna got bad, he’d call me, and we’d do it together…” “And you would have been there to tell him what else he needed to do.” Marc finished. “Some teacher I am,” Rod muttered. Tara quietly walked around Marc, wrapped her arms around Rod. “He’ll be okay, Rod.” Marc had backed off, embarrassment searing his skin. In a way, seeing them like that was worse than if he’d walked in on them naked. There was an intense… ‘vulnerability,’ was the only word he could come up with, around them, that drove him back inside as fast as he could go.

Now, Marc wanted to smack himself for not picking up on the signs earlier. He’d seen what working medicine did to Rod. Hell, a couple times, Marc had had to drive the older man home, he’d been so exhausted. And Rod knew what he was doing. Jason… . ‘I let an inexperienced kid play with a loaded gun,’ Marc thought, guilt a sour taste in his mouth. ‘This is my fault. No 20 year old sleeps all day unless they’re hung over, working nights, or partying.’ He should have dragged Jason to the clinic when the kid wouldn’t wake up the first time. He should have called Rod last night, and refused to let Jason do everything himself, he should have… “Stop blaming yourself.” He blinked up at his wife’s backlit silhouette in the doorway. “You got a better idea?” Sarcasm dripped off his tongue. Terri sighed. The door snicked softly shut behind her as she walked into the room and sat down beside him. “It’s my fault,” she said miserably. “I should have taken Anna home after the wedding, but I wanted to go to the café, too…” It went without saying that Terri would have had to stay with Anna, missing the fun. Guilt surged back into Marc’s mind. “You and me both,” he rasped. “I should taken her home, got one of the PRNs in her. I let you both down.” “No,” Terri breathed. She caught his arm, fingers digging into his skin. “No, Marc. You didn’t let anybody down.” “Don’t try to downplay it, Terri.” He didn’t know it, but his voice was black with self-inflicted anger. “I’m not,” she said, softly. (They’d learned to argue like this, in low voices that wouldn’t carry through the walls. Whatever other problems she had, Anna had fox-ears.) Marc rubbed his eyes. “This is pointless,” he sighed. “We did take Anna; I did allow Jason to try

medicine he wasn’t ready for. I didn’t know what to do for him afterward. We can’t go back and change anything.” “True,” Terri murmured, low. Then he felt her gaze on him. “We could have done something for Jason?” He could hear the puzzlement in her voice. “Something Tara said. We should have made him eat after Anna calmed down, then let him sleep. She called it something, I forget what.” Reaching out, he flipped on the bedside lamp. In the half-light, Terri’s eyes seemed to take up her entire face. Wisps of hair had straggled out of her braid and clung to her neck. He could see the swell of her stomach under her shirt. “I the old culture teacher talking about that.” Terri’s eyes were fogged as she went back through her memories. “About a kind of berry soup type stuff they eat before going into a sweat, how it helps… .” she trailed off. Then, with one of her sudden, only-Terri-could-possibly-flip-this-fast mood swings, her eyes blazed with anger. “I knew there was something wrong with Jason,” she hissed, beating the mattress softly with one fist. “I should have…” “He wouldn’t let you,” Marc pointed out. “You saw how he got.”

Jason hadn’t let Terri near him. He hadn’t let any woman near him. They had had to tie him down before a nurse could put the IV in his arm. ‘And I know who to blame for that,’ Marc growled to himself. “His worthless bitch of a mother,” Terri snarled, pure rage in her voice. “The next time I meet that bitch, I’ll horsewhip her!” Unconsciously, she wrapped her arms around her stomach. “Good God, Marc,” she continued in a softer, worried tone, “What did she do to him, to make him like that?” “I don’t know, Terri. He never talks about it.” She leaned against him. “I wish… .” she trailed off.

“That Jason was ours?” He smiled at the startled look on her face. “I know how your mind works, Terri.” “He is ours,” she growled, in a voice that told him she would not argue about this. “He’s Anna’s brother,” Marc agreed. She looked at him, and the smile that bloomed on her face reminded him of how she’d snared him in the first place. “How is he?” Marc asked. Terri blinked at him. “Don’t try to hide it. I know you checked on him before you came in here.” She snorted, smiling ruefully. “Out cold. Marc…” She shifted around to look at him full-on, “I know we need the money, but he needs a break. I was thinking of giving him 20 bucks tomorrow, or the day after, and giving him some time off.” “Good idea,” he said quietly. “Can we afford it?” “We’re takin’ that street dance, so I think so. When do you get paid again?” “Not till next week.” “Hmmm.” They’d have to get her some clothes soon, too…”I’ll call Bryan tomorrow. See if I can pick up some house painting gigs.”

“Marc?” Her voice was so soft, he nearly missed it. “I’m sorry I’m not sorry.” He blinked. “Come again?” “About the baby. I know the timing sucks, but I’m not sorry.” A wave of excitement, that he’d kept buried, firmly, at the bottom of his heart, burst free. Marc sat up, leaned over, and kissed his wife.

“I’m not, either, kitten. Not in the least.” Terri stared at him, pole axed. “You aren’t?” Her voice was a whisper. “You know I’ve wanted another, Terri.” She blushed, ducking her head. She knew, all right. Her refusal to have another child had nearly cost them their marriage. “Yeah. I was just… . scared.” “I know.” They were quiet for a while, sitting in the half-light, listening to the hum of the swamp cooler as summer’s night deepened around the house. Then Terri smiled. “Ya know what changed my mind?” she asked. “No. What?” “Jason. I was watching him play with her in the wading pool. And… she was laughing. My Anna. Laughing! Like any other little girl. Like she was… normal. And I thought, maybe another child wouldn’t resent her, or be mean to her…” Terri’s voice trailed off into the shadows. Marc swallowed. Never, ever had they referred to Anna as “abnormal”. She was different; she had challenges; she was not abnormal. Hearing Terri use that a version of that, now… . Terri was shivering. “Seeing him like that… I thought, what if something happens to him?” She took a sharp breath, tears starting in her eyes. “I thought…” She swallowed, tried again. “I thought… . Anna won’t have anyone to play with… .” Marc pulled her down against him and let her cry. “He’s all right, Terri. All of them are all right.”

CHAPTER 20

“You need a break.”

It seemed like all he’d been doing lately was sleeping and waking up. Jason rolled on his back, blinking in the deep blackness of his room. ‘Well, I don’t feel like I’m gonna puke. That’s an improvement.’ He stretched, arms over his head. He ed the PA telling him that the anti-nausea stuff would knock him out. He ed Marc helping him get in here, and forcing him to eat toast before leaving him to strip and out on top of the blankets. Then… nothing. Jason rubbed his eyes. The house was quiet. He could hear the swamp cooler going, but nothing else. No soft clinking from the kitchen; no low voices in the hall; no murmur of the T.V. ‘What time is it?’ he wondered. He rummaged through the pile of clothes and sneakers he’d tossed at the side of his bed; came up with his cell phone. The clock said 9 am. ‘How long was I out? I don’t . . . ’ He threw on cut-offs and a comfy sleeveless shirt, then soft-footed his way out into the hall. Nobody. He tried the kitchen. Nobody. Living room. Nada. He opened the screen door that led from the living room to the back yard, and found Marc, in jeans and a loose shirt, sitting in a lawn chair and filling out job applications on a card table. Anna and Fluffy were wrestling on the lawn. ‘Terri’s gonna freak,’ Jason thought, watching Fluffy grab the hem of Anna’s blue sundress and whip his head around, growling. Anna saw him first. She looked up, pushed Fluffy away from her, and came to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Jay. Son,” she said. “Not sick, now?” The words were slowly spoken, but they

were a logical sentence, and she waited for him to answer, eyes on his face. ‘It was worth it.’ The thought formed itself. Jason grinned slightly. “Hi, sis. No, I’m not sick now.” Anna took his hand and pulled him into the yard. “Play,” she said. She pointed to Fluffy. “That’s Fluffy,” she said. Fluffy looked up at his name. He did live up to the moniker, looking more like a stuffed animal than a real dog. He had long, black-and-tan puppy fur, a sharp, fox-like muzzle, pointed ears that stood up like little triangles on his head, a thin, whippy tail, and paws that said he’d be massive when he grew into them. The vet said he was around 8 weeks old. He barked once, then bounded over and started trying to attack Jason’s bare toes. “Sop that, ya little brat,” the youth growled. When he reached down to push the pup away from his feet, Fluffy promptly attacked his fingers. “No, Fluffy.” Anna released Jason’s hand and stepped between him and the puppy. “No bite! Be nice!”

“You tell him, my girl. Make him be nice.” Jason could hear the laughter in Marc’s voice. “Feelin’ better, Jason?” “Yeah.” Jason walked over to the card table. “Any luck?” he asked, looking over the piles of paper. Marc put his pen down; rolled his head on his neck. Jason heard the t pop! “One for a bus driver, for the high school.” Hope burned in Marc’s eyes. He tapped the application nervously. “It’d be perfect. I’d be home every night; no more long-haul shit. Just have to find something for the summers.” “Good luck, man.” Jason grinned at him. “Want me to ask Tara to do a little jobgetting magick for ya? She would.” Both Marc’s eyebrows rose into his hair.

“You think it’d help?” he asked, seriously. Jason nodded. “She’s the real deal, Marc. I was there when everything went down with Maggie Lavallie. I saw that she called up.” In spite of himself, Jason shivered. Marc took a careful breath. Curiosity replaced the hope in his eyes. “What happened there, Jason? Rod won’t talk about it.” Jason glanced over his shoulder. Anna was talking to Fluffy, telling him the names of the flowers Terri had planted that spring. Marc caught the hint. “Later,” he said. Then he reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a 20 dollar bill. “What’s this?” Jason asked, warily. “Something Terri and I learned early,” Marc said seriously, forcing the money into Jason’s hand. “It’s okay to need breaks. If you don’t take ’em when you need ’em, things get worse, not better. You need a break. Don’t shake your head at me,” he said as Jason started to deny it. “I’ve been there too many times. Go get a burger, go get a pizza, go play some pool. I don’t care what, just don’t come back drunk or stoned.” “But… .” Jason stared at the money, sickened. “Listen, Jason.” Marc leaned forward in his lawn chair. “We’re not kicking you out; we’re not angry at you. You’re Anna’s brother. You got a home here. You don’t come back tonight, I’ll come lookin’ for you. But it’s okay to need some time to yourself.” Jason blinked, staring down at the money in his hand. He didn’t know what to say. Part of him wanted to fly into a rage. Part of him wanted to deny it. Part of him, horribly, wanted to cry. “This is because of last night, isn’t it?” he said, hollowly. “No,” Marc said. “Not the way you’re thinking. Terri’s not mad at you. She’s worried about you. She also wants to kill Catherine,” he added wryly. Jason

snorted. “Face it, Jason, you’re adopted. Terri broke down in tears last night after we got you home.” Jason blushed, wincing. “So,” Marc grinned at him. “You’re on leave for the day. Go relax, and be back here around 7. Terri’s making her world-famous lasagna.” Jason blinked, startled by the sudden warmth in his chest. A slow, wondering grin spread across his face. “We’re really okay?” he asked, warily. “We’re really okay.” “What about Anna?” he asked, just to be sure. Marc gathered his applications together neatly, tapping them on the table top. “I’m takin’ her to speech therapy in,” he glanced at his watch, “a half hour. While she’s there, I can drop these applications off. Then I’m takin’ her to Rod and Tara’s. It’s her dance lesson today. Anna and I are booked.” He winked at Jason, a wry, “Dad” humor on his face. “Go.” The grin broadened on Jason’s face. He tucked the money into his pocket and went back inside to change into jeans. Cut offs and motorcycles equaled burned legs.

CHAPTER 21

“Maybe I’m dreaming.”

Two hours, a cheeseburger combo and two soda pops later, Jason shoved the kickstand down with his foot and sighed. This lake had no name. It was off an overgrown, rutted path that was too narrow for cars or trucks. It wasn’t known for fishing; it had no dock; it wasn’t even on any map. Jason had found it by accident last summer, when he was searching for a private spot he and his then-girl friend could use to make out. The relationship was long since dead, but he still came up here. He dug a third liter of pop out of his back pack, walked down to the water’s edge, and sat on some of the rocks there. The lake spread before out before him, though maybe “lake” and “spread” were the wrong words. This tiny space was more like a dot of reflective blue than a lake. Reeds clogged the area close to shore, some poking their heads above the surface, some stretching out long, curving green ribbons under the water. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. No bars. No one could call him; no one could find him. He took a breath and felt a weight of tension fall off his shoulders. His muscles relaxed. He tilted his head back; let the sun beat down on his face. Slowly, the silence dawned on him. This place was far enough off the main road that there was no traffic-hum on the air. There wasn’t even any wind today. Just the quiet, hanging thick and peaceful in the air…

“Used to be like this all the time,” said the man sitting on the rocks beside him. He looked around Marc’s age, but with a heavier build: shorter, with a broader chest and hands covered in calluses. He wore a ribbon shirt and sash over faded

pants. His hair, as dark as Jason’s own, was pulled back in a long cable down his back. Jason opened the pop bottle; took a drink. “Really?” he asked, not startled in the least to be talking to a complete stranger who hadn’t been there an instant before. The stranger pulled a carving knife out of a sheath on his hip. A block of wood was in his other hand. (Where had he gotten that? Jason wondered, idly.) The older man frowned at it, turning it this way and that, examining it out of bladekeen eyes. “Yes. Used to be, you could go for months without seeing another person.” “Imagine what was like for us,” a woman said.

Jason turned to look at the lake. Some part of him was beginning to point out that this was a little weird, but that part was buried under a vast, sleepy kind of contentment that lay over his brain like a blanket. ‘Maybe I’m dreaming,’ he said to himself, watching the most beautiful woman he’d ever imagined walk out of the lake. She was tall and slender, with skin like cream and a face that went through him like a knife, exquisitely painful. The water slid loving hands over her body, coalescing into gown of clear blue that flowed and shimmered like wind-kissed water. Her hair was black silk, hanging down to her heels in a gleaming curtain. “Ari can when there were no people here at all,” the carver said, still studying the wood. “Not quite, Jim.” Her voice made Jason ache to hear it again. She walked toward shoreline with a flowing, inhuman grace, lifting the hem of her gown out of the water. An odd, sudden sadness stilled the indescribable beauty of her face. “But I can when the worlds were closer together.”

Jason couldn’t help himself: he reached out and ran his fingers through ends of her hair as she glided past him. A soft, flower-like scent rose from the strands that caught on his skin. Her black eyes touched his. A kind smile lit her face, and made his heart jump in his chest. “Ari,” Jim said. “You’ll charm him to death.” A rueful tone touched her smile. Her beauty went from painful to merely breathtaking. “Ari,” Jason said. “Is that your name?” “Some advice, boy,” the man drawled, setting the blade of his knife to the block of wood. “It’s rude to ask the spirit-folk their names. Ask what you may call her.” “What can I call you?” Jason parroted. “Arianna,” she said, in a voice like water over rocks. “I thought your sister was going to do this?” Jim asked her. “I won the argument,” Arianna said, laughter dancing in her eyes. He snorted, dry and knowing. “Are you certain about that?” he asked, wryly, and nodded with his head away from the shoreline, toward the trees, where a third figure was taking shape.

How two women could look completely different yet equally beautiful, Jason had no idea, but as he looked back and forth between Arianna and the newcomer, he realized that that was the case. The newcomer was small and slender, with clear mahogany skin. She wore formfitting green hunting leathers that showed every muscle in her rock-hard body, boots, and leather arm-guards. A hunting knife hung in a sheath on one hip. Her hair was either brown with red highlights, or red with brown highlights (Jason couldn’t decide which), and hung like a braid of flame clear down her back. As

she got closer, Jason could see crescent moons tattooed on the orbital bones on the outsides of her eyes, which were as fierce as Arianna’s were serene. “Tria,” Arianna said. “We agreed I would take care of this.” “No, you agreed,” the newcomer (‘Tria,’ Jason reminded himself) said. Her voice brought to mind amethysts and smoky quartz “His uncle is a Clan Friend. That makes this a matter of Fiona Sidhe honor.” “I’m the better healer,” Arianna pointed out. “I have access to Shaman magick, which is closer to what he knows.” “Girls,” the carver said, in that universal parent tone.

Jason sat watching them, two beautiful women arguing over him, and nodded to himself. “I’m definitely dreaming,” he decided aloud. The two women quit glaring at each other; exchanged looks. “Would that make you more comfortable?” Arianna asked him. Jason thought about it. “Yeah.” “Then you are.” She settled on the rocks beside him. A cup appeared in her hands, one of those earthenware goblet-type things that Tara sold on her website. This one had spirals carved into its sides, and was beaded with water. She held it out to him. “Drink,” she said. He started to reach for it; paused. “I don’t have anything for you, unless you like Mt. Dew.” She shuddered, face twisting in distaste. “No, thank you. You have nothing to fear. This is a gift. It will help you heal.”

Jason took it. “Why are you helping me?” he asked. She smiled at him. “We were asked to,” she said simply. “Our father is a friend of your uncle’s.” “Really? Who?” “Drink, first.” And because she asked him, in that voice he was all ready in love with, he let his curiosity go unsatisfied, and did what she asked. The goblet held water, but no water he’d ever had tasted like this. Sweet and clean, it flowed down his throat like nectar. When it hit his stomach, he didn’t feel cold, but a wash of pure relaxation. Suddenly, ludicrously, he knew what a plant felt like, when it was watered on a hot day. His body relaxed. The slight disorientation caused by last night’s drugs vanished. He laughed aloud, and Arianna smiled.

“Now eat this.” Tria stepped up and handed him a small piece of dark brown bread, with a rich, warm, fresh-baked scent. In spite of the food he’d just had, his stomach growled in anticipation, and he bolted it down. It tasted like the best fry bread he’d ever made, but with a sweet taste, as if someone had mixed raspberries and nuts into the dough. He took a second drink, draining the goblet dry, and felt his head clear completely. When he handed the goblet back to Arianna his fingers were tingling. “Thank you,” he said, looking back and forth between them. It was Arianna who answered him, inclining her head, hair falling like a curtain around her face. “You’re welcome.” “Listen to Jim, next time,” Tria growled, her green eyes gleaming like molten

peridots. “What?” Jason asked. “He tried to warn you ing too much, but you didn’t listen.” Suddenly, oddly, Jason could see the worry in her face, all for him. “But Anna needed it!” he protested. “You can call on us,” Arianna said quietly. “We can calm her, too, but we must be asked. Your uncle didn’t tell you?” “No . . . .” Jason shook his head. In spite of the food and water, his head was starting to spin. “Tell me what?” Tria and Arianna exchanged another look. “I told you,” the carver said. All three of them turned to look at the older man. Jim calmly sheathed his knife. He’d turned the block of wood into a mountain lion, so detailed Jason could see individual strands of hair in the coat. “I told you he wouldn’t know. Rod’s starting the boy at the beginning. He hasn’t told Jason about you yet.” He turned to look at Jason. “What does your uncle say every time Marc or Terri try to give him credit for helping Anna?” Jason glanced back and forth between Jim and the women, unphazed by the fact that they knew the Ayers family. This was Jason’s dream, after all, and Jason knew them. “That it’s not him,” the youth said, slowly. “That others are helping her.” “Exactly.” Jim glanced at the carving; tossed it to Jason, who caught it out of reflex. “Meet the ones who are helping her.” He nodded to Arianna and Tria. Jason felt his jaw sag. Arianna blushed, color rising under her skin like the delicate pink of a seashell. Tria just looked back at him, eyes unreadable as a cat’s.

“It’s you?!” he whispered, stunned. “We gave your uncle a gift,” Arianna said softly, “for helping . . . one who is close to both our hearts. He asked that that gift be given, instead, to Anna.”

Beautiful women walking out of the water and the woods. Healing drinks. Food from the spirit realm. These, Jason could deal with. But finding out that it was Arianna and Tria’s medicine, not his own, that had helped Anna . . . . He felt like the wind had been knocked out of his lungs. He stared down at the pebbly soil beneath his hands. Strangely, all he could think to say, what hurt the worst, was, “It wasn’t me. I didn’t help her at all.” There was no noise to mark Jim’s movements, but suddenly he was kneeling in front of Jason. “Yes, you did,” he said seriously, holding the youth’s eyes with his own. “As they told you, they must be asked to send aide. You did it alone, without them. You helped her, Jason.” “How do you know?” Jason asked, numbly. Jim smiled. The expression was far older than his face. “I was there, boy. ? I warned you that there would be a price.” Jason stared at him. Suddenly, he ed the voice in his mind, the sense of a hand on his shoulder, another voice merging with his. Chills ran down his back. “It was you. I now.” Jim nodded. “It was me. But all I did was give you more to give her, and if Rod had explained things properly,” Jim’s dark eyes flashed, “you wouldn’t have gotten sick from it.”

“What things?” Jason demanded defensively. “Like how you how to prepare for ceremony. Rod put the cart before the horse, as they used to say. He gave you Anna’s song, but you were forced to use it before he could teach you how to prepare yourself. You went into a fight blindfolded, in a sense. If Rod had explained the protocol to you, you would have been tired, but not sick. I am sorry for that.” “It was his wedding night,” Jason mumbled in shock. “I thought I could handle it . . .” “And you did,” Jim said. He rose to his feet with a hunter’s fluid grace; held out a hand. Jason took it and let the other man draw him to his feet. “Both you and your uncle got a lesson out of this. Don’t forget it. Now,” Jim stepped back and turned his attention to Arianna and Tria, “We should let you wake up.” Tria smiled at Jason, and he fell in love all over again. “Be more careful,” she advised him. “If you need help with Anna, ask us. We will hear you. Just think our names.” She nodded to him and walked away. When he turned to follow her with his eyes, she was already gone. Arianna handed him the goblet, wrapping his fingers around the still-cool bowl. “Give this to the Daughter of Isis,” she said softly. “I would gift it to you, but your Tradition doesn’t use the chalice.” She drew the light around her, like an iridescent curtain, and vanished as her sister had. Jim wasn’t as dramatic. He just winked at Jason, and walked into the trees.

Jason blinked sunlight out of his eyes. The sun had moved. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. It was 4:30. He took a breath; blew it out in a soundless sigh. His stomach growled. He got to his feet, walked back to the bike, and started digging around in his pack for the Twinkies he’d bought. His fingers touched something solid and cool. A chill ran down his back.

Slowly, holding his breath, he traced the shape with his fingertips. The rim of a glass. Except he hadn’t packed a glass. Slowly, he drew it out: an earthenware goblet, with spirals carved into the sides. The hair stood up on the back of his neck. His mind was screaming that this was impossible. Things like this didn’t happen in real life, only in cheesy, grade-B movies!!!! But his hands were still moving, reaching into the goblet, for something they knew was there, even as his logical mind refused to believe it. He set the goblet carefully on the ground; put the carving in the palm of his hand. The mountain lion seemed to grin up at him, each cut sharp and fresh beneath his fingers. “Holy fuckin’ shit,” he whispered.

CHAPTER 22

“He lives.”

“He lives.” On the other end of the line, Cammie drew a sharp breath, like someone had driven a knife into her chest. But this sound meant hope, not pain. “You’re sure?” “Yes.” Rowan leaned back on her chair, cell phone cradled against her chin. The hotel room had a phone, of course, but she never used one when she was working. “Is he,” Cammie swallowed, “all right?” Rowan smiled. “He’s happy and cared for. A little girl has adopted him.” ‘As far as I can tell, anyway,’ she added to herself. She hadn’t actually seen the boy. All Rowan had to go on was a gut feeling, and what her nose told her: there had been no trace of fear or pain in the scent she’d picked up. A sharp sound burst out of the other end of the line: half sob, half laugh. “You’ll bring him home?” “As soon as I can.” Leaving out that Rowan hadn’t found a way to get close yet, or that the medicine around here had given her the shakes. What was important now was that Cammie and Arden had something to hold onto. “Tell Arden,” Cammie said. Before Rowan could answer, a soft rustling sound told her that Cammie was handing the phone to her mate. “You really found him?”

Rowan set her teeth. Arden didn’t sound like himself. ‘He sounds like he wants to disappear,’ the woman thought in despair. And that, in the Packs, meant suicide. She swallowed against a sharp, burning sensation in her eyes. “I have.” “You’re not lying?” Rowan drew a stunned breath. “No,” she said, carefully. “I wouldn’t lie about this.” “You would if Laylah wanted you too,” he said tiredly, despair and pain in his voice. “All you lieutenants would.” Rowan sat up straight. Her gold-flecked eyes seemed to glow in the drapeshielded half-light. “I’m. Not. Lying.” The words shredded themselves between her teeth. “Laylah wants to keep me here!” he snarled. “Laylah wants to keep you alive.” And the shakes were back. This just kept getting better and better, Rowan reflected sourly, fighting to keep her grip on the phone. “Or do you want someone else to train your son?” Her voice could have shattered stone. The fact she was able to get the words out, while shaking like a leaf, was proof of her strength and power. A moment of frozen silence filled the line. Then, finally, he said, “You’re a heartless bitch, Rowan.” And he hung up. Rowan let the phone fall. “Hate me all you want, Arden,” she stuttered. “Just stay alive.”

That bout of the shakes wasn’t bad. Her tolerance was growing. By nightfall, she

was ready to make another attempt. The trail had led her to a small rambler up in the hills, with a fenced-in yard that opened in the back onto undeveloped scrub oak forest. Starlight spilled over the hills, brightening the hot black velvet of a summer’s night. As she slipped through the shadows, hope bloomed in Rowan’s heart. Her tolerance was holding. This was the closest she’d been able to get in three nights. The trail rose, following the curve of the hill. Rowan glanced up and smiled at the waxing moon glowing silver-white against the sky. It was a myth that lycanthropes could shift only on the full moon. It took skill and practice to shift during the waxing moon, true, but many adult lycanthropes could do it. She did so now, sliding into wolf form, and using the shadows to conceal herself. Cautiously, pressed flat against the ground, she belly-crawled to the summit. Below her lay a crescent of yard, framed by trees. A child’s swing set stood off to one side; a wading pool reflected the growing moonlight by the patio door. She took a cautious breath, testing the air.

The cub’s scent lay thick on the ground, here. She could see food and water dishes; an old, gnawed-on glove; a plastic ball. Clearly, the humans here thought he was a stray mortal pup, but they were treating him well. ‘Humans.’ She shot the house a wary look, testing with nose and ears. Nothing. The house was a block of darkness. A knot in her stomach dissolved. It looked as though the lies she’d told Cammie and Arden were true. ‘Thank you, Mother Night,’ she sighed, laying her muzzle, briefly, on the ground. Now, she had time. Time to build up her resistance, time to work out how to slip in, get the cub, and high-tail it over the border… . “Well, well,” drawled a male voice. “So you’re the one who’s been prowling.”

Rowan spun on a dime, faster than any mortal wolf, fangs silver knives in the dark. The male shifted even faster than she moved; she found herself fang-tofang with him, his eyes burning like molten candle flames.

He was half again her size, even crouched. Rowan drew a breath. ‘Not Pack!’ she snarled at him, in the wordless language of their world. ‘Intruder!’ he replied. ‘Free ground!’ she shot back. He snarled, shaking his head as if irritated by bees. Rowan’s hide tried to crawl off her bones. She bit back a whimper of discomfort, studying the night around them to discover what was causing it. Reality started to… ripple, like a mirage, and she heard what the male had, a high, painful keening on the air, that pierced her sensitive ears like a demented dog whistle. ‘Danger!’ the male barked. ‘Run!’ Normally, she’d never follow the advice of non-Pack, but her ears were on fire; her bones shaking. She stumbled as she followed the male back, away from the house, up into the hills where there were no humans.

Clearly, he knew this territory. He took them on a circuitous route, one that avoided all the areas that had medicine-scent. When Rowan looked back over her shoulder, she saw bright, shining figures, armed with bows and spears, while small globes of light dipped and buzzed like hornets along Rowan’s trail. ‘Good Fae!’ she realized in horror. ‘I never scented them!’ The light globes were gaining. Rowan laid her hears back, ducking as they strafed her with tiny lightnings. Blood began dripping from her ears. Nausea churned in her gut. The male wheeled and jumped so suddenly she actually slid under him. He stood in the trail behind her, leaping and snapping at the light globes. Dots of blood appeared on his muzzle and head. He snarled, baring his teeth at them, and stifflegged backward, shielding Rowan with his larger body. Rowan scrambled to give him room.

‘Den?’ she whined. ‘Past stone,’ he growled. Rowan looked over her shoulder. With her lycanthrope eyes, she could see a large, moss-covered boulder about two miles farther up the hill. A tree had fallen over it, creating a kind of natural barrier. She darted, but forward, not back, zipping over the uneven ground, and jumped at the annoying light globes. ‘You, back!’ she barked. ‘Then me!’ He wasn’t Pack, but he understood her. As the Good Fae honed in on Rowan, setting the air to buzzing like a swarm of angry bees, he ran toward the barrier. Then he stopped and barked. And as the light globes targeted him, Rowan darted toward safety.

Zigzagging, they made it past the barrier. Rowan knew it because the torturous humming on the air cut off, so suddenly she reeled in the silence. She collapsed into the cool, moist soil, panting and shivering. ‘Female?’ he whined. She heard him pad over to her; felt him run his muzzle over her. She tried to answer, but she couldn’t. The shakes were too bad; her head and ears burned. She wanted to throw up. He nudged her with his nose. ‘Up,’ he said. ‘Den close. Food. Safe.’ ‘Tired,’ she whimpered. ‘Sleep.’ ‘No!’ His bark made her flinch, it was so powerful. He caught her ruff; tried to pull her to her feet. ‘Up! Den close. Sleep in den.’ He nudged her with his head, pushing her the direction he wanted her to go. Rowan sighed, head hanging. She considered turning on him, but what good would that do? A wave of homesickness, brought on by pain and frustration, washed over her. For a horrifying moment, she felt a puppy-like whine rise in her throat. She was alone, outside the Pack, and hurt. She wouldn’t die from this, but she would need help. He knew the territory; she didn’t.

She lowered her ears and hauled herself to her feet.

CHAPTER 23

“Politics.”

She woke up in human form, in a hotel room (not her own), salivating over the scent of cooked meat. As her eyes focused, she saw the source of that wonderful smell: a take-out bag from a local burger t. She sprang off the bed, falling on the food like a starving wolf, and didn’t even look up until she’d finished both the burgers the bag held, and was working on the french fries. “Where am I?” she asked. “Safe,” the male sitting at the small table said. “In one of the towns around the res. This hotel caters to temp workers; they’re used to strangers coming through.” “Hmm,” she said, around a mouthful of fries. She swallowed. “How long?” “Two days. You were pretty sick for a while.” She eyed him. His face, neck, and hands were scarred with tiny white pockmarks; when she tested his scent, she caught traces of pain and fatigue. “I wasn’t the only one,” she pointed out, more to put them on equal footing than anything else. He shrugged. She looked down, and realized that she was wearing a man’s shirt, with just her underwear on underneath it. She stiffened. The gold flecks in her eyes began to expand, eating the brown pigment. He held up his hands. “Your clothes were trashed. I picked up some second-hand stuff, but they didn’t have any nightshirts.” He nodded toward the dresser. She followed his eyes. A

sack of clothes sat beside the T.V. “All I did was put you in clean stuff. No liberties, I swear.” If he’d been human, she wouldn’t have believed him. But she could scent the truth on him. Look? Yes, he’d done that, and enjoyed what he saw. Take it further… ? She tilted her head, testing his scent again. No, not yet. The gold in her eyes retreated. She sat on the bed, legs tucked up under her, not self-conscious in the least, and started on the drink that had come with the food as she studied him.

He was slender but muscled, with a quiet, confident air. He wore jeans, a faded long-sleeve shirt, and cowboy boots. (She wondered, idly, if there were more scars under his clothing.) His clean-shaven face was handsome enough, but nothing that would stand out around here. (Though a critical observer would note that the shape of his facial bones were too angular for this part of the country.) His thick brown hair was cut to collar-length; his eyes so deep a brown they looked almost black. ‘Too old to have just left the Pack,’ she decided. ‘Too confident too be one of the lesser males; too considerate to be an Alpha.’ Which meant: “You’re one of Augustus’ lieutenants.” He nodded, a slight, wry humor lighting his eyes. “I am.” “Reconnaissance, or retaliation?” she asked. “That depends,” he returned. “Diplomacy, or incursion?”

Rowan sat back the bed, thinking. Had Laylah actually informed Augustus that Rowan would be in his territory? Probably not. That would be too much like

asking permission, and Alphas never asked permission. So… Had Augustus uncovered her presence? Or was this area inside the male’s usual run? She came to another decision. “Diplomacy,” she said. Both his eyebrows rose. “Really?” He was intrigued. And cautious. She could tell that from his scent. And, it went without saying, not telling her everything. “My name’s Rowan,” she said. “Thank you for your help.” She watched his eyes widen; heard him take a breath as he tested her scent. “Thaddeus,” he said eventually. “Thad, for short. You’re welcome.” There was a pause as the two lycanthropes eyed each other. Then Thad said, “I’ve never seen anyone able to get that close to that house, and I’ve been here two years.” Hidden under the compliment were questions: How had she been able to do that, and what was so important there? ‘And why have you been here for two years?’ she returned silently. ‘How could you get that close to the house? Why weren’t you as ill as I was?’ There were numerous possibilities. As she’d already speculated, this could be part of his home range. He could be on assignment, as she was. He could have an even stronger talent than she did, one that allowed him to dice with death when necessary. ‘Not likely,’ she decided on the last point. ‘We would have heard, if there was anyone else with my gift.’ Both Laylah and Augustus would have urged a mating, in an effort to strengthen the talent… As her mind was working, her mouth answered one aspect of one question, partially. “It’s one of my talents.”

Thoughts were moving behind those dark eyes of his. “The girl’s puppy. It’s one of yours, isn’t it?” Rowan’s eyes widened; she rocked backward. Thad smiled at her, a simple man’s quiet smile. ‘Good cover,’ she congratulated him silently. A slight smile wanted to tug at her mouth. ‘How many have you fooled, with that act?’ Clever and then some, to take the apparent disadvantage and turn it to advantage. She could see why Augustus had made him a lieutenant. But she was a lieutenant, also. “You’ve known for weeks,” she said. His turn to recoil in surprise. Those mild eyes turned razor keen. He gave her an intense, penetrating look. “Not just a pretty face, are you?” “Not just a simple cowboy, are you?” she shot back. He looked away. Rowan could feel him thinking. “I reported the cub’s presence to Augustus as soon as I discovered it.” he said. “Laylah told me she would inform your Alpha of my presence,” Rowan replied. The two lieutenants exchanged a cynical look. “Politics,” they sighed together.

CHAPTER 24

“Use your own judgment.”

The clothes weren’t a perfect fit. The jeans were faded and too long; the shirt tight through the chest. Rowan shrugged it off. They were clean, that was all that mattered to her. She grabbed the brush laying on the edge of the sink. It carried Thad’s scent, but it was the only thing available, so she used it. Working the water tangles out of her freshly-washed hair, the female lycanthrope caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She winced. White scars pocked her shoulders, arms and wrists. From what she was able to see, her back was worse. And her ears had ragged, small crescents of skin gouged out of the cartilage. ‘Damn,’ she sighed. With any other injury, the scars would fade within a day or two, but these were caused by the Good Fae. ‘They’ll be with me forever,’ she mused ruefully. Then a spark of feral pride overwhelmed her vanity. Not many lycanthropes could claim surviving an attack by the Shining Ones. She grinned into the mirror, white teeth gleaming. ‘Let them talk. I have the proof on my skin.’

She dressed quickly and neatly, then padded out into the main room. Thad was gone, on a run for more food. And since he was gone… She found her cell phone in the top door of the bedside table. Doubtless he’d gone through it (she would have, in his place) but he had dealt fair with her. She was willing to assume that he meant her no harm. For now. She dialed Laylah’s personal line. The phone hadn’t even had a chance to ring, before Laylah picked it up.

“Rowan!” “Here,” she itted, sitting on the edge of the bed. A stray thought wafted across her mind; she bit back a giggle. She was willing to bet that Thad had agreed to go get more food as a cover for calling his Alpha. She had been Laylah’s lieutenant a long time; the Alpha skipped the whole “where have you been/you haven’t called in for 2 days” shit. “What happened?” “I found the cub,” she said bluntly. “And more besides. The situation is far more complicated than we thought…” She went on, laying it all out. Only with all the facts, good and bad, could Laylah decide what to do. “Hmmm,” the Alpha said when she was finished. “Complicated is the right word. I seem to hearing… .” Laylah trailed off, briefly. “Yes. Two years ago, a lesser male and female of Augustus’ pack tried to play hunters with a shaman. There was a human child involved, if I correctly.” Rowan’s memory sparked. “I hearing that, too,” she said, slowly. “The child was under a shaman’s protection; he nearly killed the lesser male. Augustus drove the male out of the Pack as punishment. The only reason Augustus didn’t kill the female was because she is also… a vampire?” “Yes,” Laylah said, definitively. “I the incident now. The female is Shimmer, mate to Derrick Lashan.” All the Packs on the North American continent knew those names. Derrick Lashan was famous (or infamous, depending on what he’d pulled lately) in his own right; the vampire Shimmer was the only vash-vyrin in a century. (The term meant “blood-wolf” and referred to someone who carried both the vampiric and lycanthrope curses.) Rowan blew out her cheeks in a silent expression of awe.

“Could this be the same child Shimmer used?” she asked. “Possibly,” Laylah cautioned. “Though the Shining Ones love all children. They may have just taken a child under their protection, or mayhap they were baiting you. We need more information.” “What about the other lieutenant?” Rowan didn’t try to hide her unease; Laylah knew her too well. The Alpha didn’t respond immediately; Rowan didn’t force it. When Laylah’s wits were going at full stride, it wasn’t wise to push her. “Augustus is many things,” the Alpha said at last, “but he wouldn’t play politics with a child. And I know his mate. Jade will be checking with all her people, to see if any of this year’s cubs have gone missing. That could take time.” ‘True,’ Rowan mused. Lycanthropes, like mortal wolves, sought privacy for whelping. Even Alphas like Augustus and Jade would need time to locate all of their expectant pairs. “You think the lieutenant is telling the truth, then?” “I see no reason for him to lie,” Laylah itted, a kind of verbal shrug. “He’s played you fair and honorable, my Rowan, you must it that.” “True,” she confessed. There was a slight pause on the line, then Laylah said, “Use your own judgment, Rowan. You’re there, I’m not.” ‘Damn,’ Rowan sighed mentally. It was so much easier when Laylah just gave orders. Judgment calls meant… ’She doesn’t know how to move yet. I hate it when she does this.’ And she’d been doing it more often lately, too… “As you wish, Laylah. I’ll call when I have more.” “Be careful, Rowan.”

Thad came back 20 minutes later, with a large pizza, garlic bread, and two liters

of soda pop. “I don’t know what you like,” he said, setting everything on the table, “so I went with my own preferences.” “Meat is my preference,” she growled, grabbing a piece. He actually grinned, teeth flashing white in his face. “Mine, too.” Rowan settled back on the bed, watching him as the conversation with Laylah turned over in her mind. “What does Augustus say?” she asked, as he started a third piece. If she had hoped to startle him, she failed utterly. “He said to use my judgment.” Thad snagged a piece of garlic bread, eating with speed and precision. “And what is your decision?” “I don’t know yet.” He paused. His dark eyes examined her minutely. “I see no reason for you to lie,” he said, mildly. “The cub is at that house, and, as far as we know, he isn’t one of our Pack.” She considered getting angry, but the logic was too similar to Laylah’s. She settled for: “It is a complicated situation.” “More than you know,” he said bluntly. Rowan raised one feathered brow. “Enlighten me.”

“Very well.” Thad sat back in his chair, the light from the bedside lamps striking gold sparks in his eyes. “I was assigned here,” he said. “In… recompense, you night say, for a particularly stupid stunt pulled by two of my Packmates.”

“We heard of the stunt,” Rowan said. Thad snorted. “Every Pack on the North American continent’s heard of it,” he growled. “After Augustus dealt his punishments, he introduced me to the shaman (pipe-carrier, as they are called here) that defended the girl. His name is Rod Poitra. He’s oddly honorable, for a full human. He bears us no grudge; he went after my Packmates only because he thought a child was threatened. “Anyway,” Thad grabbed his drink; took a along swallow. “Anyway, the three of us worked out a deal. I would patrol here, to keep other young idiots from causing trouble; the shaman would keep his mouth shut about our existence; Augustus would get the reputation of being able to negotiate with pipe-carriers.” “Clever,” Rowan murmured, after a moment’s thought. “How do the Good Fae come into it?” “The girl. Her name is Anna Ayers, and she’s… . different.” “Damaged, you mean.” Rowan’s lip curled. Children with physical or mental damage were not allowed to live, in the Packs. “All must be able to run with the Pack,” she murmured, quoting Pack Law. To her surprise, Thad’s eyes went yellow; he leaned forward, his voice a rippling snarl. “Don’t say ANYTHING about that girl.”

Rowan held herself very, very still. She let the echoes die, and Thad’s eyes regained their usual shade. He swallowed. Grabbing his drink, he took a second long swallow. “She is different,” he itted. “But…” He shrugged. “You’d understand if you saw her. The shaman loves her, that’s for sure, but he’ll never it it.” “Hmmm,” Rowan mused. “Mayhap he asked the Good Fae to protect her.” “Possible,” Thad agreed. “He’s powerful enough. And he’s a friend of Derrick Lashan’s.”

Rowan whistled. “Holy Mother Night,” she said, chills running down her back. Thad nodded. “Deadly combination,” he agreed. “Anyhow, the Good Neighbors seem to know I mean the girl no harm. They tolerate me prowling around, to a point. I can’t get any closer to that house than you did, though.”

A thought struck; Rowan’s brow furrowed. “But the cub,” she said. “You and I are adults, and we barely survived. How has the cub lasted?” Thad held his hands out in the classic “I don’t know” gesture. “Maybe because she loves him, and he, her.” A younger Rowan would have snorted in derision. A lycanthrope, love a human? Please! But she’d seen stranger things since becoming a lieutenant. So, instead of laughing, she simply raised an eyebrow. “You’ve seen this?” she asked. “Personally?” Thad nodded. “I knew the res was being skirted,” he said. “It’s that time of year. But nothing came near that house, so I left it alone. A couple weeks ago, I went to the main grocery, and there this girl was, with the cub. I wasn’t able to get close to her (on top of the protections laid on her by the Good Fae and the shaman, she’s almost pathologically afraid of strangers) but I was able to “run into” her father, in the check-out line. They found the cub up by one of the lakes…” “Yes,” Rowan murmured. “I found his trail by a lake on the north-east corner of the res.” He nodded again, and continued. “It’s called Melbourne Lake. I’ve caught a lot of Pack-scent around there. It’s the

shortest path across that corner of the res, going north. The human family had gone up there for a day of fishing. Anna wandered off with some of the food they’d brought for lunch. When her parents found her, she was sitting by the cub, feeing him her lunch.” The image was too cute. Rowan couldn’t hide a smile. “Cubs,” she murmured, shaking her head. Thad chuckled. “He paid her back,” the male lieutenant said, a golden gleam coming into his eyes. “As I was talking to her father, one of the local perverts made a play for the girl, and the cub attacked.”

Rowan sat up straight. “He what?!” She wasn’t worried about the cub turning a human. Turning was far more complicated than the movies said. No cub could do it. What surprised her was that he would defend a human. Thad’s eyes were gold-flecked obsidian; his smile was fanged. “I saw it. The girl is around 7; mentally, she’s younger than that. This pervert had her backed against a wall, running his hands through her hair. The cub attacked before even her father could get there.” Nauseous rage churned in Rowan’s gut. This was the worst aspect of humanity, in her opinion: this disease that caused them to harm their own young, especially the way Thad had described. Among the Packs, any male showing even a hint of such proclivities was put down faster than one infected with rabies. And to target a child like this… ! ‘I’ll kill him,’ she decided. ‘After I get the cub home, I’ll come back and kill this one.’ Despite her anger, there was no malice in the decision. Nor any coldness. It was as simple as Rowan choosing what to wear for the day. She didn’t realize she’d spoken aloud until Thad said,

“Take a number.” Rowan blinked. “What?” “I had the same idea,” the male said. His eyes had gone a hot, feral yellow. Her hackles went up. ‘Thaddeus is dangerous,’ she realized. His voice was mild though, as if he were talking about going to visit an old acquaintance: “I tracked him back to his house. I was going to wait until he came out to the shed he keeps tools in, and do it there. But he never came out. Just before dawn, I went into the house. He was gone.” “Is it possible he slipped past you?” she asked. Thad gave her a look. She held herself answered. His voice was a low rumble: “The entire house reeked of Fae magick.” An involuntary growl rippled out of Rowan’s throat; her claws came out from under her nails. “No,” she breathed. Thad nodded. His smile was pure, vengeful bloodlust. “Wherever that son of a bitch is, the Good Neighbors put him there, and he ain’t happy.”

They finished the food, and Rowan began to feel the effects of her recovery. Her mind was too muzzy to analyze what she’d learned today. Thad looked tired, as well.

‘He cared for me,’ she ed. ‘How much sleep has he gotten, lately?’ “I will go back to my hotel,” she said. “Where is it?” he asked. “In the res casino.” She rolled her head on her neck. “Did you bring a car?” “Not this far. I’ll shift and cut cross-country.” “Stay here,” he offered. Rowan looked at him. Thad chuckled. “I’m not making a at you. You’re lovely and strong and feral, but we’re both on duty. This is a delicate situation; I think our best chance is to pool our resources.” Rowan cocked her head. ‘Laylah did tell me to use my judgment. He knows this Rod Poitra. Mayhap he could arrange a meeting . . . ’ Ah, hell. She was tired. She didn’t feel like dodging humans all the way back to the res. “I’ll take the floor,” she said. “We’ll both take the bed,” he replied. “No liberties,” she reminded him. “None,” he agreed.

When she came out of the bathroom, again wearing one of his shirts, she found him stretched out on the queen size bed. In wolf form. A slow smile crossed her face. She opened her soul to the moonfire growing in her blood. A female wolf jumped up on the bed. Curling against his side, she felt warm,

relaxed, and safer than any time since she’d started this assignment. He licked the tip of her ear, drowsily, and they both settled into sleep.

CHAPTER 25

“I trust him.”

Rod had a deep, dark secret. He liked being married. And one thing was for sure: marriage to Tara wasn’t going to be anything like marriage to Kay. He and Kay had grown up together. They’d know each other since elementary school. They’d gone crazy together, gotten drunk and stoned together, had shredded each other together in alcohol-fueled insanity. (Brad had had to arrest both of them, more than once, though never, in Rod’s case, for hitting her. She had left more than a few claw-tracks on him, though. Once, she’d even knocked him cold with an old trophy.) Hell, the reason he’d filed for divorce the second time was the fact that he knew, if he stayed with her, he’d start drinking again. The point was, Rod and Kay had known each other, the good, the bad, the ugly, and all the stuff in between.

