Shattered Bonds

by Faith Hunter

  “I’m just ducky,” I said, my voice sounding more human and less croaky. “Update. Why was Thema watching the screens?” Old vamps were seldom tech-savvy.

  “She is capable. Alex is sleeping, exuding the stench of poison energy drinks. Eli is healing. Lincoln Shaddock is working with the witches to secure the grounds, yet this one”—he pointed at Aya—“got through the defenses.”

  “How?”

  “He reads as skinwalker. Like you. They are adjusting the hedge of thorns for were-creatures, and the white werewolf is feeling unwelcome. The wolf is most insistent upon being with you.” Ed stepped aside and Brute pushed through, into the sweathouse. The smell of wet wolf was strong on the air.

  Ayatas turned the gun on my werewolf. Brute snorted with amusement. Edmund said, “Brute ate the Son of Darkness. I doubt you could kill him with anything less than an atomic bomb. If you harm my mistress, I will hunt you down and flay the skin from your body. Then I will tan the flesh and make a horsewhip from it.”

  Ayatas sighed and put the weapon away with a soft click of Kydex. The wolf plopped down beside me and dropped his enormous head in my lap. That was when I realized that I wasn’t dreaming and hadn’t been for some time. I was awake. My brother and my primo were both really here, and the wolf was asking for scritches. My life was . . . not my own anymore. Hadn’t been for a very long time. I put a hand on the wolf’s head and massaged his ears. He sighed and closed his eyes.

  “My mistress acquires the strangest pets.” Ed backed out and closed the door.

  “Why do I have the feeling,” Ayatas said wryly, “that I am included under the designation of pets?” I didn’t answer. He asked, “Why do you trust that werewolf?”

  “He was part of a werewolf motorcycle gang. Then he was trapped in a hedge with a demon that was eating him alive. Then Hayyel appeared and saved him.” I shrugged slightly. “Approved by one who claims to be an angel. Who am I to disagree?”

  Brute yawned hugely, his fangs dangerously near my hand. His breath was awful. “Holy crap, wolf, what have you been eating? Rotten meat and raw onions?” Brute didn’t answer.

  Ayatas had gone immobile during my truncated story. “Motorcycle gang. I had a run-in with a werewolf gang on bikes long before they were out of the closet. Outside of Billings, Montana. In 1974.”

  Brute turned his head and chuffed again, his icy blue eyes on my brother, narrowed with laughter.

  “I barely got away with my life.”

  A chill raced over me. I hated it when synchronicity and serendipity combined into something that was too coincidental to really be only that. And I wondered how long Hayyel had been hovering over my life, whether I was in human or Beast form, watching over my family, pulling strings, setting things in motion. I scowled at the wolf head in my lap.

  “There was no white werewolf in the pack,” Ayatas said.

  “Brute wasn’t white until after the encounter with Hayyel. Before that he was red and big as a fire truck.”

  My brother swore under his breath, recognizing the wolf from the description.

  “You and Brute have a history. Interesting, that.”

  Brute yawned, showing killing teeth. He closed his eyes again and made a sound that might be a fake snore.

  “Will you talk to our grandmother?”

  Abrupt change of subject. “Sure. After the invading vamps are dead or neutralized. I’m too busy right now for a family reunion.” Though there was that pesky memory of the longhouse and the woman who hadn’t belonged. “Later,” I said, to Aya and to myself. “Later.”

  “I’ll hold you to it.” He stopped.

  I knew what else he wanted but I wasn’t going to make it easy on him. I gave him my best Beastly toothy grin.

  His scent changed but his voice was smooth and unperturbed when he asked, “Are you ever going to show me how to achieve the half-form you wear?”

  “Who knows. It could happen. And it might not.” Which was a lot more positive a response than the last time he asked.

  He stood without using his arms or hands, twisting and pushing upright with his legs until he stood straight and tall over me. “I hope this is the beginning of peace between us, e-igido.”

  I thought about peace, and how alliances were built on many things—DNA, shared history, cultural similarities, shared resources, mutual protection, change of circumstances, mutual need. I already shared some of those with Ayatas, but not all. “Are you going to help us against the Flayer of Mithrans?”

