by Rider, C. P.
My eyes clouded with tears. Most kids grew up knowing that their mother loved them. They heard the words all through childhood and into adulthood. I'd never had that privilege. It was a heady thing, finally hearing—well, reading—the words.
I read on.
You're only a baby now, but there are things I need to tell you about yourself. About whom and what you are. I'm worried that I won't be around to explain this to you when you're old enough to understand it, so I'm going to document it here.
If you're reading this, it means your father and I deemed you old enough to handle the truth. Or only your father. Or your Tío José, your godfather, who has promised to always love and watch over you.
My beautiful daughter, like me, you are one of the rarest, most wondrous creatures on the planet. You are a paranormal. A telepath. But that is only the beginning of what you are.
My cell phone rang, startling me out of my reading. With trembling hands, I set the journal aside.
"Hello, Dolores."
"Are you wearing the charms? Have they done anything to you? Are you okay?" She rapid-fired questions at me while Dottie told her to calm down in the background.
"No. No. And yes, I'm okay." I closed the journal, keeping my finger tucked in the page where my mom had told me she loved me.
"That mystic hasn't done the tracking spell yet, has he?" Dolores asked.
"No. It's tonight at six, which is in about a half hour or so. Why?"
"Dot and me would like to talk to him. Make sure he's not pulling a fast one on you. Gotta watch those mystics, you know. They dip into dark magic."
"Oh, sister, that's not true. Some dip into dark magic. Just like witches and mages." Dottie's voice pitched higher. "Although, she's not wrong. You do want to watch out, dear."
"Tracking someone isn't easy," Dolores said gruffly. "And tracking them from a damn bee is dang near impossible if you aren't dipping into the deep end of the dark magic pool. You know it, I know it."
"What if he is? What does that mean?" I was suddenly not sure I wanted a man who couldn't even drive his car properly to perform dangerous magic on me, no matter if it would bring us closer to the dire wolf or not.
"It means he has to make a blood sacrifice. He'll probably take it from you and either the mother or the brother of the fella you're tracking to kill two birds with one stone. The sacrifice and the spell itself."
"Should I be worried?" I asked.
"Am I talking to the walls here? Yes, you should be worried. Now give me that mystic's phone number. I'm going to call him and make sure he's doing things right."
Chapter Nineteen
After I gave Dolores Gert's number, since I only had hers, I picked up the journal and read a few more pages. So far, my mother hadn't revealed anything else about me other than the names of my abuelas and abuelos, where they had come from—Durango, Mexico—and the types of paranormals they had been—telepaths and trancers.
No way was I telling Sampson Ibarra about that.
I hadn't yet reached Dad's part of the journal, but I knew he'd contributed, because his name was scrawled in his handwriting on the first page along with my mother's.
My parents. Henry and Maria MacLeod. It felt solid. Real.
Still shaking with anticipation, excitement, and a tinge of fear, I gathered up the three witch charms I'd found in the other boxes and went into the bathroom, where I changed into a T-shirt and a pair of non-bloodstained jeans.
I washed my hands and face and stared at myself in the vanity mirror as I dropped the charms over my head. Nothing happened, so I decided to wear them. The idea that my mother had once worn them made me feel closer to her.
After studying her photos, it was plain to see that I had my mother's hair—a froth of chestnut brown curls that trailed down my back. Funny how I'd grown it out long just as she had, without ever having seen so much as a photo of her. I had her cheekbones, nose, and smile, though hers was made even cuter by a tiny chip in one of her front teeth. My dad had gifted me with his smooth brown skin and eye shape, though neither one appeared to have my exact eye color. Maybe I had the eye color of one of my grandparents. Later I'd check to see if there were any pictures of them among my mother's things.
Peering closer at my reflection, I checked my eyes, nose, ears, and the corners of my mouth. This time I was looking for traces of blood, not heredity. It seemed I was bleeding after every spike these days. Even shallow ones.
No blood, so I slipped into my sneakers and took off to Gert's house to meet Barney.