In contrast, Tara was like a book that he was just reading for the first time. The past two years had given him a taste of it, the way an abridged version could give you a taste of a large novel, but the full work still surprised him. She was as shy and jumpy as a teenager on her first date, craving attention and leery of it at the same time. He’d have been pissed off, if he hadn’t understood it so well. Even as well as he and Kay had known each other (or, maybe, because of that,) it had taken Rod a solid year to get up the guts to ask her to marry him the last time. In Tara’s case… . well, long-time lovers she’d had (he’d been able to see that in how Tara and Troy Martinez treated each other in New Mexico) but

she’d never been married. That little piece of paper, the level of trust and risk it implied, scared her shitless.

“Give it time,” Lashan said. Lashan had been Rod’s best man all three times he and Kay had gotten married. If Rod hadn’t tracked Lashan down, and told him about Tara, the drummer was mortally certain Lashan would have kicked his ass. It hadn’t been easy, either. See, Lashan’s “rehab” wasn’t a normal program. No program on Earth could hold him if he didn’t want to stay. When it had finally gotten through Lashan’s thick head (after a night of blood, fire, and Sebastian Strange “fixing” things, again) that he needed to dry out, he had gone, not to Sebastian, but… . “Why Greg?” The question came, abrupt and apropos of nothing, out of Rod’s mouth, born of months of repressed curiosity.

Lashan turned his head Rod’s direction. “Why Greg, what?” “Why’d you go to Greg, when it finally got through to you?” Rod asked. “I trust him,” Lashan said simply. “He’s not the condescending bastard his father is. We’ve been through a hell of a lot together. He can take anything I can throw at him.” Rod raised a eyebrow. “Really?” Gregoir Strange looked like a Gothic version of Vin Diesel. Not exactly Rod’s image of someone you’d go to for rehab help, unless you wanted to have it, literally, beaten out of you. Some of this must have shown in his voice, because Lashan laughed softly.

“Which part don’t you believe? The trust part, or the ‘take-anything-I-can-throw part?” “Both,” Rod said. “You hate Sebastian Strange.” “Greg’s not his father,” Lashan said. “But he has all his father’s gifts. All Strange’s kids do. And… I don’t hate Strange. He’s just…” Lashan sighed, “irritating. On a cosmic scale.” The Goth shuddered, as if the mere mention of Sebastian Strange grated on his skin like sandpaper. “Greg’s careful,” Rod itted.

And shrewd. In order arrange this little “day trip,” Rod had had to call Greg, swear that this news needed to be given in person, and swear seven ways from Sunday not to give Lashan any booze, pot, and any other “recreational materials.” Now, Lashan and Rod sat on the edge of the dock, smoking cigarettes, the day after Jason’s stint in the ER. Rod took a drag, staring out over the water. “You have no idea,” Lashan murmured, in answer to Rod’s comment. His eyes were dark with memories. “See, I can heal the physical withdrawal symptoms, but I can’t heal the addiction, not when it’s,” his mouth twisted bitterly, “as… ingrained, as it is in me.” “You know how to party,” Rod itted. Lashan snorted. “It started in Rome,” the Goth said, as casually as another addict would say, “I stared at age 14.” “Those folks knew how tie one on… Anyway, Greg knows this, so… .” he shrugged. “You couldn’t play, ‘Look, Ma, no shakes?” Rod guessed. Lashan nodded; the motion continued clear down his spine. “And where he put me, at first… I know I needed it, but…” he swallowed.

“Not Betty Ford, aye?” “Not by a long shot,” Lashan snorted. “I tried to break out, ya know,” he said, in a conversational tone. “I tried everything, to get out of there. You know how it goes.” “Yeah,” Rod itted, ing all too well. “Greg wouldn’t fall for it. No matter how much I threw at him, no matter what I said, no matter how many times I tried to goad him into loosing it.” Lashan paused. “God, I was rotten.” “You’re not now,” Rod sad firmly, squashing the trip down Regret Lane before it spiraled out of control. “And Greg knew what he was getting into when he signed on.” “Are you my sponsor, now?” Lashan drawled. “I’m qualified to stand a watch,” Rod itted.

Lashan chuckled. He looked better, physically, than Rod had seen him in a while. There was more muscle on his 6’2” frame. His green-hazel eyes still carried ghosts, but they were ghosts Lashan was learning to deal with. The only visible difference was that his hair still hadn’t grown back to the length it had been before he cut it. The braid he wore went down to the middle of his back, not his belt. The Goth laid back on the wooden planks of the dock, hands behind his head. Mid-morning light struck silver on the threads in his hair. “I’m surprised Tara’s not up,” he drawled, in that sarcastic voice of his, shooting Rod a cat’s smug look. “She’s a daywalker. You wear her out last night?” Rod punched him, solidly, in the shoulder. “Asshole,” he growled. “Jason would up in the ER last night.” “WHAT?!” The sly grin vanished off Lashan’s face. Rod sighed. This, even

more than telling Lashan about the marriage, was why Rod had tracked him down. “I messed up, Derrick. Bad.” “What are you talkin’ about?”

Rod flicked ash off his cigarette. “I gave Jason the song I have for Anna,” he said, slowly. ‘It’s gonna to be a hot one,’ some part of his mind noted distantly. ‘Another hour or two, and it’ll be too hot to be out here.’ “She’s been so much better, since your girls started helping her. I thought I had time. I thought he’d call me, the next time she acted up…” “What happened, Rod?” Lashan’s voice was oddly gentle. Rod closed his eyes. “The night we got married, she got really bad. Marc was gonna call me, but Jason talked him into letting Jason try it by himself. He wasn’t ready. Not for that long a ceremony. He didn’t know how to prepare himself physically, or what he needed to do afterward. Marc called me from the ER last night. He’d hauled Jason in for severe dehydration. The PA wanted to it him, but Jason refused. It’s my fault. I’ve never taught anyone; it’s been so long since I learned it, I forgot… . I swear to God, Derrick, if I had known Anna was that bad, that Jason would try to do it himself, wedding night or no, I woulda gone over there.”

Silence. Rod blinked (he’d expected some kind of reply!) and looked over at Lashan. The Goth was sitting up, tailor-fashion, his spine ruler-straight. His eyes were closed, but Rod could see them moving behind closed lids. In a way, that was creepier than the thread-fine strands of green light that were spinning outward

from Lashan’s body. Rod held his silence, watching as Lashan whispered words under his breath, too soft for Rod to hear. Then Lashan nodded. A slight smile touched his face. When he opened his eyes, they were as vivid a green as the leaves overhead, streaked with metallic-bright gold. “The girls will check on him,” the Goth said. Rod’s shoulders slumped in relief, even as he joked, “Tell Tria not to kill him.” Lashan smiled wryly. He knew his youngest daughter well. “She’ll be nice. But, as far as I can tell, the kid’s fine. Embarrassed as hell, but fine. You forgot something, Rod. It happens. Don’t blame yourself.” “HE WOUND UP IN THE HOSPITAL!” It burst out of Rod like a dam breaking. Birds rose from the trees as his shout shattered the quiet like a gun shot. Lashan raised an eyebrow. “And he’s fine.” “That’s not the POINT! Well, I mean, it is,” Rod floundered, “but…” “Listen, brother,” Lashan snapped, eyes beginning to darken with impatience, “You are not the little green puppet of a certain sci-fi empire. You forgot something. We all forget things. Shall we get into the list of things I’ve forgotten?” “That was different,” Rod growled, glaring at him. “True,” Lashan itted. “You forgot to instruct on ceremony protocol, and Jason got a little sick. I just forgot things like my name, my children and my sanity, and nearly killed you, Shimmer, and doubtless other people I can’t right now…”

“Shut the fuck up,” the pipe-carrier growled. “Why, because I’m right?” Lashan shot back.

Rod indulged in a fantasy of driving his fist into Lashan’s nose. He wanted it so bad, his muscles were aching from the tension. God, just to wipe that look off Lashan’s face… ! ‘Try it,’ Lashan said silently, not in Rod’s mind, but with every line of his body. He was still sitting cross-legged, but Rod knew how fast the Goth could move when he wanted to. Rod would never land the punch, and both men knew it. And would it change anything? No. They’d both learned that the night of Kay’s funeral, when Rod had taken his grief and anger out on Lashan, who had made no move to defend himself. In the end, she’d still been gone, and Rod had still been devastated. “FUCK,” the pipe-carrier growled in disgust, grinding out the stub of his cigarette, savagely, on the dock. “I hate it when you’re right,” he snarled, getting to his feet. “Come say hi to Tara.”

CHAPTER 26

“I found him out by the lake. Cat musta drug him up here.”

Gru nearly strangled himself, jumping at the edge of his chain and barking ecstatically at Lashan as the two men got to the porch. “Well,” Rod drawled, “if Tara wasn’t awake before, she is now.” Lashan grinned. Gru was leaning against his legs, quiet at last because the Goth was scratching his ears. “Why do you chain him, anyway?” Lashan asked. “He knows where home is.” “Mike LaFromboise has a female he won’t get spayed,” Rod growled, naming his closest neighbor. “If I don’t chain him, he takes off after her. Last time, he came home with buckshot in his ass.” (And it hadn’t worked. Mike’s female had had a batch of 8 pups, all of them clearly Gru’s offspring.) Lashan shook his head, looking down at the dog. “Women,” he sighed. “They get us in trouble every time.” Gru panted. “On top of that, the numbskull likes to chase cars,” Rod said. “I’ve had to put too many dogs down because they were stupid about cars.” “I can try to explain about the cars,” Lashan offered. “If you can get through the rock he has for a brain,” the drummer muttered. Gru finally ed who fed him; walked over to Rod, tail wagging. “Traitor,” Rod told him, as he unclipped the chain from Gru’s collar.

The door opened, and Tara appeared, in her nightshirt and barefoot, hair still in the night-braid down her back. Gru shoved past her, making a beeline for the couch, as her cat, Kayah, darted between her feet and vanished into the grass on inscrutable cat-business. “Gru? What’s… . LASHAN!!!!!!!!” “I found him out by the lake,” Rod deadpanned. “Cat musta drug him up here.” “Shut up,” Lashan returned pleasantly. He bowed to Tara, the same old-world courtier’s bow he’d used when he met her, two years ago, at a barbeque Rod had thrown. “Hello, Tara. Congratulations.” She blushed rose in the sunlight. “Thank you.” Then she seemed to realize what she was wearing (or not) and blushed even harder. “Ummm… uh… . excuse me…” “Don’t change on my ,” Lashan called after her as she darted into the house. “I was enjoying the view.” “I know it’s hard for you,” Rod said, walking inside, “but try not to be an ass to my wife.” “Tara, your husband’s picking on me!” Lashan yelled. He grabbed a chair at the table as Rod got coffee for all three of them.

“You deserve it,” Tara said. (Another difference between Tara and Kay: Tara could dress in, literally, a breath, legacy of years of dancing, where Kay had taken at least an hour.) She came out of the bedroom in denim shorts and a loose gold shirt, with sandals covering her bare feet. Rod handed her a cup of coffee. “Thank you,” she sighed. She sat down at the table. “When did you get here?” she asked. “I didn’t hear a car pull up.” “A friend dropped me off.” Lashan lied easily, perhaps because it wasn’t exactly a lie. Greg had brought Lashan to the res. But instead of driving, he’d brought

Lashan through a plain, ordinary door. The fact that this door had appeared at the edge of the dock, and hung two inches off the ground, was, well, irrelevant. “It’s good to see you,” Tara said honestly. It was good to see her relaxed and happy, without the shadows that had been hanging over her lately. Lashan smiled. “It’s good to be seen.” “Are you playing the gig, then?” she asked. Lashan blinked; looked at Rod. “What gig?” “We’re playing that street dance, down by Strange Acres next weekend,” Rod said quietly. Lashan’s eyebrows climbed into his hair. “Really?” “Marc needs the cash,” Rod said bluntly, “and frankly, so do I. This is my slow season.” “Mine, too,” Tara murmured. A shadow crossed Lashan’s face. He looked down at his hands. “I don’t think I’m ready for that, Rod,” he itted quietly. “Just be in the crowd,” the drummer urged. “Dave can play lead, but we need Shimmer, and she can’t sing without you.” ‘Unless we want her vamping out and feeding off people by the end of the night,’ the sarcastic part of him added silently. Lashan looked out the patio door. He was gnawing on his lower lip. “You won’t be alone,” Tara added. “I’ll be there, and Terri. Neither of us will be drinking.” Lashan was scared, Rod could tell. It was hard enough getting clean; staying clean, especially for musicians, was a completely different battle. But the Goth

put a good face on it, forcing a grin and teasing, “Hmmm. Me, with two beautiful women all to myself. I think I can do that.” Tara winked at him. Rod rolled his eyes. “What is it, with you and my women?” Before Tara could launch the teasing retort Rod could see on her tongue, Gru started barking. He jumped off the couch and walked to the door, tail wagging. “Who else?” Rod asked the ceiling. “Gru! Someone’s here, we get it! Shut up!” Gru kept barking. Tara raised her eyebrows, laughter dancing in her eyes. Footsteps came up the porch. The door swung open, and Gru turned tail and ran into the kitchen, trying to hide behind Rod’s chair as Anna walked in.

CHAPTER 27

“Pretty Gru.”

She was in a little blue sundress (the hem looked kind of, well, gnawed on,) with her hair pulled back in a braid. A length of ribbon hung from one of her hands. This one was white, with little yellow ducks on it. A human-sized sigh rose up from behind Rod’s chair. “Gru,” Anna said. “Gru!” A second sigh. “Hello, Anna,” Rod said, trying not to laugh. “Gru’s right here. He’s missed you.” He twisted around and looked down at Gru, who glared up at him reproachfully. ‘Why do you do this to me?’ the dog seemed to be asking. Rod ignored it, grabbing Gru’s collar and dragging him out into the open. The dog laid on the floor, head and ears down, the picture of resignation. Anna knelt and scratched his ears. Gru looked up at her, clearing saying, ‘You don’t fool me, kid.’ Anna wound the ribbon around his neck. Rod had to help her tie the bow. Then she patted Gru’s head. “Pretty,” she said. “Pretty Gru.” Tara slid off her chair. (Rod barely managed to grab her coffee cup.) The Witch sat on the floor, holding her stomach and laughing silently. Being laughed at by a Witch was, apparently, more than Gru could take. (And in all fairness, Gru had tolerated far more than any self-respecting dog should have too.) He growled. Well, not really a growl, more like a verbal, ‘Really?’ but Rod

didn’t allow his dogs to do such things. “Hey!” The drummer snarled. But before he could yank on Gru’s collar, Anna had tapped the dog’s muzzle. “No, Gru!” she said clearly. “Bad Gru! Be nice!” Gru’s head came up, staring at Anna with a look of such total shock that Rod lost it. He hung onto the table, laughing as hard as Tara. “Et tu, Anna?” Lashan gasped. He was leaning his head back against the wall, laughing just as hard as the rest of them. Gru snorted. Radiating a kind of wounded canine dignity, he paced out the front door, steadfastly ignoring the pack of now-hysterical humans.

Rod wiped tears out of his eyes. Anna was staring out the front door. “Wh-ere,” she said slowly, turning to look at him, “d-id. Gru go?” “He went outside,” Rod answered her. Her head tilted on her neck, dark eyes studying him. “Why?” “He wanted to.” “Oh.” She turned to look at Tara, who was still sitting on the floor. Then she walked over and took the Witch’s hand. “Bell lady,” she said, tugging. “Dance.” “Hola, mija.” Tara climbed to her feet. “But you know what we get first?” “First,” Anna repeated. Her eyes fogged for a moment. Then she actually smiled. “Bells!” (Tara let her wear bracelets strung with tiny bells when they danced.) Anna pulled on Tara’s wrist. “Jingjingjing,” she sang, trying to mimic the sound. “I did leave some here, right?” Tara asked, sotto voce, out the side of her mouth. “Bedroom. Third drawer in the dresser,” Rod told her.

“Thank Goddess,” the Witch sighed. She took Anna’s hand and they went into the bedroom. “Wow, she’s come a long way,” Lashan murmured, once Anna was out of ear shot. “Hey, Rod.” Rod turned toward the voice. Marc was just walking through the still-open front door. He wore faded jeans and a loose T-shirt. A wry, embarrassed grin lit his face. “Sorry, Rod. She was out of the van and up to the door before I could stop her.” “Don’ worry about it,” the older man said. “Come in. How’s Jason?” “Better,” Marc replied. “Terri and I gave him the day off. Don’t try to call him: he either has his cell phone off, or he’s up in the hills, where there’s no signal. Mind if I grab a pop?” “In the fridge.” Marc shut the door, then walked over and snagged a can of pop out of the refrigerator. His back was to the table, and Rod could only guess the sunlight had blinded him coming into the house, because he jumped when he saw Lashan sitting at the table. “Dude!” He held out a hand. Lashan took it, returning the handshake. “Long time no see, man. Didn’t see ya back there.” Lashan pulled back. Marc plopped down in Tara’s old spot, opening the drink. “I could tell.” Lashan’s voice was oddly shadowed. Rod shot him a look and saw Lashan staring at the can Marc held. An instant of pure craving flashed across his face. “I was beginning to wonder if I was invisible,” the Goth recovered, taking a sip of his coffee. “Even Anna didn’t notice me.” “Don’t take it personally,” Marc said. “If there are animals around, Anna doesn’t pay attention to humans.” “I was just tellin’ Rod: man, she’s come a long way.”

“All thanks to him,” Marc said, motioning to Rod with the hand that held his drink.

Rod’s skin tried to crawl off his spine. Suddenly, he understood what his grandfather had meant when Rhys bitched about people treating him differently. ‘I don’t know what’s worse,’ he’d said, over and over, ‘when they think I’m crazy, or when they believe every blessed word I say.’ “It’s not me,” Rod growled now. “How many times do I have to tell you that?” Marc just rolled his eyes. Across the table, Lashan’s eyes were oddly sympathetic. ‘How do you think I feel?’ he asked Rod, mind to mind. Suddenly, ghosts seemed to fill the air around Lashan, clutching at him with misty, gray fingers. And not just recent ones, either. The air was thick with the dust of centuries. ‘Good God,’ the pipe-carrier said to himself, chilled. ‘No wonder he turned to booze.’

Bells chimed softly, and the bright notes seemed to drive the ghosts around Lashan back. The Goth took a deep breath, sitting up straighter as Tara and Anna walked into the kitchen. Tara was carrying her cd player (she’d got it yesterday morning from her place in Rawlins) and a cd. Anna was shaking her wrist, making the belled bracelet she wore sing. Anna looked up, and this time she saw Lashan. She froze. Then ran to Marc, hiding behind his chair, a shy smile on her face. “This is new,” Marc sighed. “She likes to act shy around people lately. Anna, come over here. You know Lashan.” He twisted around in the chair; caught her, and lifted her into his lap.

“She’s just playing, aren’t you, Anna?” Lashan smiled, catching her eye. So help him God, Rod heard Anna giggle as she ducked her head against Marc’s chest. “Hi,” she said, very, very softly. “Hi,” Lashan answered. “Anna,” Marc said. “Could you tell Lashan about Fluffy?” “Fluffy?” Lashan asked, one side of his mouth quirking. Anna wouldn’t look directly at Lashan, but, incredibly, she answered him. “Fluffy. My. Puppy. Friend.” “What does Fluffy look like?” Marc prompted her. “Br..own and..black..” “Prob’ly a wolf mix,” Marc added. “He’s got that mask they all have, around his eyes and nose.” He turned to Anna. “What does Fluffy like to do?” Anna barked. The men laughed. “And what’s the name of that sound?” her father prompted. “Bark.” “And what else does Fluffy like to do?” “Play. With the ball.”

Listening to her made Rod’s throat tighten. Suddenly, he was back behind Tara’s house again, the day Lashan’s daughters and grandson had given him the medicine pipe. Arianna’s beautiful, indescribable voice had fallen on his ears like water as she said:

“We also offer you a boon, as a gift, freely given. Do you know what you would

like?” He opened his mouth to say he’d need to think about it, when his eyes fell on Anna, Rod’s pendant still around her neck (it hung down to the girl’s waist), examining Ioni’s pointed ears. It was, as Jason would say, “a no-brainer.” “Can you help her?” he asked, nodding to Anna. All three Elves turned to each other. They seemed to consult silently for a long moment, a moment during which Rod heard a kind of musical humming on the air. It was Ioni who held his hand over Anna, light spilling from his palm.

“We can do it, mammith,” he said to Tria, infectious enthusiasm in his voice. “She walks partly in our world as it is. That’s how she could see me.” Tria smiled, and suddenly she wasn’t so alien. A warm heart shown through Tria’s smile, a heart that Anna already had firmly in her grasp.

“We will do what we can,” Arianna said gently.

‘Ari,’ Rod thought now, watching Anna climb out of Marc’s lap and follow Tara outside, ‘Tria, Ioni, and whoever else among your people are helping her, thank you.’ The fragrance of countless flowers filled his senses; playful laughter ghosted through his mind. ‘The pleasure is ours.’ Rod jumped! nearly spilling his coffee. His heart was pounding in his throat. Marc stared at him, stunned.

“What’s the matter?” he asked. “Nothin’,” Rod mumbled. ‘Oh, tell him,’ his cynical side prompted. ‘Tell him you were thanking nature spirits for helping Anna, and actually got an answer. Go ahead. I dare you. 10 bucks says he mumbles something like, “Thorzine comes in strawberry flavor now.”

Rod bought some time by getting up and refilling his coffee. He felt the moment when Marc shrugged it off and turned to Lashan. “We found this puppy, up by Melbourne lake. Anna fell in love with it, so we have a dog now.” “Fluffy, right?” Marc laughed. “Anna named him. The change in her is amazing, man! She talks to him, she plays with him. Her speech therapist is thrilled. Before, Billie had to work to get Anna to talk. Not today. Today she told Billie all about the puppy. She’s never talked this much.” “Sounds like the dog’s good for her, then,” Lashan observed. “In more ways than one,” Rod said. He snagged some sandwich stuff out of the fridge; carried it and his coffee over to the table. “Jason told you, aye?” Marc asked. “Yeah.” “Told him what?” Lashan asked. He reached for the food, making a sandwich. Marc’s eyes glittered. “Ernnie Richards is a dead man,” he growled. “That sick sonofabitch touched my daughter.”

Lashan sat bolt-upright in his chair. The food fell to the table. His voice, literally, dragged Marc’s eyes to his. “HE. WHAT?!” Rod didn’t know what Marc could see, but Rod could see green fire seething and writhing beneath Lashan’s skin. ‘He’s ready to kill,’ the pipe-carrier realized. “Not like that, Derrick,” Rod had to pitch his voice to get through Lashan’s rage. “’Sides,” he added with a chilling grin, “I took all ready took care of it.” Slowly, his words sank in, and the green flames Rod could see faded, withdrawing further into Lashan’s body. Both Marc and Lashan spoke together: “What?” “Ernnie’s out of places to run,” Rod said, a kind of grim, vengeful pleasure in his voice. “I put the word out, through the lodges. What he is, what he does. Sooner or later, he has to come back here, and then…” he trailed off. All three of them exchanged a wordless, chilling grin.

“Good.” Something colder than even Lashan’s rage filled Marc’s face. He was a father, but more than that, he was a parent, to a special needs child. “I owe that fucker a beating.” He turned to Lashan. “Richards had her backed up against the wall, running his hands through her hair. I was trapped in the goddamn checkout line, and Jason and that pup got there first.” He sounded truly disappointed that Jason had, literally, beaten him to the punch. “The pup tore up Ernnie’s hands and wrists. Jason pulled Ernnie away from Anna, and beat the living hell out of him.” “Is Anna all right?” Lashan asked.

Marc turned to look out the front windows. Tara and Anna were out there, “dancing.” Today, it looked more like a musical version of that old kids’ game, Mirror. “Physically, she’s fine,” he said, slowly. “She’s been more clingy since then, though. Always wants to know where I am, or Terri, or Jason. She won’t sleep in her bed unless the pup’s there. Thank God he’s been easy to housetrain!” He paused. When he spoke again, his voice was low and heavy with guilt. “Is it wrong, to be glad she can’t fully understand what he meant?”

Rod and Lashan exchanged a look. “No.” Lashan said it gently. “She’s loved and cared for and happy, Marc. The memory is already fading.” “I don’t know what I’m gonna do,” Marc muttered. It was like that one, single question had unlocked a door Marc usually kept barred. Fear, desperation… Rod could feel all of it, radiating off the other man in icy-hot waves. “There are no jobs around here, nothing that lasts more than a day, anyway. Even Bryan Marcellias doesn’t have anything. The ones that do open up, I fill out the paperwork, do the interview, and never get called back. I’m even looking outta state. But what happens to Anna if we have to move? She needs Rod, and Tara and Jason. I.H.S. is covering all her medical, but if we have to move, will any employer’s plan do it? Terri’s workin’, but she’s pregnant, and what I’m gonna do when she’s on maternity leave… God, she’s so sacred… .”

Rod gripped Marc’s shoulder. Lashan, betting on Marc being too distracted to notice, pulled another soda pop out of the air and put it in front of Marc. “Marc, we’ll think of something. I promise.” Rod had to work to keep his voice steady. Anna, move? To another state? It grabbed him by the heart. “Clarissa Strange is thinking of bringing a live band into her coffee shop for the winter,” Lashan said. “She told me, the gig’s ours, if we want it.” “Tara’s thinking of keeping her place in Rawlins,” Rod added, “but turning it

into a studio-type thing. She’d rather the work be done by someone she knows. Can I tell her you’re interested?” “God, yeah.” Marc took a shaky breath; opened the fresh drink and downed it. “Dude, I’m so sorry,” he started to say. Rod glanced at Lashan. The Goth smiled, a wry, oddly empathic thing. Two years ago, drunk and stoned, Lashan had fallen apart at this very table a hell of a lot worse than Marc had just now. “Don’t worry about it,” the pipe-carrier said. “We used to do a hell of a lot worse. Right, Derrick?” “Every weekend, down in Minneapolis,” Lashan agreed. “Three days and two nights of booze, pot, and waaay too much male bonding.” Marc snorted. He was getting his composure back. “TMI, man. TMI.” “They always say that,” Lashan observed. “Can you blame them?” Rod asked. “Hey, it was just that one time, when the heat went out…” “SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Rod roared. Lashan laughed, and Marc actually grinned. “You two are both fuckin’ lunatics, ya know that?” “Damn,” Lashan sighed. “Our cover’s blown.” “Straight to hell,” Rod agreed. “You two never had a cover,” Marc muttered. Rod and Lashan grinned at each other. Marc had his balance back, now. ‘I’ll find him something,’ Lashan promised, mind to mind. ‘I’ll get Strange in on it.’

The cold knot around Rod’s heart eased. If Sebastian Strange was in on it, too, Marc and Terri would be fine. And Anna wouldn’t have to move.

CHAPTER 28

“That bracelet’s yours, mija.”

The front door opened, and the dancers came in. Tara’s face shown with sweat. “We cut it short, today,” she said. “Too hot.” Rod half expected Anna to agree, but apparently, she’d done enough talking for a while. She walked over to Marc and leaned her head against his shoulder. Marc sighed. “Thanks, Tara. Come on, kiddo. Let’s go home.” He dug his car keys out of his pocket. Rod tensed. This was the hard part of the dancing lessons, always. Anna never wanted to give the bell bracelet back. “Anna, let Tara have the bells.” Marc was hoping against hope there wouldn’t be a battle; Rod could tell by how he said it. Anna pulled her arm against her side, covering the bracelet with her other hand. “Anna,” Marc repeated, danger in his tone. Tara’s breath hissed! between her teeth. Suddenly, she was pale under her tan. “I give them to her.” It came out sharp as a blade. Even Rod stared in shock as Tara glared at Marc. “They’re hers.” It rocked Marc back on his heels. He shot Rod a quick, questioning look. ‘What did I do?’ he mouthed, silently. Rod just raised his eyebrows. ‘No idea,’ he mouthed back. Tara drew Anna against her.

“That bracelet’s yours, mija.” “Okaay,” Marc said, carefully. “If it means that much to you…” The confusion in his voice seemed to penetrate whatever space Tara was in. Tears pooled in her eyes, and suddenly Rod knew who Tara had heard in Marc’s voice. ‘You bastard!’ he thought at Paul Campbell. ‘If you weren’t dead, I’d knock you on your ass for what you did to her.’ Tara swallowed, hard. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “For a moment you sounded like…” she clenched her teeth. Marc glanced at Rod. ‘Father,’ the older man mouthed, silently. Marc’s eyebrows climbed into his hair; comprehension flashed across his face. “Mija.” Anna’s voice made everyone jump, staring at her in shock. She hugged Tara. “Not sad,” she said. “Not sad.” And Rod felt it. Felt Anna absorbing Tara’s grief like a sponge. ‘What the hell . . . ?’ the pipe-carrier thought, wildly, watching the tears Tara wouldn’t let fall run down Anna’s face. Marc was frozen, too uncomfortable with Tara’s unusual behavior to know which way to jump. “Tara.” Lashan’s voice shattered the silence like a hammer. “Ground it out and shield. You’re hurting Anna.”

It made no sense to Rod, but it brought Tara’s head up with a snap! The Witch looked at the little girl, and her jaw dropped open. Then she drew a breath, and, somehow, drew something back out of Anna, into her own body. “Rod.” Lashan again. Somehow, the Goth had come around to stand beside Rod without Rod noticing. “Say this, exactly, to Tara: I give you permission to do what you need to. Now.” They’d been through too many fire-fights for Rod to question Lashan, no matter

how crazy the Goth sounded. “I give you permission to do what you have to do.” The Earth rose, slightly, beneath his feet. Even sitting, Rod staggered. The air around Tara seemed to… . ripple, almost like water. Rod could feel her guiding something in the Earth. The Witch herself stood rock-steady, with her eyes closed. A second “wave” flowed out of her body and into the ground. “Rod,” Lashan whispered. “Pull Anna away, calm her down.” The pipe-carrier moved, gently drawing the girl’s arms from Tara’s waist, and pulled Anna into his lap. He whispered her song to her as she shook against him like a leaf in a hurricane. And the emotion flooded into him.

Waves of grief and anger and defiance. Layers of confusion, blinding him, smothering him like pillows over his face. Why? Something was happening, had happened. What was it? He tried to think rationally, tried to understand, but he couldn’t see anything, couldn’t tell what they wanted . . .

Why did they always do this? Force him to speak, when emotions were so much better. Force him to do exercises that hurt his arms and hands. He’d tried to tell them he didn’t like it, but they never listened . . . .

They never listened. She was never good enough, no matter what she did. If she brought home As, they complained she wasn’t social enough; if she went out, they complained she wasn’t taking school seriously. And now they wanted to stop her dancing lessons! He (don’t say his name, not for a year) had gone into HER ROOM, HER private space, and taken all her dancing costumes, even the belled bracelets . . .

“ROD.” A lifeline, in the form of a rope of green fire that burned away the chaos. He reached for it the way someone trapped in a dungeon would reach for escape, clinging with all his strength to the only thing standing between himself and madness . . .

CHAPTER 29

“Empath.”

Rod gasped, coming out of it like a swimmer coming up from a deep dive. His teeth were chattering. Tears blurred his eyes. He heard Lashan murmuring to someone, softly, but couldn’t make out the words. He drew a breath. Another. Slowly, the realities began to sync up. He rubbed his eyes. “What the fuck just happened?” His voice startled him. He didn’t it being that gravely. “You got hit by a very powerful empath,” Lashan’s voice wasn’t kidding. Rod raised his head to see the Goth standing over him. Because of Marc and Tara, there wasn’t any visible sign of Lashan’s power, but it filled the room, all the same. “What’s an empath?” the pipe-carrier asked. “Empaths are people who can feel other people’s emotions, so intently they become their own. All of us do it to a point, but empaths take it farther. There are two broad categories of empathy. One is receptive. A receptive empath does what I just described. The other is projective. They can make other people feel what they are feeling.” His eyes touched Rod’s. “That’s what happened to you, brother.” Rod shuddered. “You okay?” Lashan asked. Rod swallowed. “Yeah. It was… just… intense.” Rod looked past Lashan. Tara was no where to be seen.

“She went outside,” Lashan said quietly. “She’s pretty upset.” “It’s not her fault,” Rod protested, parroting what Tara herself had told him last night at the ER. “Did she even know she’s one of these, whaddacallems?” Lashan shook his head. “Not Tara. Anna.” “WHAT?!”

The outburst came, not from Rod, but Marc. The pipe-carrier turned his head to see Marc sitting in the chair farthest away from all of them. Anna, her face oddly serene, was in his lap. The younger man was pale beneath his tan; he held his daughter in a death-grip. Lashan nodded. “You’ve heard the stories, about how people like Anna where thought to have special medicine? They were right. Anna has the ability to feel, as if it’s happening to her, right then and there, everything that everyone around her is feeling.” Rod felt a wave of sympathy for Marc. He lived in the world of the five senses; even now, he was scared to death of medicine and magick. To find out his daughter had such a talent… . Well, Rod didn’t blame him for looking at Lashan, Rod, and Tara, as if they were all homicidal maniacs. “And Anna has this?” Marc asked, slowly. “Yes.” Lashan sighed. “I’d guess it’s a large part of why she can’t be around crowds.” “And how do you know this?” A second sigh. Suddenly, Lashan seemed old, far older than he looked. “Because one of my gifts is identifying the gifts of other people.”

“What are you?” Marc whispered, staring at Lashan in horror.

Lashan smiled thinly, as if he’d heard that question so many times it was meaningless. “A friend,” he answered simply, as he had answered Rod, when Rod asked, and Rod’s mother, when Lilly asked, and Rod’s grandfather, when Rhys asked. When Lashan moved toward him, Marc pulled back, shielding his daughter. He probably didn’t even realize he’d done it, but Rod saw it go through Lashan like a spear to the gut. “Come off it, Marc,” Rod snapped. “You know damn well Lashan would never hurt Anna. Don’t be an ass.” “You know?!” Marc’s voice rose an octave. “All my life,” Rod itted. Marc gave him a look of ultimate betrayal. “And you… he… you never told me?! I thought we were friends, man!” “Marc… .” Rod said, helplessly. “Rod’s not the only one who’s kept his mouth shut,” Lashan growled. He raked Marc with a keen gaze. “How long have you known, friend?” Rod felt his jaw sag as blood rushed to Marc’s face. “WHAT?!” he yelped. Marc’s eyes were wild; he licked his lips nervously. “Not really, know,” he hedged. “More like, suspected…” “How. Long?” Lashan’s voice rumbled around the room. Marc blanched. “Since the night Rod got knifed,” he itted.

Rod stared at him, stunned. “That was… what? 20 years ago?!” Marc gave a shaky, possibly-hysterical laugh. “You don’t forget somethin’ like that.” “You weren’t even old enough to be in The ’Bug, then,” Rod protested. “Terri an’ me, we’d go in an’ shoot pool. the old tables, way in the back? We’d drop $20-$30 bucks each night. Neither of us tried to order booze, and we never caused trouble, so Pops left us alone.” “I ,” Lashan said slowly. “Kay would hang out with you guys while we were jamming.” He looked at Rod. “? She always said she was ‘chaperoning the kids.” Rod’s jaw gaped. “Holy shit,” he whispered, stunned. “I’d forgotten…” “We were there, the night that guy knifed you,” Marc said. “I .” He looked at Lashan. “You told us to take Kay, ’cause we were the only sober ones in the place.” Lashan grabbed a chair. His face was slack with shock. “She was screaming, and getting in way,” he said, distantly. “I couldn’t work with her hanging over you, Rod. I don’t you,” he told Marc. “I just yellin’ for somebody to get her out of the way… .” The younger man nodded. “That was me, an’ Terri. We were close enough, we saw what Rod looked like.” He turned to the pipe-carrier, eyes bleak. “You were bleedin’ out, man. It was all over the place. I thinkin’ the EMTS’d never get there in time.” “The old road,” Rod said, ing. “They’d never have fit the ambulance

down it.” Marc nodded. “And then you,” he turned back to Lashan, “You did… somethin’. Green light came out of your hands, and the bleeding stopped. And the EMTS showed up, faster than they should have. An’ suddenly, everyone was ing it wrong, sayin’ that that guy hadn’t got the jump on you, that you’d seen it comin’, and shifted, just in time. But Terri an’ me, we ed it different.” Rod turned to Lashan. “I thought you said you covered your tracks,” he said, still in shock. “I thought I did,” Lashan protested weakly. “I musta missed ’em. There were so many minds there, and you, and Kay, and gettin’ EMTs there, ’cause I couldn’t heal you outright, I was too drunk.” He shrugged helplessly, spreading his hands out to his sides, palms up. “They musta slipped through the cracks.” He turned to Marc. “Why didn’t you say anything?” he demanded. Marc laughed wildly. “We didn’t know what happened!!!!! And then, with everybody ing it differently, we started wondering if we were wrong, if we’d made a mistake. By the time we worked it out, we figured… .” He shrugged. “Maybe it was medicine-stuff, and you don’t ask about that stuff.”

Rod put his elbows on the table, resting his head in his hands. “Holy fuckin’ shit,” he whispered. He couldn’t anything about that night. The whole thing was a blank. He’d woken up in the hospital, attached to tubes and needles, to Kay telling him he’d nearly died. “You really did it, didn’t you?” he heard Marc ask Lashan. “You saved his life, and changed everything, so nobody ed it right.” “Not as well I’d thought, apparently,” Lashan drawled, dryly sarcastic. “HOW?” Marc yelped. “No normal person can do shit like that!”

Lashan’s reply was very, very soft. “I can.”

There was a long, drawn-out silence. Rod couldn’t think of anything to say. Lashan, Rod knew from past experience, wouldn’t say anything else. God only what Marc was thinking. Anna, again, broke the silence. She leaned out, reaching for the food on the table. Marc moved automatically, with a parent’s absent-minded habit, and made her a sandwich. (It was a mark of his state that he didn’t ask if it was okay, first. Marc was a stickler about things like that.) The adults watched her eat quietly until Marc said, “What is this… thing, she can do, again?” “Feel other people’s emotions,” Lashan said softly, eyes on the girl. “Will it go away?” “Prob’ly not,” Lashan itted, gently. “What do we do?” “I can shield her for now,” Lashan said softly. “That’s a way of putting a kind of… protective bubble, around her,” he added, answering the new question on Marc’s face. “The shield will keep intense emotion from effecting her. When I’m not here,” He glanced at Rod, who nodded, “well, we’ll figure something out. A charm or something. Maybe Tara will have some ideas.” “What set Tara off, anyway?” Marc demanded. Shock and fear was turning to anger. His face was harsh. “A memory,” Tara said.

CHAPTER 30

“A memory.”

Rod looked up. He’d opened the patio doors that looked out from the kitchen that morning. Tara was standing on the other side of the screen, watching them. Rod was still coming down from whatever Anna had done to him. He saw the tear tracks on Tara’s face; the way she curled her arms over her stomach, and knew she was hurting, but couldn’t feel anything more than a distant ache of sympathy. Marc, however, swore, twisting around in his chair and nearly spilling Anna on the floor. Lashan jumped!, knocking his chair over in a clatter. If he’d been a cat, his tail would have bushed out in shock. “How long have you been there?!” he demanded. “Long enough,” she said, numbly. “I’ll keep your secret, whatever you are, Derrick Lashan.” A thin smile tried to cross her face, and died, stillborn. “I’ve seen my share of strange things, serving Isis and Osiris. Though you may take the cake.” ‘Her own emotions must be blocking the shock,’ Rod thought, looking at her. Certainly, he’d never seen anyone react so well to uncovering Lashan’s secrets. Though you never could tell, with Tara. Two years ago, she’d calmly accepted Lashan walking out of the air into her living room, naming him as one of the old Egyptian Gods. ‘’Course, she was sicker than hell at the time,’ Rod mused. ‘And doesn’t she did it, but . . . . maybe some part of her does.’ The look on Lashan’s face was priceless. Rod would have been hysterical, if he could have summoned the energy.

“I don’t give a flying fuck what you’ve seen,” Marc snarled. “What did you do to my daughter?!” “Hey!” Rod snapped. “It’s not her fault, Marc. None of us knew about this.” “I wanna hear it from her,” the younger man said, not taking his eyes off Tara. The Witch sighed. “She must have picked up on what I was feeling,” the Witch mumbled numbly, eyes glassy. “I pulled as much of it out of her as I could, grounded it, and shielded, but…” she trailed off. Marc looked at Lashan, the questions clear on his face. “Grounding means she sent all that emotion into the Earth, away from her and Anna.” The Goth’s voice was soft. “That would neutralize it, the way a base would neutralize an acid. Shields can keep things in, as well as out. Tara put a kind of wall between herself and Anna, so Anna wouldn’t pick up any more of her emotions.” Marc turned back to the Witch. “If you can do that, why didn’t you do it earlier? Have you heard about these… whaddacallems?” Guilt darkened Tara’s eyes. “I have heard of empaths,” she said, slowly. “I myself don’t have that gift, though I knew some people in Santa Fe who did. And Terri told me that social anxiety is common for children with Anna’s challenges, so… .” She shrugged helplessly. “I knew she responded to music very strongly, but so many people do! It’s a universal language. I never felt anything when I was helping her dance… I should have been more aware, more open…” Marc didn’t answer. He was almost at his limit, Rod could tell. ‘The only reason he hasn’t gone ballistic yet is because he can see for himself that Anna is fine,’ the pipe-carrier decided. “What set you off?” the younger man asked the Witch.

She sighed. An old, old grief filled her voice. “Rod told you my parents kicked me out when I was 17?” she asked. “Yeah,” Marc grudged. “I started dancing when I was 16,” she said. “My parents ed me at first, but as I got better, they changed their tune.” She paused; swallowed. “They demanded I stop. He said it was too expensive. The truth was, he didn’t like my dance instructor. She was a Wiccan. She became my first teacher in the Craft. A few months before my 17th birthday (before they kicked me out) he went into my room while I was at school at threw out all my dancing gear. My dance shoes, my rehearsal clothes, my costumes, the bell anklets I’d bought.” Tara’s eyes were hollow as she looked back down the long track of years. “It devastated me. For just a moment, this afternoon, I heard someone else in your voice, Marc, and suddenly, I was that teenager again.”

A shadow of guilt crossed Marc’s face, and Rod smiled thinly. ‘Good,’ he thought to himself, enjoying the younger man’s embarrassment. It wasn’t right, and it wasn’t kind, but Tara was his wife: he thought it anyway. Marc ran a hand through his hair. Confusion replaced the embarrassment on his face. “I know this is a lot to process,” Lashan said, gently. “Understatement of the century,” Marc snorted. Lashan smiled slightly. “Touché,” he murmured. Marc looked down at his daughter, who was now finishing his pop. “Will she be okay?” he asked. “She’ll be sleepy. Maybe more tired than usual tonight. Let her take a nap when you get her home, than make sure she eats dinner tonight.”

Marc nodded. “I have to tell Terri, ya know. All of it.” His gaze took in all three adults. Rod spoke for all them: “We know.” Lashan licked his lips. “Would it help,” he asked, nervously, “If I went with you? I’ll answer what I can for both of you.” To Rod’s amazement, Marc smiled a blade’s smile, thin and cold and nononsense. “Oh, you don’t have a choice, whatever you are. You ARE coming with me, and you ARE answering all of my questions, and Terri’s, for as long as it takes.”

CHAPTER 31

“God, you two are stupid.”

It took, apparently, four bloody days. Rod tried to call Lashan (through Greg) to find out what happened, but all he got was that Lashan was “researching stuff” (whatever the hell that meant.) “Did I cost you friends?” Tara asked Sunday night. She’d been eerily quiet all weekend. Rod glanced out the windows, open to let in any breath of coolness, only the screens keeping out mosquitoes. ‘Four days,’ his computer-trained mind stated. ‘No phone calls, no emails, no Facebook posts.’ It didn’t add up well. “Not you, Tara,” he said. “Marc… . he’s a pretty easy-goin’ guy, but medicine, magick… they scare him shitless.” When he looked back at his wife, tears were trickling out of the corners of her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, dropping her head into her hands. Her long, white hair (she hadn’t even braided it today, no matter the heat) covered her face and poured down her shoulders. “I should have seen what Anna has. I shouldn’t have let her around me…” “Tara, stop.” He leaned over, grabbed one of her wrists; coaxed her into letting him pull on her hands away from her face. “This isn’t your fault.” A wry, bitter grin touched his mouth. “Didn’t we have this conversation in reverse just a couple days ago? I missed things with Jason; we all missed this with Anna. Much as it sucks, we’re human. We make mistakes.”

“I hate being human,” she snarled from behind the curtain of her hair. “You and me both, darlin’, you an’ me both.”

Monday dawned clear and bright. Rod spent it in his workroom, updating several clients’ websites. Tara drove her motorcycle over to her place, and spent the day revamping her inventory system. (Rod knew this because Jason texted him, bitching about Tara mes the idiot-simple system Jason had designed. Rod texted back, “Suck it up, kid.”) Tuesday was more of the same, except Rod spent it at the tribal offices, running virus scans and swearing at idiot amateurs who had disabled the firewalls on their desktops, ed viruses, and fucked up Rod’s work. (He nearly told one guy, “You’re too stupid to have a computer. I’m taking it back.”) So when he pulled into his driveway Tuesday evening and saw Marc’s van in Rod’s spot, he was more than ready for a fight. “What the fuck do you want?” he grunted, slamming the door to the truck. Marc shrugged, awkwardly. “Jason told me you wanted to talk,” the younger man growled. “He said you called him and told him to have me meet you here.” “I didn’t,” Rod shot back. He wasn’t in the mood to play whatever game his nephew was running. Marc stiffened. Rod stood glaring at him. ‘Let the little bastard squirm,’ he thought, deliberately refusing to say anything. Marc’s eyes darted, looking for something he could make a comment on. He found nothing. Tara wasn’t home yet; her cat (like all cats) showed up only when she wanted to, which was not now; and Gru was staying out it, hiding under the porch. Marc shifted his feet. The sun beat down on them both, an invisible anvil of heat. Rod could feel sweat dampening the back of his shirt, but he’d be damned if he’d say anything first. A motorcycle roared into the yard. Rod drew himself up, ready to jump between Marc and Tara, when he realized that it was Jason’s bike.

