"And don't you go eyeing my dog," I scolded her. "Hooligan is not on the menu."
"Dog tasty," Mitch said with a guilty smirk.
"You're horrible," I told her, surprised to find myself joking around with a harpy. I started to smile at the idea but ended up yawning again.
"If…there's nothing we can do until nightfall…maybe you could take a nap," Sophie suggested when she caught me yawning.
I looked at the harpy then considered Hooligan…who was far more alert than I was. "What about you?" I asked Sophie.
"I'm not tired. I got plenty of sleep last night," she said. "I'll stay awake and…make sure Mitch is okay."
"Sleep might be a good idea," I gave in, thinking I'd need my full energy to rescue my family. I blinked tiredly down at Hooligan. "You wake me if anything happens," I told him sternly.
Hooligan answered with a soft woof.
I fell asleep in the chair as soon as I closed my eyes…and slept longer than I meant to. It was late afternoon when I resurfaced. I woke with a start, looking around for Sophie to make sure she was okay. I found her sitting on the couch. Her phone was in her hand but she was watching me.
"Did you get some rest?" she asked, slipping her phone back into her purse.
"Slept like a rock," I answered, my gaze drifting to Mitch.
The harpy's eyes were open. She was looking much better, her eyes brighter and clearer. I, too, felt better after my nap. And now that my head was clear, it was time to make plans. My thoughts locked on my family as I lifted Mim's computer onto my lap and studied the satellite image of the quarry.
"Havoc going to harpies hiding place?" Mitschka asked, interrupting my thoughts.
"Aye," I answered.
"Havoc have many friends to help?"
"Nay. There's only me," I told her.
The full weight of the situation settled on me with a heavy thump. I was alone. If only the harpies had left the girls. The pack lasses would have shaped up into a formidable little army. Lorissa, the bad witch, to press the attack. Mac, the good witch, to run defensive maneuvers. Mim with her prophetic dreams and Camie with her second sight. Torrie with all the powers of a gargoyle except flight. Elaina for strategy. Samantha for unwavering support. Whitney for sheer nerve.
I missed my girls.
The harpy seemed dissatisfied with my answer. "Harpies catch Havoc. Then there be no venom for Mitschka."
I shot a grin at her. "Well, if that happens, you'll have to come and rescue me, won't you?"
The harpy smiled back at me for a few seconds before her expression clouded. "Harpies not hurt Havoc."
"Of course they won't."
"But Mitschka not sure about the Other One."
I sat up in the chair and leaned forward. "Other One? What Other One?" Then I realized I hadn't asked Mitschka where the harpies had come from. How they'd all gathered together and how they'd found us hidden away safely for four years. I'd been too busy finding out where my family was.
"Where did you come from, Mitch? How did you find us? How did so many harpies come together in one place?"
"Come from old country," she answered. "Old country near the sea. Other One comes in boat with venom. Harpies smell poison and go to find it. Other One says he can lead harpies to gargoyles. Many gargoyles. So, harpies go with him on boat."
So…the harpies had crossed the Atlantic in a boat—probably some kind of freighter. "Other One?" I echoed uneasily. "What did the Other One look like?"
"Tall," she answered. "Tall for human man. Black eyes like a harpy. Long white hair."
I lurched out of the chair and rocked onto my feet. "Rafe," I said. The word sounded strangled in my throat.
This changed things. Like drastically. Because even though I was confident the harpies wouldn't harm the members of my pack, the same couldn't be said of Rafe Olander. If he'd rounded up this harpy army, he probably wasn't looking for venom to put in a new beauty product (which had been part of his sister's plan). He was more likely thinking about torture. And quite possibly murder.
Pacing the hardwood floor while the others watched curiously, I considered my options with a rising sense of urgency. Rafe Olander! I had to do something! And I felt like I had to do it right away. But I needed a plan. And I still couldn't act before twilight.
That gave me about three hours to prepare.
I forced myself to take a deep calming breath.