It was five minutes to six, which meant I was late. Moving quickly down the hall, my sneakers squeaking on the wood floor, I pushed open the back door and stepped out onto a gravel walkway. I could see Gert and Dahlia's houses a half mile away. Ugh. They'd seemed closer yesterday.
As I scurried down the path, my cell phone rang.
"What a coincidence, I was just about to call you."
"No, you weren't." Lucas growled. Actually growled. "I reached out for you and you were far away. You weren't thinking about me."
He'd tried to touch me via the bond between us, and I’d been so preoccupied with the journal I hadn't noticed it. Now that was distracted. "I'm sorry. I found something that sidetracked me from even the dulcet tones of your beautiful growl."
"Flattery will get you nowhere with me."
"Now, Alpha Blacke, we both know that's not true," I half whispered, half sang to him.
"Okay, fine. Flattery will actually get you very far with me. What did you find?"
"Something I don't think my dad actually wanted me to have just yet. Lewiston gave it to me, and I think this is going to play out as a mistake made by him, but it's no mistake. He wanted me to have it."
"Strange. I got the feeling Lewiston didn't carry out any directive your dad didn't sign in triplicate and notarize. He struck me as a full-tilt 'yes man.'"
"Maybe. My dad conspires and schemes so much, this would almost be the perfect way for him to give it to me. It certainly follows his pattern." The wind kicked up and made it harder to hear, so I ducked my head and cupped my hand over the phone. "Lucas, it's a journal from my mom—and my dad, but I haven't gotten that far yet."
"You're kidding. What's it say?" His eagerness was palpable and contagious and, yep, I fell a little deeper in love with the guy because I knew he was excited simply because I was excited.
"Lucas, she told me she loved me." I teared up again. "My mom loved me."
"I'm so happy for you, honey. But I don't know why you're surprised. You're very easy to love now. As a little Neely, you would have been impossible not to love."
"Thanks. I love you, too." I sniffed. Damn the man for making me miss him even harder than I already did. "Honey? Not sugar cookie?"
"I like to mix it up." I felt his happiness through the phone line and through our connection. "So, was your mom a spiker, too?"
"So far she's only told me about the telepath part. I have a feeling she's building toward something, though." I glanced over my shoulder at the big house. "I wish I could finish it right now, but I have a dire wolf to track down."
"I heard."
"Amir called you?"
"Actually, the mean witch called to update me even before my fourth." He sighed. "If she keeps this up, I might have to stop calling her that."
"Stop it now. Dolores is not mean. She's feisty, like you."
"I'll consider stopping it if she doesn't bring Lestat any more glittery tiger shirts. He scratched the shit out of me when I took it off him to wash, then retreated under my bed until it was clean and back on his chubby little body. Wouldn't even take his favorite treats, if you can believe that."
Hearing about Lucas washing his cat's shirt was the boost I hadn't known I'd needed. "What did you expect? It's his favorite."
"Don't remind me." He groaned. "Dolores told me you're using some kind of weather mystic to help draw out the dire wolf?"
"Barney Drath. He works for Juan. He's going to try to trace th
e magic trail left by the bee I found on my pillow after Guillermo scared the crap out of me. It wasn't as terrifying as the illusion on the way over, where he choked me and fake-murdered an entire plane of people, but it wasn't fun."
"Is your neck okay?"
"Sore, but I'll heal. Juan put some antibiotic cream on it, so it feels bett—"
"He put his hands on you?" Lucas roared so loudly I had to hold the phone away from my face. A few seconds elapsed without either of us saying anything.
"Uh, do you have yourself under control?" I asked, returning the phone to my face.
"I'm always under control." Beneath his voice was a ticking undercurrent of rage.
"So that's a no?"
His response was in the form of a growl.
"You should probably know that I hugged him, too. There are shifters around here at night, young ones, and I needed to have his scent on me so they'd leave me alone."
"Please. Don't. Tell. Me. Any. More." It sounded as though he was speaking through clenched teeth.
"Oh, get over it, Alpha Blacke. Juan has treated me with respect and kindness, and has not made one sexual move in my direction. He's your friend, as is Amir. Tell your tiger to stand down."