The youth killed the engine, shoved the kickstand down with his boot, and jumped off the bike. “What the fuck are you doin’, ridin’ without a helmet?” Rod demanded. “Shut up, uncle.” Jason’s voice was light, pleasant, and hit Rod like a slap to the face. Jason stood looking at both older men, jaw locked, eyes glittering in the late-afternoon light. “God, you two are stupid,” he snarled. “Hey!” Marc growled. “You are,” Jason shot back. “So Uncle Rod didn’t tell ya about Lashan. Now that you know, can you see why?” He turned on Rod. “You coulda come over with Lashan, ya know,” he snarled at his uncle. “It woulda been easier on Marc and Terri, to have you there.” He shook his head. “The ones I feel sorry for are Tara and Anna. Tara didn’t know what Anna could do. Nobody did. And Anna doesn’t understand why she hasn’t seen you, Uncle Rod. Or,” he turned and speared Marc with a look, “why she hasn’t been dancing with Tara.” Rod studied his shoes. They were covered in dust, and the toe of the right one was fraying. “That woman hurt my daughter,” Marc growled. “That woman,” Jason shot back, “is seriously messed up over this. I’ve spent two days trapped in the same house with her, and I’m not spending another one!” He pulled something from his jeans’ packet; shoved it into Rod’s hand. “Here’s fifty bucks. Go down to the café, go out to dinner and fix this!” “Where’d you get fifty bucks?” Rod demanded. “Pawned my guitar,” Jason snapped. Both men stared at him, shocked speechless. He loved his guitar. Jason spun on his heel and stalked back to his bike. “Don’t let that money go to waste, or I’ll make ya buy me all new gear in revenge,” he said. “I’ll get Tara and Terri there if I have to have Brad haul ’em there in his squad car. And don’t think you can use Anna as an excuse,” he added, snatching the line right off Marc’s face. “Anna and I are havin’ pizza and ice cream and watchin’ movies. We’ve earned it!”

As he roared off down the road in a haze of dust, Rod and Marc exchanged looks, stunned speechless.

“She’ll be climbing off the walls,” Terri sighed. Rod forced a slight grin. “Kids and sugar,” he agreed. They were the only ones talking. Tara hadn’t shown up yet, and Marc was still seething over Jason’s cranial/rectal removal procedure. Around them, the res café hummed with mid-week summer traffic: a steady stream of teenagers and young folk coming in for drinks, milkshakes, and floats. Ancient CountryWestern music (Rod shuddered in horror) played over the PA system, courtesy of the res radio station. Terri looked at her husband and sighed. “Marc, quit pouting. Now I know where Anna gets it,” she commented in an aside to Rod. “That kid’s not welcome in my house.” Marc’s words fell like stones onto the table. Rod went rigid, but Terri got there first. “Bullshit,” she said succinctly. And raised her eyebrows innocently over her drink when Marc turned on her. “Our son’s always welcome in our house, Marc.” Her voice was light, sweet, and promised certain death to any male stupid enough to contradict her. There wasn’t a married man alive who didn’t know, and dread, that tone. Rod felt his eyebrows go up. Against his will, he found himself giving Marc a sympathetic look. The younger man looked like a bear being bated by a lighter, quicker dog. “Terri, he was totally out of line!” Marc protested. “He was right,” Rod itted. He shook his head. “This is hurting Anna.” “And Tara,” Terri said, low. “How is she?”

Rod shrugged. “She’s been better,” he itted. “She told her mother about getting married. The woman screamed at her for an hour.” “Tara’s what, 51?” Terri demanded. “It’s not like you’re teenagers!” “Thank you so much for pointing that out,” Rod drawled. “Was it because you’re Native?” Marc was stunned enough to forget his grudge. Rod snorted, wryly, and sipped his own drink. “Oddly, no. It’s all the religion with her. We didn’t get married in a church, and we did it too soon after the death.” Marc shook his head. “That… . is seriously fucked up,” he said, slowly. “There’s more.” It was a release, to be able to vent to friends at last. A weight lifted off Rod’s shoulders as he talked. “A copy of the will arrived from New Mexico yesterday. She was disowned completely. She burned it, mixed the ashes with salt, drove up to one of the lakes, and tossed the whole thing as far out as she could.” Terri’s jaw was slack. “That sonofabitch,” she whispered. “He disowned his only child?!” Rod nodded. “Gimme her mother’s number,” Terri growled, a dark light sparking in her eyes. “I’ll take care of that bitch!” “Bitch?” Tara’s voice was a shocked whisper behind Rod’s shoulder. He turned around to see her staring at Terri in agony.

Terri moved faster than Rod did. She was up out of the chair and hugging Tara before Rod could get himself untangled from the table. “No, auntie.” Terri used the res slang for an older female family member. “Not you. We’re sorry. We just had a lot to process… Anna’s missed you…” Tara broke down. Terri held her tightly, whispering to her, too low for Rod to hear. One of the waitresses came over, warily. “Is she okay?” the girl asked, eyeing Tara. “She is now,” Rod said. “Could you get her a Pepsi, though?” “Sure.” The girl jotted it on her notepad and scampered, obviously uncomfortable with such an open display of emotion. Tara pulled back, visibly gathering herself. “I’m gonna kill Jason,” she said. All of them looked at each other, and dissolved into laughter. “He set me and Rod up, then chewed our asses,” Marc said. “He locked me out of the house,” Terri said. “He dragged me, bodily, out of my studio,” Tara said. Rod raised a glass. “To Jason,” he said. “May we all be there when someone does this to him.” The toast, as the glasses clicked, was: “Payback’s a bitch.”

CHAPTER 31

“Witch. She’s a Witch.”

“So that’s the pipe-carrier,” Rowan mused, watching an older human male talking to two women and another male across the restaurant. She wished she could hear what they were saying, but to a lycanthrope, the din in here was deafening. It wasn’t that she couldn’t hear anything, it was that she could hear everything: the splatter of grease as meat was flipped in the kitchen, the hiss of the soda dispenser as a waitress refilled a glass, the hum of the refrigerators in the back. Add to this the constant hustle-bustle of humans (how did they live among so much noise?); the hollow rushing sound of the AC; and the tinny sound of bad music, and Rowan felt like she was drowning in a sea of noise. Thad touched her hand, lightly, impersonally. It was his signal to focus on him, so she could hear his response. “Yes.” Thad nodded to the graceful, white-haired woman sitting beside the shaman. “And according to gossip, that’s his new wife, Tara. They married last week. The younger couple: that’s the girl’s parents.” Rowan narrowed her eyes, studying her quarry. The human was older, yes, but even across the room, he made her skin shiver in instinctive horror. And there was something about the new wife… Rowan extended her talent. It touched several others in the restaurant, some strong, some not so much, before it touched the white-haired woman at the shaman’s table. Fire blazed across her sight. Rowan slammed! back against her chair as power, pure and strong, hit her like a board between the eyes. She pulled her talent back. Her skin was shuddering.

“Witch. She’s a Witch.” Thad raised his eyebrows; twisted around in his chair to shoot the shaman’s table a sharp look. “You’re sure?” “Yes,” Rowan whispered. She hugged herself, still shivering. “I’d heard rumors,” Thad murmured, “but nothing more than that. Can you walk?” he asked. “In a moment. Using my talent to find things is more taxing than using it to tolerate medicine.” And she was right. In a few minutes, she stopped shaking, but her appetite was gone. She paid the check (to balance him paying for the earlier meals in the hotel) and they left quietly.

Thad had a car. A truck, actually, with faded paint, cracked upholstery, and more than 100,000 miles on it, but the engine was in pristine condition. More to the point, it didn’t draw an eye around here. Rowan didn’t mind. Money attracted attention; none of the Packs wanted attention. She climbed in the enger side and let her head fall back against the seat as he put the truck in gear. As soon as he got them across the res line, Rowan felt better. Physically, at least. “Could you arrange a meeting?” Thad drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. “I’ve tried,” he growled. “He won’t return my calls or my emails.” “Intentionally?” Thad shook his head. “I don’t think so. He did just remarry. He may just be… distracted.” Rowan considered. If it hadn’t been for Arden and Cammie, she would have been amused. It seemed that newly-mated humans were just as single-minded as

newly-mated lycanthropes! But the clock in her head kept ticking, drawing her tighter and tighter.

Time was running out. Whatever Arden had encountered, it was killing him. He couldn’t talk on the phone when Rowan called now, and Cammie was sounding bleaker every day. “How much time have we got?” Thad’s voice sent a bolt of surprise through her. She shot him a startled look; he met her eyes briefly, his own keen as a razor. Rowan blinked; swallowed against a suddenly-dry mouth. She hadn’t told him about Arden and Cammie. ‘He’s better than I thought,’ she itted to herself. “Not much,” she itted. “Can we meet him face-to-face? Alone?” Thad didn’t answer right off. Rowan turned her head, watching him. “Possibly,” the male lieutenant said, slowly. “But difficult. His nephew, Jason Rolend, is usually around, not to mention the new wife… . And… Rod Poitra knows . His mate… I don’t know. If she’s as powerful as you say… .” He shook his head. “I don’t have the authority to approve outing us to an unknown Witch. I’d have to run it past Augustus and Jade.” Rowan swore, softly, under her breath. She’d been so focused on getting the cub back that she’d completely missed this problem. ‘Letting a powerful Witch know ? As well as a pipe-carrier? Laylah would have my hide if I did that of my own volition.’ “Damn,” she sighed. “I’m going to have to call in.”

“Absolutely not.” Laylah’s voice was soft, flat and final. “Laylah, we may not have a choice.” Rowan sighed. Sitting on the edge of the bed in Thad’s hotel room, her blood burning with impatience and moonfire (the

moon was growing steadily toward full,) Rowan fought to keep her voice level. “Explain,” her Alpha snapped. “According to gossip, the girl, the cub, her parents, and the shaman and the Witch are all leaving the res.” “Good!” If it were possible to snarl and sing a word at the same time, Laylah did. “Off the reservation, your task will be easier. Forget diplomacy. Hit them, get the cub, and come home.” “It’s not that easy, Laylah,” Rowan growled through gritted teeth. “First, they are all traveling together. Second,” she took a breath, Laylah was not going to like this, “they are all going to the home of Sebastian Strange.” There was a long, dangerous silence. “Goddamn it,” Laylah sighed. “What does Augustus say?” Outside in the hall, so their cell phones wouldn’t interfere with each other and disrupt the conference call, Thad answered. “The home of Sebastian Strange is, and always had been, neutral territory,” the male lieutenant said. “Any move toward aggression there will be met with such. It must be so, for the protection of all the Packs.” “Yes, yes,” Laylah snapped. “Don’t quote Pack Law at me. I was there when this law was established.” Alone in the room, Rowan smirked openly, taking a wolf’s pride in the strength of her Alpha. “So,” Laylah sighed. “We are back to diplomacy.” “It seems that way,” Rowan itted. “And back to the initial question: The shaman is wed to a Witch. He knows of us, she does not. It seems unlikely that it will be possible to get the cub without revealing our existence to the Witch, Laylah.” There was a pause on the other end of the line. Rowan could hear the wheels

turning in Laylah’s mind. “Try to this Rod Poitra,” she said at last. “Discreetly. If that doesn’t work…” she sighed. “I would prefer not to involve Sebastian Strange unless absolutely necessary.”

CHAPTER 32

‘You can’t logic it away.’

Wednesday morning, after forcing his uncle, adopted parents, and new aunt to play nice, Jason soft-footed it down the hall, carrying his shoes. It was 5 am. Tara had offered him a half-day off if he got to work early enough that they could pack and haul orders for her internet business before the heat of the day set in. “I’ll buy you breakfast and lunch,” his employer-and-now-aunt-by-marriage had coaxed over the phone last night. “Sold,” he’d said. ‘Maybe after work I can talk to Uncle Rod.’ He hadn’t had a chance to talk to Rod about what had happened at the lake. ‘What DID happen?’ he asked himself, again. He crossed into the kitchen, grabbed a chair, and started putting his shoes on. He’d push his bike out to the road and start it there. If he didn’t, Anna would wake up when she heard the bike, and then Marc and Terri would be up. He grabbed the other shoe, but his mind was back at the lake. He hadn’t told anyone about the cup or the carving. The cup was still in his backpack, wrapped in some old newspaper. The carving… He reached into his pants’ pocket. He carried the carving with him, the way some people carried worry-stones. He’d find himself pulling it out and puzzling over it at odd moments: before nodding off to sleep, surfing the ’net, talking on his cell phone. He did so now, looking at it in the still-cool shade of the kitchen. “How did you show up?” he whispered to it. The carving, like cats everywhere, just gave him an enigmatic feline smile.

He’d tried to talk himself into thinking he’d bought it somewhere, somehow, and forgotten about it, but that didn’t work. He didn’t like this stuff. He didn’t like cats, period. (Tara’s cat seemed to take this as a personal challenge, and kept trying to seduce him by following him around, climbing in his lap, and sitting by him. He ignored it.) Had he bought it for a former girlfriend? He paused, going through the list. ‘Kari might have liked it . . . Maybe Sarah. No . . . Raven? No, all she had wanted was to get loaded . . . . ’ Nope. Not a forgotten girlfriend-gift. Maybe Jason had gotten it for his Dad? It was close to his birthday, and he’d been really upset when Jason had called him to tell him about the ER stint… ‘No. Dad’s Wolf Clan. He wouldn’t want this. Uncle Rod?’ Jason snorted. ‘Yeah, right. Latest World of Warcraft stuff, or Ozzy’s latest album. Not this.’ ‘You can’t logic it away,’ a voice murmured in his mind. Jason jumped! The shoe, hanging forgotten from his hand, fell to the floor. Laughter ghosted through his head, followed by a run on a fiddle.

“You’re up early.” He jumped again, turning to see Terri, in a sleeveless shirt and shorts, in the entryway between the hallway and the kitchen. For the first time, you could tell she was pregnant. For some reason, it was more embarrassing than seeing her naked. Jason’s eyes skittered away; he felt his ears burning. “I thought everybody was asleep,” he muttered, and bent to grab his shoe off the floor. “Hmmm.” Terri walked over to the fridge, grabbed the orange juice (since she’d gotten pregnant, she couldn’t even smell coffee without getting sick.) “Woke up from a dream,” she said as she got a glass out of the cupboard and filled it. “Couldn’t go back to sleep. Want something to eat?” “Nah.” He tied his shoe. “Tara bribed me with breakfast if I get there early today.”

Terri nodded. She was quiet in the mornings. Jason grabbed his keys off the nail by the door and was just about to leave when she said, “You forgot something.” He turned to see her sitting at the table, holding the carving in the palm of her hand. “This is handmade,” she murmured. “It’s beautiful. Where’d you get it?” Two years ago, he would have snapped, “I didn’t steal it!” But time away from his drug-addicted mother allowed him to hear curiosity in Terri’s voice, not accusation. Maybe that was why he told her the truth: “An old guy gave it to me, the day after the ER. But… Terri, this is gonna sound whacked, but… . I don’t think he was alive.”

Marc would have run in the opposite direction, or made a joke, or gone pale and told him to ask his uncle. Terri was different. She looked at the carving, turning it over and over in her hand. And somehow, that quiet, wordless encouragement opened him up and unlocked his tongue. He found himself telling her everything: the old man, the women, the drink and the food. He grabbed his backpack, unwrapped the goblet, and showed it to her. Terri leaned forward, studying it intently. “Well, this is clearly for Tara,” she said, nodding toward the goblet. “And this…” she looked down at the carving, “If he gave it to you, he meant it for you.” She put it in his hand and closed his fingers over it. “Keep it.” “You believe me?” he asked, incredulous. Terri nodded, eyes fogged. “Before I got involved with Marc, I was really into Traditional stuff.” She shrugged. “And… One of the women you describe, the dark-haired one. I think she was in the dream I had.” Something skittered down Jason’s spine, teasingly. “What did she do?” he asked. (Okay, maybe it wasn’t the right or polite thing to

ask, but he couldn’t help it.) Terri’s face brightened and softened at the same time. “She gave me a blessing. She told me everything will be all right.” A smile touched her face, relieved and joy-filled. “She was beautiful. She said she was asked to, by a friend. “As for the one who gave you that…” she nodded at the carving, “Have you heard the stories about Jim Longbow?” The name fell on uncomprehending ears. “No.” Jason grabbed a chair, work forgotten, eaten alive by curiosity. “He was a pipe-carrier up here around the 1920s,” Terri said. “He was one of the ones that lead the movement to get rid of the day school. There are a lot of different versions. Some people say he was beaten to death by men hired by the priests that ran the school. Some say they beat him, but he survived, and died after the school, and the priests than ran it, were driven out. The version I like best says, the nature spirits pulled him into their world and healed him. While he was there, one of their women fell in love with him. He came back long enough to finish what he started, then left with her. They say his tracks went out past the lake behind Rod’s place, and stopped at a willow tree. No body was ever found.” ‘Arianna and Tria, they called him Jim,’ Jason ed. A second wave of chills scampered down his back. “Did… do the stories say if he played a fiddle?” he asked, slowly. Terri nodded. “They say if you want to attract his attention, play some of the old fiddle tunes. People do it around Halloween, and sometimes in the early spring, because that’s the time of year he left. Sometimes they find nothing. Sometimes, they hear someone playing along with the music.” They both looked at the carving. “Why would he give me this?” Jason asked.

“The last person Longbow taught,” Terri said, with the air of someone dropping a TV bombshell, “was your uncle’s grandfather, Rhys Poitra.” Jason stared at her. “You’re fuckin’ kiddin’ me,” he said. She laughed, soft and sure. “Rod doesn’t talk about it, but it’s true. Kay told me. His grandfather, Rhys, grew up around Jim Longbow. They were really close, in part because of Rhys’ health.” “What was wrong with him?” “Rhys had chronic migraines. Can you imagine what that was like, back then?” She shuddered. “They didn’t have doctors up here at that time. The closest thing was…” “The shamans.” Suddenly, he wished he’d paid closer attention in culture class, the year he’d gone to school on the res. “He musta taught Uncle Rod’s grandfather while he was treating the headaches.” The alarm clock went off in the master bedroom, and the moment was gone. Terri got up out of her chair. “If the man you saw was Jim Longbow, then it would explain why he gave you that carving.” She leaned against the counter, sipping her orange juice. “Ask Rod about it.” She glanced at the clock; sighed. “We both better get movin’. See ya tonight.” She walked toward her bedroom, drink in hand. Jason blinked, tossed off balance by the sudden shift from esoteric lore to worka-day reality, then grabbed his keys.

CHAPTER 33

“Work stays at work.”

Working for your uncle’s girlfriend (and now wife) wasn’t always easy. Things came up, mistakes got made, tempers flared. Because of this, before Jason started working for her, Tara had laid down one, unbreakable rule: She would not talk about employer-employee issues with Rod, and she expected Jason to do the same. “What happens at work, stays at work,” as Tara put it. She’d taken it one step further with Rod, once he and she both itted they were in it for the long haul, and taken her website business to another IT tech, in another town. “Makes sense,” Rod had said, when Jason asked him, warily, how he felt about it. “I’m not thrilled about it, but we talked it over. You don’t mix business and pleasure.” Last night was the first time Jason had violated that rule. As he pulled into the driveway of Tara’s house, he wondered how she’d deal with it.

Tara’s place was a small, cottage-like house in Rawlins, a town just past the res line. It had flowering gardens decked out with wind chimes, strings of bells, and other stuff Tara called “yard art,” and a screened-in porch. As Jason opened the porch’s screen door, he heard, “Good morning, Jason.” He froze in the entryway, one arm still holding the door open. Tara was sitting on one of the lawn chairs she kept scattered around the porch, in loose cloth pants, a gold tank top, and sneakers, with her hair back in its usual braid. Her dark eyes were unreadable.

“Hey,” he said, cautiously. Slowly, he stepped onto the porch, letting the door swing shut behind him. One thing about Tara: she didn’t beat around the bush. “You and I had an agreement, Jason. Work stays at work.” “Yeah.” “That’s even more important now.” “Yeah.” Tara nodded. Then she stood up. And smiled. “Thank you for breaking it, this once.” Jason grinned, the tension draining out of him like water. “Come on,” Tara said, walking toward the door of the house. “I did a tarot reading, and the person insisted on giving me fry bread, even though I told her I don’t take anything for readings.” “All right!”

The morning zipped by. Some “newbies,” to use Tara’s word, had ordered several of her “Starter Kits,” which had a lot of little things that had to be packed in a certain order to make sure everything fit in the shipping boxes. Then there were some returns; some special orders that were ready to ship out (Tara wove her own wall hangings and altar cloths, and would customize the design for a little extra;) and several book orders to get ready. The new candles she carried (soy-based) were selling well; and a coven in Georgia wanted her to weave fabric they could then make into whatever they wanted. “Picky,” Jason commented, reading the email over her shoulder. She shrugged. “Not really. I know Susan. She’s a brilliant seamstress. This way, she knows

she’ll get cloth made with ritual intent, from someone she knows and trusts.” “That makes a difference?” “If you needed something, would you rather have your uncle make it up for you, or one of the other pipe-carriers?” “Uncle Rod.” “Why?” “’Cause I know…” Jason tripped over the word; grinned, shamefaced. “’Cause I know him,” he finished. “Exactly.” Tara finished the email, hit the “Send” button, and pushed back from her computer desk, rolling her shoulders. “Let’s get this stuff sent, grab lunch, and call it a day, before we both melt.”

After what had happened two years ago, Tara refused to give the Rawlins post office anymore business than she absolutely had to. She kept her business’ physical address in Rawlins, because many of her repeat customers knew it, but she shipped everything through the res post office. “How’s my favorite customer?” Rogier McCloud sang out as they walked in. (He was a shameless flirt where Tara was concerned.) Tara herself just smiled. “Good morning, Rogier. How are things?” she asked. The counter began disappearing as Jason and Tara began piling packages on it. “Better, now that you’re here.” “Please,” Jason muttered in disgust. “Don’t make me sick.” The old people ignored him. “Whadda we got today?” Rogier asked. “These two are Next Day Air, these three can go usual, this one mark fragile…”

Jason left them to it and slogged back out to Tara’s other vehicle, a truck, for another load.

The door to the post office opened just as Jason had put the last of the orders on the counter. His uncle slipped in, with that grin of his that said he was up to no good. He eased the door shut, laying a finger across his lips when he caught Jason’s eyes. The youth stood back against the wall, smothering a laugh as Rod slipped up behind Tara (who had her back to the door). Rogier’s attention was on the cash , as he totaled up the shipping; he didn’t see Rod, either. “Not too bad, this time, Tara. And if you let me buy you a drink sometime, I’ll give you 15% off, not 10%.” Jason mimed gagging; Rod said, quietly, “Keep hittin’ on my wife, Roge, and you and I are gonna have problem.” Tara let out a high-pitched eep! and jumped like a scalded cat. Rogier’s head snapped up so fast he cracked it against the frame of the service window. “Goddamn it, Poitra!” he swore, rubbing his skull. “That fuckin’ hurt!” “Ah, quit whining, ya big baby,” Rod jibed. He grinned at Tara’s flustered face. “Hey, lady. Buy ya lunch?” “Don’t forget me,” Jason added. His uncle sighed theatrically. “Okay, the kid can eat, too.” “Thanks, old timer.” Tara was scarlet. She looked like she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Rod, I didn’t… I wasn’t…” Jason rolled his eyes. ‘Do people’s brains stop working at age 25?’ he wondered caustically.

“Tara,” he said. “Uncle Rod’s teasing you. Get it? Tease? Funny? Laugh?” If possible, Tara turned even redder. She completely messed up the shipping ticket, then left her credit card inside, which she didn’t realize until all three of them where out in the parking lot. “You,” Jason told his uncle, “are evil.” Rod raised his eyebrows. “Who, me?” he asked, all innocence. Jason shook his head. “I’ll get the credit card,” he told Tara. “Meet ya at the café.” He turned and walked back inside. Rogier grinned at him. “She’s gotta get a thicker skin,” he commented, handing over the card. “Usually, she does. This whole marriage thing has her kinda shell-shocked.” “It makes things different,” Rogier itted. “See ya later, Jason.” “Later.”

CHAPTER 34

“We need to talk to the shaman.”

The café was, literally, across the parking lot from the post office. Jason cut diagonally across the blacktop, feeling the heat like a weight on his chest. It was gonna be hot. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the wind was puffing in sharp, hot gusts. As he climbed into the shaded overhang of the café, he spotted two people watching him: a guy in a beat-up cowboy hat, and a woman in jeans and a white tank top. He stopped. “Can I help you?” he called. The two strangers looked at each other; Jason got the impression they were talking. Then the guy walked over. He was nothing special: just another lean, lanky guy, like anyone from around here. But something about him made Jason’s skin twitch. He drew himself up, meeting the stranger’s gaze head-on. “You’re Jason Rolend, right?” The stranger’s voice had the slightest trace of an accent, but from where, Jason couldn’t tell. “Yeah.” “Rod Poitra’s nephew?” “Yeah.” “My name’s Thad. I need to talk to your uncle. Could you have him call me?” “It’s very important,” added a third voice. Jason jumped! The woman was standing behind him. “Sorry,” the youth panted. “You just… I didn’t hear you come up.”

She was beautiful, with shining black hair, a ripped body, and gold-flecked brown eyes. She looked kind of shaky, though. Jason’s eyes chilled. He looked her over with barely-concealed disgust. “If you’re looking for a fix, he doesn’t sell, and he doesn’t use,” Jason said flatly. “Not drugs,” Thad said. “My friend isn’t used to the heat, that’s all.” “Yeah, right.” Jason went to shove past Thad; found himself blocked. “You’re way off base,” Thad said quietly. “We need to talk to the shaman. Just give him the message, please.” “Tell him yourself,” Jason snapped. “Now get outta my way before I kick your ass.” The woman caught the sleeve of his shirt. “I’m not on drugs,” she said in a low, smoky voice. “Please. Just the message on.” “Look, lady,” Jason snapped. “I’ve heard it all, for someone who was a much better actress than you. Get your fix from somebody else.” He reached up and grabbed her hand, prepatory to pulling it off his arm. Smoke started to rise from her skin.

As Jason stared, stunned speechless, the woman went white and collapsed. Her hand slid, limply, off his arm, leaving bloody tracks in its wake. Thad darted, catching her before she cracked her head on the pavement. “Fuck,” he snarled. “What did you do?!” “I… I don’ know!” Jason dropped to his knees. “I know R, and First Aid. Lemme help.” “Don’t touch her.” It was almost a rippling snarl. When Thad looked at him, Jason felt the blood drain out of his face.

Thad’s eyes weren’t dark anymore. They were yellow. Jason recoiled, suddenly ice-cold. “What the fuck are you?” he whispered, stunned.

“They’re les loup garous.” Jason staggered to his feet as his uncle and Tara came around the corner. Rod stood quietly, looking at the two strangers. Beside him, Tara had one hand curled around her pentacle, dark eyes fierce, yet calm. The air around them was as tense as a summer thunderstorm. “Looks like your intuition was right, Tara,” Rod drawled, eyes like knives. “Jason was in trouble.” Thad froze, looking up at Rod. “What are you doin’ here, Thad?” Jason’s jaw fell open as his uncle called the werewolf by name. “And who’s that?” He nodded to the woman. “May we speak some place else?” Thad asked, eyes darting around the parking lot. “Some place more private?” “I don’t think so.” Rod folded his arms across his chest. “Whatdda you think, darlin’?” “Here’s good for me.” Tara never took her eyes off Thad. She said something in Spanish, her voice light and pleasant. Thad flinched as if she’d hit him with knives. “Please, Mrs. Poitra,” he said, going pale beneath his tan. “There’s no need to be vicious.” Rod’s eyes lit on Jason’s arm. He grabbed Jason’s shoulder in a vice grip, studying the bloody tracks clear on his shirt. “You attacked my nephew.” Jason had never heard such an icy tone in Rod’s voice. “I’d say that calls for some viciousness.”

“It’s not how it looks,” Thad said. “We just wanted to talk. The boy, he must be carrying something, something powerful.”

It was like Jason was behind a pane of glass, watching a play. He saw his uncle’s eyes go to the woman, then Thad; saw them narrow slightly as Rod studied both of them. He caught the subtle, wordless communication between Rod and Tara; saw her disagree with the tiniest shake of her head; watched his uncle overrule her. The last thing he expected was for his uncle to break that glass, but Rod did, by asking, “Jason, should we believe them or kill them?” His voice was as matter-of-fact as if he were deciding whether or not to take down a deer. It made Jason feel sick. He turned to look at the (if his uncle were to be believed, and Jason had never known him to be wrong about this stuff) werewolves. ‘All they wanted was for me to give a message to Uncle Rod,’ Jason ed. “They just wanted me to give you a message. I thought she was jonesing; I blew ’em off, and things got… . messy.” Rod’s chin lifted; he gave the woman a second look. “She doesn’t look too good,” he itted. “Jason, are you carrying anything, anything at all?” ‘The carving.’ The thought formed itself. Jason reached into his pocket; pulled it out. “Just this.” He held it out to his uncle.

Rod held the carving up, studying it. Then his eyes widened. “Sonofabitch,” he whispered. He handed it back to Jason, who returned it to his pocket. “I’m surprised it didn’t kill her.” He moved forward, like he was going to help Thad; stopped. A rueful expression crossed his face. “I’d help carry her, if I could, Thad.” “I know.” The lycanthrope, somehow, got to his feet. Jason moved forward, wanting to help. “You’ve done enough,” Thad growled at him. Jason jerked to a halt, anger and guilt mixing in his gut. “Hey, man. I just wanna help.” Thad visibly gathered himself. “Ok. My truck,” Thad jerked his head toward a beat-up old truck, a classic res runner, that looked like it was held together with rust, luck, and about three rolls of duct tape. “Get the enger door.” “Right.” Jason jogged ahead, and had it open by the time Thad got there, halfcarrying the woman. “The hospital?” Jason asked as Thad got her in the cab. “No,” Thad shook his head. “We take care of our own.” “Her hand…” “It…” Thad examined it, “it… should heal,” he said, doubt in his eyes.

The sound of an engine brought both of them around. Rod pulled up in his truck; parked beside them. “Thad, come to my place,” he said through the rolled-down window. “I can get Lashan there, if she needs it.”

Thad nodded. Jason moved, intending to do something to help (what, he had no idea,) when his uncle’s voice stopped him cold. “Ride with me, Jayse.” Jason looked at Thad, carefully balancing the woman against his side as he slid behind the steering wheel. ‘My uncle knows werewolves.’ It was sinking in, the way ice slowly chilled meat. ‘By name. Tara knows, too. She wasn’t surprised by anything that happened.’ It felt like his world had just been turned upside down and shaken; doors had suddenly been opened, doors he’d never even known were there. ‘They’re real. Really real. I’m looking at two, right now.’ He glanced at his uncle, and saw a stranger. ‘What else hasn’t he told me about? What else does he know?’ And, more to the point: ‘Do I want to find out?’

Rod was looking at him, Jason realized, an odd kind of pity on his face. Numbly, Jason climbed into the cab. “Are you okay?” his uncle asked. “I don’t know,” Jason itted, staring out the window. “They’re real.” “Yeah.” “Lashan’s real.” “Yeah.” “Tara’s magick, her Gods and Goddesses, that’s all real, too, ain’t it?” “Yeah.” Jason nodded, watching Tara’s truck follow them out of the parking lot. “Everything’s different,” he said as Rod turned onto the main drag.

“Once you become aware, you can’t turn it off,” his uncle agreed. Wry, bitter laughter gusted through his voice. “Trust me. I tried.”

There were too many questions to choose from. Jason grabbed one at random, asked it. “Why can’t you touch them?” Rod sighed. “I was pierced at the Sun Dance twice. It was for Kay, but that level of medicine… If I touched either Thad or that woman, I’d kill them.” A memory stirred in Jason’s mind, a tale about his uncle, hunting a werewolf out behind Marc and Terri’s place, once. “You touched that loup garou you hunted two years ago.” His uncle smiled a cold, hard smile. “I wanted to kill that one.” “And me?” “I don’t want to kill you.” Jason snorted. “I mean, what happened to that girl?” “You’ve got the old man’s carving. (Yes, I can guess who did it.) You were carrying it on you. That gave you a level of protection, too.” Jason leaned back against the seat, brain spinning. “You called the guy by name.” “Yeah.”

“How do you know him?” “Thad was placed here to keep other les loup garous from causing mischief. I’m kind of his… , if you want to put it that way.” “How can he be here? Look what happened to the girl.” Rod smiled. They hit the edge of town, and started for home. “That girl’ is probably older than you are.” “Just answer the question!” Jason snapped, nettled.

“All I know,” his uncle sighed, ghosts suddenly darkening his face, “is that Sebastian Strange has something to do with it.”

Suddenly, Jason flashed back to a conversation he’d had with his uncle two years ago:

“What about the other guy? The one with the cat-eyes? Is he like Lashan, too?” “No. I don’t know what Sebastian Strange is, and I don’t want to.” “You’re afraid of him.” “Yes.”

Now, those words took on an entirely new dimension. ‘He knows what Lashan is, and it doesn’t bother him,’ Jason mused, eyeing his uncle. ‘He faced down whatever it was that Tara called up without blinking an eye. He isn’t fazed by werewolves. What is Sebastian Strange, that he can scare Uncle Rod so bad he doesn’t mind itting it?’

Over the past two years, Jason had gotten to know the Strange clan pretty well. They were all freaky, and able to do impossible things, but Jason liked them. (’Course, the fact that Sebastian’s human wife gave Jason free food and drinks from her coffee shop didn’t hurt.) Sebastian himself was always polite to Jason, and he had a dry, subtle sense of humor that often had Jason in stitches. The contradiction added depth to the fear swirling in Jason’s gut.

Outside Jason’s thoughts, though, Rod was still speaking. “And even with whatever Sebastian’s done, Thad has to be careful. He’s come close to dyin’ a couple times up here, because he stumbled across things.” “What things?” In spite of his fear, Jason couldn’t help asking. His uncle snorted. “Now I know why that carving’s a cat,” he muttered, dry as sand. “You’ve got more curiosity than an entire litter of kittens.” “Uncle . . .” “I don’t know, Jason. Could be anything: old Sun Dance grounds; places where they held sweats; old protections that are still working. Any of them could do it.”

“What about your place?” he asked. “I’ve invited these two, this once, so they should be fine, but they won’t be able to come around the house. Or the house-side of the lake. Too much medicine, and Tara’s magick.” “She didn’t look happy.” “She doesn’t like skinwalkers.” They turned onto the highway. “Now, my boy, tell me how you ran into Jim Longbow.”

CHAPTER 35

“You don’t know how dangerous you are.”

So, for the second time that day, Jason found himself laying it all out: the lake, the carver, Arianna and Tria, the drink, the food, the goblet. What Terri had said, and the stories she told. His uncle listened in silence, face unreadable. When Jason finished, they were almost to Rod’s place. His uncle sighed. “Terri could be very powerful, if she were given a chance,” he said. A question that had been lurking at the back of Jason’s mind came forward. “She said she was really into Traditional stuff before she met Marc. Why’d she give it up?” Rod shrugged. “You saw how Marc gets about medicine. Terri knew she couldn’t have both, and she loved him, so she gave up a part of herself.” They pulled into the yard. Rod shut off the truck. “Some do. Some try to force you to give it up. Your Aunt Kay was like that. She made my life a living hell every time I went to a sweat. She never itted it, but I think it scared her.” Tara’s truck pulled up next to them. Jason watched Rod’s eyes light on her. “And then there are other ones, who let you be what you are.” He smiled slightly. “ that, if you decide to keep this up, Jason.” He climbed out the truck.

By nightfall, Jason had to face a sickening reality: Someone was going to die because of his actions.

“It’s not your fault,” his uncle said, as Jason picked at the food Rod had made for supper. Jason’s mouth twisted. “You did the right thing,” Tara said firmly. “Don’t let it bother you.” He looked at her; saw a fierce hatred in her face. Tara met his gaze head on. “I would have done the same thing,” the Witch said. A strange, cold smile played around her lips. “Tara,” Rod said. She glanced him, dark eyes heating. Rod looked back, his own face uncompromising. Jason dropped his fork. “I’m gonna go check on ’em,” he mumbled, eager to get out the strange, silent argument going on between the older people.

Rowan, the female lycanthrope, was no better. In fact, she looked worse than she had the last time Jason had checked on her. “You said she’d heal,” Jason said, watching Thad change the bandages on Rowan’s hands. “I hoped she would.” The male lycanthrope didn’t look up from his task. “I was wrong.” A cold, sick feeling filled the pit of Jason’s stomach. “You mean she’s dying?” His voice sounded plaintively naive to his own ears. Thad twisted around; glared up at Jason with a heat that spoke volumes. “What do you think?!” he demanded. He gestured with one hand at Rowan. “Look at her!”

It was like that flesh-eating virus, but it moved faster than anything Jason could find on WebMD (and he looked, repeatedly, as the day stretched out into evening and Rowan sank into pain and fever.) Her hands (whatever this was, it had

spread to both hands and up her arms by now) were a weeping mess, swollen and livid and horridly painful. (She whimpered every time Thad had to change the bandages, and Jason could see how gentle Thad was trying to be.) The sores wept a clear fluid, cracking and bleeding when she moved. Red streaks spread outward from them, marking the progress of the poison through her body. Jason swallowed, nausea climbing his throat. “I didn’t mean to,” he said, helplessly. “I didn’t know… .” Thad sighed. His head bowed. Jason could feel him fighting for his composure. “I know,” he rasped eventually, his voice grating on Jason’s ears. “You don’t know how dangerous you are.” Jason shifted uncomfortably. ‘It’s not my fault!’ he wanted to yell. ‘How was I supposed to know what that carving could do!?’ He hadn’t even had a chance to talk to his uncle before today! ‘All they wanted was to talk,’ his conscious pointed out. ‘You were the one who jumped to the wrong conclusion. If you’d paid attention, instead of thinking she was like Mom, none of this would have happened!’ “You want some food?” he asked Thad. The lycanthrope blinked; turned puzzled eyes on him. “Yeah,” he said, quietly. “I’ll get some,” Jason said. He nodded toward Rowan. “What about her?” “More water would help,” Thad itted. “I’ll get some of that, too.” “Jason,” Thad called as he turned back toward the house. “Yeah?” Jason looked back over his shoulder. Thad was a crouched silhouette in the shadows under the trees. “There’s a saying in the Packs: Life itself is danger. We knew the risks.”

Jason froze. His eyes moved to Rowan, another silhouette, whimpering softly in delirium. He flinched and spun on his heel, starting the long hike back to the house.

And “hike” was the right word. His uncle was right: neither Thad nor Rowan could come close to the house, invitation or no. They’d holed up on the other side of the lake, just inside Rod’s property line. Jason had made the trek three times already: Once with blankets (Thad sent them back; they’d absorbed too much medicine for the lycanthrope to touch); once with the first-aid kit he’d bought for his bike (Thad had kept that); and once with bottled water (Rowan couldn’t eat, but the water seemed to help.) He would have stayed out there, but Thad refused any help: “We take care of our own,” he’d said. Rod had backed the lycanthrope: “It’s too dangerous, Jayse. She’s a wounded wolf. She could kill you, without meaning to.” ‘I don’t care,’ Jason decided now, as he rounded the edge of the lake and the dock came into view. ‘I’ll pack up what I can, and stay out there tonight.’ It was his responsibility. He was the one who had grabbed Rowan’s hand to start with. He owed it to her to be there as she died. He walked on, planning what he’d take back out, and wondering if his uncle would try to stop him. As he climbed the stairs to the front door, it swung open. His uncle stood there, his .270 in one hand. “I was just coming to find you,” the pipe-carrier said. “I’m fine,” the youth said dully. “And if anybody’s going to put her down, it’ll be me.” Comion softened Rod’s eyes. “She’s that bad?” “Yeah.” Jason looked over Rod’s shoulder; glared at Tara. “’Zat make you

happy?” he asked, all the anger, frustration, and guilt he felt lashing out in his voice. “Stop it, Jason.” Rod’s voice was a cold slap. “She doesn’t deserve that.” Jason shrugged, looking away, plainly uncomfortable. And a man’s hoarse scream shattered the stillness. Jason stared at his uncle, the blood draining out of his face. Then he turned and bolted down the stairs.

Jason got there first. The long summer twilight gave him plenty of light to see by. He wished it didn’t. Thad was on the ground. He’d been gutted. The male lycanthrope was curled in the fetal position, holding his intestines in with his hands. Blood soaked his clothes and spattered the leaves. In front of him, wedged down between the roots of a tree, was a shivering, yellow-eyed, female wolf, eaten alive by what looked like mange, one leg dangling, useless. “Oh, fuck,” Jason whispered. “J… Jason… . . . you… shouldn’t be… here.” The words came out between hisses of pain. Jason ignored them. He knelt, very, very slowly, by Thad. “Stay still,” the human murmured, softly. “Keep talkin’, Thad. Did she do this to you?” “She didn’t… mean to. She’s… scared and… hurt..” “Jason?” His uncle’s voice, behind him.

“Uncle,” Jason called, as loud as he dared. “Don’t come any closer.” “Sonofabitch!” Rod knelt by him. Jason hung his head. “You don’t listen too good, do you?” nephew asked uncle. “Where do you think you get it?” Rod asked. “Is it too much to hope Tara listens?” “Yes,” Tara said behind him. “I’m covering you with the .270.” “Stupid humans… .” Thad whispered. His voice was fading. When Jason glanced at him, le loup garou was fighting to stay conscious. “Whadda we do?” Jason whispered, one eye on the wolf. “Get back-up.” Rod’s voice was grim. “Listen close, because if you need Lashan, and need him now, this is how ya do it.”

The phrase was short, sharp, and not in any Latin-based language. Jason was still trying to puzzle it out when he, Rod and Tara were encased in a globe of green fire. It sprang up in an instant. Thad lay quiet and bloodstained outside it, emerald light tingeing his skin a sick hue and turning his blood black. Stunned, Jason reached out to touch the barrier. “Don’t!” Tara’s whisper brought him up short. “This is some kind of shield,” the Witch whispered in awe. “It’s protecting us. Don’t break it.” It was like being under water. The fire sheeted down around them like water running off windows in a car wash, tingeing everything with an emerald color.

Outside the shield, globe, magick, medicine, call it whatever fit, Lashan walked

out of the air, wreathed head-to-toe in green fire. Jason heard Tara catch her breath when it happened. The female wolf, likewise startled, lunged at Lashan. He spun, graceful and deadly. An emerald noose sprang from his hand, coiling around her neck in mid-spring. She crashed! to the ground, screaming in pain. Jason wanted to cover his ears, but forced himself to listen as Lashan wrapped the rest of the “rope” around her snout, muzzle-like. (She was too sick to worry about tying her legs.) He left her where she’d fallen, and turned to Thad.

Tara hissed behind Jason, a sound of intense satisfaction that turned to a gasp of horror as Lashan turned to Thad, knelt down by him, and called in his power. A look of intense concentration settled on Lashan’s face. His eyes closed. Thad moaned. Then, slowly, as Lashan’s power flowed over him like silk, Thad’s skin began to ripple, nauseatingly, the bones sliding under his skin, realigning into an entirely different shape. Jason gagged, unable to watch. In the movies, the shift from human to wolf was one of his favorite parts. The reality made him want to throw up. Humans just shouldn’t be able to rearrange their skeletons, or make their ears slide, like pieces of putty, from the sides of their heads to the tops of their skulls. He closed his eyes, and didn’t open them until he heard Tara yelp, outraged: “What is he doing?! Don’t heal them, kill them!”

Jason’s eyes flew open; he twisted around to see Rod get to his feet and grab Tara around the waist. “He knows what he’s doin’,” the pipe-carrier said. The Witch shook her head wildly. “You don’t… No!” She yelled at Lashan. “Kill. Them! NOW!” If Lashan heard her, he gave no sign. When Jason dared to look back through the shield, the Goth hadn’t even moved.

But Thad was gone. In his place was a full-grown wolf, its intestines slowly easing themselves back inside the gaping hole in its belly. How long it took, Jason had no idea. He just knew that it felt like forever, and it was much darker by the time Lashan stood up. Jason could still see, though, and he saw how Lashan staggered slightly as he got to his feet. He looked tired. Thad’s belly was in one piece again. Jason watched the wolf’s paws twitch, the way a dreaming dog’s would. Lashan shook his head, they way you do when you’re clearing your mind, then walked over to Rowan. He laid a hand on her head, and the green light began to dance over her, too.

The stars were out and the crickets talking by the time the globe around Jason, Rod, and Tara winked! out. Slowly, stiff from holding one pose for so long, they got to their feet. Jason stared down at the werewolves, stunned speechless. “You should go back inside.” Lashan’s voice was rusty wire. He was sitting by Rowan, a lean shadow in the night. “I’ll need to keep an eye on them.” “I’ll stay with you.” Rod’s voice startled Jason. “No,” Lashan and Tara said together. There was a pause. Then Lashan said, “It’s gonna be a long night, brother. No reason for both of us to go sleepless.” “Coffee,” Rod said. “I’ll bring some out.” Lashan’s smile was evident in his voice. “That, I’ll take.” One of les loup garous whimpered in pain. Lashan sighed. “You better go now,” he said, getting to his feet. “This could get rough.” Rod’s hand came down on Jason’s shoulder; turned him around. “I’ll be back with the coffee,” Rod said. As Jason started walking back to the house, he heard Rod ask Tara for the gun. Her voice, when she answered him, was about 70 degrees below zero.

CHAPTER 36

“People will come to you.”

Jason usually slept really well when he crashed at his uncle’s. He had his own room there, a real bed, and the AC at Rod’s place beat the hell out of Marc and Terri’s swamp cooler. That night though, in spite of the coolness and the quiet, Jason couldn’t sleep. The day’s events kept swirling through his mind, along with a whole new set of questions: How had Thad been able to survive as long as he had? A human would have been dead long before Jason made it around the lake, or at least unconscious, he knew that from all his R and First Aid training. (Growing up around an addict had taught him to be prepared. For years, he’d kept a first aid kit under his bed, and the R wallet-guide on his nightstand.) ‘And another thing,’ he mused, looking up at the ceiling, ‘what does Tara know? She doesn’t like skinwalkers? More like hates them on sight! Why?!’ It was too late to go ask her: he’d heard Rod and Tara decide to go to sleep a while ago. ‘And even if it wasn’t, she might not tell me anything,’ Jason grimaced. Tara had a touchy sense of ethics, when it came to this stuff. “Learning to keep your mouth shut is part of serving the Gods,” she’d said more than once. “People will come to you. They’ll tell you things. Private things. The Catholics aren’t the only ones with a Seal of the Confessional.” ‘She did something,’ Jason decided now. ‘Not here, or it woulda been all over the res. But sometime, somewhere, she kicked some le loup garou ass.’ She could do it, too. Hell, one exchange with her had had Thad shaking in his boots! ‘I gotta learn Spanish,’ he mused, with a snort of laughter. He flipped his pillow over. The other side was cool; and his mind was beginning to fog. Just before he nodded off, another question whispered, softly, in his ear: How had Derrick Lashan known to heal the lycanthropes, not kill them?

