Panther Prowling

by Yasmine Galenorn

  Startled—she’d never really talked to me before like that—I withdrew her from the sheath, about to say something when a noise behind us startled me.

  “There!” Daniel gasped, pointing.

  As we turned, I crouched into attack position. Three Viking warriors stared at us. And I knew, in the pit of my stomach, that they weren’t human, if they’d ever been.

  Chapter 3

  “Looks like we have some action,” Vanzir said, cracking his knuckles.

  But the figures paused as if awaiting our next move.

  Keeping his gaze warily on the ghosts, Shade let out a grunt. “True enough. But since they’re already dead, we can’t just take them out. They really are spirits of some sort, but I don’t think they’re your garden-variety ghosts.” Stepping back, he motioned for me to follow. Over his shoulder, he added, “Morio, any clue?”

  Morio narrowed his gaze. “You’re right. They aren’t typical ghosts. I don’t think the sword is haunted, not in the way we were thinking. At least, not by whatever these spirits are.”

  “What can we do about them?” Camille moved up to Morio’s side. When it came to hauntings and spirits, they worked together as a unit. I secretly pictured them almost like Bonnie and Clyde, only with magic instead of guns.

  “I suggest we try to communicate first.” Smoky moved forward. “Aggressive spirits usually attack first, and so far, they’ve been hanging back.”

  Shade nodded. “Let me try.” Shade understood spirits far better than most of us. I might be a Death Maiden, but I ferried the living through the veil, and that’s where my job left off. Shade had grown up in the Netherworld.

  He walked toward the ghosts. They weren’t all that tall—my height or less, and I was six-one. But they were big and burly, and looked primed for fighting. Wearing heavy leather armor, all of them looked like they’d seen the wrong end of a battle-axe or hammer. Their faces were ridged with scars. In fact, none of them looked healthy. In fact, they all looked very dead, as if they were still in the shape they’d been in when they’d been killed.

  I shook my head. “Something is off. Spirits usually look renewed—like they did during the prime of their life. Either that, or they become some freakshow monster, morphing out of a twisted soul or horrendous trauma. Look at them. They look . . . like corpses but they haven’t putrefied.”

  “Interesting observation.” Shade approached them slowly, hands up. He stopped when they started to raise their weapons, and they froze. He took a step back, and they waited. A step forward and again, they raised their weapons again.

  “Bring me the sword.” He held out his hand.

  Daniel edged forward, the look on his face one of both wonder and fear, but I could tell he didn’t want to get any closer. I started to take the sword from him, but the moment my hand neared the pommel, a tingle warned me back.

  “The blade is iron. I don’t have gloves with me, so if I touch it, I’ll get burned. You’ll have to give it to Shade.”

  Daniel swallowed hard, then straightened his shoulders. He moved toward Shade, one deliberate step at a time. Shade took pity and reached for the sword, then motioned for him to back away.

  “They really are dead, aren’t they?” Daniel eyed the warriors as he backed away. He was no fool. He knew to watch his back with predators on the loose.

  “That would be a big ‘yes.’ In fact, I’d say these men met their end a long, long time ago. And I have the distinct feeling they went down, not in battle, but in sacrifice.” Shade motioned for me to stand near him. “Let’s see how they react to the sword.”

  I wasn’t sure what he was up to, but I trusted him. I glanced over at Morio and Camille, who were watching every move the ghosts made. With a flourish, Shade unsheathed the sword and raised it into the air.

  Gasping, the Vikings dropped to their knees, staring up at it like they were cats caught in a sunbeam. Their hands placed on the tops of their axe handles, tips of the blades resting on the ground, and bowed their heads in a reverent silence. Their ghostly cloaks floated in an astral breeze. The scene felt like it had shifted into a surreal, sacred space.

  I stole a sideways glance at Shade. The look on his face was one of mild alarm.

  “Are you all right?” I kept my voice low, not certain just how much the ghosts could understand of what we were saying.

  In a low voice, he said, “An odd feeling is racing down my arm—like something is trying to squirm out of the blade and into my hand. It sure as hell isn’t pleasant, and if I wasn’t who I am, whatever it is might be successful.” He gave an almost imperceptible nod at the sword. “Look.”