Lucas let out a breath so harsh I knew it hadn't come from his human form. Had he shifted to hybrid when I told him Juan had touched me? If so, which one?
"Please tell me something that has nothing to do with people touching you."
I thought about it. "Well, I found three witch charms in my mother's things. One charm has a little heart, one has a little star, and one has a little moon."
"A moon?"
"And a heart and star. I was going to ask Barney about them if I get a chance. They're pretty old, so I'm assuming they don't work anymore."
"Never assume with magic." He went silent for a few beats, then asked, in a lower, softer voice, "So you're going to see Barney the mystic, huh? Should I just go ahead and catch a flight out there tonight, or will someone else take you to the hospital?"
"Oh, stop. I'm sure it'll be fine. Although I really miss you. So, if you were to put yourself on a plane and fly out here, I wouldn't necessarily mind…"
"Watch it. I am not your sexual plaything, Neely Costa MacLeod. I am a living, feeling person with thoughts and dreams and emotions."
"Yes, you are, Lucas. I apologize for planning to throw your naked body into my bed the second you arrived. In the future, I'll be more sensitive to your emotional needs." I walked up to Gert's front porch and knocked on the door.
"See that you do." He paused, then asked, "So, what exactly were you planning to do with me after you threw me into your bed?"
"No, no, Alpha Blacke. I respect you far too much to degrade you with my baser instincts." Gert opened the door and stepped onto the porch. "Got to go now. The mystic is waiting. Love you." I ended the call.
"Don't worry, Neely, you aren't late. Barney is, though. About par for the course with that guy. I've got one of our shifters parked at the front gate to bring him up here when he shows up. I don't trust that old man's driving skills, and there are pups around."
"How old is Barney?" Because if Gert was calling him old…
"Same as my favorite cowboy actor, Clint Eastwood. Just a few years older than me, so still pretty spry—except for the driving thing." She frowned. "Sadly, he doesn't look a thing like Clint, even if they are the same age. Well, maybe, if someone let all the air out of Clint and plucked out most of his hair…" A red Dodge truck pulled up in front of the house. "Here he is now. Hope he's not acting weird again."
Gert was right. Barney Drath did not look a thing like Clint Eastwood. If I had to choose an actor he resembled, I'd have said he looked like a geriatric Billy Crystal. Still nice-looking, but shorter and smilier than Clint.
"Hello, my beautiful Gertrudis," Barney called out as he stepped down from the oversized truck dragging a walking stick and a bag the size of a guitar case. He didn't seem to be "acting weird" as Gert had feared, though he was definitely putting on a show. "You didn't show up at Dahlia's last night for dancing. My boots don't scoot as well without you, firecracker."
Gert squinted at him as she took his bag and hauled it onto the porch. They were the same height, but she managed to come off taller. "Did you dance with Ethel Miller?"
"Yes. And Dulce Montoya." He waggled his bushy eyebrows. "Why? Are you jealous?"
"No. I got more scoot in my boot than either of them. And Dulce is only eighty. She's too young for you."
Barney's eyes lit up when he saw me. "Is this the lovely Miss Costa-MacLeod?"
"Neely, please." I smiled.
"Alpha Martinez has told me so much about you. I'm thrilled to meet an actual spiker. Wait." He rested his cane against his hip and clasped his hands in front of his chest, practically vibrating with excitement. "Are you doing it now? Are you spiking my brain?"
No, I wasn't. But I was using my telepathy on him, for all the good it did me. Reading Barney reminded me of the first time I read Lucas. The man voiced nearly every thought in his head the second it occurred to him.
"Oh no, pal. If she spikes you, you'll know it, right Neely?" Gert winked. "You took long enough to get here, Barney. Haul your backside into the house. The Sundance tower witches are waiting for our video call. Don't drag your feet now, you've drug them enough."
Barney watched Gert flutter around her front doorway with a fascinated gleam in his eye. "Coming, firecracker."
Although the call was largely about me, I had no voice in the conversation. Barney, Dottie, Dolores, and Gert—mostly the latter two—dominated the conversation. I plopped on Gert's flowered upholstered sofa and petted her dog, a seventeen-year-old white poodle named Skip, who apparently slept twenty-three hours a day.