  “It’s complicated. At the moment I have to say any help would be . . . unofficial. Someone in PsyLED Unit Eighteen found video of a torture scene from inside a local hotel.”

  He had to mean the hacker on his Knoxville team. I waited.

  Ayatas’s face was set in stone, showing no emotion as he said, “When the FBI saw the level of violence and the compulsion the Flayer of Mithrans was using, controlling all those Mithrans and humans, the interagency directors decided that PsyLED would no longer have lead on this, for fear that we would be more easily controlled and infiltrated by paranormals. I might as well have been told to stand down.”

  I raised my eyes, realizing what it meant that he was wearing civilian clothing, no badge, no official dark jacket with PsyLED on it in big white letters. He had entered my land in cat form and changed shape and dressed. He’d worn his pack the way Beast did, full of clothing and supplies. I said, “That’s stupid. Humans are much easier targets for fangheads.” Ayatas didn’t reply. “If you’re here, then PsyLED, ICE, ATF, DOD, the National Guard, and every yahoo redneck cop from here to Memphis knows about the vamps. Who’s going to show?”

  “ICE took lead. They were planning a military raid on the Regal Imperial. They were driving in from Charlotte, arriving in force, with plans to work with Asheville PD, Buncombe Sheriff, and NC State HPD.” It didn’t escape my notice that he didn’t mention PsyLED. “But the ICE contingent was trapped by a massive rock- and snowslide on Highway 26 and the National Guard isn’t keen to go it alone, not without bigger weapons and more people.” He chuckled shortly. “The up-line brass are barely controlling their hysteria. Interagency command wants tanks. Rocket launchers. Local politicians want no property damage or collateral damage. It’s become a bureaucratic nightmare. ICE is trying to regroup and take back roads to I-40, but the weather isn’t cooperating. And since the quarry is trapped in Asheville, and they haven’t attacked the population en masse, I think they’ll wait until the sleet abates to try again. For now, as they try to get their people in, and in place, you’re on your own.”

  “Big surprise.”

  “You can ask for help.”

  Help? From whom? I asked you and you said no. And then I let his original words flow through my memory. He had said he couldn’t help officially. “So how can you help us?”

  “Information. Things your IT people may not be able to discover. Things you need to know.”

  “Like?”

  “Your enemy is no longer at the Regal Imperial Hotel. I received word just after I arrived at your estate that there had been no recent movement in the hotel. The local LEOs sent in a mobile recon robot and saw nothing alive or undead. The Flayer of Mithrans, his scions, and any blood servants he left alive have moved elsewhere. There were four bodies stacked inside the front entrance and a trail of blood that led to the central fireplace. No one else will share that with you.”

  He didn’t add the obvious—that the fangheads had left behind a crime scene that would take days to work up. Did Alex know? Did he have access to the police robot video? “Do you know where they’ve gone?”

  “No. There was a citywide blackout that lasted four hours. There was also a fire that spread to several houses and took the attention of the first responders. We think they moved then.”

  I thought about that as he waited. After it all settled deep inside me, and I realized how diffi
cult all that would make any strategy we attempted, I said, “I’ll think about it, Ayatas. For now, stop marking territory on my hunting grounds or I’ll make you wish you had.”

  Ayatas chuckled softly, and I realized he thought he had made headway in creating a relationship with me. Maybe he had. I didn’t know. “So now you know my cat scent. It is a step toward reconciliation, my sister.” Carrying his gobag and extra clothes, he left through the door, shutting it softly. He had left me a liter bottle of water, which I drank down. Somehow, it felt like a peace offering.

  Keeping one hand clasped on the teeth and jawbone that had once been mine, I tossed the bottle into the recycle pile and scratched the wolf’s ears. He closed his eyes and blew out a breath that fluffed his lips in a bbbbbb sound. Softly I said to the werewolf, “You helped your crazy-ass werewolf bitch to torture Rick LaFleur.”

  Brute’s eyes opened and he rolled them up at me.