Stopping at the end of the couch, I lifted my head and considered my team, which consisted of a large wolfhound, a slightly dinged up harpy and a girl dressed for a garden party. They watched me expectantly. And suddenly, I knew exactly what I had to do. "The pack's in more trouble that I thought. Sophie will have to help," I announced.
It helped to hear the words out loud. It made me feel like I was taking the first step and that I wasn't alone.
"I'll be glad to do whatever I can," Sophie said, but she looked worried.
"I have to get to the harpies' bunker," I muttered. "And stop Rafe."
"Rafe?" she echoed. "Who's Rafe?"
"Rafe Olander. We've had dealings with him before," I explained as I scooped Mitch into my arms and headed for the stairs in the foyer. Sophie and Hooligan followed me up to Camie's room where I set the harpy in the brown reading chair.
"He and his sister are half-harpy," I continued. "They tried to capture my family so they could use our venom. The last time we dealt with Rafe, he ended up with a knife in his thigh and another one in his shoulder. At this point, I'm convinced the man's out for revenge."
"R-revenge?" Sophie echoed in a faint voice.
I tipped my chin in a curt nod. "I don't want to frighten you, but Rafe Olander has a taste for torture. The kind of torture that ends in death."
"Oh Havoc," she murmured, turning pale.
"Check the other rooms," I commanded, knowing she'd feel better if she had something to do. "Round up some makeup."
"M-makeup?" she stammered, a puzzled look in her beautiful eyes.
"You promised to help," I barked.
"Okay," she murmured uncertainly, and finally disappeared with Hooligan on her heels while I turned and opened the closet doors.
I was still rummaging in the closet when Sophie returned a few minutes later. She stepped across the room and opened her arms, spilling a dozen colorful packages onto the pastel bedspread. Most of them were zippered containers made of soft plastic.
She frowned at me as I searched through the closet, sliding the hangers along the wooden rod. "What are you looking for?" she asked.
"Camie's the tallest of the pack lasses," I explained. "And she has the best fashion sense. I think she has a white silk blouse with a stand-up collar that will hide my rune."
Sophie just stood beside the bed with a frown knitted into her forehead.
"It even has sheer sleeves," I said, pulling out the hanger and holding the blouse against my chest. "What do you think?" I asked.
"I-I'm not sure what kind of answer you're looking for."
I tossed the blouse on the bed and reached into the closet again, picking out two jackets and lifting one in each hand. "White poplin or black brocade?"
Sophie's face fell. "Havoc. Where are you going with all of this?"
I pinned Sophie with my gaze. "I'm going into that bunker where they're holding my pack," I told her. "And I'm going in as a girl."
Chapter Fifteen
"You can't be serious," Sophie exclaimed in response to my announcement.
"I'm dead serious," I insisted.
"I think I need to sit down," she said faintly and backed toward the bed then slumped down onto the mattress.
Mitch sneered across the room at the beautiful girl. "Girly-girl just a frilly little strumpet. Not going to be any help."
I was amused (and impressed) by the harpy's vocabulary. "That's where you're wrong," I told Mitch, pointing a finger in her direction. "At least, I hope you're wrong. If I'm going to help my family, I need to transform myself in the next few hours and I can't do it alone.
"
"But why do you need to be a girl to help your family?" Sophie asked, shaking her head in bewilderment.
"I have to reach Mac. And Lorissa. Especially Lorissa. She has the power to bring that place down around Rafe's head."
"Mac?" she questioned, shaking her head some more. "Lorissa? How can they help? And why do you need to be there in order for them to be helpful?"
So I explained my plan. How I needed to get to the place the harpies were holding my family. How I needed to reach Lorissa…and Mac—the two strongest members of the pack. "As witches, they have the power to ensure the pack's escape," I finished. "I just need to get some wood into their hands."
"Mac and Lorissa are witches? I'm sorry, Havoc. This is just all so hard to believe."
"I don't have time for your disbelief," I growled roughly. "Are you in or not?"
"Y-You're serious, aren't you?"
I lifted my eyes to the ceiling and counted to ten for the second time in twenty-four hours. "Why would you think otherwise?"