He woke up to voices murmuring in the living room. He lay still and listened. “Can you do it?” That was his uncle, low and worried. “I can take care of myself, Poitra.” Lashan’s voice was gravelly. “You’re shakin’, man.” “I’m just tired.” Lashan sighed. “Greg chained me, when I answered your call, Rod. I can travel now, but I can’t even pick up a bottle, let alone call for booze, create it, or steal it.” “Knows ya well, aye?” A snort of wry, bitter humor answered Rod’s jibe. “Too well by half.” Rod laughed. Then he said, “I’ll go check on ’em, then. I wanna hear this for myself.” “Go for it. But it won’t change anything, Rod.” “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

As if anyone could sleep after hearing something like that! Jason waited until he heard his uncle walk down the porch steps; then counted off another 10 minutes, to make sure Lashan was gone, before getting dressed and creeping down the hall. Gru looked up at him, sadly. He loved Lashan; now, he was laying on the couch, nosing the cushions like, ‘Where’d he go?’ “Was gonna ask you the same question,” Jason whispered, putting his sneakers on. Tara’s cat jumped down from her perch on the counter; wound around his ankles, purring. Jason swore, tripping over her as he opened the front door. Gru jumped down and blocked the door. He’d refused to leave eyesight of the porch last night; every time he looked toward the lake, his hackles would go up, and

he’d put himself between his humans and the track around the house. “It’s okay,” Jason told him, scratching the dog’s ears. “I’m just gonna see how things are. Go on.” Gru refused to move. Jason caught him by the collar and hauled him away from the door. Tara’s cat snaked through Gru’s paws; sniffed the air coming through the screen. Her tail bushed out like a bottle-brush; she arched her back and yowled, in the classic Halloween-cat pose. Jason stared at her. “You, too?!” “She’s a familiar,” Tara said. Jason looked up. She was standing in the doorway of the master bedroom, fully dressed. “She knows what’s out there. And you should stay out of it.” She’d never talked to him like that. Jason straightened, suddenly seeing her as a stranger. There was power in the air around her; if he looked sideways, her pentacle seemed to flash with prismatic light. This wasn’t his uncle’s wife. Or even the ditzy artist Jason worked for. This was the woman who had called up the Eater of Souls (Jason had looked it up on the ’net) and stood laughing as it tossed Maggie Lavallie around like a chew toy. “You know about them,” he said. “Yes.” It was icily controlled. “Uncle Rod didn’t tell you.” “I knew about them before I moved here, if that’s what you mean.” Tara started pacing. Only then did Jason notice she was wearing a dagger in a sheath on her hip. She looked out the window, toward the lake. “He should have driven them off,” she muttered, clearly talking to herself. “He should never have let them come here.” “What would you have done?” Jason asked. “Killed them.”

He stared at her. In the back of his mind, Maggie Lavallie screamed as she was tossed around by a crocodile—mawed entity. He swallowed and crept out the door.

CHAPTER 37

“You..really are, aren’t you?”

The air was sticky, but it felt like heaven compared to Tara’s anger. Once past Rod’s workshop, the grass came almost up to his knees. ‘I’ll be picking ticks off myself for the next three days,’ he growled mentally, disgusted. They weren’t as bad as they’d been earlier in the summer, but the little bastards were still around. He moved quick and quiet, Tara’s voice echoing in his head. Someone jumped down out of a tree, blocking his path. “Are you looking for your uncle?” Jason jumped! His foot caught on a buried rock, and he went sprawling. Thad stood over him. He looked a little thinner, but the only sign of last night’s injuries were the blood stains on his jeans, and the fact he wasn’t wearing a shirt. The werewolf caught him looking; grimaced. “It was too filthy to put back on,” he said. “Haven’t had a chance to get fresh clothes yet.” His voice was completely casual, as if he was more concerned with polite etiquette than the fact he’d been gutted not 12 hours before. That, more than anything, convinced Jason that his uncle was telling the truth. No one could survive injuries like Thad’s, much less be climbing trees the next day. No one human, anyway. “You..really are, aren’t you?” Jason breathed, looking up at the werewolf.

Thad paused. A slight smile crossed his face. “Yeah, kid. I am. And so’s she.” “Holy shit,” Jason whispered. He scrambled to his feet, fighting an instinctive urge to put as much distance between himself and le loup garou as possible. A slow, teasing grin lit Thad’s face. “I could give you a five minute head start, and still catch you before you made it to the dock.” “And you’d die,” Jason shot back. “Or have you forgotten what happened to your girlfriend?” The loup garou stepped up until he was toe-to-toe with Jason. His dark eyes gleamed with a feral light. Something tickled Jason’s memory. His Dad had had a wolf/dog mix when he was little. It had scared Jason to death, until Dave told him how to approach it: ‘He’ll come up and jump on you. Don’t be scared. Look him straight in the eyes, and don’t back down. Scratch his neck, and then push him down to the ground.’ Thad wasn’t was Da Boss (as Dave named his dog) but maybe the same rules applied… . Jason stiffened his spine and glared back, unintimidated. The tension stretched. Then, suddenly, Thad laughed, stepping back. “You’ve got a spine, kid. Good. I expected nothing less, after seeing you beat down that pervert.” Jason blinked, reeling from the sudden shift. “You saw that?” “I was in the check out line behind Marc Ayers,” Thad said easily, as if he hadn’t just threatened Jason. “You should have gone for the knees. Hurts more, takes the prey down quicker.” He turned away. “Come on. I’ll take you to your uncle.”

Thad led him, not to the place the lycanthropes had used last night, but a small depression created by a rise in the ground, and ringed by trees. Jason knew it. He’d come out here often, drawn by the sense of pure privacy that enveloped him every time he entered the space. It was like the outside world ceased to exist when he was in here. As they got close, Jason could hear talking: “You’re kidding me.” His uncle’s voice, flat with shock. “No.” That sexy voice could only belong to Rowan. “Sonofabitch,” Rod breathed. “Mr. Poitra,” Thad said, walking into the space, “someone’s looking for you.” “What’s up, Jason?” Rod was sitting on a stump, in jeans, his favorite faded shirt, and sneakers. Across from him the female lycanthrope sat on the ground, in the same clothes she’d worn yesterday, her back against a tree. She looked like someone recovering from a bad stomach flu, but… Jason’s eyes darted over her. No swollen, mangled fingers. No weeping sores. Not a mark on her, to indicate that she’d been on death’s door last night. “You… are better,” he noted. “Yes,” Rowan said. “The one your uncle called on can heal us when we can’t heal ourselves.” “How did he know to do that?” Jason asked. Rowan and Rod exchanged a look; then she and Thad did the same. “Can he be trusted?” she asked Rod, gold-flecked eyes studying Jason intently. “He can keep his mouth shut.” Rod looked kind of… ‘poleaxed,’ was the only word Jason could come up with. The older man ran a hand through his hair. “Tell him, Rowan. Jayse, have a seat. You’ll need it.”

Jason settled himself, warily, by Rod. Thad vanished into the background as easily as if he were a real wolf. “Tell me what?” Rowan took a breath. “Derrick Lashan,” she said, slowly, “discovered the truth about Anna Ayers’ pup. He’s not a dog.” Jason shrugged. “We figure it’s a hybrid,” he said. “Dog/coyote, or maybe dog/wolf.” Rowan shook her head. “He’s a werewolf.”

CHAPTER 38

“Fluffy.”

Jason burst out laughing. “Fluffy?” he gasped. “You gotta be kidding.” “Fluffy,” Rowan muttered in disgust. “Arden and Cammie will scream.” “Who?” Jason asked. “The cub’s parents,” Rowan said. Jason smirked. “Oh, of course.” “Jayse,” Rod said. Still snickering, Jason looked at up at him. Rod wasn’t kidding. He wasn’t even smiling. In fact, he looked… “You believe them,” the youth said, slowly. Rod nodded. Jason looked around. Both older people were looking at him. He saw impatience, anger, and frustration in their faces, but no teasing. No hidden spark of amusement. ‘Holy fucking shit,’ he said to himself. “Lashan saw the cub when he was at the Ayers’ home,” Rowan said in a dry, lecture-type voice. “He kept this to himself, and endeavored to find out more, which is why he’s been,” she shot Rod a guilty look, “unreachable, lately.” “HUH?!” Jason stared at her, stunned. “What… huh… how… why… ?!” “Jason,” Rod said, “just listen. Then ask your questions.” He nodded to Rowan. “Go on.”

“Lashan spoke to my Alpha, who spoke to me. For reasons I will explain, Laylah chose to tell him the entire situation. I don’t know what she’ll think about my telling you,” the loup garou’s flickered over Jason, “but I believe that the time for concealment is over.” She took another breath and squared her shoulders, looking Jason full in the face. “My name is Rowan, and I am a senior lieutenant in the Eastern Canadian Pack. Your sister’s puppy is actually the son of two of my Packmates,” she said. “They were bringing him home, to present him to the Pack on the Summer Solstice, with the rest of this year’s cubs. He wandered off, as children do, and crossed onto the reservation. His parents tried to follow him, but…” “They couldn’t,” Jason said, looking at Rowan’s hands. She followed his gaze. She curled her fingers into fists and pulled them away from his gaze. “Yes. My best guess is that the cub was small enough to slip through some “gaps” in the medicine here, or perhaps he has a talent like mine, that allows him to build up a tolerance. I tracked him to one of the lakes…” “Yeah,” Jason said distantly. “That’s where we found him. He was caught in some grachas; Anna was feeding him our lunch.” “Grachas?” Thad asked. (He’d slipped back into the clearing like a ghost, and was on one of the lower branches of a scrub-oak.) “Thistles,” Rod said quietly. Jason looked down. It was too much to process, all at once. “This is crazy,” he whispered, shaking his head. “Fluffy can’t be… one of you.” It sounded lame, even to him. “Why?” Rowan asked. “Well…” Jason floundered. “Because he’s never shifted, like you do! And…” He thought of something; looked up with triumph in his eyes. “And he’s bit me, playing!” He held out his hand, tracing a fresh scar. “But I’m still… me! He shredded Ernnie Richards, too. I couldn’t give less of a shit if that pervert turned, but he didn’t either. And that’s the mark of a werewolf, right? Anyone it bites, turns!”

“You’ve seen too many movies,” Thad commented. “What?” Jason demanded. “Turning is far more complicated than Hollywood would have you believe,” Rowan said. “No cub could do it. As for shifting,” she rotated her shoulders, as if just the mention of it made her human skin fit too tight, “he’s too young yet. We don’t start shifting until around six months old.” Jason turned to Rod. “Tell me they’re kidding,” he pleaded. “I can’t.” “Come on, uncle! This is nuts! Okay, so les loup garous are real. I can deal with that. But… having families? Kids? Like regular people? Come on!” “Jason… .” Rod spread his hands helplessly. “Think about Anna, then! You haven’t seen her and this pup, Uncle Rod. She loves him! He sleeps on her bed, for God’s sake! It’ll kill her, if we have to take him away from her.” It hit Rod like a knife to the chest. Jason saw the pain flash across his face, sharp and agonizing.

“Nobody wants to hurt that girl, Jason.” It was Thad who spoke. When the youth turned to look at him, there was honest pain and regret in the werewolf’s face. “I have seen them together, and I agree with you, she loves the cub, and he, her. They’ve bonded like Packmates. But he is what he is. He belongs with his people.” “Lives hang in the balance, Jason,” Rowan added. “I believe this is why my Alpha chose to be open with Derrick Lashan. Arden, Aidan’s father, tried to

follow him and bring him back.” She swallowed. Her eyes were bleak. “We don’t know what he encountered, but it’s killing him, slowly and painfully. Aidan’s mother, Cammie. She’s pining away. Both of them are holding on because they believe I am bringing their son home. And then there’s Aidan himself.” “Who?” Jason was having a hard time following the conversation. He’d just barely been able to wrap his brain around the fact that lycanthropes existed; to suddenly think of them as ordinary people, and kids, with the same hopes, fears, and loves as anyone else… Rowan’s voice was oddly distant, as if she were miles away, not sitting across from him. “Aidan is the cub’s real name.” “Oh.” Jason’s head started to throb. “Jason, part of our nature is the shift between human and lupine. The first shift is difficult; it can be painful. He’ll need his parents with him, to guide him. The moonfire could make him very playful and reckless, or very aggressive. He could lash out.” She glanced at Thad, guilt in her eyes. “You’ve seen what we can do when we’re scared.” Jason froze. Last night played through his mind in wet, lurid color. ‘I really don’t think he’d hurt Anna, but if he got scared, he might lash out at Marc, or me, or Terri. Then he shuddered, as his mind did the math and came up with a new, horrifying possibility. ‘He’s about two months old now. If he starts shifting a six months old . . . Terri will be almost ready to have the baby, in four months. He could shred Terri and the baby . . . ’ He swallowed, sick. “Lashan knows all this?” “Yeah,” Rod said. “He told me this morning. He’s trying to heal the parents right now.” “If he knew… why didn’t he say something before?!” Jason demanded. “I wanted to make sure I was right.”

It must have been Jason’s day be scared shitless, because people kept popping up with no warning around him. He yelped like a cat, scrambling to his feet. “Goddamn it, QUIT DOING THAT!” He wasn’t the only one startled. Rowan shot to her feet and snarled, eyes flashing yellow. Thad jumped down from the tree, body flexing in mid-air so he landed on the ground in wolf form. His eyes gleamed yellow as he stood between Rowan and Lashan, head down, ears back, fangs like needles of ice. Lashan himself held his hands out, palms up to the air. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said to them all. His face was lined and creased with exhaustion. “I just thought you’d want to know.” Rowan laid a hand on Thad’s shoulder. Her skin was chalk. “Arden. Cammie,” she whispered through bloodless lips. Lashan shook his head, slowly, regretfully. “They’re beyond my power, Rowan. I’m sorry.” She went to her knees, hair falling around her head and shoulders like a shroud. Thad shifted into human form as quickly as he had shed it; wrapped his arms around her. “You’re sure?” he asked, softly. Lashan nodded. “They have some time left,” he said, quietly. “Enough to see their son.”

Jason stared at Rowan. She was shaking in Thad’s arms, glassy eyed with shock. He didn’t want to feel sorry for her, but he did. ‘Wolf packs are family groups,’ he ed from ecology class. ‘They’re

prob’ly related somehow.’ “You can’t do anything.” Rod’s voice shattered the stillness. “But maybe Sebastian can.” Everybody looked at him. “Two years ago,” the pipe-carrier said, “that loup garou I shot. Sebastian and his daughter put him back together. They said it was close, but they were able to it.” Rowan’s head came up, hope burning like stars in her eyes. Lashan tilted his own head, thinking. “Snow…” the Goth whispered, naming Sebastian’s oldest daughter, a quiet, selfcontained young woman Jason had met before. (She completely intimidated him, being a brainiac of cosmic proportions.) “Let me check,” Lashan said, and vanished, literally. Jason looked at Rowan. She was weeping open-eyed. Thad was stroking her hair, whispering to her too softly for Jason to hear. Not that he wanted to: this was embarrassing enough. He averted his eyes, watching a spider cross the toe of one of his shoes.

Time ticked off. Jason felt the heat start to climb on the air. Rod got to his feet, started pacing. The werewolves stayed where they were. Lashan walked out of the air. If he’d looked tired before, he looked gaunt, now. He leaned against a tree. “Snow’s there now.” His eyes were on Rowan; he was speaking to her alone. “She got Cammie to eat, but Arden tried to fight both of us.” She froze. “Is he… . ?” She swallowed; forced herself to say what she dreaded most. “Is he dead?”

“No.” A faint ghost of a smile crossed Lashan’s face, even as he slid down to the ground. “We got it under control.” Lashan closed his eyes. “God, I want a beer.” His hands were shaking. If Jason hadn’t heard the conversation between Rod and Lashan earlier, he’d have sworn the Goth was going through the DTs. Rowan pulled free of Thad. “What did Laylah say?” She sprang over to Lashan, holding him up by brute force and staring into his face. “Tell me, moraddyn,” she hissed at him. “What. Did. Laylah. Say?” ‘Moraddyn? What’s that mean?’ Jason shot his uncle a confused look. Rod shook his head, equally mystified. Lashan sighed. “She understands. She gave you autonomy, after all. I have enough to send you home, if you wish. Snow’s there. She said she’d stay until Arden and Cammie are able to travel, and bring them here herself.”

Whatever it sounded like to Jason (and that, at its best, was confusing,) it meant something completely different to Rowan. The female lycanthrope’s face blazed like the sun. She actually hugged Lashan, sharp and fierce. “Yes. Please.” ‘There’s a word I bet she doesn’t say often,’ the youth smirked to himself. He ducked his head to keep anyone from seeing the humor on his face. So he missed something, because suddenly, Rowan was asking, “Will you come with me?” His head jerked up, startled, but Rowan was looking at Thad, and her face was unreadable. Thad himself stood very, very still. ‘Not expecting to meet the parents this soon, aye?’ Jason thought to himself. Evidently, his sarcasm wasn’t that far off the mark, because Thad didn’t answer

right off. He tilted his head, studying Rowan. “Business or exploration?” he asked her. A trace of a smile flickered through Rowan’s eyes. “That depends,” she said coolly. “Business or exploration?” (Apparently, lycanthropes had their own verbal shorthand that made no sense to humans.) Thad nodded, silently. Lashan raised a hand. Green-black fire flowed from his fingers to limn Thad and Rowan in flickering light. “Let me know if you need anything else,” he said. And they were gone. Jason heaved a sigh of relief, shoulders slumping. His head pounded in time with his pulse. Lashan leaned his head back against the tree. “Can I just… lay here a while?” he asked.

CHAPTER 39

“Home.”

Rowan took a deep breath, and something inside her, drawn too tight for too long, relaxed. Pine. Water. Loam under her feet. The wind blowing through the trees was heavenly, a good 15 degrees cooler than where she had been, and carried a faint trace of snow, even this deep in summer. She took another breath. Quiet. Blissful, peaceful, quiet. No cars. No trucks. Her ears twitched, picking up the drone of an airplane high overhead, but that was all. No humans. She blinked emerald sparks out of her eyes, and nearly laughed when her surroundings came into focus: a small pocket-valley deep in the Canadian Rockies. She turned in a circle, reveling in the knife-sharp peaks that closed around her like a hand, their sides covered in pine and jagged outcroppings of rock. This back-country valley was impenetrable. In winter, the snow filled it until the trees looked like tiny black twigs; in summer, the stream that dashed through the valley was ice-cold even in August, and the Pack made a game of scrambling as high up the rocks as wolves could go. It was, simply and absolutely, home.

She smiled to see Thad, tense as an over-tight guitar sting, eyes darting as he took in new sounds and scents. His eyes were yellow. In wolf form, his hackles would have been up and his nose twitching. He moved cautiously, silent as a deer, wolf, or Rowan herself, as she lead him over the uneven ground, toward the trees that aproned the east end of the valley. The wind shifted, and she caught the scent of one of the sentries. Jared. A young

male, five years old, full of fire and wit and, maybe, sense, when his temper let him find it. Rowan glanced at Thad and grinned. Jared materialized out of the green shadows under the trees, dark eyes burning as he raked Thad with an arrogant gaze. “Rowan,” the young lycanthrope said. “She told us you were coming.” He’d learned a thing or two since Rowan had been gone: his voice was calm and neutral, as a sentry’s should be. “Welcome home, sister.” “She?” Thad asked. Jared looked him up an down again. A faint sneer shadowed his mouth. “Snow Strange, I’d guess.” Rowan supplied. At Jared’s quick, surprised glance (what was Rowan doing, the boy was clearly thinking, revealing such things to an outsider?) she added: “This is one of Augustus’ and Jade’s lieutenants. He has information on Arden and Cammie’s cub.” Jared’s eyes widened slightly; he looked Thad over a third time. Thad gave him that bland, simple smile of his. As Rowan kept going she could hear the males circling each other.

Her skin itched. She was home. She knew every scent; had hunted every kilometer, of this place. And she’d been hiding too long behind her human face. This close to the full moon, she didn’t have to wait until nightfall to shift. She tossed off her human skin, reveling in the freedom and power of her wolf’s body as she loped across the valley floor. Her wolf-ears caught the sound of a fight behind her, and her tongue lolled out in a lupine grin. She hoped Thad wouldn’t kill Jared. She hoped Jared didn’t get lucky and kill Thad.

She reached the apron of trees on the east end and paused, testing the air. The peaks played havoc with scent here, the air swirling and bouncing off the rock, but Rowan knew what she was looking for. The Alpha’s scent led her back to the very base of the rock. There, under a massive pine, Laylah’s silver-gilt hair seemed to glow. She was talking to a tall, slender woman with a scent like no human on earth.

Snow Strange had her father’s cat-pupiled eyes, elfin ears, and pale skin. Her blue-black hair hung loose, the ends tickling her wrists. She was dressed simply, in jeans and a black T-shirt, with hiking boots on her feet, but there was nothing simple about Sebastian Strange or his children. The air around Snow was thick with power and knowledge. She was standing by Cammie, who was also in wolf form, one hand on Cammie’s russet-furred shoulder, and Rowan could scent Snow’s magick on Cammie’s skin. Cammie herself looked too thin. But her eyes were alive, not dull with grief and depression. She was slowly eating a haunch of venison. Rowan’s stomach growled. She hadn’t had venison since before she left on this assignment; its rich scent flooded her mouth with saliva. “It’s from this winter’s kills, my Rowan,” Laylah said calmly, proving once again why she was the Alpha. “Eat. Maybe by the time you’re finished, the males will have worked things out.” Her gold-flecked eyes gleamed with humor, picking Rowan’s silhouette out of the shadows easily. That killed the last reservation in Rowan’s hunger-glazed mind. Winter-meat had no parasites to worry about. She darted over to the haunch, crouched across from Cammie, and tore into it. Cammie was sated enough she didn’t even growl, though she bared her teeth lazily.

For a while, Rowan stopped being a lieutenant, and was simply a wolf, safe in the Pack. She ate until she could hold no more, went down to the stream to wash the blood off her fur, then stretched out by Cammie to drowse. The Pack came to greet her, singly and in bunches. There were three new cubs to greet, plump

bundles of fur with bright black eyes alight with wonder and curiosity. They crawled over her, pouncing on her tail and gnawing on her paws as their parents looked on. Her fellow lieutenants drifted in. Not all of them, of course. Some were on assignment; one, sadly, had died in a rock-slide on the last hunt. She whined in sorrow, laying her cheek alongside the muzzle of his widowed mate. Like Rowan, some had brought newcomers to the Pack. Rowan snarled at these strangers, and they hung back, ears and tails down. They would either carve a place for themselves in the Pack, or they would leave, and the ones who had brought them would start looking for a mate again.

The pups were napping in a tangle of fur around her feet when Thad tracked his way to the meeting place. Rowan felt the electric buzz that filled the Pack as he materialized out of the tree-shadows: a tall, muscled male in his prime, with fur so dark a brown it looked black in places, tan edging around his ears and his lupine mask. (The scars left by Thad’s fight with the Good Fae, the night he and Rowan met, stood out as white flecks in his dark coat.) His ears… One was missing its tip. Fresh blood had matted the fur on that side of his head. He limped slightly, favoring his right hind, and his coat was spotted with more blood. His yellow eyes gleamed happily; his jaws gaped in a grin. The reason became clear as the sentries trickled in. Four of them. One was missing an ear entirely; another had a gaping wound on his flank and a useless paw. A third had teeth marks around one eye and a throat wound. But young, arrogant Jared had fared the worst. One cheek was ripped open; one foot was broken; and his belly-fur had blood on it.

Laylah’s head dropped. She shifted into lupine form as easily as breathing. Her cream-and-silver coat burned in the shadows. Stiff-legged, she stalked up to Thad, growling low in her throat. Rowan tensed.

CHAPTER 40

“My Pack.”

‘MY PACK!’ Laylah’s growl echoed off the stone walls around them. Thad’s eyes widened. His nose twitched, taking in her scent, and Rowan felt a surge of primal jealousy. Laylah’s muscles bunched under her coat. She was smaller than Thad, but she made up for it with iron muscles and blinding speed. Before he had made up his mind how to react (a female, challenging a male?) Laylah had barreled into him, rolled him, and had her teeth at his throat. ‘MY. PACK!’ she snarled, teeth on his jugular. The whole Pack was on its feet now, watching avidly. Thad could have tossed Laylah off.(Or tried. As Rowan knew well, Laylah was powerful enough to stay put.) He could have rolled, or raked his hind claws across her belly, trying to gouge through her thick coat to the tender skin underneath. Instead, he dropped his ears and lay still. ‘Your Pack,’ he agreed, sullenly. Laylah bit him, sharply, but not fatally, on the throat, then stood back and let him climb to his feet. Rowan yipped happily. The other females looked on enviously as she carefully separated herself from the still-sleeping cubs and walked over to Thad. She examined him, washing his face and ear so they wouldn’t get infected. Her blood sang in her veins. She jumped, nipping playfully at his nose. Thad’s head snapped back; a growl rippled out of his throat. He lunged at her tail; missed. Rowan barked at him, backing away. His eyes began to gleam. Injuries aside, he darted after her.

“You,” Thad rasped, “are worth fighting for.” Rowan stretched, feeling the sun warm on her bare skin. “I am,” she agreed. The light beating down on her was blocked. She opened her eyes, lazily, to see Thad leaning over her, tracing the curve of her waist with one, calloused fingertip. She traced the cuts and bruises on his body, already healing. They’d be gone by sundown. Except for the Fae marks, like white pock-scars, on his shoulders and chest, and… She tangled her fingers in his hair, lifting it off the side of his head to examine the gouge in the cartilage of his ear. “The healing gift can’t replace missing flesh,” she said in a quiet voice. “This will scar, and I am sorry for it.” He chucked, low in his throat. “Chics like scars.” She laughed, too. “We do.” She ran the tip of her tongue over the wound; he shuddered. “Where are you from?” she whispered. “Nogales, Arizona,” he said. “Just over the border between the US and Mexico.” He pronounced “Mexico” like a native Spanish speaker. “The Southwest American Pack,” she noted. “Are you fluent in Spanish?” Her tongue moved down his neck, licking the sweat off his skin. “Sí.” “You’ll need to learn French, here.” She smiled to herself, feeling his muscles tense beneath her mouth. “I can do that.” His voice was a whisper. “You wandered a long way, to find a place in Augustus’ Pack,” she murmured. “A very long way,” he agreed. He whispered the US states as he traced his way up her hip with his lips.

“Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado, Wyoming, South Dakota…”

She tilted her head back, a sound very like a purr coming out of her throat. Thad chuckled, his breath dancing across her skin, tasting her nipple with his tongue. Arrows of sensation made her arch her back. She wanted to lie there forever, being petted and groomed and worshiped; she wanted to shove him onto his back and impale herself on him. The second impulse proved impossible to resist. Her eyes shifted to a hot, feral yellow. A growl rippled out of her mouth as she sat up and shoved him onto his back, nipping his bottom lip as she kissed him, reveling in the rock-hard planes of his body, the taste of his mouth. His own eyes phased to yellow; his hands gripped her wrists, trying to force her off him, so he could take control. She snarled back, fangs gleaming. He had had his moment, earlier, when she let him catch her after a long and wicked chase all over the valley. Now, it was her turn. Shoving him back onto the ground, she straddled him. His hands spanned her hips as she impaled herself on him, arrogant as a cat and twice as wanton. A gasp of pure satisfaction wrenched itself out of her mouth. She bent her head, hair falling around her profile like curtains, watching the planes of his face stiffen in pleasure. She set her hands on his shoulders and lifted herself, pausing for a delicious moment before coming back down. God, he felt good! His breathing picked up as she set the pace, reveling in pleasing herself, and herself alone. He tangled his hands in her hair; used that to drawn her head down and kiss her again, his tongue mimicking her rhythm. Sweet, sweet tension tightened her muscles. She whimpered against his mouth; drawing him as far into herself as she could. One step. Another. A third. She was pleading against his mouth, why, she had no idea. Then his hands seized her waist; pulled her down onto him with all the strength in his sinewy arms. Stars

exploded behind her closed eyes. She howled, waves of pleasure rippling through her body. She bent her head, and sunk her teeth into the skin over his collarbone. “Another scar,” Thad teased, when they could talk again. She growled. Her fingers traced the new, slivery scar on her own shoulder. “So’s this, then.” Thad growled in his turn, fierce possessiveness burning in his dark eyes. “That’s not a scar, lady. That’s my mate-mark on you. You’re mine, now.” “Yes,” she agreed, curling against him, drowsy and sated. “I’m yours. And you’re mine.” He stroked her hair. “Yes, I am. You’re worth fighting for, Rowan.”

CHAPTER 41

“Lady, he’s being spoiled rotten.”

The Pack was full of emotion that night. Arden and Cammie would live; they had reed the gathering for the first time since Aidan’s disappearance; the cub himself was alive and well and soon to come home; Rowan had returned with a mate that promised to bring good blood into the Pack. The new adults, who had just celebrated their first kill, built a bonfire, stoking it until it glowed like a roman candle in the dark, sparks shooting up into the velvet of the night. The food stores were thrown open; grills were placed over cooking fires and venison steaks sizzled next to cuts of beef and pork. Six-packs of beer were chilled in the stream and ed around. Rowan was teased so often her skin felt hotter than the flames beside her. Thad moved through his new Pack, finding his balance among males and females alike. Someone had found him a spare shirt, black and long-sleeved. He looked good in it, Rowan mused, watching him. Augustus had trained him well: before too long, he was exchanging tips with Jared, making the youngster laugh at his own mistakes that afternoon.

Rowan wandered just past the firelight. Arden and Cammie were there. They both looked gaunt and tired, sitting in camp chairs, but they smiled as she came up. “A good choice,” Cammie said, nodding to where Thad was describing a fight to some of the younger ones. Rowan’s heart warmed just looking at him. “Yes,” she agreed.

“American, yes?” Arden asked. “From Augustus’ Pack.” Rowan nodded, knowing they could see her silent response. “And he’s seen Aidan?” Cammie asked. Unconsciously, she reached out and took her mate’s hand. “Yes.” “He’s all right?” “Lady, he’s being spoiled rotten,” Thad said, materializing out of the darkness at Rowan’s side. His voice was solid and kind. “He’s been adopted by a little girl, who loves him like a Packmate. I’ve seen it.” Cammie looked up him. Her eyes were dark pits in her face. “Tell me everything! Please?” “We can do better than that, Cammie.” Laylah’s voice came out of the shadows. She smiled as she approached their group, Snow Strange beside her. “Snow has agreed to use her power to show you everything. Let’s find a bit of quiet, and she’ll do so.” Cammie and Arden were out of their chairs before the Alpha finished speaking.

Laylah led them away from the fire, to a small, secluded rise tucked into a corner of the base of the eastern valley wall. She brushed away a camouflage net, uncovering a weather-beaten door. She opened it, revealing a steep stairway, leading down into the earth. “An earth house?” Thad asked as they followed the Alpha down the stairs. Rowan averted her eyes as she heard Laylah flick a light switch. “Clever.” “Thank you,” Laylah said as the light came up. She opened a second door and stepped back, gesturing her guests into her home. “Eco-friendly and easily concealed. If you wish, you and Rowan may build your own, here in the valley.”

Rowan had been here often. She didn’t even notice the sink off to her right; the storage freezer that took up the wall to the left of the door; the wood-burning stove beside the sink. She walked straight into the living room (marked only by a shift from tile to earth-toned carpet) and sat on the couch by the bookshelf. Arden and Cammie were the same: they curled up on the loveseat. Thad moved slowly, taking in the unexpected touches of color and finesse: jewel-bright hangings covering the concrete walls; glass-fronted curio cabinets full of antiques; the throw rugs that covered the carpet. Laylah’s favorite chair was a russet recliner, with a coffee table beside it. Rowan saw Thad consider it; test the scent on it; and move away, to sit beside her. Snow Strange, even less human than the lycanthropes, settled cross-legged on the floor.

“Snow?” Laylah asked, stretching out in her chair. “If you would?” Snow nodded. She held up a hand, and a plane of azure-blue fire, like water, or rippling silk, appeared in the air. Slowly, colors began to coalesce in that flat, liquid space, like threads of pigment being spun together in a vast centrifuge. “This is from earlier this afternoon,” Snow said, in her quiet, self-contained voice.

The picture that formed was of the backyard Rowan had seen the night she met Thad. Only this time, the oval yard was sunlit, and there were humans in it. Well, humans and one lycanthrope cub. Cammie sat forward with a small cry as Aidan (‘Or Fluffy,’ Rowan ed, smirking slightly) ran into the picture. He was well, Rowan realized with a sigh of relief. His little belly was round; he’d clearly been bathed and brushed; a bright red collar and name tag rested comfortably around his neck. That made Arden growl, eyes gleaming like topaz.

“They collared my son?!” Cammie reached out; caught his hand. “They didn’t know, love. They thought he was just a dog. And look what good care they’ve taken of him!”

In the magick, Aidan crouched, then pounced on the toes of the little girl sitting on the edge of the lawn. This had to be Anna, Rowan realized. She was a pretty little thing. Her parents clearly took good care of her: her clothes were clean and brightly colored; her hair neatly cut at the shoulder. A medicine wheel hung on a green cord around her neck. You could tell she was different, though. It was in her voice, in her not-quiteexpressive-enough face, in the too-still way she sat, as if she didn’t really notice the world around her. Until she looked at Aidan. Then, life came into her face. She drew her feet back, avoiding the pup’s needlesharp teeth. “No, Fluffy! No bite! Be nice, Fluffy!”

“Fluffy?” Arden shook his head, torn, again, between insult and humor. Thad snorted. Even Laylah smiled. “What’s wrong with her?” Cammie asked, tilting her head as she studied Anna. “No one knows,” Snow said quietly. “She has characteristics of several different disorders, but not enough of any one type for a solid diagnosis.” “They love her anyway,” Laylah murmured. “You can see it. Even the cub.”

Aidan seemed to know that his friend was “different.” He was very gentle as he played with her, only mouthing her fingers when they got close enough, and he didn’t scratch when she lifted him into her lap. Nor did he immediately jump out of her lap. Instead, he sat erect, watching her with alert, intelligent eyes as she broke pieces off a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich in a plate by her right hand and fed them to him. “Do you believe them?” An adult’s voice, above the heads of the children, a man’s voice, strung-out and fragile with too much new information, information he hadn’t wanted to hear. “After what we’ve just seen, can you doubt it?” A woman’s voice, tired with repeating the same thing over and over. Rowan’s ears twitched. Like the man, the woman had been shocked to the core of her being, that was clear to anyone accustomed to listening between the lines, but unlike the man, she wasn’t panicking. “I don’t know, Terri. It could have been a trick. Tara could be wrong.”

“Tara Campbell,” Thad said. “Now, Tara Poitra. Rumor has it she’s a Witch.” “Rumor is correct,” Rowan said, ing. “Powerful?” Laylah asked. “Very,” Rowan and Thad said together. Snow flicked her fingers, and the “screen” expanded, like fabric unrolling. Now, the lycanthropes could see a patio, and two adults sitting at a card table, eyes on the children. “Marc and Terri Ayers,” Thad murmured, low. “The girl’s parents. The girl’s name is Anna.” “She looks like both her parents,” Cammie observed.

In the magick, Marc Ayers was still speaking. “This is crazy, Terri. I mean, werewolves? If I didn’t know Rod as well as I do… .” He trailed off; ran a hand through his long, beginning-to-silver, black hair. His face was a study: fear; anger; disbelief; pure, blind panic. And when he looked at his child, fierce, protective love. “Rod Poitra,” Thad clarified for the group. “A powerful pipe-carrier, and a good friend of Derrick Lashan’s. Two years ago, Poitra, by himself, kept two of my Packmates from working mischief with the child.” “I that story,” Cammie agreed. Her eyes flashed, shattering her gentleseeming nature. “They deserved to be killed, if they stalked a cub.” Against Rowan, Thad twitched, caught between wanting to defend his old Pack, and agreeing with his new one. “Augustus dealt with it well,” Laylah murmured. “It was a very complicated situation, Cammie.” Cammie snorted, but didn’t say anything else.

“But you do know Rod that well. And Tara.” Terri Ayers was watching her mate and her child simultaneously. “Anna,” she said, getting up out of her chair. She was just beginning to show signs of pregnancy. “I made that sandwich for you, not Fluffy. If you aren’t going to eat it, I’m taking it away.” She picked the plate up; carried it back to the card table. Her daughter didn’t seem to notice until the cub jumped out of her lap and walked over to the table, looking for a way to get the sandwich. Marc moved sharply, chasing Aidan away. Rowan fancied she could smell his fear even through the magick. Arden and Cammie growled, low in their throats. “We’ve let it sleep on her bed,” Marc Ayers hissed, shuddering. “Anna, no! Leave it alone!” He picked his daughter up.

“She doesn’t understand, Marc.” Terri was clearly striving for calm. “ what Rod and Lashan said? They’re not evil.” “Tara thinks they are.” “According to Lashan, the one she ran into was insane.”

“What’s this?” Laylah sat forward in her chair, eyes on the magick. “I don’t know,” Rowan itted. She turned to Thad. “What does rumor say?” He, too, was watching the magick. “Nothing,” he said. “The last rogue in my Pack was dealt with internally. I know: I put it down. It never encountered humans. But…” Thoughts were moving through his eyes, that blade-keen mind of his finding connections among the threads of information he possessed. “Tara Poitra runs a website business,” he said. “On her bio page, she says she is originally from Santa Fe, New Mexico. And I seem to , right after I left my origin-Pack, hearing of a rouge that got out of the back country…” “Do you have any s left in your origin-Pack?” Laylah demanded. “Some,” he said. “We parted on good . I could make some phone calls.” “Do so,” Laylah ordered, with an Alpha’s customary arrogance. “Shhh!” Cammie hissed, drawing their attention to the fact that Terri Ayers was talking again.

“I , in the old stories, les loup garous aren’t evil, Marc. That came over from Europe. Here, they just wanted to be left alone.” “And we’re back to that,” he growled. His voice took on a mocking, sarcastic tone. “This is what we were, so this is what we are.” Anna fidgeted in his arms. He put her down, and she wandered off into the yard,

Aidan at her heels. “That’s not fair,” Terri said softly. “Marc,” she said, carefully. “I’m not an activist. Or a radical. You know that. But…” she looked at her daughter. “Rod’s done more for her than any conventional science has. And Lashan… . I don’t what he is, either, but he’s always been a good friend to us. He was the one who realized that Anna’s a… what did he call it, again?” “Empath,” her husband said. His shoulders slumped. “Yeah, empath. And I what it was like before Rod started working medicine for Anna. If they say that pup’s a le loup garou, and not evil, I believe them.” “And if they told you to walk off a cliff, would you do that too?” Marc demanded. Terri laughed. “Of course not! I’d have you distract them while I called the cops!” “Well, at least you haven’t gone completely loony,” he muttered. She got up, walked over to him, wrapped her arms around his waist. “I’m scared, Terri,” he itted, low. “Oh, good,” she said, shakily. “I’m not alone.” “Terri…” Marc’s eyes were on his child, and the lycanthrope cub. “If Rod hasn’t gone off the deep end, we have to get that cub back to its…” He swallowed. “Family? Pack? I don’t even know what word to use!” His hands were shaking. “How do we explain it to her, Terri? How do we make her understand?”

“Have you seen enough?” Laylah asked softly. Rowan watched Arden and Cammie exchange looks. “Yes.” Cammie rested her head in her hands. “What a mess,” she whispered. “I want my son back! And yet…”

“Knowing has changed their world,” Arden said quietly. “Conceal to protect.” Rowan quoted Pack law. For the first time, she understood that it worked both ways. “Will the little girl be all right, without Aidan?” Cammie asked, the mother in her reaching out. ‘She connected with that family,’ Rowan realized, with a sinking feeling in her gut. ‘Mother to mother.’ And then she looked at Arden, and realized that Cammie wasn’t the only one who had made that connection. ‘They have fear for their children in common,’ she decided, studying Arden’s face. He was up to something, she could tell. Arden was gruff, but he had a kind heart (Cammie would never have chosen him, otherwise). Seeing the bond between Aidan and Anna had touched him. Cammie turned to Snow. “Our son is her bridge to the world. If he goes away…” Sebastian Strange’s daughter sat erect and still, her uncanny eyes fogged as thoughts moved like clouds across her brow. “Anna knows more than we think she does,” Snow said thoughtfully. “I don’t think it will be as hard on her as we are all afraid of.” And she would say no more, no matter how much they pressed her.

CHAPTER 42

“He’s not crazy, Marc. They are real.”

Jason had never been so glad to get on the road in his whole life. “Let’s get the hell outta here,” Dave growled, shoving his truck into gear. “Amen!” Jason agreed. The last 24 hours had not been good. Marc and Terri had gone ballistic when Rod and Lashan tried to explain about Fluffy. Well, not at first. At first, they’d laughed. Then, when Rod wouldn’t budge, they’d tried to call the cops and have him arrested, so he could be shipped to the state hospital for evaluation. Jason, caught between conflicting loyalties, had watched, horrified, as Marc picked up the phone to call the cops. “He’s not crazy, Marc. They are real.” Jason had jumped! knocking over the lamp by the couch. It was a mark of everyone’s state, that no one in the room had reacted to the crash. His eyes had gone to Lashan, but to his horror, it wasn’t the Goth that had spoken. Tara stood in front of Rod, her face set in pale, furious lines, eyes glittering as she stared down Marc. “What?” Marc had demanded, phone in hand. “He’s not crazy,” the Witch repeated, clearly. “Prove it,” Marc had dared her. “All right,” she’d had said. “Come with me.” She’d looked at Anna, playing with Kate and Fluffy out on the lawn. “Anna shouldn’t see this,” the Witch had said quietly. “Can Kate watch her a little longer? Say, 2-3 hours?”

“I’ll ask,” Terri said, and went out to talk to her.

Kate agreed, so they’d all driven over to Tara’s place in Rawlins, where she had gotten into her “magick trunk,” as she called it, a big, heavy thing with protective symbols burned into the wood. “I got this,” she said, rummaging around in the trunk, “when I fought an… . entity, I will not call it anything else, that was stalking one of my students, a lovely young woman I was teaching the Craft to.” She pulled out a piece of black cloth, also covered in protective runes. Then she pulled out a glass bottle filled with salt. “Jason, get me a black dish from the cupboard, would you?” “Uh, sure,” he muttered, not really sure he wanted to be pulled into this. “Rod,” she asked. “Could you smudge this area, please? I want as much protection as I can get. Use a smudge bundle out of my inventory.” “All right,” he said. “Jason, where do I look in that room?” “I’ll get it,” Jason said. He put the dish down in front of Tara (she put the fabric on it) and darted into her spare room, where she kept her inventory. He snatched up a sweet grass bundle and ran back. Now, his curiosity was up. He had to see what it was that could make Tara want this level of safeguards. “Do all of us, too,” Tara said, when Rod got the bundle lit. He nodded, pulling the smoke over his head to cleanse himself before he did anything else.

As Rod smudged the area, chanting very softly under his breath, Tara turned to Lashan. “Just… it, will you?” He nodded once, and a soft green light seemed to weave in and out of the smoke

from the sweet grass bundle. Jason’s skin was tingling. Excitement and curiosity burned in his blood. He almost wanted to laugh at the terrified look on Marc’s face, but he didn’t. ‘Good,’ whispered a voice in his mind. He jumped, nearly falling over Tara, where she knelt by the trunk. Laughter ghosted through his head as the carver from the lake appeared, standing by Lashan with a slight smile on his face. Jason’s eyes darted. Lashan clearly knew the carver was there; he seemed more relaxed by his presence than anything else. Rod… . Jason saw him do a double take as he smudged Lashan. Tara… her eyes were on the spot where the carver was, but her head was cocked, as if she heard something, instead of saw it. Quietly, the Witch pulled a pouch out of the trunk. The smell of pipe tobacco rose up as she loosened the drawstrings. She dipped her fingers into the pouch and pulled out a generous amount of tobacco. Rising to her feet, she put it on the incense burner she kept by her stereo. “Tara,” Rod said. She turned. Bowing her head, she let him wave the smoke over her. “Ready?” she asked. “When you are,” he agreed. Tara straightened her back. Then she raised her arms, whispering under her breath. And the air filled with power.

Two years ago, Jason had seen Tara’s spell work take down an entire town. Now, he saw her channel that same strength into protection. It was like being enfolded in wings of light. He could feel the heat against his skin. He closed his eyes; sparks of prismatic color swirled through his mind. He felt like he had up at the lake, completely at peace with the world, and at the same time, he wanted to laugh with delight. When he opened his eyes, Tara was pouring salt in a ring around the fabric in the black dish.

Reluctantly, avoiding any skin-to-skin with whatever the fabric covered, Tara opened it. Jason stepped up, eager to see.

A long, curling lock of brown hair lay on that fabric. Just a plain, ordinary lock of hair. Until you looked further. Half-way down, it turned from human hair to… . “Wolf fur,” Terri whispered. Her arms closed protectively around her stomach. “It’s a trick,” Marc rumbled. “Somebody wove the two together.” “No,” Tara said. “My student was very talented, and very afraid of her talent. All her life, she had attracted things: ghosts, nature spirits. This time, she caught the notice of something far more dangerous. “When she told me that someone was stalking her, I told her to call the police, first. She did, and for a while, it stopped. But then it began again. Small things at first. Feeling like someone was watching her at the store. Flowers sent to her work. Then it escalated to phone calls at all hours. Her car was broken into. We called the cops again. The fingerprints they found were unusable. I made up a protection charm for her, but I put a wrinkle in it: not only would it protect her, it would force the one doing it to reveal his or her nature. “I put a protective shield around her house. You know what those are. But I put the same caveat in it. And I stayed with her, at her house. So I was there when that gods-cursed thing made another try. “It came over the wall, by her pool. When it hit the shield, I heard it: a wolf’s howl. I grabbed my sword (she has a very fine edge on her) and charged out the patio door. Something lunged at me. I swung, and I connected. Then it was gone. I got a flashlight, and I could see where it had gone back over the wall.” Tara smiled.

It wasn’t pretty. “There was blood on my sword, and hair. I found more where it went back over the wall, and footprints in the flowerbeds. When the cops came, they ran DNA analysis on it. They thought the samples were fowled when the results came back, because it was a mix of lupine and human DNA.” Tara looked down at the hair. “There are parts of the Wiccan Rede that are not printed in the New Age books. We are allowed to use our gifts to defend ourselves, in life-and-death situations. The police would never believe me. My student, poor thing, was living in terror. I used what I found, and that thing will never bother another living soul.”

“Then why do you keep… . this?” Jason had to wet his lips twice before he could get the words out. “In case I’m wrong,” Tara said coolly. “If it did survive, and comes after her again, I’ll use this to finish the job.” Ice ran down Jason’s spine. He couldn’t look at his aunt-by-marriage. He looked at Marc. The older man was sheet-white under his tan; he had his arms around Terri, who looked like she wanted to throw up. Lashan stepped up. “May I examine it, Daughter of Isis?” His voice was full of respect. Tara inclined her head.

The Goth held his hand above the lock of hair, and green light flowed down over it. Jason swallowed queasily. Lashan closed his eyes. The same green light began to flicker around his body, like the Northern Lights. “It was a rogue,” he said in a soft voice. “It wasn’t sane. It had been driven out of the Pack for its crimes. If you hadn’t dealt with it, Lady, the Pack would have. They were tracking it down, but you got there first.”

“They what?” Tara’s voice was a whisper. Lashan gave her a pitying look. “They were hunting him, and he knew it. The Packs don’t want interaction with humans, Lady. They just want to be left alone.”