  “Yeah, I remember. In return, you were tortured by a demon and rescued by an angel, who then cursed you to stay in wolf form forever. You and your angel helped set all this in motion, all of my long-term involvement with the vamps. All my acquisition of magics that are killing me. How much of my reactions to Rick are the result of angelic interference, hmmm? How much of what I’ve felt all these months is real and how much has been forced on me?”

  The stinky wolf chuffed and rolled over, exposing his belly, his crystal eyes on mine.

  It was a submissive gesture and I had no idea what it meant. “You’re no help at all.”

  He chuffed again and blew out a dog breath of contentment.

  Together, we fell asleep.

  CHAPTER 14

  A Hunk-a-Hunk-a-Hot-Man

  Just before dawn I woke again, Brute bouncing on my chest as if he were doing CPR on me. Chuffing that awful stench into my face. It was more effective than smelling salts at waking me up. “Gah! Get offa me, you stinky dog.”

  He chuffed with laughter but backed away and sat. He weighed around three hundred pounds and I felt as if my chest had caved in. Trying to get my elbows under me sent shocks of pain around my ribs. “You’d make a sucky service dog,” I grumbled.

  Brute was blocking the door with his body and teeth and big doggy grin, watching me struggle. I was hurting and I needed to pee. The fire was mostly coals; I was freezing and needed a coat and gloves. Didn’t look like the werewolf was going to help me with any of my needs.

  “What?” I demanded, creaking into a sitting position, hoping my bones weren’t broken. “Owowowowow. I think you left bruises.”

  Brute lay down and scooted on his belly toward me, pushing something with his front paws. It was the arcenciel scale. The scale was both clear and iridescent, the firelight bringing out shades of red and orange and yellow in the midst of the blues and greens. “You—correction—Hayyel wants me to do something with the scale, doesn’t he?”

  Brute nodded, his big head moving down and up once.

  I turned the scale over in my hands, feeling the pliable strength, tracing the ragged edge where the scale had been torn off. “Arcenciels can timewalk. It doesn’t even do anything to their DNA. Not that they actually have DNA as I know it, since they aren’t from Earth. There’s no way to know if their DNA might help me.” I pressed my own clawed fingernails against the scale. They didn’t penetrate. “Unless I look inside.”

  Brute chuffed.

  If I tried to become another sentient being, that would lead to madness, the kind of madness that made my kind into serial killers. But just to look inside the snake in the heart of things? That had never caused trouble before. It should be safe enough. Maybe. A small voice deep inside whispered that I was skirting the edge of the abyss again, but I decided to ignore it.

  I crossed my legs yogi style, held the arcenciel scale in one hand, and dropped into the Gray Between. The scale sparked and grew hot as the silver energies rose around me and melded with the energies in my belly. I hesitated, watching as the rotating pentagram-energies inside me siphoned off motes of silver power from the Gray Between and added them to the pentagram. Was the new pattern a way to accumulate and store energy, or was it a toxic form of magical energy? I still didn’t know for sure, but I was betting on toxic. The pattern inside me grew brighter, the red and gray and silver motes shining like tiny stars. The scale mirrored the shape, a diffuse reflection of my own energies.

  Which was when I noticed the braid of skinwalker energies and the two threads that portioned off. I had forgotten to remove the threads that tied Eli and Klaus to me. With the mental equivalent of scissors, I snipped each one. I couldn’t tell a difference, but it made me feel better to set them totally free.

  Satisfied that I had rectified a potential problem, I concentrated on my energies and dropped deep inside myself. My DNA was in its new shape, four strands instead of two, tangled and twisted and knotted in places. Threads of broken DNA fluttered, looking tattered and frayed. I identified bits of my human body. Bits of Beast. And . . . bits of bloodhound. Bits of Bubo bubo. Bits of male sabertooth lion. Things I hadn’t looked for before, things that shouldn’t be here inside me.

  Beast? Are you here?

  I heard a soft padding, growing fainter as my Beast retreated. She wasn’t going to answer. I figured that meant she had something to hide. And it hit me. You, I thought, snarling. You brought all the extra DNA in. You kept the twisted DNA from the half-form. You . . . You dang cat!