"Wh-why, because of your history," she answered. "Because of the things you've done in the past. Like the prom and the hotel and my shoe."
"Huh," I muttered. It was a good thing she didn't know about the avalanche. Or my treasure hunting days with Malarkey and his brothers. Or the time I used charcoal to turn Defiance's horse black. "Are you going to help or not?"
She swept her hand over the collection of packages on the bed. "Well, I rounded up some makeup. And I'm here. So I guess I might as well—"
"Good," I cut in, pushing out a grunt of relief and dropping into the fluffy pink stool in front of Camie's old vanity dresser. I looked at my reflection in the big round mirror. "Now, let's get started."
"Okaaay," she said hesitantly and made her way across the room to where I sat. Reaching for my hair, she lifted the end of a dreadlock and rubbed it through her fingers. A tender look touched her eyes.
"What?" I growled.
"If you want to be a girl, I think the dreads are gonna have to go."
"Really?" I said, and swallowed hard as I stared at her in the mirror. "You know those things take years to develop, right?"
"I know," she said sadly. "But dreads are just such a guy thing. And I think you'd make a more convincing girl with your hair combed out in waves."
I took a deep breath and let it out. "Okay," I muttered. "Let's do it."
Selecting a brush from the top of the dresser, Sophie started at the bottom of my hair as she attacked my dreadlocks. "Tell me more about gargoyles," she said as she worked. "Are they all as beautiful as you and your family? And why is your kind named after something that is normally considered ugly?"
"Long story," I muttered.
"You have a lot of hair," she pointed out and tugged sharply on the brush. "We're going to be here for a while."
"Alright," I agreed and got started. "The word, gargoyle, has its roots in the French language. It comes from the French word for throat."
"Okay," she said and worked her way up the length of a thick, tangled dreadlock.
"Our kind were known as gargoyles because of the runes we wear on our necks."
Her gaze slid to the symbol on my throat. "That makes sense."
"But the stone carvings that drain rainwater from the roofs of buildings were also known as gargoyles because they poured water from their throats."
"Those are the gargoyles that the rest of us are familiar with," she remarked.
"That's right," I answered. "And many of the manmade water drains were ugly so, in time, people used the same word to describe harpies."
"Because harpies are ugly too?"
I nodded, then added, "No offense, Mitch."
But Mitch had nodded off.
"It didn't help that harpies attached themselves to buildings and turned to stone, blending in with the manmade gargoyles. It just served to support the idea that gargoyles are ugly."
"So, if I were to visit England and see a building with…an ugly sculpture carved into its surface, it might be manmade…?"
"…or it might be a harpy," I finished.
"But either way, someone who didn't know any better would call it a gargoyle."
"Aye."
"Ah," Sophie murmured quietly as her brush swept through a now-untangled hank of my hair.
"Over the years, the gargoyle race died out…leaving the harpies with our name."
"I see," Sophie said, and reached for the next dreadlock.
A growl rumbled in my chest. Because, essentially, the harpies had ripped off our name. It was a sore spot with me and the rest of my family. But I glanced over my shoulder at Mitch (who was still sleeping) and kept that to myself.
"So, why do gargoyles wear those…runes on their necks?"
"The runes we wear are our names," I answered. "Our mothers give us our names when we're young and our fathers use their barbs to tattoo them into our skin in a coming-of-age ceremony. Only, my father died before that could happen. So Victor, as the pack leader, did the honors for me."
"Your rune looks like a whirlwind," she remarked. "Or a tornado."
I tilted my chin in agreement. "That's the symbol for Havoc."
"And your mother gave you that name?"
"Aye, when I was a toddler. A gargoyle isn't named until his mother knows something about his personality."
"So—for instance—Courage did something brave when he was little?"
"Aye," I answered. "He stood up to a wolf that burst in on a family picnic and fed the hungry creature out of his own chubby little hand."
"Wow," she breathed. "That's pretty amazing. And what did you do to earn your name?"
"Nothing so grand," I answered wistfully, wishing that the story of my naming was as impressive as my cousin's. "I turned the kitchen upside down on a regular basis."