The same woman who had calmly itted to killing a lycanthrope collapsed at his words. Rod darted, catching her. “You’re lying.” Lashan raised his eyebrows. “In this space, at this time, do you think I could lie?” Tara looked down. She was shaking. “No,” she itted softly. “Not here, not now.” “You did right,” Lashan told her, gently. “You did as you should: mundane before magical, and only in defense of your or another’s life. Let that guilt go, Tara. And just try to realize that they are no more what people say, than you are, what people say about Witches.” “I told you, darlin’,” Rod said. “They just want to be left alone.” Then he looked up at Marc and Terri. “Do you still think I’m crazy?” Marc was frozen, staring at Tara’s proof. It was Terri who said, “We believe you.” “Good. Because the ones we’re dealing with now: they are sane, and honorable, in their own way. They aren’t trying to hurt Anna, or anyone else. They just want their child back.” “What do we do?” Terri whispered in a defeated voice. “I’ll find out,” Lashan said quietly.

CHAPTER 43

‘If only it were that simple.’

‘I wonder what happened to Tara’s student?’ Jason mused now, looking out the window. It was a long drive to Strange Acres, around five hours. They’d left early, to try and avoid the worst of the heat. The prairie blurred past the window, an ocean of green grass, stretching unbroken to the horizon. Well, not completely unbroken: Jason could see fence lines, the occasional farmhouse. But nothing else. The highway stretched like a gray ribbon before them, empty save for Rod and Tara’s truck in front of them and Marc and Terri’s van in the rear view mirror. Per Lashan’s instructions, Fluffy was coming with them to the gig. ‘I wonder if Lashan was able to his parents,’ Jason added, watching Marc and Terri’s van. ‘Will they really will meet us down there and take the pup back?’ The thought made his gut tighten. Regardless of what he was, Anna loved that pup. The thought of having to take Fluffy away from her made Jason feel sick.

“No wonder Lashan found his own way down there,” Dave growled. Jason glanced at him, startled out of his reverie. Dave tossed his head, as if to get rid of the tension that had been simmering around everyone else. “What the hell is goin’ on, Jason?” Dave shot him a confused look. “Did Rod sleep with Terri? Or Marc with Tara?” Jason snorted. ‘If only it were that simple,’ he thought, sarcastically. “I wish,” he muttered. Dave raised an eyebrow. “Medicine stuff, aye?”

Jason turned to look at him, floored. His dad laughed. “I know Marc, and I know Rod,” Dave said, flipping on the cruise control and taking his foot off the accelerator. “Rod’s really low-key, but he’s powerful. He did somethin’ to freak Marc out, didn’t he?” ‘Learning to keep your mouth shut is part of serving the Gods,’ Tara’s voice echoed through Jason’s head. “Not just Uncle Rod,” he said, slowly. “Tara, too.” Dave whistled soundlessly. “No wonder he’s freaked. That one scares me.” He grinned wickedly into the rearview mirror. “‘Course, a man could die happy, in that kinda scared!” “Ah, jeeze, dad!” Jason shuddered, covering his eyes. Dave laughed. “Where do ya think you came from?” he teased. “It wasn’t a test tube, I promise.” “DAD!” Dave snorted at him. He was in a better mood than Jason had seen him in months. And he’d come up alone… . “Tiffany didn’t want to come?” he asked, carefully. “Tiff isn’t comin’ anywhere any more,” his dad said quietly, laughter gone from his voice. ‘Ah, jeeze,’ Jason sighed. ‘I can’t go through a break-up right now . . . ’ “It’s not bad, Jason.” Jason eyed his father warily. He’d heard that before. He must have given something away, because Dave snorted again. “Really, it’s not. Look at me: do I looked fucked-up to you?”

Well, and, he didn’t, now that Jason thought about it. Usually, Dave’s break-ups (and there had been more than a few) had him drinking like a fish and hitting on anything in a skirt. He’d let everything go: clothes, housework, job. He’d spend his days watching TV and plotting how to get back at “the bitch” (whoever she may be). But he’d made it up to Rod’s place on time and sober, pulling into the yard last evening about 7:30. “DAD!” Jason had yelped in surprise, when Dave got out of his truck. “Hey, my boy!” Dave had hugged him. Now that Jason thought about it, Dave had smelled of cigarettes, but not booze. Gru had jumped at the end of his chain, barking. “Uncle Rod!” Jason had yelled, grinning in spite of everything. The front door had opened, and Rod’s jaw had fallen open when he saw Dave. “Dave? What ya doin’ here?” Dave had looked at all of them: Jason, Rod, Tara, and Lashan (who were both standing in the doorway behind Rod). His eyes had flickered when he’d seen Lashan. “I thought I was playin’ with you guys,” he’d said, slowly. “A street dance? Saturday? It’s Thursday night. I thought I’d get here early, help with the haulin’ and stuff. Is it still on?” Jason’s jaw had dropped. With everything else going on, he’d completely forgotten about the gig. He wasn’t the only one, either: “Sonofabitch,” Rod sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I completely forgot. Yeah, man. It’s still on, and you’re still playin’. Come on in!” “You’re gettin’ old, man,” Dave had jibed, carrying his duffle bag inside. “We’re the same age, asshole.” “Yeah. And you’re gettin’ old.”

Now, Jason ran critical eyes over his father, and realized that Dave was telling the truth: this break-up was different. His father’s long hair was clean and pulled back in a tail; his clothes were faded, but neat; his eyes clear. What Jason didn’t realize was how much he looked like his father: they both had the same long, lanky build and jaw line. Jason had put more muscle on, thanks to hauling things for Tara, but Dave wasn’t a twig. There was muscle on his frame, from long years of warehouse work. “Are… . you okay?” Jason asked, warily. Dave smiled, and it was his real smile, not the bitter, cynical one that made Jason cringe. “Yeah, I’m all right. This has been coming for a while.” “What are you gonna do?” (Dave had been living on the South Butte res, in Tiffany’s house.) Dave shrugged. “Well… I was wonderin’ if Rod would put me up, for a while, until I can get a place of my own, but that was before he and Tara tied the knot. Now, I don’ know.” The wheels stared turning in Jason’s head, the same kind of wheels that had got him working for Tara two years ago. A flare of excitement, quickly repressed, lit in his stomach. “We might be able to help each other,” he said, slowly. “What do you mean?” Dave’s voice was relaxed, but there was a gleam in his eye. Jason drummed his fingers on the door handle, a habit he’d picked up from his uncle. “I been thinking,” he said. “Uh-oh,” his dad teased. Jason grinned nervously.

“Here’s the deal: Uncle Rod and Tara’d let me stay with them, but I don’t wanna… intrude, ya know? I been staying with Marc and Terri, but she’s pregnant, and they’re gonna need the room. But… they need my help with Anna, so…” “You don’t want to move too far away,” Dave filled it in. Jason nodded. “I thought about getting my own place, through the housing, but I don’t make enough.” “Get another job,” his dad said. Jason shook his head. “Tara’s good to work for. And… she’ll work around my school schedule.” “School?” Dave asked. Jason nodded. “I… haven’t told anybody, but I applied for the EMT program at the college. I got in.” “YES!!!!!!!!” His dad yelled. “That’s my boy!” Jason grinned excitedly. “Yeah. I’m pretty good with emergencies.” “Pretty good, hell!” Dave said. “You saved your Mom’s life, how many times?”

Jason’s excitement dimmed. He shrugged, looking out the window. It had been two years, and his mother still hadn’t gotten the message that he didn’t want anything to do with her. She seemed to have a sick knack for knowing just when he was starting to relax, starting to believe that he wouldn’t have to deal with her again. Then she’d call, or email, or text, and everything would come roaring back. He’d closed his Facebook so she couldn’t find him there; changed his email address at least seven times. (She kept finding it and emailing him. He’d block it, she’d get a new address, and it would start all over again.) He’d changed his cell phone number at least that many times, too. He kept it unlisted, but she still found it. Once, she’d even written him a letter. He’d sent it back, unopened. He’d considered filing a restraining order against her, except his uncle had told him she’d have the opportunity to appear in tribal court and fight it. Unable to face the thought of being in the same room with her, Jason had

dropped it.

Just thinking about her made nauseous rage churn in his stomach. Suddenly, he wanted to put his fist through the windshield, just to hear the glass shatter. “She causing you trouble?” his dad asked. It burst out of him: “Why can’t she get the message?!” “That you don’t want to see her?” “See her, talk to her, email her, anything. I don’t want her in my life!!!!” Dave took one hand off the steering wheel; gripped his shoulder briefly before putting both hands on the wheel again. “I know, my boy. I get it.” “I know,” Jason sighed. He ran a hand through his hair. “If anybody else gets it, it’s you.”

Dave had done his best in a rotten marriage. He’d taken the brunt of Catherine’s mood swings and drug-fueled insanity, and done his best to give Jason a stable place he could hide in when things got rough. It had been Dave, Uncle Rod and Aunt Kay who had made sure he got clothes for school, and at least one hot meal every night, and helped him with his homework. When Jason thought about his early birthdays, he ed Dave, Rod, and Kay. When he thought about holidays, it was with Dave, Rod, and Kay. When he thought about his mother, it was with a confusing blend of pity, love, disgust… and hatred. That last was his, and his alone. From the very beginning, his dad, uncle, and aunt had tried to explain Catherine’s addictions as a disease, something she

needed help with. “She’s sick, my boy,” he ed his dad saying one Christmas Eve (why had the worst things always happened at Christmas, anyway?) Dave had had him sitting on the counter in the bathroom, cleaning a cut on Jason’s hand. (Catherine had thrown a glass at her husband. Dave had dodged it, but Jason had cut his hand trying to help clean up the broken glass.) “Then she should go to the doctor,” Jason ed his five-year-old-self saying. His dad had smiled, a sad kind of smile. “It’s not that simple, Jason. This kind of sick, it makes people think they’re not sick. So, she won’t go to a doctor.” “Oh,” Jason had said, looking down at the cut on his hand. Dave finished cleaning it, put some ointment on it, and put a Band-Aid on it. “There, all better.” His dad said, smiling. (Looking back, Jason could tell Dave had forced the smile.) He’d lifted Jason down off the counter. “Stay here,” he’d told Jason. “I’m gonna put your mom to bed, and then I’ll come get you. We’ll watch Christmas cartoons and make cookies for Santa.” Jason had been five years old. It had been easy for Dave to fix things, then. “YAY!” Jason ed yelling. Now, it made tears of pure rage clog his throat. How Dave had stood it for as long as he had… “How did you stand it?” he asked his father. “I had you,” Dave said simply. “Whatever else she’s done, she gave me you.” Jason looked out the window. He didn’t want to it that sometimes, he wished she hadn’t.

They rode in silence a while, each of them lost in his own memories. Then Dave

shook his head, sighing. “Enough of that,” he said firmly. “What’s this proposition of yours?” Jason shook his own head. It was a measure of how much good the last two years had done, that he was able to turn his attention back to his original idea. “What if we shared a place?” he asked. Dave raised his eyebrows. “You sure you wanna live with your old man?” he asked. “It wouldn’t cramp your style?” Jason laughed. “What style?” he asked, wry, self-mocking humor in his voice. “I haven’t had a date in months. Between school, work, and Anna, I don’t have time for anything else.” “You really love that little girl, don’t ya?” Jason shrugged, and it was Dave’s turn to laugh. “I may not have a college degree, Jason,” the older man said, “but I can read you like a book. You’re protective as hell of her. People might think she’s your daughter.” “People have,” Jason itted, with a grin. “Or they think I’m Marc’s son, from an affair.” “Well, I can prove ’em wrong on that.” Jason heard his own wry humor in his father’s voice. “I wondered, why you didn’t transfer to one of the universities when you finished your program here,” Dave itted. “I thought it might be a girl, but I never thought it’d be Anna.” A second shrug from Jason. Dave smiled slightly, but all he said was, “Well, if you really don’t mind the old man hanging around, let’s give it shot. I know some people in the housing office: how ’bout Monday, we go down and fill out the paperwork?” A tension Jason hadn’t known he was carrying flowed out of his muscles. The

excitement came back, making a grin bloom on his face. “You got it.”

CHAPTER 44

“Strange Acres”

Strange Acres was either the weirdest cool place on the planet, or the coolest weird one, Jason couldn’t decide which. Physically, the… complex, as Jason thought of it, was an eco-friendly collage of buildings set on 25 acres of prairie land. The “hub” was the main house, a domed building set inside a network of gardens. Wings radiated outward from the house like an octopus’ legs. The right “leg” was the Strange Brew Coffee Shop. The left, Jason knew from poking around, was Sebastian’s domain, his study and library. A third was an insulated greenhouse, and a fourth provided covered parking for both the family’s vehicles and customers of Strange Brew. Dave whistled soundlessly as he pulled into the Strange Brew parking lot. “Holy shit,” he whispered, taking in the solar s on the roofs, the wind generators in the gardens, and the sheer number of cars in the parking lot. “They’re set up good, ain’t they?” Jason grinned. “They’re okay.” He opened the door and jumped out, stretching. “Come on! Sebastian’s wife runs this place. She gives us free food when we play here!” The coffee shop was packed. Jason threaded through the crowd, his dad in tow, and grinned at the tiny lady behind the cash . “Hi, Mrs. Strange.” Clarissa Strange grinned back at him. She was a tiny spitfire, with dark eyes that snapped. Today she wore chef’s whites, with her shoulder length brown hair pulled back in a tail, and her scalp covered by a red bandana. She reminded Jason of one of those super-hyper little dogs, so full of energy they seem twenty

feet tall. “Jason! You made it!” Her words were sharp, but kind, spoken with speed and energy. She came around the counter and hugged him, ignoring his protests. Then she turned to Dave. “Who’s this?” “My dad, Dave Rolend. Dad, this is Sebastian’s wife, Claire.” “Hi,” Dave said. He had kind of a stunned look. Clarissa’s energy had that effect on people. “Nice to meet you!” Clarissa winked at him. “Jason’s told us a lot about you. Thank you for filling in tomorrow night. This dance is sponsored by all of the local businesses; without you guys bringing the crowds in, we’d lose our shirts. Jason, why don’t you take him out to the patio. I reserved a table for y’all, in the shade. What would you like, Mr. Rolend?” Jason watched his dad’s eyes glaze over as Clarissa’s words came at him rapidfire. “Just coffee,” Dave mumbled. “Black.” Clarissa raised an eyebrow; looked at Jason. “Really?” she demanded. He blanched. (The last person who had asked Claire for black coffee had gotten it, but then been beaten into submission by a steady stream of “samples” of flavored coffees, until they humbly apologized and asked for a different kind of drink.) “Whatever you bring’ll be great,” the youth said, taking his dad by the arm and guiding him out to the patio. “Come on, Dad.”

The patio looked really different, but then, Jason was used to seeing it decked out for Halloween, with a chimnea taking the edge off the autumn chill, orange jack-o-lantern lights strung along the top of the waist-high wall that ran around the cobblestone floor, and red and gold flowers on the tables. He’d never seen the fountain uncovered and working (the mist it produced cooled the air nicely), or the flower pots full of colorful flowers and mint plants. A cloth awning

stretched over the wall that contained the door leading back inside, providing much-needed shade. “That woman is a force of nature,” Dave mumbled, sliding into a chair at the long table under that awning. Jason laughed. It was quieter out here, and there was a nice breeze. “She’s cool,” Jason said. “You should see her at Halloween. They lay out a huge spread, out there,” he gestured toward the open prairie beyond the gardens, “with drinks in real cauldrons, and jack-o-lanterns, and a bonfire. Everybody comes here. There’s games, and trick-or-treating, and the band, and dancing. It’s a real blast.” “Damn,” Dave sighed. “Think your uncle’d let me sit in this year?” “Sure,” Rod said. Jason looked up to see his uncle and Tara walking over to the table. He glanced behind them, expecting to see Marc, Terri, and Anna. (That was the usual routine.) Nobody.

Jason felt a slow, savage anger begin to build in his gut. Marc had spoken exactly three words to Rod before heading out that morning: “See you there.” And there had been no cell phone calls, no text messages to Jason or Dave, during a five hour drive. Jason was willing to bet Rod and Tara hadn’t gotten any, either. He gave his uncle a close look. Rod’s face was bland, but someone who knew him well could tell he was tired. Jason glanced at Tara. The Witch had a fragile air; her eyes looked red. This whole thing with Marc and Terri had hit them hard. ‘I’m gonna have a talk with Marc,’ Jason decided grimly. ‘As soon as I can.’ Not now, though. Too obvious, and Jason was starving. “Only bad thing about playin’ down here,” Rod sighed. “It’s a long-ass drive.” He grabbed a chair as Clarissa came out, with a huge round tray full of drinks

and snacks. “Uh-oh,” Rod muttered, ducking his head. Clarissa set the tray down and leveled a razor-blade glare at Rod and Tara equally. “I have bone to pick with you two.” “We’re sorry, Claire,” Tara mumbled, looking down. “We just dropped our hat and did it,” Rod agreed. “We didn’t mean to leave you out,” Tara added. Clarissa snorted. Jason and Dave smirked openly. “Would you help us plan something?” Tara asked, meekly. Snacks and drinks began coming off the tray at warp speed. “I’ll think about it,” Claire said ominously, and whisked back inside. “You two,” Jason informed them, around a mouthful of very excellent coffee cake, “are dead meat.”

They were on the second round of drinks when Sebastian appeared. Jason grinned to himself. ‘If Dad thought Mrs. Strange was weird, I can’t wait to see what he thinks of Sebastian!’ He grabbed his drink, sat back in his chair, and prepared to be entertained. The wizard, Goth, whatever-the-hell-he-was (even Rod didn’t know) looked oddly casual today. Usually, when Jason saw him, Sebastian was decked out in a white tuxedo shirt (complete with cufflinks), black slacks, a ground-length trench coat, and an honest-to-God top hat. (No kidding.) Apparently, even Sebastian could be worn down by summer on the Plains, though: as he sat down at their table, he was wearing only slacks and a white shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms. His hair, so true a black the sun struck blue highlights off it, hung to his shoulders. His eyes were the same though: yellow as a cat’s, with vertical slit pupils, and even less humanity. Jason watched Dave’s eyes touch

those uncanny irises; move down to the tips of delicate, vampire-like fangs you could see even when Sebastian wasn’t smiling, and waited for the explosion. It never came. “Nice s,” Dave said, leaning over the table, hand extended. Sebastian smiled, sunlight striking gold sparks in his eyes. “Thank you.” His voice was a low baritone rumble. His eyes slid sideways; touched Jason’s; gleamed with subtle humor before returning to Dave. “I’m glad you could help us out, Mr. Rolend.” “Dave,” Jason’s father said, shaking Sebastian’s hand and sitting back in his chair. “Mr. Rolend makes me feel old. Is this where we’re playin’?” He gestured around them. “No.” Sebastian shook his head. “We’ll be playing in town, in the park. I would be happy to show you.” “Later,” Rod said. He stretched. “You track down Lashan and Shimmer, Sebastian?” The wizard inclined his head. “I did. She will sing for us.” “Marc’ll be glad about that,” Rod murmured, dry as sand. “Yes,” Sebastian agreed, mildly. “Terri wasn’t feeling well. They went straight to the room we set aside for them.” “Ah,” Rod’s voice was colorless. He and Tara exchanged a look. “But I am remiss,” Sebastian’s voice warmed suddenly with emotion. He smiled at them both. “Congratulations to you both. And on, the other side of the coin, condolences on your loss, Mrs. Poitra.” Tara, caught between grief and happiness, blushed, looking down at the table. “Thank you,” she murmured. “Did you get the thank-you card for the flowers?”

“We did,” Sebastian said gently. He looked around the table, then stood up. “Let me show you to the rooms you’ll be using. My sons and I can haul in the gear.”

CHAPTER 45

“I’ll take care of Marc.”

“This house is bigger than it should be,” Dave muttered, sotto voce, in Jason’s ear. Jason, one eye on Sebastian Strange’s back, just shrugged. Strange Acers lived up to its name in more ways than one. After two years of exploring, Jason had come to realize that the house was, well, strange. As Dave had noticed, it had more rooms on the inside than should be physically possible. (Jason had the sneaking suspicion that the house was a manifestation of Sebastian’s power, and not actually “built” at all. The first night he’d spent here, he’d stayed awake all night, afraid the room would close in on him the moment he closed his eyes.) “You’re very perceptive, Mr. Rolend.” Sebastian’s voice shattered Jason’s hope that he hadn’t heard Dave’s comment. The youth flushed miserably as the wizard glanced back over his shoulder, eyes gleaming. “You know something of architecture?” Sebastian asked. “I’m a general contractor,” Dave said with pride. (He’d worked hard to get that license. Jason had spent an entire summer helping his Dad study for the exam.) One of Sebastian’s brows rose. “Truly?” he asked. “Building had always fascinated me. Would you like to see the blueprints for my home?” “Love to!” Dave said fervently, a nigh-fanatical gleam in his eye. Jason smothered a grin.

“Now you’ve done it,” the youth informed the wizard. “You’ll never get rid of him.” “Shut up,” Dave said genially. Jason shook his head wryly, as Sebastian smiled. “Later this evening, perhaps?” the wizard suggested. “After rehearsal, if time allows?” “Sounds great!” They reached a door; Sebastian opened it, to reveal a comfortable guest room with its own bathroom and two full beds. Jason recognized the artwork on the walls; the light blue paint on the ceiling. A chill ran down his back. The last time he’d used this room, it had been on the opposite side of the house. Dave nodded politely; carried his duffle through the door. “You have time to relax,” Sebastian said. “I’ll show you the venue after it cools off.” “Thank you,” Dave said. Jason edged past Sebastian, who quietly closed the door and left.

Dave sighed, flopping face up on the closest bed as Jason set his stuff down on the other bed. “I’m gettin’ old, Jason,” he sighed. “I used to be able to drive 12-14 hours before I felt this tired.” “They had cars that long ago?” “Shut up.” Jason laughed. Now was the time to have that “discussion” with Marc. Dave was tired. He’d be out cold in about 10 minutes, and Jason could slip quietly out of the room. “Jason.”

He put on his innocent face, turning to look at his father. “Yeah?” Dave’s eyes, set inside the laugh-lines creasing his skin, were wide wake, and razor-keen. “I’ll take care of Marc.” “Whadda ya mean?” “Don’t play dumb with me, Jason.” His low voice was kind, but there was steel in it. “Go help them unload, and leave Marc to me.” Jason growled, dropping the act. “I agree with you,” his father said. “Marc’s being an ass. But this can’t come from you. I’m older than Marc; we’ve known each other for longer than you’ve been alive. He’ll take it from me.” Dave’s grin flashed, the cold one, the one that said, louder than words, that he was pissed off. “Let your old man deal with this, okay?” “You get all the fun,” Jason muttered, walking out the door.

Dave walked down the hall that Sebastian said led to Marc and Terri’s room. The cat-eyed Gothic bass player had been surprised when Dave had tracked him down in his study, but had given Dave the necessary directions politely. “I thought something was amiss,” he had murmured. “Can you deal with it before it effects the performance?” “That’s my plan,” Dave had said. Now, he stopped before what he hoped was the right door. (He couldn’t wait to get his hands on the blueprints of this place! How the hell had they been able to fit this many rooms in a structure this size?!) He took a breath and knocked. Terri opened the door. In spite of what Sebastian had said about her being sick,

she looked fine Tired, but fine. In fact, she looked… . “Whoever he is, he has to marry you, Terri.” She actually blushed like a teenager, ducking her head. “He already has.” She stood back against the door, to let him come in. Marc was laying on the bed, watching Anna play with the fluffy pup they’d adopted. “Hey, little one.” Dave waved at Anna, who froze. The puppy stood in front of her and growled at Dave, its little ears back against its head. “Easy, pup,” Dave crooned, holding his hand out, fingers curled against his palm. “I’m not gonna hurt her.” The puppy inspected his hand, nose working, then ventured a lick. “There, see? I’m okay.” He glanced at Anna. “What’s his name?” “Ffff… luffy,” she said, slowly, hiding behind her hair. “That’s a fun name.” Dave straightened up. “Thank you for letting me meet Fluffy,” he said seriously. Anna didn’t respond. She wouldn’t even look at him. ‘But she’s never talked to me before,’ Dave mused, feeling a delighted smile cross his face. “She’s never talked to you before,” Terri breathed; when Dave looked at her, she was beaming. She walked over to her daughter; stroked her hair. “Good girl, Anna! You talked to him just perfectly!” She looked at Marc, who smiled in return. “What’s up, man?” Marc sat up. Dave shrugged. “Got any smokes? I’m out.” “On the dresser.” Dave glanced over and saw a pack, on top of the stack-style dresser. “Come to think if it, I’ll ya.” “Outside,” Terri said quietly. “I don’t want to be around smoke right now.” Dave nodded, and let Marc lead him out of room.

They wound up way out back of the house, by a small lake. Heedless of ticks, Dave plopped down in the grass, pulled his lighter out of his jeans’ pocket, and lit a cigarette. Marc stood quietly, staring out over the water. “Terri looks good,” Dave said mildly. “Finally,” Marc mumbled. “I was worried about her.” “She been sick?” “Yeah. For too long.” “Cathy was sick for a long time with Jason.” But Marc shook his head. He hadn’t lit his cigarette, either. It was dangling, forgotten, from his fingers. “Not like this. She’s almost five months along, Dave. But she’s lost so much weight she can still fit into her clothes.” “What’s her doctor say?” “Nothin’ they can point to.” Marc began pacing; the long grass hissed! against his jeans. The cigarette was slowly shredded to bits as he moved. “I think she was scared, so scared it was makin’ her sick.” “Well,” Dave sighed out a cloud of smoke, “seems like she’s come to grips with it now.” “Ya know why?” Marc’s voice was brittle with fear. “Why?” “Some stupid dream she had. She said a woman appeared to her, and said everything will be fine.” Scorn dripped off his tongue and nearly set the grass on fire, it was so intense. ‘Now we come to it,’ Dave mused.

“And that made her relax?” he asked. “IT’S NOT REAL!!!!!!!!!” It burst out of Marc like a dam breaking. He stopped pacing; stood shaking, rage and fear emanating from him like heat from a stove. “Dave, she’s foolin’ herself! She’s convinced herself some being from the old stories has promised her that this baby will be… . normal.” The last word was spoken so softly, Dave had to strain to hear it. ‘Oh, God . . . ’ Dave said to himself, realization making his stomach sink. ‘This isn’t just about Rod or Tara . . . ’ “You’re afraid she’s setting herself up for a fall,” he said aloud, and watched Marc’s shoulders slump as Dave put into words his worst fear. “Yeah,” he almost whispered. “I am.” He paused; Dave sensed the tension gathering in him again. “Dave, what if it happens again? What if this one’s like Anna, too? Or even… . worse?” “Anna’s a beautiful little girl. She’s come a hell of a long way, in a short time. You can be proud of that.” “But she’s not normal.” The grief, the guilt in Marc’s voice were so thick you could cut them with a knife. “She’ll never go to college, never marry, never have kids…” The younger man’s voice trailed off. Dave looked away, embarrassed by the emotion on Marc’s face. For a moment, there was just the hum of the breeze through the grass, the ring of the silence. “It nearly destroyed us, coming to with Anna’s challenges,” Marc said in a stilted, flat voice. “If it happened again…” He gave a sudden, sharp bark of laughter, that had nothing of laughter in it. “We wouldn’t make it.”

Dave closed his eyes. Marc’s fear beat at him, icy-hot waves of emotion. He didn’t know what to say. What could he say? “Everything’ll be all right?” Marc didn’t want platitudes; he wanted rock-solid evidence. He needed rock-solid evidence.

“I can’t tell you everything’ll be all right, Marc. We both know life doesn’t work that way. But if this dream has let Terri relax, so she’s not sick, isn’t that a good thing? She’ll be healthier, and so will the baby.” Marc sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I guess.” He stood looking out at the prairie. A long sigh rippled out of his body. “I’m just an average guy, Dave. All I’ve ever wanted was a good job, so I can take care of my family. 401k, insurance; enough to pay the bills and maybe take a nice vacation now and then. I don’t want the mystic shit. I don’t want to be worrying all the time if I’ve offended some spirit and that they might punish me for it. And yet… every goddamn time I turn around lately, it’s smacking me in the face!” “Rod?” Dave asked, thinking he knew the answer. “Anna,” Marc sighed, flooring Dave so completely, it was a good thing he was sitting down. “HUH?” Marc nodded, slowly, wearily. “All these years, we thought her anxiety was part of her disorder,” he said numbly. “No. According to Lashan and Tara, she’s a… empath.” He said the word slowly, as if he were still fitting its syllables onto his tongue. “What’s that?” “She can feel other people’s emotions, so intently they become her own.” Marc shuddered like a fly-stung horse, as if he could throw this new revelation away, if he put enough force behind it. Dave shook his head, perplexed. “Maybe you should start at the beginning, dude… .”

CHAPTER 46

“Green icing.”

“You need a t.” Marc laughed. They’d smoked the pack. (Or Dave had, listening to Marc lay out one shock after another. No wonder the guy wasn’t acting right! If Dave had had half the shocks Marc had had lately, Dave would have done his best to hide in bottle of sangria.) “Terri would kill me,” the younger man said. He was laying on his back, staring up at the cloudless blue sky while late-afternoon heat glued his shirt to his skin. Dave leaned back on his arms, legs stretched out in front of him, and thought everything over. First, your wife’s pregnant and you’re out of work. Second, your daughter turns out to have gifts only common in sci-fi/fantasy books. Third, one of your best friends reveals himself as some kind of not-human, uberpowerful being. And last but not least, your daughter has a werewolf cub sleeping on her bed. Gotta love that one. ‘Forget the booze,’ Dave decided, ‘I’d be running naked down the street, screaming.’ He glanced at Marc. The younger man had a kind of… fragile, shelllike look, as if the pressure of everything he was carrying had scoured him hollow when it was finally put into words. ‘Get him laughing,’ Dave thought, worried. ‘That’ll help.’

“Well,” he drawled, “at least you don’t have green icing in your butt crack.” Marc rolled his head in Dave’s direction. “What?” “I was about… 17. And I showed up at old man Poitra’s place drunk and stoned. I think I wanted to borrow one of Rod’s record albums. The old man hated it when Rod’s friends would show up polluted. We, being complete ass-hats, thought it was funny. I walkin’ into Rod’s room and sittin’ down on the floor. Then I wakin’ up, and feelin’ that something was seriously wrong.” “Never out at a party,” Marc moaned. “Never.” “Or around old man Poitra. He’d had enough, he decided to make his point by smearing my butt, from top to bottom, with green frosting.” Marc just stared at him. “You doubt me,” Dave said. “Common reaction. Happens every time I tell this story. But it’s true. As I ran like a bat-out-hell out the front door, there was Rod’s grandfather, yelling, “And don’t come back here drunk!” Slow bubbles of laughter began escaping out of Marc’s mouth. “You’re lyin’. You made that up.” “Would I make up something that humiliating?!” Dave demanded. “I spent an hour in the bathtub, scrubbin’ that shit off!” Marc collapsed. He laughed so hard he couldn’t breathe, kicking his feet against the ground and gasping for air. “So glad you find my pain entertaining,” Dave snapped. That set Marc off again. “What did Rod do?” he gasped, wiping tears out of his eyes. “Laughed.”

“Asshole.” “He can be,” Dave agreed. “Ah, we all can,” Marc sighed, laughed still bubbling up in his voice. “I’ve been a complete schmuck lately.” “You?” Dave drawled, in his best neutral voice.

It worked. Marc shook his head, grass clinging to his hair. “Shit, Dave. Sometimes, I don’t know who Rod is anymore. I mean, there’s the guy we’ve both gotten drunk with, the one we jam with, the Ozzy freak; and then there’s this other guy, who can do downright freaky shit. Which one is the real guy?” “Both,” Dave said. “And that’s the really freaky thing.” Marc looked at him. “How do you do it?” he asked. “How do you accept it?” Dave shrugged. He fished for another smoke, found the pack just as empty as it had been the last time he checked, and shoved the empty container into his pocket. “Well,” he said. “It’s a lot easier than putting up with the alcoholic Rod. Those times, I honestly hated the second guy. He was killing a friend of mine. Now… .” He shrugged again. “Rod wasn’t happy when he stopped practicing. He’ll never it it, he may not even know it, but it was clear to me. Now, he’s practicing again. Kay’s death isn’t clinging to him like a shroud. Tara’s the best thing that’s happened to him in years, and he actually figured that out by himself. Do you have any idea how many laws of physics, that breaks?!” Marc snorted. Rod’s bad luck with women was second only to Dave’s. Dave himself smirked. “She doesn’t try to change him. Hell, she’s as freaky as he is. And he’s happy.

Yeah, he can do some freaky shit, but it’s good stuff. And he’s still the same sonofabitch who laughed at me as I was running out of his grandfather’s house with a green ass.”

Marc didn’t answer. When Dave looked at him, the younger man was staring off into the distance, an odd look on his face. “Is it that simple?” he asked, but Dave couldn’t tell if Marc was talking to himself or Dave. Then Marc changed topics. “What about Lashan? Did you know about him, too?” “Yes and no,” Dave said. “Rod and I met in second grade. Lashan was around then, and he’s around now, but he only looks about five years older. I don’t care how much dye you put in your hair, or how much plastic surgery you have, that ain’t possible.” “Whatddya think?” “Whatever he is,” Dave said, “he’s been a damn good friend to me.” Marc raised an eyebrow. Dave saw it, gritted his teeth, and opened up a bit. “When I finally divorced Catherine, all I wanted was full custody of Jason. I let her have everything else: House. Car. What was left of my credit rating. I thought if I gave her all that, she’d let me take Jason. Yeah, I know,” he said to the look on Marc’s face, “I was an idiot. But I was desperate.” The old, old pain swirled through his soul. ‘I gave that bitch EVERYTHING,’ his heart wailed, ‘and she still stole the one thing I wanted. I had to watch all her men ignore him, or hit him, watch HER ignore him or hit him, and I couldn’t do a goddamn thing ABOUT IT!’ He surprised himself: he had to stop, swallow, before he could go on. “And she still got my boy. I fought her for years, until I finally saw what it was doing to Jason. By that point,” he laughed harshly, “I had nothin’ left. I was selling t-shirts out of a piece-of-shit truck (all I could afford) on the powwow circuit, sleeping in the truck box at night. Lashan tracked me down. He found me a job, workin’ construction with some friends of his; ran me a loan for a hotel

room, clothes, and food. I’ve tried to pay him back, more than once. He won’t take it. After that, I guess it don’t matter to me, what he is.” “Wow,” Marc said softly. “I didn’t know, man. I’m sorry.” “It’s not your fault.” Dave got to his feet. “I don’t like to talk about it.” Marc nodded. Then he, too, slowly stood up, brushing stray bits of grass off his jeans and out of his hair. “Well, they’re making Anna’s life better,” he said, slowly. “Right. Marc, no matter how much they freak you out, you know these guys. They’re the same idiots we’ve gotten drunk with, stoned with, jammed with. They’d both give us the shirts off their backs.” A rueful grin stretched Dave’s mouth. “They have, on more than one occasion.”

CHAPTER 47

“She’s happy.”

Marc was still thinking about it as he found his way back to his and Terri’s room. In fact, he was so deep in thought he didn’t notice that Anna was gone when he walked in. “Terri?” he called, looking around. “Yeah?” she called from the bathroom. “Where’s Anna?” “With Jason.” An ember of guilt flared in his heart. Jason had spent the last two nights at Rod’s place, and Anna had noticed. “Alone?” he asked. “No. He and that daughter of Sebastian’s, Celeste, came and offered to take Anna to the coffee shop.” She mistook his silence for anger, snapping defensively, “Anna wouldn’t let go of Jason once she saw him. She’s missed him. And Celeste has always been good with her. They’re going to sit out on the coffee shop’s patio. Jason has his cell phone if they need us. They took the puppy, too.” “It’s okay, Terri,” he said, walking over to the open bathroom door and leaning against it. “Has Jason dropped the whole, “she’s-not-my-girlfriend” thing, yet?” (It was blatantly obvious to everyone else, but Jason and Celeste persisted in their delusion.) Terri snorted. She was standing in front of the mirror, toweling off her wet hair.

An unfamiliar duffle bag lay on the floor under the towel rack. “No. I wonder how Dave will feel about grandkids with pointed ears?” “That’s one funky gene he’ll love. The guy’s read “The Hobbit” so many times he can quote it from memory.” Terri laughed. She hung the towel up and grabbed her hair brush. Marc watched her silently.

She was still too thin. Her doctor had made worried sounds at her last appointment. (Marc knew because he’d insisted on going with her.) Maybe she’d start filling out now that she’d calmed down. ‘At least she’s not trying to hide it, anymore,’ he mused, looking at her. The loose, short-sleeved blouse she had on now was clearly a maternity one. “Where’d you get that?” he asked. (She’d given her own maternity stuff away years ago.) “Clarissa loaned it to me.” Color rose to Terri’s cheeks; she gestured to the duffle bag with the hand holding the hairbrush. “She said it’s one of her oldest girl’s, left over from Snow’s last pregnancy. Celeste offered, when she and Jason came by,” Terri explained in a rush. “I was just going to take a shirt, as a loan, while we’re here, but Clarissa brought a whole duffle bag of stuff. I didn’t want to offend her by refusing, so…” She shrugged. “You look pretty,” he told her, and watched the tension run out of her body. “I like it.” He did, too. The shirt was that burnt-orange color that looked so good on her. She looked cute in it, with the edges of white, denim shorts (those had to be maternity too, whether she liked it or not) just peeking out from under the shirt, her hair loose down her back. ‘She hasn’t had anything new in a long time. I’ll see if I can buy the rest of what’s in that duffle.’ Usually, second-hand stuff was cheaper, and he could pay cash, after they got paid out tomorrow night… . “You do? I do?” Terri’s voice was a little girl’s; her eyes, in the mirror, took up most of her face. Something twisted in his chest, looking at her.

He walked in; stood behind her with his hands on her shoulders. “Very pretty,” he said. Her face blazed with delight, erasing the lines tension and anxiety had etched into her skin. Suddenly, she looked 10 years younger. She looked… happy. ‘Rod wasn’t happy when he quit practicing . . . he is now.’ Dave’s voice ghosted through Marc’s head. Marc hadn’t seen Terri this happy in a long time.

She met his eyes in the mirror; blushed. “Do they make me look too pregnant?” “No,” he said honestly. He took the brush from her, began working the watertangles out of her hair. He could smell the light scent of soap on her skin. “Have a nice bath?” “Yes,” she sighed, titling her head back against him. He laughed softly. “What is it with women and baths?” “No idea. But we love them.” “Hmmm. You feeling better?” “Yeah.” He reached around her; put the brush on the edge of the sink. “A lot better?” He could hear the smile in her voice: “Hmmmmm.” “How long are the kids going to be gone?”

“Until I text them,” she murmured, meeting his eyes in the mirror. “Unless Anna gets upset. I told them I wanted to take a nap.” Marc lifted the hair off her neck, kissed the water-wet skin there. “Mind if I change your plans?” She giggled, blushing. Then she turned around titled her face up to kiss him. “No.”

“We should start thinking about names,” Terri murmured, later, in his ear. They were lying on the bed, curled against each other. He smiled. “Okay. Are we pleasing ourselves, or our parents, this time?” (War had nearly broken out over Anna’s name. Finally, they’d taken one letter from both grandmothers’ first names, and combined them.) “Ourselves,” Terri said, almost a growl. “Mom can get pregnant herself, if she wants to name some poor kid Zoë.” “That would be a miracle, considering your Mom’s age.” Terri smirked. Marc stretched; put his arms behind his head. “Boy or girl?” he asked. (Both of them had decided to let it be a surprise.) “Let’s start with boy.” “Michael,” he voted. “Ick.” She vetoed it. “Steve.” “I know a dealer named Steve.” “Forget Steve. Jason?” she proposed, with a sly grin.

“He’d die of embarrassment. Thom?” “My first boyfriend was named Thom.” “Forget Thom. Robert?” “Too many Roberts around here.” “Humm…” He thought for a minute, more to watch her watch him than anything else. “I haven’t seen you this happy in a long time.” “That would be a long name, Marc.”

He laughed. “No, I mean it. You look happy. Not scared, or stressed, or worried.” Terri shrugged. She laid her head on his shoulder. “It really makes you happy, doesn’t it?” he asked, and whether he was asking about the baby, or the Traditional stuff, he had no idea. She, not knowing where his conversation with Dave had gone, answered the obvious question. “The baby? Yes.” For the first time since they’d found out she was pregnant, her voice filled with excitement. “I want to do it right this time, Marc.” She traced patterns on his chest with one fingertip. “I know. No one knows what happened with Anna. I know we did everything right. But… .” He shifted, kissed the top of her head, and finished the thought: “But we still wonder.” “Yes.” It was a whisper; a confession. “I had such dreams with her, Marc,” she itted. “Things I never told you about. I wanted to teach her dancing, and beadwork, and take her to the powwows, like my folks did…” His heart squeezed. “And mine didn’t,” he said, quietly. A memory surfaced, one he hadn’t thought

of in years. “You were a pretty good powwow dancer in high school. You were always going to competitions.” “I was,” she itted, no false modesty in her voice. “Why did you stop?” he asked, trying to pull the reason out of his memory. She didn’t answer. He looked at her. And saw the reason in her face. “You stopped because of me?!” “I love you,” she said simply. “I knew I couldn’t have both. So, I made a choice.” He stared at her, torn between shame and pure, guilt-fueled anger. “Are you… blaming, me?” he asked, trying to hold onto his temper with his head spinning in shock. But she shook her head, quietly, peacefully. “No. I made my choice, and if I had it to do over again, I’d make the same one.” And she laid there, looking at him serenely, like she hadn’t just dropped a bombshell on him.

‘Rod wasn’t happy when he quit practicing . . . he is now.’ Dave’s voice echoed, for the second time in about an hour, though Marc’s mind. Terri was feeling better; she was excited. All because of a dream she’d had. She was happy. ‘Does it matter, if I don’t get it?’ he asked himself. ‘Look at her: she looks better than she has in months. She’s even picking out names. Whether I believe in it or not, that dream gave her something she needed.’ Something she’d given up, years ago, because she knew he was terrified of it. Something that made her happy.

‘I am the world’s biggest schmuck.’ “Start doing it again.” He heard the words come out of his mouth before he consciously chose to say them. Terri blinked; raised her head to look at him. “What?” “Start doing it again. You’ve been worried about getting back into shape after the baby. Start dancing. Share Anna’s lessons with Tara. Do it.” She froze. “But… Trad stuff… . .It terrifies you,” she whispered. “And your parents…” “They can shut up,” he said fiercely. “What are they gonna do? They live in another state, now; we see them for one week at Christmas. They can keep their opinions to themselves.” “You mean it?” she breathed. “It really won’t bother you?” He laughed. “Kitten, in the last week, I’ve found out werewolves are real; Anna has one sleeping on her bed; and one of my best friends isn’t human. After that, you going Trad doesn’t seem so bad. Besides,” he sat up and looked at her, “It makes you happy.” She started giggling. Then threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. “I can trade Tara, lessons in our dancing, for lessons in belly dancing!” A wicked gleam came into her dark eyes. “I know you’ll like the costumes,” she purred in his ear. Marc grinned, unashamed. “Oh, yeah.” If he’d been even five years younger, the name question would have been tabled, after that, what with fantasies of amber silk and exotic perfume wafting through his mind. Unfortunately, he was closer to 40 than 30. And while the mind was

willing, the body, damn it to hell, needed more recharge time. Marc sighed and went back to the name thing. “Kitten, just promise me one thing.” “Yes?” “Don’t give this kid a movie name, okay?” he pleaded, imagining years of, “What the fuck did you name the poor kid THAT for?” from his parents. Terri shook her head. “I won’t,” she promised. “Though I may ask Rod to find the kids’ Native names.” “And don’t make me wear leather. It chafes in really bad places.” “But,” Terri’s words had to work round the laughter that was still bubbling out of her throat, “you’d look so good in it!” “Kinky wench, aren’t ya?” She pulled back, and he was shocked to see tears in her eyes before she wiped them away. “Not that kinky.” She grinned, eyes dancing.

Then she paused. He could see the wheels turning in her head. “I know that look,” he said. “What have you come up with now?” “A name. Maybe.” She gave him a look, sly and devious. He snatched the thought out of her head. “Rod would never let you name this kid after him. You know it.” Terri wilted like a deflated balloon. But then she perked up again.

“What if we went back a couple generations?” “ what I said about movie names?” Terri shook her head. “No, not like that. Rod’s grandfather. His name was Rhys. ?” Marc raised his eyebrows, rolling the name around in his mind. “Rhys Ayers,” he said, slowly. “I like it, but I still think he’ll freak.” “If he says anything, I’ll tell him I found the name in a book,” Terri said. “He can draw his own conclusions.” “I love it when you’re sneaky.” “I know.” “But what if it’s a girl?” Terri shrugged, gnawing on her lower lip in thought. “Does Tara have a middle name?” Marc asked. “Elizabeth,” Terri answered, absently. Then they looked at each other. Marc could see the light bulb go on over Terri’s head. “We could shorten it,” Terri said, slowly. “To Beth, or something.” “Beth Ayers.” It sounded pretty, and refined. He grinned at his wife. “Watson, I think we’ve found it.”

He was almost asleep when Terri’s cell phone rang. Marc flung a hand out, slapped the bedside table a couple times, and found it by accident. “Yeah?” he mumbled. “Marc?” Jason asked.

“That’s me,” Marc itted, a line he’d picked up from Rod. Terri rolled over, asked softly, “Is it Jason?” Marc nodded. “The coffee shop’s getting busy, and Anna’s tired.” Jason’s voice took on an oddly plaintive tone. “Can… we came back now?” For some reason, it hit Marc’s funny bone. He was laughing too hard to answer, so he let Terri take the phone. “Yes?” she asked, sitting up on the bed. Marc heard Jason repeat the question. Terri’s eyes started to sparkle. She pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. “Sure,” she said. “See you in a bit.” She hung up and slapped Marc, teasingly, on the shoulder. “You embarrassed him! Don’t do that!” “I guess I should put some clothes on then, aye?” “Unless you want to explain to Sebastian and Claire why their daughter saw you naked.” Marc shuddered.

They’d barely made themselves presentable when someone knocked on the door. Terri raised her eyebrows, in her classic “I-told-you-so” look, which had Marc chuckling again as he swung the door open. It wasn’t Jason, Celeste, and Anna out in the hallway. Marc had never seen these two before in his life. The woman, in khaki slacks and an ivory blouse, was a lithe brunette with fascinating gold-flecked brown eyes. The man, in dark slacks and a grey shirt, had silver-dusted black hair, cut short, and startling blue eyes. “Marc Ayers?” the man asked. His voice was a low baritone. Marc nodded

silently. “My name’s Arden,” the stranger said. He gestured to the woman, who was radiating tension like a plucked guitar string. “This is my wife, Cammie.” Those blue eyes met Marc’s; moved to touch Terri, standing behind Marc’s shoulder. “Forgive us for intruding,” Arden said quietly. “But…” he swallowed. “My wife just couldn’t wait any longer. You see, you’ve been caring for our son.”