  “What the hell?” I stared at the sword’s blade. It was glowing. My dagger was usually surrounded by a pale blue nimbus. She was sentient and an artifact. I also knew Lysanthra had other qualities though she hadn’t fully revealed them to me. But this . . . this was different. The sword’s blade glowed with an unhealthy green light, almost sickly, and it reeked of death.

  The sword was iron, of course, and the blade itself was about three feet long. It was double-edged, with a firm hilt and a small pommel that was intricately etched with runes. The guard was short, and slightly bowed, and the sword—while old—looked well taken care of. It hadn’t spent time in a burial mound or under the dirt until some archaeologist turned it up. In fact, if it hadn’t been one piece and all iron, I could easily have believed it to be modern make.

  Shade was frowning now—full on, scowling. “I better sheath this now, because I don’t fancy a struggle to keep whatever’s in it from escaping. And whatever it is, is putting up a damned good fight. Luckily, I’m half-dragon and not much can stand up against a dragon.”

  “What will they do if you sheath it again?” I gave a surreptitious nod to the ghosts. They were still staring at the sword, rapt.

  “We’re going to have to find out, aren’t we?” Shade’s gaze flickered toward the Vikings. “Be prepared, just in case they decide to rampage once their love interest vanishes.” He cautiously sheathed the sword again while I kept an eye on our burly visitors.

  They immediately rose to their feet again, hoisting their axes, waiting. They looked a little dazed, but they made no move to attack us.

  “They’re waiting for our next move.” I wasn’t sure how I knew it, but I did. The ball was back in our court again.

  “What the hell do you make of this?” Camille’s voice was soft but clear.

  “Daniel, is there anything else you know about Leif?” I took a step back toward our cousin. “Can you think of anything at all that came up in your research?”

  “No . . . except that he inherited the sword. It was a family heirloom.” He paused, his voice uncertain. “This bothers me for so many reasons. One—as I said, I never steal sentimental objects, even if they’re worth a lot of money. It’s just a policy of mine. When I went into our meeting, I already knew the sword had been passed down through his family. Two—did I really attack him, and if so, what the fuck is going on? If I’m having flashbacks to my time in the ISA, I could end up being very dangerous. And that . . . ” He paused, then hung his head. “That would be very bad and I’d have to consider my next move, quickly, before I killed someone.”

  Shade let out a sniff. “Daniel, don’t be so quick to blame yourself. I don’t think you’re entirely responsible for this one. Something made you grab that sword—and the fact that you have no memory of it might indicate that there is magic of some sort involved. Have you ever had a flashback or memory loss like this before?”

  Daniel shook his head. “Never. Not once.”

  “Then I think we need to look at this very carefully. You could have been targeted. Whatever is in this sword wants out. Maybe it found a way to charm you into taking it or something. And I’m fairly certain that our unwashed friends here are watching out for the blade—guarding it against destruction. They must have sens
ed your intention to toss it in the water. You’d better let us hang on to it because whatever is locked inside is looking for a way out, and if you keep it, it might try to use you as a conduit.”

  “With pleasure. I never want to see the thing again.” He paused, then slipped over to my side. “I’m sorry I got you involved, girls. I would never put you in danger knowingly. I had no clue where to go and I was close to the bar so . . .”

  “Don’t worry about it.” I wanted to give him a hug. I was still the tiniest bit buzzed and it seemed like a good idea, but then I remembered Daniel wasn’t exactly a huggy type of person. “You’re our blood. We take care of our own.”

  He looked a little skeptical but smiled. “Yes, well, I appreciate it.”

  Shade held up the sheathed sword and took one more step toward the warriors. They waited, eyeing him carefully.

  “I’m going to take the sword home with me and protect it. Do you understand?” He spoke to them, but the words carried more weight than just their verbalization. They echoed through the parking lot, and behind them, their intent followed on the breeze.

  One by one, the warriors stood down, lowering their axes to their sides. And then, when Shade stepped away, backing toward the car, they silently vanished from sight.

  I stared at the empty lot. “Where’d they go?”