  She didn’t answer. I had to wonder how much of this extra DNA had been gathered upon orders of Hayyel and how much had been the result of Beast wanting to be bigger, better, faster. And how much she wanted to have kits. If I couldn’t find a way to give her kits, would she be willing to kill me to get total control of her life again? I was a naturally suspicious and distrustful being and I felt a smidge of guilt for the untrusting thought, but then, Beast had often acted behind my back.

  See scale, she thought at me.

  I blinked and saw the reflection of my DNA buried in the pentagram energies in the arcenciel scale. My heart thumped unevenly, a hard, backward rhythm. My energies sped up. Unexpectedly, I fell inside the reflection of myself. Tumbled into the image of my energies in the scale. Rolled and hit hard against something I couldn’t see, some barrier that stopped my movement and left my soul bruised.

  It was a backward, mirrored image, though not an exact copy. The reflection I saw was subtly different. Less frayed. Less broken. Less knotted. As I watched, a single strand changed position as if pushed by an errant wind. I considered what had happened, and I realized that the arcenciel scale was displaying a vision of my broken self. And maybe a map to fix things. A map of how to fix . . . me. Maybe that was the true power of the original shape-shifters. To shift directly from within. I sank deeper into the pattern, the image of myself in the scale.

  I drew up the image of myself, as my DNA really was. I sank, deeper, darker. Into the seat of my skinwalker power. The ambient noise changed, echoing slightly, as if my breath and heart beat against stone walls. I opened my eyes to see my soul home. I imagined the two images and set them on the walls of my sacred place. Side by side. I found the errant strand that was, in reality, still broken inside me.

  I glanced at the dome overhead. Hayyel’s wings were there, feathered and protective, but no way was I going to talk to the angel I distrusted. I thought about God, the creator God worshipped by the Tsalagi and by me, though I had lived a life of violence rather than the meekness I had been taught as a child. Okay, God. Fine. You say you’ll lead if I’ll follow. Let’s see whatchu got.

  Gently I pushed the single frayed and flying strand of real DNA into place, matching the reflection that wasn’t. The small strand slid home with a certainty that spoke of belonging. If sound existed here, it would have clicked, like one of Eli’s guns into its holster. I pulled my hand back, almost shaking with excitement.

  Arcenciels lived forever. They could wa
lk through time, changing it as they saw fit. They could change themselves as they saw fit. They were true skinwalkers, able to shift shape without following the genetic pattern in bone or teeth or flesh, able to acquire and throw off mass, able to do all that and . . . and . . . walk through time, back as far as time went. At will. Oh . . .

  I looked up at the feathered wings overhead. Hayyel might have had an agenda of his own, but he was also a messenger. I looked back at the two images on the wall of my soul. I realized I had waked with one hand still clasped. I looked down and opened my fist. Even in the vision of my soul home, I still held my own DNA. The perfect DNA from my childhood. That was the healed vision in the reflection.

  I had stumbled into it. This was . . . I had no words. This was important. Vital. Maybe my way out of dying.

  But. I hadn’t stumbled into it. Brute had shoved the arcenciel scale at me.

  Hayyel had done this.

  I saw my hand, my teeth in my palm. It was my human hand. Jane’s hand. Not knobby-knuckled and weirdly furred, but golden-skinned, slender, and strong.

  But I wasn’t just Jane anymore. I was Beast too. If I chose the perfect DNA reflected from the teeth onto the wall, if I accepted healing, I might lose all I had become. I might lose Beast.

  “If I heal the DNA, I might go back to what I was. I don’t want to be what I was. I’ve gained something over the years that I don’t want to lose.”

  Jane gained Beast. Beast is stronger than Jane or Puma concolor. Stronger than screamer cat and skinwalker together.

  “Greater than the sum of our parts.”

  Beast thought about that, and I realized she was standing by my leg, not touching, but studying the pictures on the stone wall. Beast does not want to die. Beast does not want Jane to die, not even to have kits. Mountain lion and Jane are two. Beast is more than two. Beast is more than five.