A musical chime of laughter burst from Sophie's lips and, for the moments that her laughter hung on the air, I didn't regret my story at all. "Do you remember doing that?" she asked.
I watched her mouth in the mirror, hoping she would laugh again. "Oh, aye. I liked to pull down the pots and the mixing spoons and the trenchers. I liked to pretend I was cooking alongside my mother."
"I bet you drove her crazy."
"She had the patience of a saint," I said quietly. "I miss her. Even after all these years, I miss her."
Sophie nodded without speaking.
One by one, she tackled my dreadlocks. And when the last tight knot had surrendered to her brush, she gave my hair a few final strokes. "What do you think?" she asked, taking a step backward.
I returned my attention to my reflection. Combed out, my hair was thick and bushy—like Mac's, but more bronze than red. A thick mass of waves that framed my face and tumbled halfway down my back.
"Good," I said, surprised at the transformation. "Good start." I turned to the harpy in the chair whose eyes were open again. "What do you think, Mitch?"
The harpy sniffed and turned up her nose. "Think Girly-girl is ruining Havoc."
"What about you, Hooligan?"
The big dog tilted his head and whined. But Hooli's like that. He's one hundred percent boy-dog.
"Okay," I said, catching Sophie's eye. "I think we're moving in the right direction."
"What's next?" she asked.
"Eye makeup," I commanded like a field general.
Sophie smiled and walked over to the bed, picking through the makeup bags until she found what she wanted. "Let's go with some earth colors," she suggested.
And leaning against the low vanity, she went to work on my eyes, stroking dark and light shadows onto my eyelids, painting on eyeliner and applying a thick coat of mascara as the finishing touch.
This time when she asked, "What next?" I didn't even check out my reflection.
"Lipstick," I demanded and snapped my fingers.
Sophie smirked as she made her way across the room to the bed again. She pulled the cap off a short gold tube and twisted the lipstick into view. It was something th
e color of dried up spaghetti sauce.
"What? Not that!" I insisted, watching her in the mirror. "I want red."
"This is red."
"No, t'isn't," I insisted.
"There are lots of different reds," she pointed out. "Do you mean fire engine red?"
"Well that depends on if you're a city girl or a country girl. Camie might call it fire engine red, but Lorissa would call it harvester red."
"Oh," she snickered and dug through the bags for another tube. She twisted the color out of a tortoise-shell casing. "Glad you straightened me out on that one. How's this?"
"Perfect," I told her. "Enchanting."
She looked doubtful. "I don't know. I think it might be…too much."
I set my mouth in a determined line and turned on the little stool to face her. "If I have to be a girl, I'm gonna own it. I'm gonna be a vamp. Like Cher. Like Elizabeth. Like Marilyn, dammit." I threw back my shoulders. "So make me Marilyn."
"You're such a diva," she complained, shaking her head on a light ripple of laugher. But leaning close, she lifted my chin with two fingers and ran the scarlet color over my lips.
And for the next several seconds, all I was aware of were her fingers touching me, her face close to mine, her mouth within kissing distance. When she stepped back to study my face, my gaze followed the lush curves of her lips like it was trying to memorize every perfect detail of her mouth.
"What do you think?" she asked, motioning to the mirror.
Finally, I turned my attention to my reflection…which took me by surprise. "Hey, I'm hot! If I was a guy, I'd be all over me."
"Um. You are a guy, Havoc."
"Oh. Yeah, right. Well, if I wasn't myself, I'd be really into me."
Sophie nodded but she was frowning at the same time. Her gaze dropped to my shoulders. "I don't know about those shoulders, though. Or those arms."
"What's wrong with them?" I demanded.
"Nothing. Nothing at all," she said a little huskily before clearing her throat. "The shoulders are just a bit…wide. And the arms are too…muscular."
I studied my reflection critically. "The clothes will help," I decided.
Chapter Sixteen
Sophie crossed the room again. She picked up the blouse on the bed and shook it out. "Are you ready for this?"
Havoc Page 10