CHAPTER 48

“What is she gonna do?”

Rod woke up slowly, one particle of awareness at a time. He didn’t want to. The last couple days hadn’t been easy; the room Sebastian had shown them to was quiet, cool, and peaceful. If it hadn’t been for the fact he knew they needed to rehearse tonight, he would have said to hell with it and gone back to sleep. But this wasn’t the res, where you could coast through the first two sets because there was no audience yet, and half-ass it through the last two because everyone, yourself included, was too drunk to care how the band sounded. He and Dave had played together for years, off and on, but Dave had never played with Sebastian or the keyboardist, John Lavelle. And he’d never worked with Shimmer. At the very least, they’d need to jam a couple tunes, just to get a feel for each other. Still… “Can’t you conjure up something to take my place in rehearsal tonight?” he asked his Witch. “I wish,” she mumbled beside him. “But I’ve never crafted a fetch, and I don’t know if I could make one that could do something as complicated as playing music.” “What,” Rod asked her, “is a fetch?” “A magical construct, charged to do one task, for a set period of time.” Rod raised his forearm off his eyes; rolled his head to look at Tara. She was still mostly asleep. “How can you answer questions like that when you’re not even awake?”

“I’m awake,” she told the pillow. One dark eye opened to look at him. “See? My eyes are open.” He shook his head and got up. They stumbled blearily into the coffee shop, which had settled down considerably. Clarissa took one look at them and steered them both to a cool interior corner, away from the sun streaming in the windows. “You two look like you need this,” she said, setting two brimming cups of coffee down on the table where they had collapsed. “Coffee,” Rod agreed. “Caffeine,” Tara sighed, drinking it straight. “I’ll get you some snacks,” Claire said, and vanished. Rod curled his hands around the hot ceramic, trying to work the cobwebs out of his brain. It wasn’t easy. In fact, he was so far out of it, he didn’t notice when Dave walked up to the table. “Rod.” He looked up. “Oh. Hey.” “Are you hung over?” Dave asked incredulously, staring at him. “No. Just woke up.” “That explains it.” He gestured to one of the free seats at their table. “May I?” Rod shrugged. “Sure.” Dave pulled out a chair and sat down.

The table they were at offered a diagonal view of the door leading to the patio. As Rod started on a second cup, he caught sight of familiar people moving around out there. He caught Dave’s eye; gestured with his chin toward the patio. Dave turned around (his back was to it) and watched Jason, Anna, and Celeste Strange choose seats in the shade. His eyebrows rose. “Name?” he murmured, sotto voce. “Celeste,” Rod said. “One of Sebastian’s girls.” “Serious?” “Hard to say,” Rod replied. One of the waitresses came over with a plate of cookies, and coffee for Dave; Rod shut up until she was gone. “They hang out when we’re here, but you know Jason.” “He could give clams lessons in shutting up,” Dave agreed. He was quiet, studying what he could see of Celeste. When she came in and grabbed an order for three people, Dave turned back his back to her; as she left, he watched her. “Pretty,” he said. “Very Goth.” “Yeah,” Rod agreed. “She has a twin who’s the very imp of Hell, but she’s steady.” “That’d be good for him. He’s had enough chaos in his life,” Jason’s father mused, sipping his coffee. “What’s she think of the little one?” he asked. “Loves her,” Rod said. “Celeste’s helped us with Anna both times the band’s played here. She’s not using Anna to get to Jason. She really loves her.” “Stop spying on them,” Tara growled. The men turned innocent eyes on her, and she laughed at them. “You’re like two old matchmakers. Either it’ll happen, or it won’t.” Dave raised his eyebrows. “Fierce little thing, ain’t she?” he said. Rod grinned. “You have no idea.”

“Relax, Tara,” Dave said. He grinned at her, which made the color mount her cheeks. “I don’t push. Jason’ll tell me when he’s ready.” “You’re very patient,” Tara observed. Dave snorted. “I know my son. He’s like a cat. Try to push him, and he’ll vanish. Let him alone, and he’ll come to you. Like that thing with Ernnie. I heard about it through the grapevine, not Jason. He still hasn’t told me yet, but he will.” Rod shook his head at Dave, but the other man missed it. “What thing?” Tara asked. Rod shook his head again, slightly; Dave caught it this time. His eyes moved between Rod and Tara. “Should I… not have said anything?” he asked, slowly. “Said anything about what?” Tara looked back and forth between them, dark eyes alight with curiosity. Rod sighed, dropping his head between his shoulders. “While we were in New Mexico, Jason got in some trouble,” he confessed. “Somebody made some comments about Anna, and Jason beat the hell of ’em. He asked me not to tell you.” “Why not?” “Prob’ly ’cause of who did it,” Dave growled. “Ernnie’s a sleaze, and he has a thing about really young women.” “Women,” Tara asked, catching on far too quick, “or little girls?” Rod and Dave exchanged looks. That was enough for Tara. She shoved back from the table and stood up, eyes black with rage. ‘Oh, shit,’ Rod thought. He knew that look. That look had gotten Maggie Lavallie picked up in the jaws of a nightmare and tossed around like a dog toy.

“Tara . . . !” She ignored him, stalking out of the coffee shop like a hound on a scent. Rod jumped up. Dave stared at him, pale beneath his tan. “What is she gonna do?” he asked. “You don’t wanna know.” Rod grabbed his wallet, tossed some bills down on the table, and went after his wife.

CHAPTER 49

“Don’t… concern yourselves, with him.”

Tara never traveled without some magical tools with her. When they’d gone to New Mexico, she’d taken a mirror, Dragon’s Blood salve, lavender oil, and a pouch full of semi-precious stones. This time, she’d brought the Dragon’s Blood stuff, her ritual sword and dagger, candles, candle holders, a candle snuffer, and a mirror. When Rod caught up with her, she was in their rooms, pulling the mirror out of the suitcase she’d packed it in. Rod slowed down. She’d drawn the drapes and turned the light out. Two candles burned in cut-glass holders on the floor. Rod’s skin shivered. There was power here, angry and just and focused. “Tara?” he asked, warily. She had the same air that she’d had when she called up the Eater of Souls. “Did he hurt Anna?” she asked, in a far-too-calm voice, like someone gathering academic facts. “No.” Dave’s voice in the doorway made Rod jump. (It was easy to see where Jason got his curiosity, Rod thought sourly. Any sane man, Rod included, would have stayed in the coffee shop.) “From what I heard,” Dave went on, “he scared her, but that was all. Jason got there first.” His eyes touched Rod’s. “I also heard all the lodges are hunting for him. But nobody’s found him yet.”

Tara straightened her spine. When she looked at the men, Rod had to swallow. This wasn’t his wife. This black-eyed, white haired woman wore power like a cloak. She wouldn’t let little things like convention and mundane law stop her from meeting out justice. Her next words confirmed it. “Did you do that?” she asked Rod. “Yes.” “Will it work?” Behind him, Rod heard Dave draw a sharp breath. “He won’t have anywhere to hide, locally.” Honesty forced Rod to add, “But just locally. If he runs farther, or to a different res…” He shrugged. “You grew up with res-folk. You know how the rivalries work.” Her eyes took on that dangerous glitter, the one that said, louder than words, that she was beyond angry. “So he can still hide.” “Yeah.” She swore in Spanish, hands flexing convulsively around the edges of the mirror. “And if you could find him?” “Something could be arranged,” Dave drawled. He blanched slightly under Tara’s gaze, but held steady. “Cops talk, especially res cops. A word here, a word there…” He was actually able to shrug. “We could chase him out of the state. Is it as good as a beating? No. But he’d never be able to come back here, again.” “But you need to find him first.” “Yeah.” “What,” Tara asked slowly, “if I could find him for you?” “How?” Rod asked. “You didn’t bring your cards.”

She shook her head, candlelight gleaming eerily in her eyes. “Tarot isn’t the only divination method I use.” Rod drew a breath. This was dicey, he could feel it. And yet… ‘That sonofabitch frightened Anna. He touched ANNA.’ His mind flashed back to Lashan telling him to give Tara permission to do what the Witch needed to do. “This isn’t my property, I can’t give you permission to work your medicine here.” “Sebastian gave me permission, the first time I came here,” the Witch said. Her eyes fogged. Rod could feel her reaching, testing the feel of the energy around them. “There’s something about this place,” she said, slowly, as if she were murmuring to herself. “Anything done here will have far more power than usual. I might be able to get a clear enough image to figure out where that bastard is.” Rod took a breath. His blood was up. He couldn’t lie, not here, not now: he wanted to set his Witch free to hunt. A last grain of common sense prompted him to say, “Only if you can do it without breaking your..,” he racked his brain to come up with the right word, “your Rede. And all you do is find him, Tara. Nothing… else.”

She caught his meaning: he watched it cool her anger. She swallowed, then nodded, once. Then she looked at Dave, and a slight smile softened the fixed lines of her face. “You don’t have to stay, Dave.” Her voice was gentle. For some reason, it made the hair rise on Rod’s arms. Dave glanced at Rod. The pipe-carrier could almost feel the thoughts darting, like frightened fish, through the other man’s brain: What was Tara going to do? What the hell was “divination?” What would he see if he stayed? There were shadows behind Dave’s eyes, shadows that told Rod

Jason had confided in his father about what had gone down with Maggie Lavallie. Dave licked his lips. “No. If it’s all the same to you, I’d… like to see.” “Very well.” Tara’s voice was part of the shadows and the fire. “Come inside. But turn your cell phone off, and be quiet.” “Ok.”

Rod had watched Tara work her magick before, but having Dave there brought back all the strangeness of it. He knew, all too well, what Dave was feeling, watching Tara call in her power. He could almost hear Dave wondering what Tara was doing as she raised her arms, whispering under her breath; he could tell from how Dave shifted on the edge of the bed that the other man could feel the air charge as Tara focused her will on creating a sacred space to work in. When she invoked her Goddess, Rod knew Dave could feel eyes on him, just as Rod could. Tara laid the mirror in front of the candles and knelt, with all her dancer’s grace, over it. Her braid curved into the side of her neck as she gazed at the mirror, seeming to glow. Moments ticked by. Tara held herself very, very still. Rod couldn’t see her face, but he saw how her back tensed as time ed. “Oh no, you don’t,” the Witch murmured. “I serve Isis, Goddess of Magick, and Hathor, whose Mirror this is, and I want an answer to my question.” Dave caught Rod’s eye, tense, bewildered. Rod shook his head. Then the Witch hissed, softly. “Something’s blocking me. Let’s try something else.” She drew one of the candles toward her, settled herself into a more comfortable position, and sat gazing at it as if she could see secrets in the subtly-restless flame. And something came out of the candle.

Maybe it was a trick of the half-light. Rod was never sure. But he saw the shadows come out of that candle; watched the light it cast diminish, though the flame burned bight, solid, and steady. The air tightened, the power, medicine, magick, call it whatever fit, strengthening. He could feel his palms sweat. He wanted to wipe them on his jeans, but he didn’t want the subtle rustling to break Tara’s concentration. The Witch’s back straightened. She moved suddenly, sharply, snuffing the candle and scooting back until her spine touched Rod’s leg. He could hear her breathing: sharp, startled. “Tara?” She reached back with one hand. He sat on the edge of the bed by Dave and wrapped his fingers around hers. They shook in his grip. He could feel things watching them; feel them listening as Tara, oh, so, carefully, chose her words. “Don’t… concern yourselves, with him.” Dave drew a breath. “We don’t understand,” he said, cautiously, respectfully. The Witch just shook her head. “Don’t concern yourselves with him.” Dave’s eyes flashed in the dimness as he glanced at Rod. Rod shook his head, unable to put into words the subtle, profound warning he felt creeping over his skin. “We shouldn’t have asked,” he managed, eventually. Dave looked at him; looked at Tara, shivering at Rod’s feet; and didn’t say another word.

Rod had just opened the blinds (and was wishing he’d brought some sweet grass to burn, to cleanse the room) when someone knocked on the door. Everyone jumped as the sharp, staccato beats shattered the silence like gunshots. “Mr. Poitra?” Celeste Strange’s voice was slightly muffled, coming through the door, “Jason wants you at Mr. and Mrs. Ayers’ room right now!”

CHAPTER 50

“Are you going to be a big sister?”

Usually, hauling gear was a pain in the ass. Jason hated it. He didn’t mind sound check, he didn’t mind setting up, but he hated unloading, especially when he knew they’d just have to re-pack everything in the truck and the van, haul it to the venue, and unload it again. At Strange Acres, it seemed even more redundant. Nobody was going to steal things here. The last person who tried had had… . THINGS . . . happen to them. “Why are we doin’ this?” he bitched to Celeste Strange, as he staggered under the weight of the monitor in his arms. Somehow, in spite of the help promised by her brothers and father, Celeste and Jason were unpacking the equipment alone. Sebastian, Jason didn’t blame: he’d been called away by Clarissa, who said there were people who needed to talk to him waiting in his study. Greg and Xav… . well, Jason knew a ditch when he saw one. Celeste knew, too. Her cat-eyes (Jason knew they were not s) gleamed with tightly-controlled irritation. “Good question,” she replied. She put down the instruments she was hauling into the house and pushed her bone-straight, blue-black hair out of her eyes. Her yellow tank top was soaked in sweat; there were black smudges on her denim shorts and dust on her sneakers. Normally, she was as Gothic-skinned as Sebastian was, but hauling stuff had brought a flush to her face. Her jaw set in that way that told Jason she was fed up and going to do something about it. Flame-colored silk unrolled from her hands, wrapping around the monitor Jason was carrying, the instruments Celeste had been carrying, and everything else in all three vehicles. There was a soundless explosion, orange-colored light flaring before Jason’s eyes like a silent atom-bomb going off, and the weight in his arms

vanished. He staggered, caught off balance by the sudden change. He blinked sparks out of his eyes. Celeste had her hands on her hips, looking around the parking lot in satisfaction. “There. Done.” “Where did you put everything?” he asked. She shrugged. “In the basement. It’s where they rehearse, anyway.” She glanced nervously at the entrance to the coffee shop; caught his arm in a strong grip. “Let’s go see Anna, before Mom comes out here demanding to know why I magicked stuff in full view of the shop.” Jason grinned. “Rolend Escape Service, ready to bail you out when needed. Let’s go.”

“Jay. Son.” Anna wrapped her arms around his stomach, leaning against him. “Hi, sis.” Jason grinned down at her. Her pink shirt was covered in dog (‘Werewolf,’ he corrected himself) hair; her blue shorts had threads escaping the seams, courtesy of Fluffy’s needle-sharp teeth. Fluffy himself, not knowing that Jason knew the truth about him, grabbed the teddy bear he had claimed as his toy and brought it up to Jason, ears up, tail wagging. Jason froze. He wanted to grab Anna, shove her behind him, and drop-kick le loup garou as far from Anna as he could. Celeste (‘Does she know?’ Jason wondered wildly. ‘Should I tell her?!’) grinned at the pup. “Hi, baby.” She grabbed the teddy bear (it was missing an ear, and one arm was in danger of falling off, thanks to Fluffy) and gently wrestled over it with the cub. Fluffy growled, whipping his head back and forth.

“That’s Fluffy,” Anna told her. Celeste smiled at her. “Fluffy?” she asked. “Fluffy,” Anna echoed. Then she turned and pointed at Terri, who was standing behind her. “Baby,” she said. Jason grinned. Anna had been doing this, off and on, for months. It always made Terri blush. Celeste smiled. It looked kind of feral, what with the slight fangs she had, but in a nice way, if that were possible. “Are you going to be a big sister?” she asked Anna. Anna herself refused to look at Celeste and buried her face against Jason’s t-shirt. “She knew I was pregnant before I did,” Terri said wryly. “Where’s Marc?” Jason asked. He focused on the older woman, unable to watch Celeste play with a werewolf. “He and your Dad went out for a smoke,” Terri said. She was watching Fluffy play, worry-lines creasing the skin around her eyes. “God only knows how long they’ll be gone.” Jason looked her over. She looked tired. ‘I wonder how long she was awake, trying to talk Marc out of his latest freak-out,’ the youth wondered cynically. “Take a nap,” he told the older woman. “I’ll take Anna for a while.” He saw the longing in Terri’s eyes, and something that, ironically, Marc had said, echoed through Jason’s head: ‘It’s okay to take breaks.’ “You need a break, Mom.” “I’ll help,” Celeste offered. She straightened her spine, tossing the teddy bear out into the room. Fluffy pounced on it, growling. “The shop’s quiet now; we can sit out on the patio, away from people.” Her eye caught Jason’s, and suddenly, he

had to bite back a grin: Clarissa would be less likely to put Celeste on the carpet if Anna was around. “I don’t think so,” Terri said, slowly. “Thank you, both. Truly. But Anna won’t go anywhere without Fluffy, and d..dogs,” she tripped over the word, “can’t be around restaurants…” “Out on the patio, they can,” Celeste said calmly. “There’s a dog-walking group that brings their pets every morning. They sit outside.” Terri looked at her daughter, who still hadn’t released Jason, and at Jason, whose face gave away more than he knew, and a spark came into her dark eyes. “You have your cell phone, son?” Jason grinned. He knew that tone. “Right here, Mom.” He pulled it out of his jeans’ pocket. “If she acts up, you know the drill,” Terri said firmly. “Otherwise, I want a nap and a bath, so take your time.” “My sister left some of her maternity clothes here,” Celeste offered, carefully, delicately. “I mean, if you haven’t unpacked yet… . . .” Jason expected Terri to snap (she and Marc were fanatical in refusing anything that might resemble charity), but apparently the longing to be comfortable overpowered pride, this one time. “If… no one would mind. Just a loan,” she added hurriedly, fierce pride gusting into her voice. “I’ll wash and press them before I return them.” “Sure thing,” Celeste said easily. “I’ll tell Mom. She’ll bring some stuff over.” “Anna,” Jason said, peeling her off him. “Do you and Fluffy want cookies?” “Cookies,” she agreed. He took her hand. Fluffy, displaying intelligence that clearly was not normal, stopped shredding the teddy bear, and stepped up to her other side, letting Anna

curl her free hand around his collar. “Come on, sis. Let’s go get cookies.” “For Fluffy, too?” Anna wanted to know. Terri groaned; Celeste laughed. “We’ll find somethin’,” Jason promised, grinning.

The patio was still quiet. Jason put Anna in a seat in the shade, and glanced at Celeste. “What do you want?” he asked. Before she could answer, Anna climbed out of the chair and tugged on his hand. He looked down at her. “What, sis?” She tugged on his hand again. He sighed, reading her with the ease of long practice. “What?” Celeste asked, eyes dancing. “She wants me to sit down, so she can sit in my lap,” Jason explained. Celeste’s mouth twitched. Jason glared back at her, suddenly aware of how that sounded. ‘If she says anything,’ some part of him murmured, deep in his mind, ‘then she’s not what I thought she was.’ But Celeste just shrugged. “So, sit. I’ll go get us something.” Braced for mockery, or at least teasing (every other girl he’d hung out with had teased him about Anna,) Celeste’s easy-going reply rocked Jason back on his heels. He settled a hand on Anna’s shoulder, eyeing the wizard’s daughter narrowly as he searched for the insult behind her words. He didn’t find any, either in the words, the tone, or her face. Celeste stood looking at him, eyebrows raised, some strands of hair that had come loose from her ponytail hanging in her face. Jason shrugged mentally, and sat down. Anna climbed in his lap, while Fluffy (who had put the lawn they’d crossed on their way to the coffee shop to good use) investigated the fountain.

“I’ll be back,” the wizard’s daughter said, and walked into the shop.

She came back with a tray of drinks and food. Jason grabbed the cherry punch and turkey sandwich; put them in front of Anna while Celeste covered the cookies with napkins. (Like all kids, Anna would eat the cookies first, if she saw them.) “Do you want me to take her?” Celeste asked. “I got her,” he said, trying to hand Anna half of the sandwich with the ease of two years’ practice. She didn’t take it. (She wouldn’t until she felt comfortable.) He’d expected this: he put it down on a napkin and deliberately turned his attention to his own his own iced coffee. “Do your own thing,” he advised Celeste. “If you watch her, she won’t eat.” “I from last Halloween,” she said. She sat back, drinking her own soda pop. “Your uncle and Tara are inside,” she said. “Along with another guy.” “My Dad,” Jason said. “He’s playing lead for the gig.” “He seems nice.” “He’s cool.” Fluffy padded over; braced his front paws on Jason’s leg, and nudged Anna’s hand. She looked down. Then she broke some of the bread off the sandwich, gave the puppy that piece, and broke off a piece for herself. Jason shuddered. “You’re afraid of him, now that you know,” Celeste said quietly.

Jason’s head snapped! up. “How di… ?!” He trailed off; stared at her cat-pupiled eyes, her pointed ears. “You know, too,” he said, feeling oddly betrayed.

“All my family does,” Sebastian Strange’s daughter said. “Greg likes to hunt with the lycanthrope Packs; Snow…” “Heals them,” Jason interrupted her. “First Uncle Rod, then Tara, now you… Did everybody know about these things but me?!” Celeste laughed, but oddly, it didn’t piss him off. It was wry and kind and told him, without words, that she knew exactly how he felt. “Welcome to my world,” she said, tearing another section off Anna’s sandwich and popping it into her own mouth. (Anna responded to this blatant theft by actually picking the sandwich up and taking a bite out of it.) “Snow never talks. Greg never talks. Xav just looks smug and lets you know he knows more than he’s saying, and Collette…” Celeste rolled her eyes, exasperated. Jason grinned. Celeste’s twin was a very imp of Hell. Nobody wanted to know everything Collette had been up to. “And that’s not counting everything Dad knows and doesn’t tell.” “Try finding out, in one week, that werewolves are real, that you sister has one sleeping on her bed, and that you’ve got to take it away from her,” Jason shot back. He looked at Anna, who was staring off into space, lost in her own world. “Werewolves, and Uncle Rod knowing them by name, and Tara carrying around a loup garou scalp, I can handle, but how the hell are we supposed to take Anna’s “puppy” away from her?” Celeste tilted her head. Her cat-eyes went to Anna. The little girl seemed to come back from wherever she’d been. Bending his own head down, Jason saw how Anna’s eyes focused on Celeste. The air began to glow, softly. Maybe it was the sunlight, beginning to arch downward toward early evening, but Jason knew better. He could feel the prickle on his skin, like very, very tiny, low-voltage shocks. It made his teeth hum. Anna stretched out a hand; Jason saw the sparks of flame-colored light she plucked out of the air. She pulled her cupped hand close to her face, touching the sparks that pulsed there, like magical fireflies, with infinite wonder and gentleness. She lifted her head; offered those sparks to him. His breath froze. Anna stayed where she was, cupped palm held out to him.

‘Anna . . . she gets a lot more than people think she does.’ His own words came back to haunt him as he looked at her. “What do you see, Anna?” he whispered to her. Her head titled on her neck, dark eyes finding his. Then she leaned back against him… . . .

Color. That was the first thing he noticed. Everything was so colorful! Tiny rainbows danced across the table before him, like pieces of joy, if joy could be solidified and cut into something so mundane. When he reached out to touch them, they scattered, resolving into tiny, tiny beings with jewel-bright wings that laughed at him and sprang into the air. The air . . . it was full of tiny sparkles of color, and voices, that sang songs with no words, just joy. Sunlight fell like gold on his skin. He could touch it, feel its texture, pick it up and play with it like cloth. He stared, stunned speechless at the beauty of the world. Joy surrounded him. He felt safe and loved, snuggled in strong arms that kept scary things away. He turned to look at this person, and saw . . . Himself. Him.Self.

The shock of it threw Jason “backward,” if that was the right word. There was a moment of vertigo-inducing confusion, a wave of color/texture/scent, and he was back in his own body, looking down at Anna, who stared back at him, face oddly serene. He gasped for air. He felt like he’d been doused in ice-water. Tears burned in his eyes. He wanted to weep, bawl like a child, and run, run as far from the one who had done this to him as possible. “Are you okay?” Celeste had to repeat it a couple times, before he understood it. Somehow, she’d gotten out of her chair without him noticing. She was kneeling on the patio by

his side, watching him out of worried eyes. “I…” He stopped; swallowed; scrubbed at his eyes. “I just…” “She’s powerful, isn’t she?” Celeste’s voice was soft. “Anna did this?!” He stared at Celeste like she’d gone completely insane. Celeste nodded, slowly. “How?!” he yelped. “She borrowed on you,” Celeste said, looking at Anna with confusion in her eyes. “The way your uncle does with her, when he needs to make her understand something quickly. She must have learned to do it from him.” Jason shook his head. He grabbed for his drink, but his hands were shaking so badly, he nearly knocked it over instead. Celeste saved it; handed it to him. “Uncle Rod… he said, it’s not easy to learn, this borrowing stuff,” Jason stammered. “He said not everyone can do it.” “I guess Anna doesn’t know it’s supposed to be hard,” Celeste said with a gentle shrug. She bit her lip. Her expression changed to one of embarrassment. “Part of it may be my fault,” she itted ruefully. “I was trying to find out what she knew about Fluffy. Sometimes she’ll show me pictures, through the magick, if she feels like it. She didn’t this time. Instead, she answered your question.” Celeste shot Jason an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. I would have stopped her, but I didn’t realize what she was doing til it was too late, and then I didn’t want to scare her. She’s really strong.”

Jason stared down at his “sister.” Anna, strong? Anna, the one who could barely put together a simple sentence? Anna, perform medicine so complex even his uncle had to work at doing it? “You gotta be kidding,” he whispered to Celeste. The wizard’s daughter shook her head, cat-eyes oddly sympathetic. “No. I’m not.” “But…” Jason waved a hand at Anna. “LOOK AT HER! She can barely say her

own name!” Celeste stood up with a lithe, flowing grace. “Her mind works differently,” Celeste said. “Who knows what is easy for her? Look at all the autistic kids who can solve Rubik’s cubes, and count cards, like the guy that movie “Rain Man” is based on. Kids who can barely talk, yet can play a piano without ever taking a lesson.” She grabbed two cookies; handed one to Jason, and one to Anna. Then she leaned against the edge of the table, nibbling on a third cookie. “Maybe this is Anna’s gift. You said your uncle’s been working medicine on her a long time?” “Yeah,” Jason mumbled. The cookie in his hand smelled good; he took a bite, because, well, that’s what you did with cookies, and found his mouth flooded with cinnamon and sugar. “Marc and Terri said since Anna was 2.” Celeste’s eyebrows rose, giving her an even more elfin appearance. “That’s really young. She’d have been even more open to the magick at that age… .” She trailed off, studying Anna while licking cinnamon and sugar off her fingertips. “If he’s been borrowing on her since she was 2, maybe… maybe that is her normal, communicating like that.”

Jason couldn’t answer. His head was swirling with too much information, too many new questions. For the second time in one week, it felt like his world had turned upside down, the familiar becoming unfamiliar, bizarre.. frightening. “What does your uncle say every time Marc or Terri try to give him credit for helping Anna?” Jim Longbow’s voice chose that moment to ghost through Jason’s memory, raising a whole new set of chills that shuddered down his spine. He looked at Anna, happily munching her cookie, and felt his mouth go dry. “Others helping her,” he whispered. He looked at Celeste, eyes burning. “What if others were helping her, too? You’d call them Faeries, or Elves. Uncle Rod calls them nature spirits. What if they were using their medicine, too?”

Celeste leaned back on the table, eyes going wide in her face. “Is THAT what’s going on?” she whispered, as if she were speaking to herself. “I felt the Fae magick, of course,” she murmured, as if having a conversation with an invisible person, “but I didn’t know for sure, and so many of the Good Fae come to celebrate Samhain here…” Jason reached around Anna; caught Celeste’s wrist. “Earth to Celeste,” he said, only half-kidding. “Come back now.” She blinked, looking at him out of thought-clouded eyes, and suddenly he knew exactly how his uncle felt, dealing with Tara, when the Witch was in one of her, well, Witch-y moods. “You tell me what you know,” he offered, “and I’ll tell you what I know.” “Deal.”

Putting everything together took two more rounds of drinks, another plate of snacks, and a good part of the afternoon. By that time, the after-work crowd began to come into the coffee shop. The tables on the patio began to fill up. Anna tensed in Jason’s lap. Maybe it was because of what she’d done to him, but Jason could feel her fear. Too many new sounds, and colors, and, yes, emotions, lapping around her like a river rising, swiftly, to flood stage. Celeste seemed to sense it, too. “I wonder if the Fae magick was what kept her empathy from fading,” she mused, propping an elbow on the table, her chin in one hand, and studying Anna. “You know about that too,” he said, unsurprised. She shrugged, an odd motion, considering her posture. “Why didn’t you say somethin’?” “Sometimes it fades, as kids grow up,” she said. “I thought that might happen with Anna.” Jason sighed. “Can’t say as I blame ya,” he itted. “Considering how Marc is…” Celeste

rolled her eyes in mute agreement. (Marc’s phobia had come out during the last few hours.) “We should get her home,” he said. Anna was getting restless, a bad sign. Celeste nodded. But instead of getting up from the table, she leaned over and stroked Anna’s hair with one hand. Flame-colored mist flowed down Anna’s hair, spreading out around her like she was inside an amber-hued soap bubble. Jason stiffened. Anna herself blinked, then reached out, touching the light with curious fingers.

Something tickled Jason’s memory: the night Lashan had healed Thad and Rowan, and the emerald barrier that had sprung up between les loup garous, Rod, Tara, and Jason himself. ‘Tara called it something,’ Jason mused, wracking his brain. ‘What was it . . . ?’ “Shield,” he blurted out, finally tracking it down. “You just put a shield around her!” Celeste nodded. “There are different types. This one’s for empathy. Snow could tell you the exact difference, I’m not that good at explaining it, but it’ll keep Anna from getting overwhelmed.” Sure enough, Anna was settling down, more interested in playing with the magick she saw than anything else. It was cute and creepy at the same time. “How long will it last?” Jason asked, intrigued in spite of himself. “As long as I want it to,” the wizard’s daughter said with a casual shrug of her shoulders. “One more question,” Celeste asked, changing the topic abruptly. She leaned forward, curiosity like a torch in her eyes. “What did Anna show you?” Jason shuddered, not because it had been horrible, but because that sense of beauty, of wonder, of pure, absolute innocence, was gone, leaving a great, gaping hole in his heart.

“How she sees things,” he whispered, and grabbed his phone.

CHAPTER 51

“The cub’s parents are here.”

To his surprise, Marc answered Terri’s phone. “Yeah?” the man mumbled. Jason blinked. This wasn’t the guy who had left the res this morning. Marc sounded relaxed, sleepy, even… happy. “Marc?” Jason ventured, not sure what to think. “That’s me,” Marc itted, a line he’d picked up from Rod. In the back ground, Jason heard bed springs creak, and Terri’s voice asked, “Is it Jason?” ‘Oh, God!’ A guess as to just why Marc sounded so relaxed made Jason blush, horribly embarrassed. “The coffee shop’s getting busy, and Anna’s tired.” He paused; tried for a delicate-yet-casual tone: “Can… we came back now?” He must have failed utterly, because Marc burst into laughter. The older man must have handed the phone off to Terri, because she came on the line next. (Though Jason could still hear Marc, cackling like a deranged hyena, in the background.) “Yes?” Terri asked. “Umm, Terri? The coffee shop’s getting busy, and Anna’s tired. Can… we came back now?” There was a pause. Jason felt his ears burning. Then, “Sure,” Terri said. “See you in a bit.”

As they left the patio, Anna walking between them and Fluffy scouting, nose to the ground, through the grass, Celeste suddenly went rigid. “What is it?” Jason asked, ready, at this point, to accept anything from aliens to Ents. Her answer proved him wrong. “The cub’s parents are here,” she said, turning wide, blurred eyes on him. “They’re at Mr. and Mrs. Ayers’ room.” He opened his mouth to say the usual, “What?”, “Why?”, “How?”; closed it without a word. This was Sebastian Strange’s daughter. Who knew how she knew what she knew? Maybe her father had told her, mind-to-mind, like Lashan could do with Rod. Maybe she’d sensed the presence of lycanthropes in her home. Hell, maybe the wind had told her. Instead, he asked, “Can you get my uncle? And Tara? And bring them to Marc and Terri’s room?” “Yeah.” “Do it. I’ll take Anna and Fluffy back to the room anyway.” Celeste nodded, flame-colored light beginning to gather around her. “Oh, Celeste!” Jason snapped, quickly, before she vanished or teleported or whatever she did, “Watch Tara. She hates les loup garous. I don’t what she’ll do.” Celeste’s eyes flashed. “She won’t cause any trouble here,” Sebastian’s daughter promised grimly, and faded into the air.

CHAPTER 52

“Please. Just… let me have my son?”

Part of him doubted Celeste, still, until suddenly, Fluffy’s head came up, ears swiveling forward. He froze, nose working frantically. A little whine came out of his throat. Then he barked and took off like a little furry bullet toward the house, still barking. Anna stared after her puppy, confused. Then, with no warning, she yanked free of Jason’s grip and raced after Fluffy! “SonofaBITCH!” Jason swore, sounding eerily and unintentionally like his uncle, and took off after Anna.

How a seven year old, special needs child could move that fast was beyond him, but the fact remained that Jason was panting and sweating by the time he caught up with Anna in the hallway where Marc and Terri’s room was. She had Fluffy in her arms and was staring, motionless, at a slender, brown-haired lady Jason had never seen before, but who made his skin crawl. He put on an extra burst of speed; darted between Anna and the woman. “Hurt her, and I’ll kill you.” He didn’t even recognize his own voice. In Jason’s pocket, where he always carried it now, Jim Longbow’s carving burned like a hot coal. The woman stepped back, turning her head away like someone trying to shield themselves from a hot stove. “I’m not going to hurt her,” she said. Her voice was wobbly, clogged with tears. “Please. Just… let me have my son?”

“It’s okay, Jason.” His uncle’s voice went through him like a sword blade. Jason’s head whipped around. Rod, Tara, Dave, and Celeste were standing behind him. Dave looked like someone had hit him in the back of the head with a board. Tara looked faintly sick. Celeste was watching Tara the way a cop would eye a potential troublemaker. Rod looked… sympathetic. Rod’s eyes moved past Jason; touched the woman. “Cammie, right?” he asked her. His voice was oddly gentle, considering he was talking to a werewolf he didn’t know, who was closer to Anna than he was. She nodded, screening her face with her hair. “Rowan told me about you,” the pipecarrier said. “Jason, this is the cub’s mother.” “Prove it,” Jason said ruthlessly, not moving an inch. A low, rippling growl rose out of the tangle of bodies behind Cammie. A second stranger, a man with ice-blue eyes and short, black-and-silver hair, flowed ominously up by the woman. “Don’t threaten my family, boy,” he rasped. “Don’t hurt Anna,” Jason shot back. “Oh, for the love of God!” Terri, of all people, pushed her way to the front of the crowd, reached around Jason, and took Anna by the hand. “Would you all just settle down!?” she demanded, glaring at all of them equally. “Jason, chill out. Nobody’s going to hurt Anna. Arden,” she fixed the blue-eyed stranger with a look, “nobody’s threatening your mate or your son. Anna,” Terri drew her toward Cammie and knelt down, “this is Cammie,” she told Anna, gently. “She’s…” “Fluffy’s mammith,” Anna said, clearly. Jason’s mouth fell open. He stared at Anna, gaping like a fish, as she pulled free of Terri, walked up to the female lycanthrope, and put Fluffy in her arms.

There was a moment of stunned silence. Then Cammie burst into tears. And, before anyone knew what would happen next, a massive, russet-furred wolf was grooming Fluffy and Anna, whimpering low in her throat.

CHAPTER 53

‘Good God above, they really are werewolves!’

‘To say the last 2 hours have been a confusing mess is to give confusing messes more credit than they deserve,’ Marc said to himself. He was sitting down in the Stranges’ unfinished basement, where the band usually rehearsed, on a bar stool. They were supposed to be practicing, but Marc hadn’t even picked up his guitar. He couldn’t focus on the music. His mind just kept going over the last few hours, like a stuck record.

When Arden and Cammie had announced themselves at Marc’s door, his first impulse had been to grab Terri, shove her out the window, and try to buy her enough time to get Anna and escape before he died. He’d even grabbed her around the waist, when Arden held up his hands, palms out, in the universal noharm gesture. “Please,” the male lycanthrope had said, pleadingly. “We mean no harm, to you or your wife.” Something had flickered in those Nordic eyes of his, a flash of pain or desperation or fear. “You’re parents,” Arden had added. “Imagine having your child go missing, for weeks. Not knowing what was happening, not knowing if he was alive or dead…” Marc took a breath, ing the blast of panic that had shot through him when Anna had wandered off up at Melbourne Lake. For 45 minutes, as he had scoured the shoreline, he’d had visions of finding her body in water. When Jason had found her, alive, safe, and feeding her lunch to Fluffy, Marc had had to fight off tears. It hit him again, as he looked at Arden and recognized what was in the werewolf’s face. “You really are, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Yes.” The woman stepped forward, reaching out a hand. “Is he here?” she asked. “Is he healthy?” She sounded like Terri, talking about the new baby. Marc glanced down at his wife. Terri stood with her hands on his chest. (Had she been trying to push him away, or hold on to him?) She was looking at Cammie, dark eyes unreadable. She felt his gaze; looked at him. Marc raised his eyebrows, silently asking her opinion, in the wordless fashion of long-married couples. One side of Terri’s mouth crimped. She didn’t know yet. But she was willing to take the chance. “Come in,” Marc said, and stepped away from the door.

You could tell what they were by how they moved: a long-limbed, restless grace that reminded Marc, forcibly, of the way the wolves paced in their cages at the zoo. Indeed, Arden couldn’t stay still. He prowled the carpet between the queen size bed, and the smaller twin bed that Anna slept in when they were here. Cammie focused on the ripped-up teddy bear Fluffy had claimed as his own. She picked it up; held it against her cheek as she sat on the end of Marc and Terri’s bed. “It’s my fault,” she itted. Her voice was a clear, amber-hued alto; her goldflecked eyes swam with tears. “We were supposed to wait in the study, and let Derrick Lashan and the shaman speak to you first, but…” She drew a deep breath. Tears streaked down her face. “This is his toy, isn’t it? I can scent him on it.” ‘Scent?’ Marc thought, chills racing down his back. ‘Good God above, they really are werewolves!’ “Yes,” Terri said, stepping in and covering his silence. “Unless I put it up out of his reach, he’ll drag it all over with him.”

Cammie’s shoulders started to shake. “We’ve missed so much,” she whispered. One of the things Marc loved about Terri was her warm heart. Before Anna was born, she’d come home incandescent with rage, telling of taking a kitten away from a bunch of teenagers intent on tormenting it. The kitten had lived with them for a year, until Terri had found a family she trusted enough to give “Mr. Boots” too. (As far as Marc knew, Mr. Boots was still living like a king, the pampered housecat of an older couple, with a bevy of un-spayed females to entertain himself with.) Just now, though, Marc wished Terri had a little more caution, because she sat down next to Cammie and put an arm around her. “It’s all right,” the human mother told the lycanthrope one, as their husbands looked on helplessly. “It’s all right. He’s a clever little th… one. Very intelligent. Someone frightened Anna, and your… cub, he defended her so well, Ernnie backed off. You can be proud of him…” “I’m s..s..sorry,” Cammie stammered. “When we got here, so close to him, and I caught his scent… I couldn’t wait! I just couldn’t…” “It’s all right. He’s with Anna and Jason. They’re coming back from the coffee shop. Please don’t cry, or I’ll start crying, too…”

Marc looked at Arden, who looked horribly embarrassed. “It hasn’t been easy,” the male lycanthrope said. “I can imagine,” Marc replied. “The day Anna found him, she wandered off and it took us almost an hour to find her. I was going crazy.” Arden sighed, nodding. “When he vanished, I tried to go after him, but the medicine there blocked me. I could hear him, calling us, but I couldn’t get to him.” Marc shuddered, imagining being able to hear Anna calling for him, but being unable to get to her.

“God, I’m sorry,” he told the lycanthrope, and realized, to his amazement, that he meant it. He stared at this supernatural being, and saw, not a monster, but a fellow parent, trying to protect his son. ‘Holy shit!’ he said to himself, looking at Arden. Of all the shocks he’d gone through lately, this one seemed the most profound. He swallowed, and covered his discomfort by going into the bathroom and getting some tissues. “Here,” he said gruffly, thrusting them at Cammie. She nodded, not looking at him, her long, light brown hair shielding her face. “Th..thank you,” she whispered. “No problem,” he mumbled, studying his shoes.

There was a discrete knock behind him. Marc turned, transparently glad to have something to do, and saw Lashan standing in the open doorway, Sebastian Strange beside him. Over their shoulders, Marc could see three more strangers. Lashan sighed. “I told you this is where they’d be.” His voice rumbled around the room. Sebastian shook his head. “And you were right,” the bass player said. “Mr. Ayers, I apologize for this. I hope everything’s all right?” He didn’t seem surprised, Marc noted, as if he already knew about the existence of lycanthropes. ‘Of course he does,’ some sarcastic part of him drawled. ‘Look at him! If anybody’s going to know about werewolves, it’s a guy who wears cateyes and a top hat.’ “I think we need to redefine “all right,” Marc said, looking around. “Who are they?” he gestured at the strangers with one hand. “More of the pack, come to kill us if we don’t agree to give the pup back by moonrise?” “Marc!” Terri snapped. “It’s all right, Mrs. Ayers,” one of the newcomers said. She parted the bodies before her like water and stepped into the room without asking for permission. “He’s not far wrong.” She turned gold-flecked brown eyes (startling and

attractive, when paired with sliver-gilt blonde hair) on Marc. Her voice didn’t resonate with power or arrogance or challenge, yet the hair went up on the back of his neck as he met her steady, unblinking gaze. “My name is Laylah, Mr. Ayers, and I am the Alpha of Arden and Cammie’s Pack. I am here to see Aidan safely returned to his parents, though not through violence. This land has long been considered neutral territory by my people.” Marc rocked back on his heels. The blonde gazed back at him. She was built, he could tell that even under the conservative business suit she wore, muscled like a female body builder, but it was more than that. She wore a mantel of natural authority; you couldn’t help but look at her, want to follow her lead. And, apparently, raise the hackles on every other woman around her. Terri released Cammie, rising to her feet. Marc winced. He knew this vibe. Whenever it came up, no matter which bar he was playing at, it meant things were going to get ugly. He reached back; caught Terri by the wrist; drew him against her. The blonde raised eyebrows that were as dark as her eyes. Terri herself leaned against him, arms around Marc’s waist, and met Laylah’s feral gaze with one of her own. The tension stretched. Marc didn’t move. Neither did the women. Then, suddenly, Laylah smiled, a bright thing that lit up the room. “You could run a Pack of your own, Mrs. Ayers,” she said. “I plan to,” Terri shot back, freeing one hand to place it on her stomach. Laylah laughed, and the tension drained out the air like water out of a sieve. “Cammie,” the Alpha said, turning to Fluffy’s mother. “You did agree to let Lashan and the shaman prepare them for this.” “I want my son!” As upset as she’d been, Marc had expected a wail, not a rippling snarl. He spun Terri away from Cammie, put her against the wall as the female lycanthrope came off the bed like a desperate wolf. Her eyes, he noticed with a nauseous terror, had gone yellow.

Marc had half-forgotten Arden. He ed now, watching the male pluck his mate out of the air with one hand, restrain her while she fought, blindly, not seeing who anyone was, just wanting to get to her cub. “Marc.” Somehow, Lashan’s voice penetrated the chaos. The younger man looked up to see Lashan motioning him out of the room. ‘Best idea anyone’s had all day!’ he thought, skin crawling in atavistic horror. He pushed Terri past the two strangers (another man and woman, who moved into the room as Marc and Terri moved out of it) and through the door ahead of him. Someone, he didn’t know who, slammed it shut on his back. He heard a sharp, definitive click! and knew someone had had the brains to lock the damn thing. He hustled Terri away down the hall, Lashan and Sebastian playing rear guard. Terri herself buried her head against his chest. She was quiet, which meant she was scared. He put his arm around her. “They really are as feral as wolves, aren’t they?” he asked Lashan when they finally came to halt. The Goth nodded. He hadn’t driven down with anyone, Marc ed suddenly, yet here he was, in his usual head-to-toe black, hair pulled back in a braided tail. “Did you magic your way down here?” Marc asked wearily. (At this point, what was one more shock, anyway?) “You could say that,” Lashan itted. “I had to track down Shimmer first, and convince her to sing for the gig. She was being stubborn about it, or I woulda been here shortly after you guys.” “Of course,” Marc deadpanned. He turned on Sebastian. “Why do I get the feeling you know everything, too?” “Because I do,” Sebastian replied. “Humble, isn’t he?” Lashan drawled, shooting the cat-eyed bass player an

irritated look, which Sebastian ignored. “And it doesn’t bother you?” Marc asked. Sebastian shrugged. “I’ve seen many strange things in my life, Mr. Ayers. The existence of lycanthropes is merely one more thing to add to the list.” “Yeah,” Marc commented, eyes on the door of his room, through which came the muffled sounds of all hell breaking loose. (Strange must have commercial-grade sound proofing in these walls.) “I know how you feel.” “Terri,” Lashan asked, “are you okay?” She nodded. She hadn’t moved, or eased her grip on Marc. (His ribs were starting to ache, but he refused to say anything.) “Mrs. Ayers, you don’t have to be here for this,” Strange said, gently. “You’re welcome to relax in the living room, or my study.” Terri’s unbound hair brushed against Marc’s arm as she shook her head. “No.” Her voice was low. “It just surprised me, that’s all. I want to see this through.” Sebastian opened his mouth to argue. Marc caught his eye; shook his head. ‘No,’ he mouthed. The last thing Terri wanted right now was to be coddled. Strange raised his eyebrows, but ceded the field. And a puppy’s high-pitched bark shattered the silence.

The closest door the to outside was about 50 yards down from Marc and Terri’s room. It swung open with comical slowness, almost as if Marc were watching a movie, and Fluffy darted through it, Anna on his heels. Several things happened at once: Anna caught Fluffy and held him to her chest.

Rod, Dave, Tara, and Celeste Strange came charging down an intersecting hallway. Behind Marc, the door to his and Terri’s room shattered like kindling. Cammie came barreling through the opening. And Jason appeared behind Anna, sweaty and disheveled and furious. Jason put on an extra burst of speed; darted between Anna and Cammie. “Hurt her, and I’ll kill you.” Marc opened his mouth to say something, he never knew what, when Cammie drew a knife’s breath. She was staring at Fluffy (who was hanging quietly in Anna’s arms, hind paws dangling) the way someone dying of thirst would gaze at an oasis in the desert. “Aidan?” The word was so soft, Marc barely heard it. The snarling beast of just a few moments ago was gone. In its place was the woman Terri had comforted. She flinched away from Jason, like someone trying to shield her face from a hot stove. “I’m not going to hurt her,” she said. Her voice was wobbly, clogged with tears. “Please. Just… let me have my son?” Rod’s voice made everyone jump. “It’s okay, Jason.” When Marc stared at him, stunned, he saw honest-to-God sympathy in the pipecarrier’s face. Rod’s eyes moved past Jason; touched Cammie. “Cammie, right?” he asked her. His voice was oddly gentle, considering he was talking to a werewolf he didn’t know, who was closer to Anna than he was. She nodded, screening her face with her hair. “Rowan told me about you,” the pipecarrier said. (‘Who’s Rowan?’ some part of Marc’s mind wanted to know.) He almost missed Rod saying: “Jason, this is the cub’s mother.” “Prove it,” Jason growled, not giving an inch.