Gert and Dolores got along like a house afire. Within the first five minutes of the video call, the two women had planned a visit with each other once this was all over with. I was entirely unsurprised by this.
"Take me with you," Barney said. "I'd love to visit California again."
Gert gave him a narrow-eyed glare, then surprised me by saying, "Maybe. If you play your cards right."
The witches spoke at length with Barney, who was sharper than his driving record would suggest. When they'd given him their input on the spell and heard his, they wished us luck and signed off.
"Those are some sharp cookies over there," Gert said, referring to the witches. She scooped her poodle off my lap and cradled him in her arms like a baby as she took him into her bedroom. "Time for bed, Skip."
Barney clasped his hands together. "I've got everything I need to trace the spell. We just need Alpha Martinez."
"And the eagle, plus some alpha wolf shifters." Gert returned to the living room sans Skip. For the first time this evening, she looked worried. "We're taking Gil alive, folks. Best we can."
"Of course, Auntie Gert," Juan said from behind me. I nearly jumped out of my skin. I hadn't heard him approach. Shifters. "The plan is to bring him home. Be prepared that we may have to hurt him to do that. Physical harm is okay, so long as it doesn't lead to death."
It was only when he finished his statement that I realized he hadn't been speaking solely to Gert, Barney, and me. Behind him stood a line of shifters, shoulder to shoulder, faces somber. They had to be Martinezes because they all had similar characteristics. Juan must have a huge family.
"What do we do now?" I asked Barney.
"I need a little blood." He pulled a double-ended blade the length of my arm from the bag he'd brought with him.
"Lord, how much do you need?" Gert asked. "You planning to lop off her head with that double dagger dealie?"
"No. And it's not a double dagger dealie, it's a ceremonial haladie. This one was passed down through the mystics in my family, and was reportedly used by my many times great-grandfather. It's Syrian. Very sharp and very old." He held it by the hilt in the center, careful to keep the eight-inch blades on either end away from any flesh. "To cast the tracing spel
l, I need blood. Neely, you take one end in your hand. Alpha Martinez, you take the other."
The witches had seemed okay with it, so I was sure it was okay.
I swallowed.
Gert wrinkled her nose at the knife. "Why does Johnny have to do it, too?"
"He's the closest blood relative to Guillermo aside from Dahlia. And he's Alpha."
"I'm no longer my brother's alpha leader." Juan's expression gave nothing away, but I read the anguish in his thoughts.
"It won't matter. You are the stronger alpha between the two of you." Barney lowered the knife. "Alpha, be aware that you may have to take his wolf by force."
"I take it you aren't referring to pinning him down and dragging him home?" I glanced from the mystic to Juan.
"No." Gert's mouth was a hard, thin line. "It means Johnny has to force Gil back into the pack against his will. It's demoralizing, humiliating, and painful. Even the most abusive alpha leaders avoid it, which should tell you something about how goddamn terrible it is."
His voice calm and even, Juan said, "I have prepared for this eventuality. Let's continue."
"Johnny?" Gert ducked her head, the first sign of deference I'd seen her give him. "Are you sure that's necessary?"
"No. But if it is, I'm ready. I will bring my brother home."
Gert nodded, and took a step back as Barney held out the knife.
"Uh." I eyeballed the viciously sharp blades. "Let's keep in mind that Alpha Juan can heal himself. I can't."
"That's not going to be a problem. I can take care of your wound. It's a simple spell. Oh, wait." Barney adjusted his glasses and stared at my chest. "Perhaps I won't need to. It looks like you've brought a healing charm with you."
"Really?" I held up the three silver charms. "I found them at my dad's house. They were in my mother's things. She died when I was a baby, so I figured they were expired."
Barney eyed each one in turn. "They are most definitely not inert. The one with the heart lock appears to be for some sort of healing. The other two, the star and the moon, are—" He blinked once, twice. "—different. I'll have to look at them more closely than I have time for now. Bring them to me tomorrow."