All this time, Marc had thought of Cammie as the dangerous one. (Females with cubs always were.) But it was Arden who stalked forward to stand shoulder-toshoulder with his mate. “Don’t threaten my family, boy,” he rasped. “Don’t hurt Anna,” Jason shot back.

Marc pulled free of Terri. There was no way he could take out even one of them, he knew that, but he’d be damned if he’d stand by and let Jason defend Anna alone. Across the crowd, he caught Dave’s eye. The older man never moved, but they’d been in enough bar-fights together that Marc knew Dave had his back. ‘I wonder if he still carries that boot knife? Might buy us a bit of time . . . . ’ “Oh, for the love of God!” Terri, of all people, pushed her way to the front of the crowd, reached around Jason, and took Anna by the hand. “Would you all just settle down!?” she demanded, glaring at all of them equally. “Jason, chill out. Nobody’s going to hurt Anna. Arden,” she fixed the male lycanthrope with a look, “nobody’s threatening your mate or your son. Anna,” Terri drew her toward Cammie and knelt down. “This is Cammie,” she told Anna, gently. “She’s…” “Fluffy’s mammith,” Anna said, clearly. Marc’s mouth fell open. And as they all stood there like idiots, his seven year old, special-needs daughter pulled free of Terri, walked fearlessly up to Cammie, and put Fluffy in her arms. There was a moment of stunned silence. Then Cammie burst, again, into tears. And, before anyone knew what would happen next, a massive, russet-furred wolf was grooming Fluffy and Anna, whimpering low in her throat.

Arden turned, helplessly, to the one person he deemed sane in this collection. For better or worse, that person, Marc discovered, was him. “I don’t understand,” the lycanthrope said, trembling. “That’s her word for mom,” Marc said, eyes drawn to the utterly surreal image of Anna getting her nose licked by a werewolf. “I don’t know how, but… I think, she understands who you are, who the pup is.” “How?!” Arden demanded, staring at Anna as if she were a cobra. His shaking was getting more intense. “I don’t know,” Marc said, just as helpless as Arden felt. “We can try to ask her, but it’ll have to be later. Too much going on right now for her to answer.” Arden let out a sound that may have been agreement, or frustration, or sheer pain, because as Marc watched, the other man’s form… . rippled, nauseatingly, and a massive wolf, with silver dusting his outer coat and ice-blue eyes, seized his son by the scruff of the neck and began licking the cub’s ears. Terri stood up slowly. She was pale beneath her tan. “Mr. Strange?” she asked, in an odd, tight, high-pitched voice, “I think I’ll take you up on that offer, now.”

CHAPTER 54

“I’ll get Snow.”

“Either you let Lashan look you over,” Marc said with tight-strung patience, “or I’m taking you to the local ER.” Terri had glared at him. Everyone else in the study (the entire group who had been in the hall) was staying studiously out of the argument. “No,” she said. Marc turned on his heel. “Where are you going?!” she demanded. “To get my keys,” he said levelly. “Rod,” he drafted the pipe-carrier mercilessly, “tie her down until I get back.” “I’m stayin’ outta this,” Rod vowed. “Damn straight you are,” Terri growled. “Mrs. Ayers,” Sebastian intervened, proving he was either incredibly brave or suicidal, “if you prefer, my eldest daughter, Snow, is a trained midwife. She has attended many women.” Marc raised an eyebrow; turned on his wife. “That’s okay by me,” he said, “as long as someone looks you over.” “Snow knows what she’s doin’, Terri,” Rod said quietly. “She does,” Lashan agreed. “Yeah,” Jason added. (There was a story there, Marc realized, looking at all three ers. But he didn’t want to know it.) If Terri had been feeling herself, she would have exploded like Krakatoa.

Instead, she sighed, shoulders slumping, which told Marc he’d been right to insist on this. “If I agree to this, will you all at least leave?” she asked, plaintively. “Sebastian promised me quiet and relaxation, ?” “I did,” Sebastian agreed. “Gentlemen, the study is Mrs. Ayers’ as along as she wishes.” “Except Tara,” Terri added. The Witch blinked, but nodded. “I can make up a calming tea, while Snow is with you,” the older woman said. She glanced at Sebastian for permission. “If you don’t mind me raiding your kitchen.” “Not at all.” “I’ll get Snow,” Celeste said quietly, and slipped out the door of the study on cat’s feet. “You’ll need another room,” Sebastian said. “I’ll show you where it is, Mr. Ayers.” “Thanks,” Marc agreed. The lycanthropes had destroyed more than the door to Marc and Terri’s room. When Marc had gone in there, after Arden and Cammie had taken Fluffy and vanished out into the prairie with their Packmates, there had been gouges in the sheet rock from ceiling to floor, mattress stuffing falling like snow, and blood stains on the carpet. No one would be sleeping in that room for weeks, at least, and certainly not tonight. “I’ve got Anna,” Jason said. (He hadn’t let go of her since everything had gone down.) Anna herself didn’t seem to know what to feel about her puppy being reunited with his family. She seemed shell-shocked. It set off warning bells in Marc’s brain. Unless they got her meds in her, soon, the quiet would dissolve into trembling, and then a full-blown episode. “Jason,” Marc said, as the men all filed out of the study, “get into our carry-on and get one of her PRNs. Give it to her ASAP.”

“Got it,” Jason said. He pried Anna off his hand, ed her to Rod, and took off at a trot.

CHAPTER 55

‘The werewolf is gone. Life can get back to normal now . . . ’

His memory paused, ready to start the cycle again, when Marc heard a voice saying his name. “Mr. Ayers?” Marc blinked, and the basement swam into focus before his eyes. “Yes?” he asked. Snow Strange stood in front of him, her long, dark hair pulled back for once, a gentle smile on her face. In spite of that, a bolt of pure fear jolted him off the bar stool. “Terri?” he asked, in a voice he didn’t know. “She’s fine. The baby’s fine.” His muscles went loose, all of a piece. He slumped back down onto his seat. “Thank God!” “Mrs. Poitra’s with her,” Sebastian’s daughter, and now Marc’s personal favorite, said. “We made up a tea. It will help Mrs. Ayers relax and won’t hurt the baby.” “You’re sure?” he asked. Snow blinked, looking like a startled owl. “Yes,” she said, as if mildly stunned that someone would dare question her skills. “After she’s calmed down, Mrs. Poitra will take her to your new room.” “I told you she knows what she’s doing,” Rod’s voice said. Marc blinked; looked past Snow to see the drummer sitting on the old, threadbare-and-comfortable couch that the band usually fought over.

“How long have you been here?” he demanded. Rod raised an eyebrow; looked at Snow. “See what I mean?” he asked her. “Yeah,” she said. “What’re you talking about?” Marc asked. “You,” Dave said, making Marc jump slightly. Dave was sitting on the other bar stool, guitar in hand, idly running scales while cycling through the settings on his pedal. “You didn’t even know we were here, did ya?” the older man asked. “Yeah, I did,” Marc lied. “Liar,” Dave said kindly. He glanced down at his hands and started the intro to “Stairway to Heaven” by Led Zepplin. “Doctor?” he asked.

Rod sighed. He got up and walked over to Marc. “Cigarette,” he asked, hand out, like a surgeon demanding a tool. Lashan (‘When the hell had he gotten here?’ Marc wondered,) pulled one out and handed it over. “Lighter,” the pipe-carrier said. Lashan put one in his hand. Rod handed both to Marc, who couldn’t get the lighter to work. “Why are my hands shaking?” he asked rhetorically. “Nerves,” Dave said. Rod grabbed the lighter; flicked it; held it out for Marc to light the cigarette. “Sebastian,” the pipe-carrier said. “A shot of brandy, please.” The bass player seemed to materialize out of the cool dimness of the basement, cat-eyes gleaming. “Indeed,” he said, looking Marc over. Marc took a drag, and felt reality solidify a bit.

“I should move our stuff,” he mumbled around the cigarette. “All ready done,” Lashan said. “Half an hour ago.” “Anna?” “With Jason and my sister,” Snow said. “The PRN is working. I’ll check on them, if you like.” “Please.” She nodded. “Have another hit,” Rod advised him. It seemed like a good idea, so Marc did, and realized he was hungry, starving, in fact. “Is there any food?” he asked. Sebastian, on his way up the stairs behind Snow, called back, “I’ll bring some, along with the brandy.” Marc nodded. A third drag, and his hands quit shaking. ‘Terri’s okay, the baby’s okay, Anna’s okay. The werewolf is gone. Life can get back to normal now . . . ’ “Food,” Sebastian announced.

Marc jumped! The cherry fell off his cigarette and burned through a thin patch of his jeans. He jumped off the bar stool, swearing viciously and beating at his legs. “Goddamnmotherfuckingpieceofshitcrap! FUCK!” Something snapped! He grabbed the barstool; flung it at the far wall with every ounce of pent-up fear, anger, worry, and frustration in his system. The bar stool sailed over the couch (Rod and Lashan had the good sense to hit the floor) and crashed! into the far wall. Marc stood staring at it, chest heaving. “Feel better, now?” Dave asked, after the echoes died, dry as sand. Marc stared at the four pairs of eyes looking at him…

And started laughing. “Fuck, Sebastian,” he gasped at long last, plopping bonelessly onto the concrete floor. “I’m sorry.” “Worry not, Marc,” his host said, chuckling. He was far more relaxed when he was down here, in the “rehearsal pad” than anywhere else. “I’ve done similar things.” “We all have,” Rod said. He was calmly inspecting a tray of sandwiches. “Roast beef and Swiss,” he said gleefully, snagging it. He dodged Dave’s grasping fingers. “Get your own, ya damn mooch!” “But I want that one,” Dave said plaintively. “We don’ ahways get wha’ we wan’,” Rod mumbled through a mouthful of sandwich. “Asshole,” Dave said cordially, grabbing the second roast beef on the tray. He tossed a third sandwich, turkey and avocado, to Marc, along with a bag of potato chips. “How did you get all this down the stairs? Let alone so fast?” Marc asked, staring at the large tray of food sitting on top of the monitors. “I have five children, Marc,” Sebastian murmured. “Producing food, quickly, is a necessary survival skill.” Marc surprised himself: he laughed at the wry, parent tone in Sebastian’s voice. “There are sodas in the cooler,” Sebastian added, pointing to the large rectangle that filled up the wall behind Rod’s drum set. “But first.” He took a mini bottle and glass out of his coat, filling the later with the former. “You need this, Marc.”

Marc swallowed the bite in his mouth and took the glass. There was more in it than you could swallow at once, but he slammed it anyway. It hit his throat like fire and knives, wrapped in satin. For a moment his eyes teared up, and he could feel the heat all the way down his chest. The second sip went down like heated

honey. He sighed, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. The muscles in the back of his neck began to unknot. “Better?” Rod asked. “Ask me after the second round.” Dave chuckled, somewhere in background. Lashan’s voice had a wistful tone in it as he said, “God, I miss that stuff.” “Don’t even think it,” Rod warned him. “Yes, Mom.” Marc held the glass out. “Refill, please.” “Only one,” Sebastian told him. “I don’t want our wives to gang up on me.” The image that conjured, of Clarissa and Terri ing forces, made every man in the room shudder. Marc felt Lashan’s eyes on him as he drank the second round; he ed, all too well, the blind craving that made your hands shake and your mouth water, imagining that first, fiery taste… . “Okay.” He put the glass down on the sandwich tray with a definitive thunk! “Let’s get practicing.” “You sure?” Rod eyed him, warily. “Yeah.” Marc picked up his guitar; swung the strap over his head. He let his eyes flick, briefly, in Lashan’s direction, then back to Rod. “You got it,” the drummer said. He walked over to his drum set. “Lashan!” he barked. The Goth jumped. His hands were shaking, Marc noticed. “Get your woman and Lavelle,” Rod ordered. “While we get tuned up.”

Lashan pounced on the task with a desperation that told Marc how close the Goth had been to cracking. “Right! I’ll be right back!”

Amazingly, it helped. After all the weird shit that had gone on in the last two weeks, rehearsing felt as solid and real as eating bread-and-butter. Marc lost himself in chords, cues, and timing, blocking everything else out. It wasn’t hard to do: Dave and Rod had been playing a long time; they were good, and they knew it, and they liked to push themselves. On top of their usual tunes, which included Ozzy’s “Bark At The Moon” and “Perry Mason,” Dave brought in “Stairway to Heaven,” and “The Battle Of Evermore” by Led Zepplin. Sebastian bullied their reluctant keyboard player, John Lavelle, into another Ozzy tune, “Mr. Crowley,” over John’s objections: “If I have to play that intro one more time, I’ll impale myself on my keyboard.” “Keyboards don’t have sharp enough edges,” Sebastian pointed out, mildly. “I don’t care. I’ll do it anyway.” “Oh, quit whining,” Lashan snapped at him. “This from the king of whiners,” John informed the room at large. Marc snorted. Dave glanced his way, eyebrows raised. “They’re always like this,” rhythm player told lead. Dave whistled, soundlessly. “Wait till showtime,” Marc informed him. “It’s like insult comic meets The Three Stooges.” “HEY!” Lashan and John chorused. “See what I mean?” Marc asked. “What about you?” Dave asked Shimmer, who was lounging, cat-like, on Lashan’s lap.

The only woman in the group, Shimmer was drop-dead gorgeous. She looked too delicate to take the constant one-liners that zinged through the band, even with her Gothic-black hair and a tattoo on each shoulder, but Marc knew better. Shimmer was a feral cat in human form, and only Lashan got to see her purr. Now, she smiled sweetly at Dave, full lips curving sensuously. “Oh, I’m as bad as they are.” Her speaking voice made Dave shiver; her singing voice could rasp or soar, hitting notes with crystalline purity and beauty. Now, her black eyes clouded. She turned to Lashan. “Do you really want to do “Diary of a Man?” she asked him softly. “Yes.” He stroked the back of her neck with gentle fingers. “I need to.” Marc glanced back and forth between them. “It’s just a song,” he said, trying for a joke. “It’s not like you’re really nuts.” A thick, smothering silence fell. Lashan stiffened. Shimmer moved sharply, as if she intended to get in Marc’s face, but the Goth held her in his lap. “Oh, but I was, Marc,” he said, lightly, lightly, eyes burning with a black, acidic humor. “Four years ago. Completely, foaming-at-the-mouth crazy.”

Marc’s mouth went dry, embarrassment swamping him in icy-hot waves. “You’re kidding,” he rasped. “No.” Lashan’s eyes were pools of pain; his grin was bleak and razor sharp. Marc glanced at Rod. The drummer wouldn’t look at him. He shuddered. “Fuck, dude, I’m sorry. I didn’t know… .” “Not too many do.” Lashan shrugged his shoulders, tossing the subject off by sheer force of will. “Anyway, that’s what Shimmer’s worried about. She thinks

the lyrics might… bring up old memories.” “She ain’t the only one,” Rod murmured, low. “I can handle it,” Lashan growled, steel in his voice. “If you all can handle the music.” That stung, and stung deep. Marc’s chin came up as Dave snapped, “I can play anything you throw me, ya sonofabitch.” “Prove it,” Lashan shot back. Mark took a breath. His fingers ached; his back hurt. But he’d be damned if he’d let a challenge like that go unanswered. “Fucker,” Dave snarled. He stood up, shook his hands out, and gathered them all together with a glance. “C’mon boys. Let’s kick his ass!” He pumped his effects pedal, picking the eeriest setting. “Man’s” intricate intro shivered through the air, backed by John’s ominous keyboard harmony. Marc shivered, ing his earlier comments about Dave’s playing. Clearly, the guy was as good a metal player as Lashan, when he wanted to be. Lashan himself grabbed the vocalist’s mic; the energy and pathos he put into the opening lyrics made Marc’s skin crawl: “Screaming at the window/watch me die another day . . .”

CHAPTER 56

“F… f… five thousand?! Dollars?!”

“Marc!” The rhythm player stopped in the hallway, a couple doors down from the new room Sebastian had provided. “Quiet, man!” he said, low, as Dave jogged up to him. “Anna can hear mice rustling miles away!” It was late, around 1 am; the last thing Marc wanted was to wake up his daughter, and, by necessity, Terri. “Sorry,” Dave whispered, lowering his voice. “But I wanted to catch you before you went to bed.” “What?” “First, thanks for what you were going to do for Jason today,” Dave said, seriously. “When that loup garou threatened him. I know what you were thinking.” “You were thinkin’ the same thing,” Marc muttered, embarrassed. “’Sides, he’s Anna’s brother.” Dave sighed. “Yeah, I’ve heard.” “You okay with it?” Marc asked, suddenly aware that Dave might not like another man “adopting” his son. Dave shrugged, a rueful look on his face. “Yeah. It used to bother me, yeah, but not with you,” he said, with unexpected

candor. “It was after I spilt with Catherine. She made it impossible for me to live close by, while Rod was livin’ in Minneapolis and within just a couple miles of Jason. He was the one the school called if they needed to; he was the one who went to parent-teacher conferences and back-to-school nights; he was the one who took Jason to get his driver’s license… Even when Jason pissed Cathy off, it was Rod she’d ship him to, not me…” He trailed off, swallowing. Marc winced. He couldn’t imagine having to stand back and let another man raise Anna. Dave shook his head. “Listen, I’m glad you’ve taken him under your wing, you and Terri. It’s good for him.” A tension Marc hadn’t known he was carrying drained out of his shoulders. “Thanks, man. We don’t know what we’d do without him.” Dave tilted his head. In the half-light of the hallway (the Stranges kept low nightlights along floor level to help people find their way) his eyes gleamed. “It’s because I know you’ve got Jason helping, that I wanted to run somethin’ past you.” “What?” “Sebastian grabbed me after you left rehearsal,” the other man said, a current of repressed excitement replacing the despair under his voice. “I told him I’m a general contractor. He wants me for a job. A big remodel of his wife’s coffee shop: expanding it and putting in a stage, dance floor, and a mock bar, where people can get the drinks she serves. It’s a big job, a least a month, and what he’s offering for pay…” Dave whistled. “I’ll be honest, man,” he went on candidly. “I need the work. Tiff and I are done. She made one too many comments about Jason, and I told her to take a long walk off a short cliff. I’ve got the clothes on my back, and that’s it. This job could set me up, and create more. We’ve worked together, you an’ me. You want in, you got it.” Marc leaned against the wall, excitement beating in his brain.

“What’s the pay?” he asked, warily. ‘Like it matters,’ his common sense said. ‘It’s a month’s work!’ “Starts at $5000.00 each,” Dave said. “Might go up, depending on what we find when we get going.” Marc felt his knees go. He started sliding down the wall, stunned, while his mind did happy dances and turned cartwheels. “F… f… five thousand?! Dollars?! EACH?!” Dave grabbed his arm, pulled him to his feet. “Yeah!” The older man laughed, breathlessly. “Exactly. And we’d get free room and board. Sebastian told me there’s a kind of cabin-thing out by where you and I were smokin’ today. It has plumbing, and a small snack fridge. We could stay there while we’re workin’.” Marc ran a hand through his hair. “Holy fuck,” he whispered. ‘Five thousand!’ his mind jabbered. ‘That would get us in the clear, with enough left over for extras. I could get Terri those clothes, and Anna needs new stuff . . . . I’d be gone a month, but we’ve done that before. Jason’s there, and Rod, and Tara . . . ’ “I’ll need to run it by Terri, but I know what she’ll say. She’ll tell me to take it. I’m in, man.” Dave’s grin flashed, white, wild, and not a little relieved. “I’ll tell Sebastian,” he said, spinning on his heel. “He’s still down in the basement. See ya tomorrow.” “Yeah,” Marc said, dazedly, “tomorrow.”

CHAPTER 57

“They couldn’t sleep unless they were together, could they?”

His mind was buzzing so excitedly that at first he didn’t notice what was in his and Terri’s rooms. He sat carefully on the edge of the bed, trying to move quietly enough that Terri, out cold under a light blanket, wouldn’t wake up. He eased his shoes off, kicking them under the bed as usual, then his shirt. In the twin bed, Anna whimpered, and as he usually did, he cat-footed over to check on her. She looked up at him, wide awake and waiting for him as she always was when he came home late, moonlight pouring through the open window and illuminating her face. He eased her hair out of her eyes. “Waiting for me, my girl?” he whispered. She rolled over (she’d been laying on her side) and, oddly expressive, curled against him. “Da,” she said, against his chest. “Dad’s home,” he murmured to her. “You can go back to sleep, now.” A little lupine face lifted out of the shadows between Anna’s feet and the wall, just as a shadow filled the open window screen. Marc looked at Fluffy, curled up in his usual spot on any bed Anna slept in, and at the adult shape-shifted lycanthrope looking in the window, and let his head droop between his shoulders. “Let me guess,” he sighed. “They couldn’t sleep unless they were together, could they?” he asked Arden, whose blue eyes, gleaming the moonlight, gave his identity away. Fluffy’s father nodded his head, the human gesture oddly creepy when made by a wolf. Marc sighed. Then, knowing what Anna probably wanted,

he got up, found her favorite plastic cup sitting on the dresser, and filled it from the bathroom faucet. She drank it down without fussing, rolled over and went back to sleep. Marc and Arden stood looking down at their children. “You know this is just a temp fix, right?” Marc asked. Arden nodded again. “Tomorrow,” Marc decided. “We’ll deal with it tomorrow.” Arden sighed, then vanished out of the window. When Marc looked out the screen, he saw Arden and what had to be Cammie, curled in the grass, right up against the wall. A bubble of sheer, ridiculous laughter welled up in his throat. “G’night, puppies,” he whispered, waving. One of the adults snorted; the other bared its teeth in a lupine grin. Then all three parents went to sleep.

He woke up waaay too early for someone who had gotten to bed around 2 am. But children and puppies were daylight beings, and there was one of each looking at him as he came out of the bathroom in his jeans. “Da,” Anna said. She was sitting on Terri’s side of the bed, in shorts and her favorite Fairy-themed t-shirt, while Terri put her hair in a neat braid. Fluffy sat in her lap, watching Marc out of bright black eyes. “Argh,” Marc sighed, trying to shake the cobwebs out of his brain. Usually, it took two cups of coffee; since Terri had gotten pregnant, the smell of brewing coffee made her sick, so he’d had to learn how to wake up sans caffeine. “Sorry, love,” Terri said. She was a daywalker: fully dressed, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. “Get in late?” “Around 1.” He sat on the edge of the bed; fished for his shoes. “What time is it?” “8:30. How’d it go?” “We’ll rock the t.” He put on his shoes. “Would you be okay if I brought some coffee back, baby? I need it.”

Terri scrunched her face up, thinking, then nodded. “I think so.” “Good.” He stood up. “I’ll be back.” “Love?” “Yeah?” “You’ll need to put a shirt on,” she informed him, eyes laughing. “I like the view, but Clarissa might not.” Marc stopped, hand on the door knob; looked down at his bare chest. “Oh. Yeah.” Fluffy barked; a soft, hesitant knock sounded on the door. Marc swung it open, shirt be damned. Anyone who came visiting this early deserved what they got. “Yeah?” he asked.

Arden and Cammie blinked at him. ‘More damn daywalkers,’ Marc thought in disgust. It wasn’t right. Les loup garous should be even more fucked-up at this hour than he was, not looking like they were on their way to a high-powered business meeting! “Whadda you want?” he asked, as Fluffy nearly killed him by darting between his feet, barking ecstatically. The werewolves exchanged a look. Cammie had one of the large-order bags from the coffee shop. Arden had a drink carrier in each hand. From the scent (Marc drew a breath) at least one of the drinks was coffee. “I… wanted to apologize,” Cammie said, a blush on her cheeks. “For yesterday.” Marc was too groggy to be polite. “You’re the Traditionalist, baby,” he called over his shoulder. “Is it good or bad

medicine to accept peace offerings from werewolves?” “Marc!” Terri pushed him out of the way. “He’s not a morning person,” she apologized. “Come in, please.”

“We didn’t know what you liked, so we brought a variety,” Cammie said slowly, easing past Marc. Arden, who clearly had a better grasp of priorities, in Marc’s opinion, handed Marc a large cup. “It’s black,” the loup garou warned. “Thank God,” Marc sighed. “Haven’t had coffee in months.” “Trying to quit?” Arden asked. Marc gestured with his head toward Terri, who was helping Cammie get things out of the bag, while Fluffy frisked around their feet. “Coffee was the “ick” item this pregnancy.” A look of pure horror filled Arden’s face. “That,” he said, slowly, “is just… not fair.” “Tell me about it.” Marc sat on the edge of the bed; took a drink; shuddered in pure, caffeine-addicted ecstasy. “You can turn me into one of you, if you’ve got a refill of this stuff.” “I can get more,” Cammie said. Marc looked up; she handed him a doughnut on a napkin. “He’ll offer to be your slave, now,” Terri teased. Marc glared at her. She ignored him. “I’m so glad Sebastian gave us this room,” she said. “The extra space is nice.” She was sitting in a little “reader’s nook,” tucked into the corner of a far wall, with a lounge chair, a small table (now covered with muffins, doughnuts, and other breakfast paraphernalia) and a lamp (now on the floor.) Anna was in her lap. Cammie and Arden were squeezed together on the twin bed with Fluffy. “So,” Marc said, and to hell with the small talk, “when did you give up last

night, dude?” Arden sighed. “The seventh time I had to stop him from trying to sneak into the house.” “You’ve got more patience than I do,” the human father told the lycanthrope father. Arden chuckled. “Not really. I wanted to give up after the third time, but Cammie refused to quit.” “I thought about coming to you,” Terri said. She smoothed Anna’s hair with one hand. “She was better last night than either of us hoped, but even Jason was at his wits’ end. She just would not settle down.” “She still looks tired,” Cammie said. “It’s the PRN,” Marc said. “She’s always a little groggy after she has one.” “PRN?” Cammie asked. “Sedatives,” Marc said. “We give them to her as she needs them, when she gets upset, to keep her from getting really bad.” He shook his head. “I’m amazed it worked. She’s had far worse nights over far less than having to give her puppy away. The night Rod and Tara got married, she spit it out before it took effect, and all we did was go to the little reception-thing at the café.” “Bad night,” Terri agreed, hugging Anna close. “We wondered what would happen,” Cammie itted. “Aidan told us how much he loves her.” Marc blinked. “Is this decaf?” he asked Arden, pointing at his coffee. “‘Cause I coulda swore, your wife just said the cub told you he loves Anna.”

Arden chuckled, low.

“We are neither wolves nor human. We can do things neither race can. We can speak, mind-to-mind. Not the way science fiction would have it, in words and sentences, but in images and emotion. Aidan did tell us about Anna. He showed us pictures of playing with her, sitting in her lap,” a small grin sparkled in Arden’s eyes, “sleeping on her bed. The emotion in those images… it left no doubt.” Marc felt his eyes widen. He looked at Terri, who appeared equal parts fascinated and creeped out. “But… he’s just a baby,” Terri said. “How…” “We age differently,” Arden explained. “Use language, as we are now? No, of course not. We have to learn that just as you do. But the image-speech? He’s old enough for that. He was old enough by the time he was weaned. Often, children are better at it than adults.” “Amazing,” Terri whispered, shaking her head. “What’s amazing,” Cammie said, “is that Anna knows that speech.” Marc dropped his coffee cup. Or would have, if Arden hadn’t moved faster than humanly possible and snatched it out of the air before it spilled scalding-hot coffee down Marc’s legs. The human stared at Cammie, completely missing the cup Arden held out to him. “Anna?” he whispered. “Our Anna?” Cammie nodded. Her eyes were sympathetic. “I am sorry to give you yet another revelation, Mr. Ayers, but it’s true. Aidan told us. Showed us. He gave her pictures of when he was little, in the whelping den we picked out.” “Call me Marc,” he said absently. “Our kids sleep on the same bed.” “Marc,” she agreed, gently.

“He told you this?” Terri whispered. Cammie nodded. Her eyes fogged; a mother’s smile softened her face. “Yes.” “He re things from when he was that young?” “He re the scents and textures clearest,” Cammie said, softly. “He’s a cub. But he was also able to give your daughter clear images of Arden and me, in both lupine and human form.” “Clear enough that she recognized you,” Terri breathed. “How?” “We have no idea,” Arden said. “We’ve never heard of a human being able to use image-speech, but the evidence is in front of us.” He nodded toward Anna. “You said yourselves, she took this far better than you dared hope. Why? She knew who Cammie was. How could she have known? Who could have told her, in a way she understood? Only Aidan. No one else had any idea, until just a few days ago.” “He’s right,” Terri breathed faintly. She was staring at Anna with a look of such wonder, it was hard to describe. Marc got up; walked over to his daughter. “Anna?” She looked at him. “Who’s that?” he asked, pointing at Fluffy. “Fluffy,” she said. “And who’s that?” He pointed to Cammie. Anna’s dark eyes followed his arm; came back to Marc’s face. She pointed to Fluffy. “Fluffy,” she said. Then she pointed to herself. “Anna.” She pointed to Cammie: “Fluffy.” Then at Terri: “Anna.” To someone used to her, it was clear and definite. Maybe Anna didn’t feel like talking this morning (she rarely did after her bad nights,) but she knew who Cammie was.

“That’s her way of saying that you’re Flu… Aidan’s mother. You’re like Terri.” Marc translated. “You read her as well as we read our son,” Cammie murmured. She sounded as amazed by that as Terri had been over the lycanthropes’ telepathy. Fluffy jumped off Anna’s bed; trotted over to her; jumped in her lap, and began licking her fingers. Anna petted his ears; even smiled a little as the cub’s rough tongue tickled her hands. He curled up in her lap and laid his head down. The adults stood watching in silence.

‘This is more than friendship between a girl and a puppy, or even an animaltherapy dog and a special-needs child,’ Marc realized with a sinking feeling in his gut. ‘He tried to get to her 7 times before his parents gave up. A werewolf cub!’ He sighed, feeling his dreams of a nice, normal life slipping farther and farther away with each step his thoughts took. He didn’t like it. He fought it, searching for any loophole he could find. It was no use: “We can’t separate them. They’ve got something special, these two.” “Medicine,” Terri said. They exchanged a speaking look. “You know what I’m thinking, don’t you?” he asked her. “It’s the only option,” she said. “Unless we move to Canada.” Marc squeezed her hand, then turned to the lycanthropes. “The land our house is on. It’s a large plot; big enough for another house, with plenty of privacy.” Cammie caught her breath. “Are you sure?” she asked. “We can’t move,” Marc said. “Anna needs Rod and Tara and Jason. But she

needs Aidan, too. Even I can see that. And, crazy as it sounds, he needs her, too. He proved that last night.” “That’s tribal land,” Arden said. “We’re not Native. We’re not even human.” Marc shook his head. “It’s our property. Mine and Terri’s. Our names are on the deed. If we choose to let you build on it, the tribe can’t do shit.” The lycanthropes looked at each other, and supernatural creatures though they were, at that moment, they were just as normal as Marc and Terri. There was a lengthy exchange in Canadian French between them, long enough for Anna to finally decide to try to eat something, which meant Terri had to stop her from sharing a maple bar with Fluffy. Then Arden switched back to English. “We will need to speak with our Alpha, the Alpha who claims the lands around the reservation, and arrange something to protect us from the medicine there.” “Scout a place for a den,” Cammie said. “And agree on a lease price,” Arden finished. “Lease?” Marc asked, head spinning slightly from the speed with which the lycanthropes had agreed to his idea. “Would you prefer we buy a section outright?” Cammie asked. “Uh…” he said, cleverly. “We can decide that later,” she said decisively. Arden nodded. “It will be fair, I promise you, no matter which option you go with.” he said. “The Pack is not without resources.” “Uh… Of course.” Marc was just trying not to sound like an idiot. He shot Terri a glance. She looked just as stunned as he felt. “Well… I… guess that’s it, then.” “For now,” Arden agreed. He stepped up to Marc and held his hand out. “The

Packs take care of their own. As far as we’re concerned, you’re Pack.” “All of you,” Cammie said softly.

CHAPTER 58

“For a Witch and a shaman, it’s quite appropriate.”

Rod woke up wondering what the hell he was going to do today. At home, he’d have his computer to while away the hours until it was time to play, or, if Tara was around (as she was now) well, they’d come up with some kind of… . distraction. But he didn’t have a laptop, and he just couldn’t get in the mood, in Sebastian Strange’s house. “Not exactly a honeymoon, is it?” he asked, watching Tara as she stood at the foot of the bed, stretching her arms to the ceiling. The Witch laughed. “For a Witch and a shaman, it’s quite appropriate.” She came back to the bed and leaned over him propped on both arms. Her hair was still in its night-braid; the end tickled his chest. He smiled wryly. “Werewolves, and kids with strange abilities, and our nephew dating a girl with pointed ears. Does sound like a Gothic novel, doesn’t it?” She laughed. Apparently, she wasn’t having any trouble getting in the mood. “Is sex in strange places one of the kinks you haven’t told me about?” he asked. Her breath danced across his skin, and suddenly he didn’t care whose house he was in. “Maybe yes and maybe no.” “Wicked Witch.” “Only on special occasions,” she teased. Rod caught his breath. “God bless special occasions…”

“What kind of ring do you want?” he asked, much, much later. They were still in bed, the noonday sun sending needle-fine wires of light through the tiny slit of open glass between the drawn blinds. He slid his fingers through hers, drawing her hand up to his face. “I don’t know,” she said, in a wondering voice. “I’ve never let myself think about it.” “Never?” he teased. “Never,” she said seriously. He rolled his head; looked at her lying beside him. Her eyes were great, dark shadows in her face. “You mean it,” he said, stunned that such an exotic, beautiful woman had never indulged in girlhood dreams of romance. For a moment, tears shimmered in her eyes; then she forced a smile. “I had too much to do,” she said, lightly, the pain hidden under the resolve in her voice. “Getting my degree, running my business, teaching dance, helping Shelia with her kids, teaching the Craft to some who truly wanted it. I was busy.” Too busy to do something every woman (as far as Rod knew, and he had a lot of female relatives and friends) indulged in from time to time? “Idiots, every last one of ’em,” he said fiercely. “Who?” Tara asked. “Every straight guy who let you go.” She laughed. Freeing her hand, she rolled on her side and raised herself on one elbow to look down at him. “Oh, I like that story. Tell me again!” “Once upon a time, there were a bunch of idiots who didn’t know their asses from holes in the ground… .”

She laughed again, leaning forward to kiss him. “I don’t like rings,” she confessed when they came up for air. “They get in the way when I weave.” “A challenge,” he purred, with a gleam in his eye. “I’ll have to think about this.” “Do… you want a ring?” she asked, hesitantly. “Rings and musicians don’t mix.” “What did you do when you were with Kay?” “Got yelled at for never wearing it.” Tara’s eyes sparkled in the dim light. “I wish I could have met her. She sounds like a trip.” “You would have either loved each other, or gone at each other like rabid wolves,” Rod predicted. Tara raised her eyebrows. “We’re that much like?!” “No.” More laughter. She dropped her head on his chest, white hair seeming to glow in the shadows. “I have to get you something,” Rod pressed. “Can I think about it?” He looked at her, at the mix of shyness and happiness in her eyes, and the plan popped, fully grown, into his head. “No. Get up, get dressed. We are going to get you a wedding gift. Now.” She froze like a startled rabbit. “Now?!” she whispered, staring at him as he gently pushed her back and sat up.

“Yes, now,” he said. He grabbed his jeans. “Get moving, woman. I don’t offer to go shopping often!”

Strange Acres was outside the city limits, and packed with people who would just love to go into town, thereby ruining the mood Rod wanted to create. So, feeling very like he was sneaking out after curfew, Rod crept out a side door of the house, Tara behind him. “What are we doing?” the Witch whispered. “Stealing privacy,” Rod whispered back. He peered cautiously around the corner of the house, scanning for anyone he knew. He pulled his head back. “Okay, I don’t see Jason, Dave, Marc, Terri, or Anna. Keep to the side of the building and aim for the parking lot. Use the cars for cover if you spot anybody. Go!” Giggling, Tara darted past him, sneaking through the parking lot with an ease that told Rod she’d snuck out a lot as a teenager. Then again, so had Rod. They were both laughing like idiots as they dove into the cab of the truck. “Do we put it neutral and push it out to the road before we start the engine?” Tara wanted to know. “Might be a good idea,” Rod muttered. He jammed the key into the ignition. “I swear Jason can sense when I’m trying to get out of the house without him.” Tara gasped, looking out the window. “Gogogo!” The Witch laughed. “Nephew at 3 o’clock!” Rod gunned it. (Thank God he’d parked where he could just pull forward!) The truck roared! out of the parking lot, spraying gravel. He caught a glimpse of Jason’s confused face in the rearview mirror, and laughed hysterically as he turned toward town.

“Well?” Rod asked. Tara didn’t answer, staring down at her hands. “We’ll take it,” Rod told the salesgirl. “Are you sure?” Tara breathed, but she still didn’t put it down. “Yes. Let the nice lady have it, darlin’, so she can ring it up.” “You get a free pack of incense with every purchase over $20.00,” the salesgirl said. Tara drew a delighted breath and began poking around in the basket by the . “Are you setting up a new altar?” the girl asked. “It’s a wedding gift,” Rod said. “She didn’t like any of the rings at the mall.” “COOL!” the girl said. It was true. They had gone to every jewelry outlet in the mall, and come out empty handed. “I’m just not a jewelry person,” Tara apologized, almost in tears. Rod had leaned on the steering wheel, looking at her. Frustration and embarrassment twisted his wife’s face; tears turned her eyes into black pearls. He sighed; reached out a hand and tweaked her pentacle. The clasp had fallen down right next to the pendant. Then he paused. ‘Not a jewelry person, huh?’ he mused, looking at the necklace she was never without. She wore it even when she bathed. “Maybe,” he said slowly, “we’ve been looking at the wrong kind of jewelry.” He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, dialed a number. “Snow?” he asked Sebastian’s oldest daughter when she picked up. “Are there any New Age shops in town? Good ones, ones you’d go to?”

Tara had lit up like a Christmas tree as soon as they walked into the small shop, well off the main drag, and no where close to the part of town they had been in. “Oh,” she sighed, breathing deep of the incense-laden air. The tension had

flowed out of her shoulders like water. “Now, this is my kind of place.” “I can tell,” he teased wryly. She slapped him, lightly, on the shoulder, and vanished into the maze of crystals, semi-precious stones, incense displays, and candles. Rod had trailed after her, watching the happiness glow in her face as she browsed through books, chatted with a young woman trying to select her first tarot deck, and examined a selection of essential oils. ‘Why did I think a conventional ring would suit her?’ he asked himself, over and over. Tara wasn’t a conventional kind of person. She was as unique and vibrant as the color combinations she wore. He wandered over to corner display, angling toward a CD rack with a half-formed idea of getting her some new dancing music, when his eye was caught by a gleam of gold. He froze. Staring back at him from a Plexiglas shelf was the gold-colored figure of a kneeling woman. Wings of black and gold extended from her shoulders; a painted blue circlet crossed her forehead; more dark paint gave the illusion of thick black hair that fell to her shoulders. Rod recognized the image, from Tara’s altar, and pictures she’d shown him on the ’net. This was Isis, one of the Goddesses Tara worshiped. Rod had seen more than a few Isis figures by now, but this one drew him. It was the eyes, he decided, studying the figure intently. Who ever had painted them had done a damn good job, infusing them with a look of kindness and strength, combined. It was easy to imagine this figure as a channel for the Goddess. “Tara,” he called. The shop was small, and it wasn’t busy. She heard him easily. “Did you find something?” she asked. He pointed to the Isis figure. “You tell me.” She turned to look at it, and he heard the breath leave her lungs in a profound sigh. “Oh,” the Witch breathed. Her hands were already reaching out to pick it up, as she said, “It’s beautiful.”

Rod grinned.

She was still thanking him when they went to lunch. He laughed at her, kissing her lightly. “I said we said we were going for a wedding gift, not necessarily a ring,” he reminded her, as he looked over the menu. “But I don’t have anything for you,” she protested. He gave her a wicked grin. “Oh, I’ll think of something.” She blushed scarlet, then tipped her head back and laughed. “Rod!” He winked at her. “Disturbing the peace, dude?” He looked up to find his cousin standing in front of the table, in jeans and a short-sleeved shirt, grinning. “Brad? What the hell are you doing here?” Brad raised an eyebrow. “You invited me to the show, ? I had to volunteer to work the 4th of July, but I got the time off.” He turned to Tara. “Hey, lady. Have you gotten tired of him yet?” Brad liked Tara: she took his teasing, and gave back as good as she got. “No,” Tara said. “I think I’ll keep him.” Brad shook his head mournfully. “You haven’t told her about the rest of our crazy relatives, have you?” he asked Rod.

“Of course not,” Rod shot back. “Do I look stupid?” “Don’t ask questions that beg obvious answers,” Brad drawled, as he slid into the booth beside Tara. “I meant, what are you doing here, in this restaurant?” Rod returned to his original question, irritated that Brad had ruined the only relaxed lunch Rod and Tara had had since their wedding. “I am a cop,” Brad pointed out. “Finding people is part of my job, and I’m good at it.” ‘Uh oh,’ Rod thought. “A tribal cop,” he shot back. “Which means you’re way out of your jurisdiction, cuz.” “Be glad I am,” Brad said quietly. Tara had caught on: Rod heard her draw a sharp breath. Rod asked it straight out: “What’s up, Brad?” Brad looked back and forth between them. “Are you guys gunning for Ernnie Richards?” he asked, just as plainly. “Yes,” Tara said. “You would be too, if you’d ever get that badge outta your ass,” Rod growled. “Why? Is he back? Tryin’ to file charges now?” Brad shook his head. His face was completely blank. He’d been a cop so long, he was always “on duty,” even in civilian clothes. “That’s just it,” he said, quietly. “No one’s seen him since the night he pulled that stunt with Marc’s kid.” Rod raised an eyebrow, unaware of how much it brought the family resemblance out.

“Has it occurred to you, maybe the schmuck actually grew a brain? Everybody in Leon’s that day is prob’ly gunnin’ for him. Maybe he took to the hills.” “That’s what Brandon thinks,” Brad itted. “But he doesn’t know you two like I do.” Rod and Tara exchanged a look. “Brad, you’re interrupting our lunch. Just say whatever it is, straight out.” Tara could be horribly blunt when she wanted to be. Brad returned the favor: “Did you kill him with your magick?” Tara hissed through her teeth. She flushed an angry red under her tan. “Listen to me, you idiot,” she growled, pinning Brad with eyes that burned. “We do NOT work harm. We worship Nature, LIFE. I’d expect this level of stupidity from someone who didn’t know me, not you!” Brad never flinched. When he spoke his voice was steel under gentleness. “Better me asking than someone else, Tara. I do know you. I know your anger comes from defending your beliefs, not guilt. Others… . they’re talking about you, like they did after Maggie Lavallie was arrested.” Tara looked down. Her hands were gripping the edge of the table so tightly her knuckles were white. “The most I did,” she said, finally, when the silence had gone beyond uncomfortable, “was to try and divine where he was.” Brad was Rhys Poitra’s grandson too: he didn’t bat an eye. “And?” The Witch shuddered. “I don’t where he is, but it’s not a good place.” “Is he alive?” Brad pressed.

“That’s the sense I got,” Tara said, slowly. Her voice was fogged, as she tried to put into words the creepy, disturbing energies that had filled the room yesterday. “The candle still burned, but it was surrounded by shadow.” Brad’s eyes widened; he shot Rod a questioning look. “It wasn’t something I’ve ever seen before,” the pip-carrier said. “You were there?” “Yeah.” “Ooookay,” Brad said, slowly. He looked back at Tara. “I had to ask,” he apologized. “You should hear some of the crazy stuff goin’ around.” Tara smiled a thin, tired smile. “I bet,” she said. She sighed; lifted her head. “Is it just me they’re talking about?” “Oh, they always talk about Rod,” Brad said easily. “Gee, thanks,” Rod drawled. “They’re sayin’ you called up that ghost that shows up around your place, and set him on Ernnie’s trail.” The thought of anyone being able to make Jim Longbow do anything, made Rod snort. “Yeah, right.” Brad toyed with the silverware for one of the empty place settings on the table. “Well, there was something weird going on around Ernnie’s place,” he said. He wouldn’t meet Rod’s eyes. “What?” Rod asked, intrigued in spite of himself. “They brought in search dogs,” Brad said. “4 of ’em. Dogs wouldn’t go near the property. They just growled, like they’d picked up a wolf or a coyote’s scent, and

wouldn’t leave their crates.” Rod felt his eyes widen. He glanced at Tara, but she looked just as perplexed as he felt. “Holy shit,” he said. Brad nodded. In the back of Rod’s mind, Jim Longbow whispered, ‘Arianna and Tria . . . already know. Whatever they do, it’s their choice, not yours.’ What would dogs do, faced with the magick of vengeful nature spirits? Outside Rod’s mind, Brad was still talking: “Combine that with all the lodges huntin’ for Ernnie, and his sister claiming she dreams about him in a cold, dark place, and…” He shrugged, trailing off. “And people think I’m working medicine against the bastard,” Rod finished for him. “Grandpa did know how to do that stuff,” Brad reminded him. “He never used it like that,” Rod replied. “No,” Brad agreed. “He was like her.” Brad nodded to Tara. “But you know the res.” “Yeah, I do.” Rod sighed. “Ya think me and Tara should leave for a while?”

Brad thought about it, as the waitress took their orders and brought their drinks (Brad ordered just like Rod had invited him along, which irritated the pipecarrier no end.) “No,” he said at last. “The worst they can say is that you were defending that little girl. Hell, I’ve had more people tell me they respect you for it than anything else! As for charges, all they got is the fact that Ernnie’s vanished. No sign of forced entry at his place. No sign of a struggle. No sign of anything. Not even any tire tracks in the driveway.”

“You know I talked to the lodges,” Rod pointed out. “You never threatened Ernnie,” Brad returned. “You never even talked to him. Criminally, there’s nothing there.” “Just the dogs acting weird, and the rumors,” Tara murmured. She glanced at Rod; he could see the fear in her eyes. Tara knew how dangerous rumor could be. Brad caught the look, and he knew Tara’s history. “Nobody’s gonna target you, Tara. Rod may be nuts, but everybody knows what he’s done for Anna. And Terri’s been talking about what you’ve done for that girl. They’ll whisper and ask you questions when they’re buzzed, but…” Brad bared his teeth in a vicious grin. “We’re not like those sonsabitches in Rawlins.” Tara smiled slightly, but the scars of Maggie’s hate campaign ran deep. Rod braced himself for another round of nightmares, as she fought the battle, again, in her sleep.

The waitress came just then, with their food, and Rod was glad for the distraction. After they ate, Tara slipped off to the restroom. Brad watched her go. “She’s scared,” he said. “Maggie and her minions scared the hell out of her,” Rod growled. Brad nodded. “Yeah.” There was a pause, as the two cousins looked at each other. “I really don’t know anything, Brad.” “What do you think, then?” Rod sat back. Tria’s sharp-featured face flowed through his mind; the warmth in it as she looked at Anna. Jim Longbow’s cold, uncaring shrug when Rod asked him what Tria and Arianna were going to do to a mortal who was foolish enough to frighten a child they cared about.

“I think the Manitou have him,” he said seriously, and at the same time, he cringed as he realized how much like Rhys he sounded. Brad just sighed. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

Tara came back, slipping into the booth by Rod. She really was scared: she leaned her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. He worked his arm free and wrapped it around her shoulders. A slight smile touched Brad’s face. He didn’t say anything, but when the check came, he paid it. “You don’t have to do that,” Rod said. His cousin shrugged. “Consider it a wedding gift.” The cop smiled at Tara. “Has he even ed to get you ring, yet?” “I don’t like rings,” she replied. She hadn’t moved. To Rod, it felt like she was pulling the warmth out of his body. “Has he got you anything?” Brad asked. “A lovely Isis statue.” That made her sit up and smile, Rod noticed. Brad shook his head. “She’s as weird as you are,” he told Rod. Rod rolled his eyes; got up from the table, gave Tara a hand as she slid out of the booth. Her fingers were cold. He and Brad exchanged a knowing look. “Since you horned in on lunch, you can help us set up.” Rod slid into the routine with the ease of long practice. “The hell you say,” Brad growled, picking up the cue. “I’m on vacation. I don’t have to do jack.” “Tough. You mooch a free meal, you pay for it with real work, not sitting in a car

eating donuts.” “This from a guy who sits on his ass and looks at a computer all day.” Brad followed them out of the restaurant, blinking as the light and heat hit like a wall. “And I paid for the meal, schmuck.” “One meal,” Rod told Tara. “One. Out of all the times he’s mooched a bowl of my chili.” She was starting to smile. “The only thing you know how to cook,” Brad snorted. He glanced at Tara. “Has he made you his chili, yet?” “She didn’t like it,” Rod said. Both of Brad’s eyebrows went up this time. “What?” “I liked it fine,” Tara said. She leaned against the truck. “I just… well…” she shot Rod an embarrassed look. “It was just a little… bland.” Rod choked. Brad did too, but the bastard was laughing. “BLAND?!” Rod yelped. “Whadda mean, bland?!” Color suffused the skin of Tara’s cheeks; she ducked her head. “I’m from New Mexico, honey,” she said in an ashamed voice. “I expect my chili to be hot.” Brad fell against the truck, laughing. “That’s you, cuz. BLAND!” Rod restrained the urge to throttle him. “I suppose you could do better?” he demanded, glaring at his wife and ignoring the idiot who proved that you were stuck with your relatives. Tara’s head came up, a gleam in her eye. She was back to normal, all right. “I could out-chili you any day of the week,” she snapped.

“Oh, you’re on, lady.” “Any day you name,” his wife shot back, hands on her hips. “Bland…” Brad gasped. “Good God.” He wiped tears out of his eyes; kissed Tara. “Thank you for the best laugh I’ve had in days.” Rod did punch him, but in the shoulder. “Keep it up, and I’ll tell her the story about you and the trailer chic,” he threatened. Brad went white. (That had not been one of his shining moments.) Rod smirked and opened the driver’s side door of the truck. “Follow us to Sebastian’s place,” he told Brad. “We gotta tear down there, first.” “Yes, O Bland One.” “SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Rod roared. Still cackling, Brad walked over to his own truck. “So,” Tara asked, after she got in the cab. “Who are the chili judges?” “Not Brad,” Rod growled.

CHAPTER 59

Who was he? Who had he been?

After all the strangeness that had surrounded the last few weeks, it felt good to do something as normal as play a gig. Rod slid behind his drums with a sense of control he hadn’t had lately. Sebastian had called it a street dance, but it was more like a street fair. Vendor booths surrounded the small park where they were playing, lit by electric lanterns that were just beginning to blink on as the sun went down. The band’s “stage” was actually a flat-bed semi, high up above the crowd of people that was browsing through the stalls, so Rod had a good view of what was going on. There was enough light that he could see Marc and Terri wandering around, hand in hand, like newlyweds. (Terri would stay for the first set, then go back to Strange Acres, relieving Jason, who was watching Anna.) He couldn’t find Brad, but Lashan and Shimmer were standing off to one side, under a massive tree. Lashan would be on stage for two numbers only: “Man,” and “Close My Eyes Forever,” the Lita Ford/Ozzy Osbourne duet that had become one of the band’s staples. But true to his word, he’d be in the audience, ready to keep Shimmer from vamping out. Dave was standing down in front of the “stage,” talking to Celeste Strange. Rod grinned to himself. Dave may talk about how low-key he was, but he wasn’t about to let Jason pair up someone Dave hadn’t “vetted out.” ‘If Dave had been able to check out that girl from Minneapolis, we might have been able to avoid that whole mess with Maggie,’ Rod mused now, watching the other man. Two years ago, Jason had gotten involved with the niece of Rod’s old enemy, Maggie Lavallie. She had manipulated her niece into manipulating Jason, tangling him in a web of love medicine that got him shipped up to Rod’s. Rod had broken the medicine and untangled the whole filthy mess, but it hadn’t been easy. ‘I wonder what happened to the girl?’ Rod mused now. He had no

idea. The grapevine had been eerily silent on the Lavallie clan, since Maggie had been ridden out of town on a rail. ‘I hope she’s okay. I hope her parents keep Maggie away from her.’ He also hoped they knew a reputable pipe-carrier who could repair any damage Maggie had done to the girl. ‘I’ll go see Sean,’ he decided, doing a quick run on the drums to warm up. ‘Maybe he’s heard something.’

Rod’s skin prickled in a creepy, subtle way. He knew what it meant even before he heard the keyboard sound, off to his left. He glanced over and saw John Lavelle rippling the scales. As usual, the keyboard player wore a white shirt under a black vest, and faded jeans. His shoulder-length brown hair pulled back in a tail; his jaw-line beard neat and trimmed. Just listening to his warm-up told Rod he was “on” tonight. The drummer shook his head, curiosity eating at him like a cat gnawing on a ball of yarn. ‘How?’ he asked himself, again. Ghosts could play instruments, everyone knew that; ghosts could be seen, by those with the gift for it. But this ghost had a physical body when he played in Sebastian Strange’s band. How? Who was he? Who had he been? What kind of life could put such bitterness in a face? It was no use asking. Rod had tried. John refused to talk about himself. Even stranger, Lashan refused to talk about him. The one time Sebastian had spoken of it, he’d said only, “His story isn’t mine to tell.” ‘Snow knows,’ Rod said to himself, again, watching her climb the stairs at the back of the truck. ‘Why am I not surprised that Snow Strange is in love with a ghost?’ Rod mused, snorting softly. ‘Did she fall for him when he was alive, and kept him with her after he died? She could do it, I have no doubt.’ Rod’s eyes fell on the little girl she carried on her hip. The stage lights showed her hair to be the exact shade of John’s. Rod’s heart squeezed. ‘What would I have done, if I’d had a little one to look after, and Kay was gone?’ The temptation loomed before him, and, deep in his heart, he shuddered, glad he’d never been faced with it. “Daddy!” the little girl called.

Rod grinned, watching. The keyboard player took his daughter girl from Snow, shifting her to one hip and letting her push buttons. “He loves her dearly.” Rod glanced to his other side. Sebastian himself stood there, appearing out of the ether in that creepy, silent way he had. “I can see that,” the drummer said. The wizard smiled. He was in his usual outfit: top hat, tuxedo shirt, and walking stick, though he had forgone the trench coat he usually wore. His cat-pupiled eyes were almost human as he looked at what had to be his granddaughter. “Do you have any children, Mr. Poitra?” “No.” Rod checked to make sure his second set of drum sticks was in easy reach. (He always kept a second set, just in case.) “Kay and I were trying when she was diagnosed with cancer.” The wizard’s comion nearly knocked him off his stool. “I’m sorry.” Rod shrugged. “I have lots of cousins. And they’ve all had kids.” “And you have Anna.” “Yeah,” Rod said quietly, itting it aloud for the first time. “I do.” He looked out over the crowd, picking out Tara by her hair. He smiled, watching as she and Terri wandered over to Clarissa’s booth. “Will this one be all right?” he asked the wizard. A human wouldn’t have gotten it. Sebastian Strange followed his eyes, and understood. “The child is developing normally, I can tell that,” the wizard said after a moment. “Snow is not concerned.”

A weight lifted off Rod’s heart. “Good,” he said. “They’re good people,” Sebastian said quietly. “Yeah, they are.” The drummer shot the wizard a look. “And proud. If they ever realize you created that job for Marc, they’ll return any money he earned.” “I didn’t create it,” the wizard said mildly. “Claire has been wanting to expand the coffee shop; the young people here need a place they can hang out at that doesn’t sell alcohol. Mr. Rolend and Mr. Ayers are intelligent, honest, and experienced. I know they will do a good job.” Rod raised his eyebrows. Sebastian looked back. They both knew Sebastian could create any kind of modifications his wife wanted. He didn’t have to pay tens of thousands of dollars to do it the hard way. The two men looked at each other and smiled.

“I don’t see any of the lycanthropes,” Rod said, changing the subject. Did something flicker in those unearthly cat eyes? Rod never knew, no matter how many times he asked himself that question afterward. But Sebastian said only, “It’s the first night of the full moon, Mr. Poitra. They have business of their own to attend to.” “Ah,” Rod said, his mind filling with questions of just what kind of “business” les loup garous “attended to” on the full moon. “I don’t want to know,” he decided. Sebastian chuckled. “Ready to play, then?” Rod asked, turning the topic. Sebastian nodded. “Let’s start the show, Mr. Poitra.”

CHAPTER 60

“And we defend family.”

He had been running for hours. Sometimes they let him stop, and rest, and think he’d lost them, but he was beginning to suspect that was on purpose, because they always found him again. He crouched in a tree, panting. Thank God it had big, low-hanging branches, or he wouldn’t have been able to get up in it. His hands were bloody; he could hear his heart pounding in his ears; there was a stitch in his side. He leaned back against the rough bark of the tree, closing his eyes briefly. “Why are they doing this to me?!” he hissed, panting. “You know why.” He jerked, startled. His hands slid on the bark, an acidic, burning pain. “WHAT THE FUCK?!” he swore, staring in horror at the woman sitting on the very edge of the branch closest to him. Her sharp-featured face might have been beautiful, if you went for that type. He preferred them younger and softer. This one gave him the creeps, even before he realized that she seemed to glow slightly, as if she were illuminated from within. Or maybe she had the power to create the witch light that glowed around her like an aura. He could see her eyes gleam green as she tilted her head; see the mahogany sheen of her skin, the autumn hue of her braided hair, burning like a rope of deep copper against the darkness. “Who are you?!” he demanded, barely stopping himself from toppling head-first out of the tree. She laughed at him. It was low and dark and cold, the kind of laugh a hungry

ghost might make, with a hunter’s edge under that. “One question at a time,” she told him, voice chiming around his ears like amethysts and crystals. “BITCH!” Her eyes turned cold, as cold as the green-shaded ice at the river’s edge in January. Her lips pulled back from her teeth. She moved even faster than his pursuers, diving at him and shoving him out of the tree with hands as hard as rocks. “He’s here!” she called, as he fell through the air. “Come get him!” He heard the howls rise behind him, bouncing off the cold fire of the moon like shards of sound. “FUCK YOU, BITCH!” he screamed, scrambling to his feet in the loam. Her laughter mocked him as he took off again, staggering across the uneven ground.

He was almost sobbing when they caught him, exhausted and nauseous with fear. Bobbing lights sparked between the trees; the rank scent of wolf filled his nose and made him wretch. He stood bent over, one hand clutching the re-occurring stitch in his side, and watched them ring him. They came out of the night like shadows, too many to count, heads low, feral eyes watching him with that flat unblinking gaze only predators have. He tried to draw breath to yell, drive them back with noise, and failed. He tried to get enough saliva to spit at them (one, last show of defiance) but his mouth was too dry. “He claims he doesn’t know why this is happening.” It was his tormentor. She stood easily among the wolves, surrounded by that same nimbus of light, one hip cocked as she leaned on a spear taller than she was. Her leather garments were almost as good a camouflage as the wolves’ coats.

“Then we should tell him.” This voice, directly behind him, made him jump like a scaled cat and fall as he tried to turn around.

This one, too, wore a nimbus of light; this one, too, wore form-fitting leathers. But her braided hair was as dark as night; her eyes . . . He shuddered. Green flames danced deep, deep in her black eyes. “Oh, God . . .” he whispered, realizing, at long, long, last, that there were no humans around him. For a moment, the old stories his grandparents had told him echoed through his mind. “Am I dead?” he asked her. She laughed. Laughed, and raised the longbow she carried. The arrow’s razor-edged hunting tip rested like a shard of ice against his sweating forehead as she said, coolly, “Not yet.” “My sister doesn’t get angry often,” the other one called to him. “But when she does, she’s relentless.” Distantly, he heard someone whimper, and only afterward, realized it was himself. “We saw what you did, Ernest Richards.” The voice was colder than the arrowhead against his skull. “We saw what you were fantasizing about, the day you backed Anna Ayers against a wall, and . . . ,” pure, unrefined disgust curdled her voice, “and laid hands on her.” He tried to speak up, the words scrambling and tripping over themselves to rise out of his throat and form in his mouth, but all that came out was another strangled, whimper/choking sound. He closed his eyes.

“Such people have been touched by God,” said a third, male, voice. Compared to the women’s, this voice was as rough and harsh as rocks grinding together, and Ernnie opened his eyes. An old Native guy stood by the bow-carrier, in loose, normal clothes, and boots. His craggy, seamed face was as human as Ernnie’s own. “You’re human!” Ernnie breathed in relief, tears scalding his eyes like hot oil. “Talk to ’em, man! I never hurt that little girl! I was tryin’ to be nice to her! Explain it to ’em!” The old man shook his head, as at someone whose stupidity knew no bounds. “You can’t fool the Manitou, you idiot. They were there that day; they read your intentions and your lust. That girl has been under their protection for two years now. Did you really expect them to let you go unpunished?” At the words, a nameless fear began to grow in Ernnie’s blood. “More than that,” the ebon-haired bitch said. “We adopted her, my sister and I. By our laws, she is our niece.” “And we defend family,” Ernnie’s tormentor called, in a voice colder than the grave. He felt his muscles start to shake. There would be no way out this time. “Th . . . they’re gonna kill me,” he stammered, his eyes on the only other human here. The old man nodded. “Either them, or us,” a fourth voice called.

The light around the Manitou was strong enough that Ernnie had been able to see the Native guy clearly. Now it showed him a new level of terror, as a wolf and a feral-eyed man stepped out of the ring of predators, to stand by the bow-

carrier. As Ernnie stared, bathed in cold sweat, the wolf’s form rippled, nauseatingly, bones snapping and popping to as they realigned themselves into a human form. “Les loup garous,” he breathed, feeling his skin crawl in atavistic horror. He fell back from the arrow still pressed against his forehead, and crabbed his way backward. His captors let him. Where was he going to go? As he glanced frantically around him, he realized that there were no true wolves anywhere in this place. Some of the loup garous stayed in wolf form, but others shifted, doing it slowly, so he could see each and every sickening detail. And other Manitou lit the circle as well, burning like tall, shining flames, their combined light illuminating everything with gruesome clarity. All of them watched him, silently, steadily. “Our Father who art in Heaven/Hallowed by Thy Name . . .” Prayers from his childhood rose to his lips, barren words, spoken by a dark and lustful heart. They knew it, these inhuman beings. Laughter like a cold wind rattled the circle. “For God’s sake!” Ernnie screamed to the old man. “You’re human! Don’t let them do this to me!” “In my youth,” the old Native guy said, “we would have driven you out. That would have been a death sentence in and of itself. I think I like this way better.” Ernnie whimpered. “Y..you . . . you won’t get away with this!” he shouted wildly. “The cops..they know I’m missing by now! They’ll be looking . . . !” The old man drew a throwing knife. And smiled. As the knife, the spear, and the arrow entered his body, that smile held Ernnie Richards, along with the old man’s question:

“What makes you think you’re on Earth, fool?”

CHAPTER 61

“We should have been allowed to kill him.”

“We should have been allowed to kill him,” Cammie growled. “They had kin-right,” Rowan said, as she had been saying all morning. Cammie snarled, pacing. They were back on Strange Acres, after a glorious, thrilling hunt, on the back acreage, well away from the house. ‘Good thing, too,’ Rowan mused, watching Cammie. The other female was on edge, her eyes more gold than brown, the grass whipping! against her ankles as she wore a path in the ground. “It was Aidan who came to her defense first!” Cammie hissed, again. “We had the right to finish the job!” Rowan sighed. Her own blood was burning, and it wasn’t just because of the moonfire, either. Thad’s scent clung to her clothes, her hair, her very skin. She wanted to vanish into the grasses with him, talking over the hunt while she let him explore every inch of her body… . ‘Focus, Rowan,’ she said to herself, with a fierce mental shake. “It would have been nice,” she told Cammie. Flashes of action lit her memory: Racing through the trees, the sweet scent of fear hot in her nostrils; nipping at the pervert’s heels and howling with laughter as he screamed… . Thad biting the buttons off her shirt afterward, his tongue teasing her nipples as his hands worked their way south… . ‘Holy Mother night, I’m out of control.’ “This hunt will go down in history,” Arden said. Rowan blinked at him, her

normally keen wits dulled by lust. He was lounging in the grass, almost as if he were still in wolf form, watching his mate with an amused, lazy look, while Aidan drowsed beside him. “How often do two Packs hunt together, let alone work with the Good Fae to bring down a pervert?” “Not often,” Rowan agreed. She leaned back against Thad, unable to help herself. He wrapped his arms around her, dipping his head to breathe the scent off her neck. “God, you smell good,” he whispered in her ear, his breath raising shivers on her skin. She closed her eyes, reveling in the hard, muscled feel of his body against hers. “It’s a good thing the others went home,” Cammie said. Rowan blinked, coming back from her daydream. Cammie was watching her, amusement in her face now. “Why?” she asked. The other female laughed. “You would have every unmated male in both Packs trying to claim you right now,” Cammie told her, gently. “They could try,” Thad snarled, gripping Rowan so tightly his fingers dug into her skin. Rowan did purr at that, drinking in the fierce, protective tone in his voice. “And die in the process.” “Just so,” Cammie’s earlier temper was gone. She spoke soothingly. “You need to be alone, the pair of you.” “We do,” Rowan itted. “Maybe we should take Snow up on her offer, Thad.” “No one will touch you, other than me,” he promised. “Her scent will call every wandering male within range,” Cammie warned. “You’ll be fighting every step of the way, no matter where you go.” “She’s worth it,” Thad vowed.

“I am,” Rowan agreed, tracing patterns on the back of one of his hands. “But I want your energy for other things.” Cammie snorted. Rowan, with heroic self-control, ignored her. “Let Snow teleport us,” Rowan pleaded. “We have better things to do than fight off every juvenile around.” Arden snorted, this time. “I bet,” he muttered, sotto voce. Thad wanted to argue, she could feel it, but she was right against him, and the feel of her body was a definite bribe right now. “Fine,” he whispered, as helpless before her wishes as she was before his touch. Lycanthropes were like wolves in more ways than one. Mating heats usually fell around December, the resulting six-month pregnancy ensuring that cubs were born in the late spring and early summer. But new-mated pairs went into heat shortly after pairing up. Even as she thought it, Thad blew softly on the back of her neck, and a wave of tingling pleasure washed through her body. “You’ll go north?” Cammie asked. “Yes,” Rowan said. “I know some places, private ones. We’ll come back after things… .” she trailed off, blushing. “Run their course?” Cammie suggested delicately. “And the diplomacy award goes to…” Arden drawled. Rowan hung her head. “I didn’t think it’d be like this,” she confessed. “The first one takes everybody by surprise,” Cammie soothed. “It certainly did with us,” Arden agreed. Cammie smiled at him, her eyes full of memories.

“Just enjoy it,” Cammie advised, laughing. “We will,” Thad promised.

“If you two can focus for a moment,” Arden teased, “I have one question.” “Hmmm?” Rowan asked. “I know Derrick Lashan brought our Pack down, and took them back, but what about Augustus’ Pack?” “Sebastian Strange’s daughters, the twins,” Thad said. “They transported me straight to Augustus and Jade, and then, after I presented their proposal and Augustus and Jade agreed, the twins brought the Pack here.” “And took them home at dawn,” Rowan added. “I thought so.” Arden smirked, stretching. “The mischief one, Colette. She looked far too happy yesterday evening.” “As did her twin,” Cammie said. “Different as they are, when they decide to forces, they’re deadly.” She paused. “But why would they choose to do so, in this? How did they even know about it?” “The shaman’s nephew,” Thad said. His low voice vibrated through Rowan’s bones; his fingers stroked the back of her neck. “He’s friends with the quieter twin. She’s helped with Anna before. I’d lay money he told her.” “And how do you know that?” Rowan asked, twisting around in his arms to look at him. Thad raised his eyebrows at her. “I listen,” he said simply. “Besides, you can scent the attraction between the two of them.” “Yes, you can,” Arden drawled, dry as sand. Rowan blushed again. Thad laughed. He picked her up; turning her so she faced the other mated pair. (This let him run his hands under her blouse and along the

muscled line of her spine.) It felt so good, Rowan almost missed what Cammie said next. “Do you think their father knows what they “arranged” last night?” the other female lycanthrope asked. That penetrated even the heat-lust clouding Rowan’s mind. She straightened in Thad’s arms, dark eyes sharpening. Twisting, she glanced at Thad. His own face was thoughtful. “I think,” he said carefully, “that that is one question we should never ask.” All four lycanthropes looked at each other, and changed the subject.

CHAPTER 62

“On the list of things I never thought I’d say.”

“Are you sure you want me to do this?” Marc asked, as he tossed their stuff into the back of the van. “Yes,” Terri said firmly. “We need the money, and it’s not like we haven’t done the long-distance thing before.” She settled Anna in the back seat and fastened her seat belt. Fluffy (he was still “Fluffy,” as far as Anna was concerned) jumped up beside her, ears pricked, tongue lolling. Terri scratched his ears. “Thank God Arden and Cammie are driving back with us,” she said, watching Anna visibly settle down. “On the list of things I never thought I’d say,” Marc drawled. Money to one side, he wasn’t happy about this enforced separation. There was Terri, who he knew would push herself too hard; there was Anna and her new abilities; there were the job applications he had out. What if he got a call for an interview? “Stop,” Terri said softly, cupping his face in her hands. She kissed him, lightly. “I have Rod and Tara and Jason, and Arden and Cammie and Lashan.” “They aren’t your husband.” He growled, part of him trying to pick a fight, as if that would make anything easier. She, who knew him far too well, wouldn’t rise to the bait. “No, they’re not. My husband is staying here, and doing the right thing for all of us.” “I hate it when you make sense,” he muttered. Terri laughed, wryly.

“Me, too.” She released him, leaning against the open door, a thoughtful look on her face. “What?” Marc asked, recognizing it. “Well… Arden and Cammie… They’re just so different from what the movies say,” Terri said, eyes fogged. “And?” Marc prompted. “And I’d like to do some research,” Terri said. “There’s a powwow in two weeks. They told me about it at work. I’d like to go, and ask some of the storytellers if they have any legends about shapeshifters.” Marc raised an eyebrow. ‘I shoulda seen this coming,’ he itted to himself. And he had, in a way. He just hadn’t expected it to happen so soon. “What about Anna?” he asked. “She can’t handle crowds like that.” “We’ll watch her,” Rod said.

Marc turned. Rod and Tara were standing behind them. Marc glanced back at his wife. “You already asked them, didn’t you?” he said flatly. She looked away, pulling at the hem of another maternity shirt. Sebastian had given Marc the entire duffle bag of clothes for $30. Terri had dove into the clothes with a squeal of delight, and donned another outfit immediately: a bright yellow shirt and blue shorts. They fit her well, and were big enough she’d be able to wear them for a while. Marc sighed. “Are you sure?” he asked the older couple. “Wouldn’t offer if we weren’t,” Rod said laconically. Marc shook his head and gave up.

“Ya better go now, before you get too uncomfortable walking,” he said with a shrug. Terri’s face lit up as she smiled. “I’d like to hear what you learn,” Tara said quietly. They all stared at her, surprised. Her chin rose. “I still don’t like this,” the Witch said bluntly, “but I’m willing to at least consider that they aren’t what I thought.” “I’ll take a tape recorder,” Terri said. “And we can go together to any others.” “Have you ever been to a powwow?” Rod asked his wife. Tara shook her head. “Shelia invited me a lot, but I never wanted to offend anyone,” Tara explained. “Then, when I got good enough to teach Maria’s weaving classes, I covered for her when they’d go.” “They’re fun,” Terri said. “You’ll love the music. And I’ll show you the steps to the dances everyone can share in.” The grin that spread over Tara’s face was pure, performer lust. “I’d like that.” “Don’t forget,” Marc told her. “You promised to do some job-getting magick for me.” “I ,” Tara said. “Jason made me promise to show him how to do it. I think he wants to do one for Dave.” “Where are they?” Terri asked, glancing around. “Going over blueprints with Sebastian,” Marc said. “I need to them.” Rod and Tara counted as family, so Marc ignored them and leaned down to kiss his wife. “Call me when you get home,” he told her. “Always,” she said, hugging him fiercely. “Send Jason out here,” she added. “I want to get going before it gets too hot.” He reached in the van and hugged Anna.

“Be good, my girl,” he told her. Anna actually kissed his cheek (which made his heart hurt even more,) and tried to haul Fluffy’s muzzle up, to make Marc kiss his nose. “You take care of her,” Marc whispered in the pup’s ear. “I know you can understand me. Take care of ’em both.” Fluffy licked his fingers before pulling gently free of Anna. Marc nodded to Rod and Tara and walked toward the house before he humiliated himself by crying.

One month later. Rod sighed, stretching his arms above his head. He shook the cobwebs out of his brain and climbed out of bed, mentally going through the day’s to-do list. ‘Run virus scan at the tribe, install memory on Richard’s system and haul it back to him, order more business cards . . . . ’ He turned the shower on, deciding what needed to be done first, and climbed in. Tara was working on her computer when he walked into the living room, in jeans and a loose, short-sleeved shirt, toweling off his hair. “How’s it working?” Rod asked, setting his hands on her shoulders. “I don’t like this new IT guy,” she griped. “He told me he’d have the new graphics up a week ago, and look… !” She waved a hand at the screen. “Same old stuff.” “Drop him,” Rod said. “I can do better work, and I always had your stuff up when I told you I would.” “Hmmm,” she said, leaning back and letting him massage her neck. The light, gauzy material of her blouse tickled his fingers. “Do the massages cost extra?” “It’s a perk of the package.” “Definite selling point.” He laughed, bending his head to kiss the tip of her ear. “Is that a yes?”

“Depends,” she purred. “I need to see how well you…” Gru leaped off the new couch. (Tara’s, Rod liked hers better and had gleefully tossed his when they finally started merging their households together.) The dog barked angrily as wheels pulled into the yard. Rod swore in three languages, calling curses down on whoever had interrupted them this time, as a door slammed. “POITRA!!!!!!!!!!” Mike LaFromboise yelled. Rod flung the door open. Gru charged through it, looking like he wanted to tear someone’s leg off. Mike scrambled away from him, intimidated. “GRU!” Rod yelled. “Mike, he’s a chicken. Growl at him, and he’ll run.” “If you say so,” Mike muttered. He was about 10 years younger than Rod, a slender guy with short hair, in faded jeans and a tank top. He worked at the casino, and ran horses that regularly got out of their pasture and wandered over to Rod’s, where Gru took a fiendish delight in chasing them. “What can I do for ya, Mike?” Rod asked, as Tara slipped through the door and went down the stairs to get Gru. “If you’re lookin’ for that Shetland of yours, I haven’t seen her.” “No, that’s not it.” Mike reached into the cab of his truck. He emerged with a moving box, carried it to the bottom of the porch steps, and put it down. “Just wanted to give ya this,” he said. “Consider it a wedding gift.” He walked back to his truck. Curious, Rod walked down the steps and looked in the box. “YOU FUCKER!” He roared, as Mike backed out of the driveway. “What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?!” “Not my problem!” Mike yelled as he swung the truck around. “Get your goddamn dog fixed!” Tara sat down on the lowest step. “Hello, babies!” she said to the eight, bright-eyed, mini-Grus in the box. She picked one up; held it up to Gru’s curious nose. “This your daddy,” she told the puppy.

Gru, like red-blooded males everywhere, turned tail and ran. Tara laughed so hard she nearly dropped the pup.

“What the hell are we going to do with eight puppies?” Rod demanded, again. The whole day had gone straight to hell, as far as he was concerned. He’d barely managed to get his work done; Tara had gotten nothing done, since she’d been stuck with creating an impromptu puppy-pen out of old boxes, getting food and water dishes, puppy food, and a whole slew of puppy toys (Rod had growled over the toys; Tara had ignored him.) “Find them homes,” Tara said now, sensibly. “Do you have any idea how hard it’s going to be to get rid of them? Pups are a dime a dozen up here.” Rod savagely stapled some chicken wire to a post he’d hammered into the ground at the side of the house. (He’d had to trade two whole bricks of commodity cheese, his entire supply, but in exchange he’d gotten the posts, the wire, and the use of RJ’s post-auger for the day.) The resulting pen would work far better than the one Tara had clobbered together, and keep the inside of the house from smelling like puppies. “There,” he growled, tossing the staple gun down. He started grabbing puppies out of the temp pen and plopping them unceremoniously down behind the wire. “One, two, three, four, five, six,” he counted off. “We’re missing two. Did they get inside?” “No,” Tara said. Rod turned around. She was holding the last two in her lap. He grabbed one. “Come here, ya little mooch.” Number 7 ed his brother and sisters. “Gimme the other one,” he said, turning to Tara. His wife drew the last puppy, a shy little female, against her torso. “You’ll scare her,” Tara said. “She’s sensitive. It’s taken me all day to get her used to me.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve gotten attached,” Rod moaned. “No,” Tara lied. “Tara.” “I thought Anna might like her,” Tara said defensively, curling her arms around the pup. “Now that the lycanthropes have gotten settled in their own home.” Rod raised an eyebrow, thinking. “Not a bad idea, darlin’,” he itted.

The lycanthropes had found a “den”, as they called it, just over the rise from Marc and Terri’s house. It was close enough to walk, easily, even in the winter. While they had been excavating it, Fluffy had stayed with Anna. But now that the house (an odd, eco-friendly type thing, literally dug into the side of a hill) was ready, Fluffy spent the nights at home. “Have you talked to Terri today?” he asked Tara. “Yes.” “And?” “She found Jason sleeping on the floor in Anna’s room.” “She still can’t get to sleep without someone there?” “Nope.” Rod narrowed his eyes, thinking. Terri was getting tired easily now, and she wouldn’t ask for help. Jason was taking care of Anna most of the day, while Terri was at work. “Call Terri,” he said. “Tell her dinner’s on us tonight.” “I’ll do better than that,” Tara said. “I’ll go get Jason and Anna now. We can watch her, Terri can relax after work, and Jason can sleep for a bit.”

“Good idea.”

CHAPTER 63

“Poppa.”

“Poppa,” Anna said, an hour later, leaning back in Rod’s lap. They were outside, sitting on the porch steps, by the puppy pen. He sighed. “Your real Poppa must have called,” he told her. “You only call me that after Terri’s Dad calls.” “Poppa,” she repeated. He glanced around. Tara was inside, getting dinner ready; Jason was out cold in his room; and Terri wasn’t here yet, so there was no one to laugh. “Poppa,” he agreed. One of the puppies sniffed her fingers through the chicken wire. Anna looked at it, and an actual expression filled her face. “Sad,” she said, burrowing against his chest. Terri, Marc, and Jason would have made her talk, forcing her to put into words what she felt. Rod didn’t. “I know, my girl. You miss the cub, don’t you?” It was pointless to try and explain that she still saw Fluffy every day, that he was just a short walk up the hill from her house. He wasn’t there when Anna went to sleep at night, and she’d gotten used to him being there. “Fluffy,” she said. A tear streaked down her cheek. Rod put his arms around her and whispered her song to her.

He came out of it to Anna half-asleep in his arms, and Terri watching them quietly from the driver’s seat of her van. Rod blinked dazedly. ‘How did I miss

her pulling in?’ he wondered, stunned. “Didn’t hear you,” he rasped. “Gru didn’t even bark.” “I didn’t want to intrude,” she said quietly. She climbed out of the van, visibly pregnant now, smiling. “She misses the cub,” Rod said, talking softly, so he wouldn’t disturb Anna. “I know.” Terri walked over and held her arms out, offering to take her daughter. To his surprise, Rod didn’t want her to. But he couldn’t get to his feet with Anna in his lap, so he reluctantly let Terri draw Anna to her. Anna leaned sleepily against her mother, rubbing her eyes. “She won’t eat, now,” Terri said, ruefully. “We’re sending the leftovers home with you. She can sleep here, and eat at home.” “You don’t have to do that.” “If we thought we had too, we wouldn’t. Let me take her,” he said, “she can sleep in our room.” “Are you sure?” “What are poppas for?” Rod asked her, and blushed as Terri laughed.

Gru jumped up beside Anna as Rod spread a light blanket over her. Anna curled against the dog. “Stay,” Rod whispered to him. Gru’s tail thumped once against the mattress, and he laid his head down on Rod’s pillow. “Is she alright?” Terri asked as Rod came into the living room. “Out cold, using Gru as a pillow,” he said. Terri shook her head. “She’s been tired and cranky,” the woman said. “As cranky as her mother.” Tara handed her a glass of lemonade. (Terri had cut out caffeine during her

pregnancy.) “You’re not cranky,” the Witch said. “Shelia was cranky. Goddess, toward the ends of her pregnancies, I swear, she could have made a rabid bear run in the opposite direction.” The younger woman laughed slightly. “Well, I’m trying not to be that bad.” “You’re not,” Jason said. He was coming down the hall, carrying his backpack. “First chance I’ve had,” he said, setting it in Tara’s lap. “One of Lashan’s daughters gave this to me and told me to give it to the Daughter of Isis. That’s the name of one of your Goddesses, right?” Rod watched Tara’s eyes widen at the phrase “Lashan’s daughters.” “I serve Isis, yes,” Tara corrected him. “Is it in here?” Jason nodded. She reached in and pulled out a newspaper-wrapped object. “What is it?” Tara asked. “Open it, and find out,” Jason said quietly. A low, soundless humming! filled the air as Tara warily unwrapped the item. Rod felt the fillings in his teeth vibrate as the earthenware goblet emerged, its reddish hues gleaming with a faint opalescent sheen as Tara turned it in her fingers, mouth hanging open, eyes wide. Rod shivered. If he could feel the power in the goblet, what was Tara picking up, with it in her hands? “Bright, blessed Goddess,” the Witch whispered. “Sweet Isis. This is beautiful.” She rested it against her cheek, as if drawing its medicine into her body. Then she held it out, tracing the spiral designs cut into each side of the bowl with the tip of one, graceful finger. Rod saw the green spark jump from the spiral to Tara an instant before she gasped, drawing her hand back and laughing aloud. “It’s already Cleansed and Dedicated,” she breathed, eyes shining. She cupped her hands around the bowl of the goblet, wonder suffusing her face. “When did you get this, Jason?” she whispered. He shrugged.

“The day after the ER. Things have been so crazy, I haven’t had a chance to give it to you.” Tara got up; carried the goblet into the spare guest room, where she’d set up her altar. Rod winked at Jason. “Good job,” he whispered. Jason grinned back. Tara came back into the living room and kissed Jason on the cheek. (He blushed scarlet.) “Thank you,” she said. “Don’t thank me,” he muttered, embarrassed. “It was Lashan’s daughter who gave it to you.” “I thank you for delivering it,” Tara told him. “Now, let’s eat!”

Over macaroni salad, hotdogs, potato chips, and a fruit platter, the talk turned to Marc and Dave’s progress on Clarissa’s coffee shop. “Dad said it’ll be done next week,” Jason said, slathering relish on a second hotdog. “Claire’s throwing a grand re-opening; she wants the band to play that weekend.” “Sounds good,” Rod said. “Friday and Saturday?” Jason nodded, mouth now full of food. “We can caravan again,” Tara said. She smiled at Terri. “I’ll drive with you, if you like.” Terri blushed, running her hands over her stomach. “It is getting uncomfortable,” she itted. She stared at her belly a moment. Then, with the mood shifts of a pregnant woman, tears suddenly filled her eyes. “It’d take two of your dancing costumes to cover me now,” she wailed softly. “By the time the baby comes…”

“And afterward, you’ll fit into the smallest one I have,” Tara told her. “ what your doctor said? The yoga I’m teaching you now will not only get you in shape to dance after the baby’s born, but is keeping you in very good shape. You look wonderful.” Terri sniffed. “Have you picked a pattern for your costume, yet?” Tara asked. “No,” Terri whispered. Tara got up from the table. “Let me put the refrigerator stuff away, and then we’ll go through my costumes. I brought them over from my house yesterday.” “We’ll do it!” Jason blurted, jumping up and grabbing stuff off the table. “Yeah!” Rod agreed, transparently glad to hand the weepy, pregnant Terri off to his wife. Tara shot them a laughing look that said she knew exactly what they were doing, but she took Terri by the hand, and pulled her into the room where her altar was. “Nicely played, my boy,” Rod told Jason, sotto voce. “Nicely played.”

Anna, of course, woke up after everything was put away, and was hungry. So, the men had to break everything out again and fix her a plate, while the big girls played dress-up in the second guest room. After she was finished, Rod and Jason took Anna outside to play with the puppies. “Puppy,” Anna said, as the shy little female crawled into her lap, up her arm, and tried to hide under her hair. She sat between Rod and Jason, and actually smiled as the pup sniffed her ear. “How are things, really?” Rod asked the youth, as they watched the sun go down. Jason shrugged. “Marc coming up for that job interview last week made things rough,” he said. “Anna knows Marc is gone. She keeps looking for him. It made Terri cry the other night.”

Rod winced. ‘No 20 year old should have to carry this,’ he thought, studying his nephew. “And you get Anna all day,” he said. Jason shrugged. “It’s not so bad, really. Cammie and Arden come over everyday, with Fluffy; Lashan comes over, to renew the empathy shield around Anna. He says he’s found a teacher for her, another empath.” “Leave it to him,” Rod muttered wryly. Jason snorted. “And speaking of teachers,” the youth resumed, “Cammie was a teacher, in Canada, so she met with all Anna’s doctors, and she’s taken over the home schooling stuff. I guess lycanthropes’ kids are all home schooled,” he explained to Rod’s stunned look. “Cammie taught the younger ones. So, she takes Anna for the afternoons. It’s part of the lease deal Marc and Terri worked out with them. Cammie teaches Anna. Arden, he’s a black belt in, like, three martial arts. He’s teaching me, when Anna’s in school, and he’ll start teaching Marc, when Marc gets home. He’s also teaching me and Terri how to meditate, so our emotions don’t overwhelm Anna.” “No sh…” Rod glanced at Anna, and changed what he was going to say, “kidding. Sounds like a good deal.” He stretched his legs out in front of him. “I have a little gossip for ya, my boy. I checked on a couple things when I was at the tribal offices today. They have a place coming open, in one of the better housing projects. Seems Tim re all the favors Dave’s done for him; he bumped your guys’ application to the top of the list. Don’t say anything til you get the official word, but you might have a place next month.” Some of the tension drained out of Jason’s shoulders. (Rod could see it clearly, thanks to the long summer dusk.) The youth hadn’t said anything, but Rod knew he’d been worried. Jason’s next words proved it: “What if it falls through? I can’t stay with Marc and Terri much longer, they need that room for the baby. Dad doesn’t have anyplace to stay, after this job’s over.”

“First,” Rod said bluntly, “we got room here. But if you want more privacy, Tara’s willing to let you both stay at her place in Rawlins, for as long as it takes.” Jason had his father’s pride: “Not for free.” “Rent would be the work she needs done around there, and you guys keeping an eye on the place, so it doesn’t get broken into.” Rod said. “We’ve all ready talked it over.” Rod felt the hope flare in Jason. The last two years had done him good: he actually let it show for a moment before reining himself in. “Thanks, Uncle Rod. I’ll tell Dad.” “Don’t thank me, thank Tara,” Rod replied. He glanced back over his shoulder at the front door; made sure it was closed. “And I heard another thing. Don’t tell Terri or Marc, but I have it on good authority that Marc got that bus driver job,” he whispered. “Pugs told me today. The first two choices failed the background check.” Jason’s teeth flashed in a wolfish grin. “All RIGHT!” he hissed, softly, pumping his fist in the air. “All right, what?” Terri asked as she opened the door, spilling a block of light over Rod, Jason, Anna, and the puppies. “Anna likes this little female,” Rod told her, shooting Jason a look. “Rod,” she sighed. “She slept just fine by Gru,” Rod pointed out. “And ate a full plate of food,” Jason added. “Maybe she needs another puppy.” Terri walked up behind them; looked down at the puppy, asleep under Anna’s hair.

“You’ll help me with the housetraining?” she asked Jason. “Yeah.” “Puppy,” Anna said, twisting to look up at her mother. The pup, woken up by her movement, yawned, tiny white teeth gleaming in the twilight, and half-fell into Anna’s lap. “Is this our new Fluffy, mija?” Terri asked in laughing surrender. “No,” Anna said, slowly. Her eyebrows drew together. “Not Fluffy,” she said, the most she’d spoken all night. “Mija.” She pointed at the puppy. “Mija.” Rod grinned openly. So did Terri and Jason. “Mija it is,” Terri said.

EPILOGUE

“Let’s do this, m’Lady.”

“Why,” Rod demanded, pulling at his shirt collar, “are these bloody things so damn uncomfortable?” ’Course, it didn’t help that he hadn’t worn a suit in over 10 years. (He’d burned the last he’d owned after Kay’s funeral, and refused to buy another one.) It also didn’t help that the one he’d just been forced into was a few sizes larger than he ed needing, or that his smart-ass cousin kept making jokes about it, either. “Because you’re fat from sitting on your ass and looking at a computer all day,” Brad put in now, right on schedule. He was lounging in front of the door, ostensibly to keep everyone else out, in reality to keep Rod from escaping. “So are you, doughnut freak,” Lashan pointed out. The Goth was unusually formal tonight. His usual head-to-toe black wasn’t cotton and denim, but a linen shirt and dress slacks. He knocked Rod’s hands away from the shirt collar. “Quit messing with it,” he ordered. “Brad, go see if the ladies are ready.” Brad smirked and slipped out the door, closing it behind him. “Ya coulda warned me,” Rod growled, turning away from the mirror. “We wanted it to be a surprise,” Lashan said. “Well, you got that,” Rod itted, pacing.

How they’d kept the secret, with Terri being the worst gossip on the res, Rod had no idea. But the fact remained that he and Tara had been completely floored

when they’d pulled into the parking lot of the Strange Brew Coffee House. They were yanked out of their respective vehicles, separated, and, in Rod’s case, forced to don a monkey-suit. Rod paced some more, sweating in the fancy clothes. “We’re already married,” he pointed out, again. “True,” Lashan agreed. “But everyone deserves to be married in their faith, and Tara’s no exception. So, this handfasting ceremony.” He grinned, gesturing at the Traditional ornaments braided into Rod’s hair. “With a few Traditional elements thrown in. “Sides,” he added, “it’s not like Tara’s going to leave you at the altar.” Rod snorted. Then a wry grin softened his features. “There is that,” he said. The door opened. Brad walked in; shook his head. “I don’t know what you did to deserve a woman like her, Rod.” He stepped back and let Rod leave the room, Lashan behind him.

Later, he’d notice the decorations, the people, the cake off to one side. Right then, all he saw was Tara. “What the hell,” Brad demanded, “does a woman like that see in you?!” Rod bared his teeth in a wolf’s grin. “Somethin’ you ain’t got,” he replied. They (Rod suspected Terri and Clarissa were “they” ) had dressed her, not in a conventional wedding gown, but a dancing costume of cream, decorated with gold. (Suddenly, Terri taking that costume home last week to “copy the pattern” made a lot more sense.) It cupped her breasts, left her toned midriff bare, and flowed down the sides of her legs. She was in better shape than women half her age. Henna had been painted in a lotus design on her stomach, with her navel as the center of the bloom. (And how they’d gotten that to dry without a little Strange magick, Rod had no idea.) Her hair was loose too, falling snow-white

around her face and down her back. When she walked over to him, he saw gold around her eyes and caught the scent of amber on her skin. She smiled at him, oddly shy. He grinned at her. “You look beautiful,” he said, leaning down so he could murmur it in her ear. She blushed scarlet, tugging lightly on the ends of his hair. “I had no idea,” she whispered. “That you’re beautiful?” he teased, raising his eyebrows. She blushed again, harder. “I meant, about all… this.” She gestured with one hand at everything around them. “Me, either,” he said. “We’ll have to plot revenge.” “Of course,” she laughed, eyes dancing. Someone must have hit a button, because the new sound system kicked on. Conventional wedding music? No. But it fit them. Rod watched the delight spread across Tara’s face as she identified song. “Marco Polo,” she murmured. “Another of your dancing tunes?” he asked. She nodded. For some reason, it made him laugh. “Let’s do this, m’Lady.” He winked at her as she set her hand on his arm. “Yes,” she said. “Together?” “You got it.”

GLOSSARY

Chi Fee: Mitchif, “little woman” or “little girl”. Mage: How Derrick Lashan describes his magick. Manitou: Chippewa, “Spirit.” James Longbow uses this word, also, to refer to the Good Fae. Memekoshe: Chippewa, “Little People,” used here to refer to the Good Fae. Mija: Spanish, contraction of mi hija, or “my daughter.” In context here, more like “my girl.” Moraddyn: The title the lycanthrope Packs have given Derrick Lashan. (Apparently, it has no translation in English, so we have no idea what it means, yet.) Pipe-carrier: Another name for a shaman/medicine man/holy man. Traditionalist: A Native American who lives according to traditional ideals. Wizard: How Sebastian Strange describes his magick. (Apparently, there is a difference between being a mage and being a wizard, but neither Sebastian nor Lashan will explain what that difference is.)

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Giving credit where credit is due.

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Loreena McKennitt. “Marco Polo” The Book of Secrets. Quinlan Road Music, Ltd. 2006. CD.

Loreena McKennitt. “Santiago.” The Mask And The Mirror. Quinlan Road Music, Ltd. 1994. CD.

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Any reference to Loreena McKennitt in this book does not imply the artist’s approval or endorsement of the work.