  “I don’t know, but they aren’t far away. That much I can tell you. I can feel them coiling around the sword, actually.” He paused, then held out the sheath. “Whatever is going on with this, it’s beyond me. We’d better do some research. Even as I hold the blade, I feel unsettled. There’s a force in this sword, and I have a feeling it’s getting bored with being locked away.”

  “Possessed?” I stared at the scabbard, wondering just how old it was.

  “Maybe. Possibly.”

  As the men headed back to our cars, Camille and I turned to Daniel. “Everything will be all right,” she said. “But keep in touch. We need all the info you can get us, so call tomorrow. Chaos has been our best buddy lately, and I’m not sure that you just giving the blade to us will remove you from the situation that’s playing out.”

  He nodded. “I don’t know what to think. I’m not going home tonight—whoever ransacked my place was looking for something. Maybe . . . the sword?”

  There was a whole ’nother can of worms. “If so, that means that they had to know you would have it, which means they had to be involved in the theft. I wonder . . . maybe it wasn’t the sword trying to free itself via you, but somebody who wanted the sword knew that you were going to be visiting Leif. Can you think of anybody? How do your clients find you?”

  Daniel frowned. “That’s another good question. Leif . . . How did he find me? Let me look.” He pulled out a tablet and quickly tapped away on the keyboard. “Well, hell. I can’t remember right off the top of my head, but I always keep that sort of information. But . . . it’s gone. There’s a folder for it, but the folder’s empty—whatever was in there has been erased.”

  “That cinches it. Somebody set you up to steal the sword somehow, and they don’t want you to know. The fact that you can’t remember who the connection is points to either drugs or magic.”

  “There are drugs that can wipe memory, but they’re hard to come by unless you want to rely on roofies. This is getting odder and odder. Contact me tomorrow? I need to go back to my hideout and call a couple friends to go over to my apartment with me. Muscle, just in case.” Shaking his head, he headed toward his car, turning to shrug and smile. “Well, this still beats my time in the ISA.” And then, he hopped in the sedan and pulled out of the parking lot.

  Shade stored the sword in the backseat of the Jeep with Vanzir and Rozurial, so it wouldn’t have the chance of bumping against me. “Don’t want you getting burned while you’re driving, especially. The last thing we need is an accident.”

  As we all fastened ourselves in, I let out a long sigh. “I don’t know what we’re up against, but I’m convinced that Daniel was charmed into stealing that sword. Speaking of . . . ” I glanced in the rearview mirror. “Do you think that keeping that sword in our house is dangerous? What if whatever’s inside gets out?”

  “I know it seems dangerous, but I think it’s far more dangerous to leave it with Daniel. We’ll figure out what to do with it when we get home.” Shade glanced over at me. “Delilah, if we leave that sword out in the wild, and something cruel picks it up—if the energy trapped inside the blade gets out and finds a host with a thirst for blood, it could be very bad. The blade is hungry.”

  When I thought about it that way, I could see we had no other choice. Shade was right. Neither Camille nor I could touch it without hurting ourselves. But humans could, and that meant that any FBHs who stumbled on the sword and were the least bit psychic could be in danger. Or any vampire. Or Were.

  “I guess we have no choice.” I focused on the road, and the rest of the way though no one said much of anything, the presence of the sword weighed heavy, like the white elephant in the room.

  * * *

  By the time we got home, any buzz from the alcohol had long worn off. In fact, the appearance of the ghosts had pretty much taken care of that. Nothing like a dose of spirits of the dead to chase away spirits of the vine.

  Hanna was busy in the kitchen. Maggie was asleep in her crib, and Bruce, Iris, and Chase had gone home to their babies. Hanna immediately set the kettle to boiling and then pulled out a couple of pans.

  “I’ll just whip up a late-night supper for you.” And that was that.

  I gave her a quick hug before we went into the living room. I dropped my backpack on the chair and sat down next to it.

  Shade laid the sword on the coffee table and we sat there, staring at it, not quite sure what to do next. I put in a quick call to Menolly asking her to come home as soon as she could after the bar closed and gave her a rundown of what had happened.

  “So we have a possessed iron sword and a bunch of dead Vikings. That sounds about par for the course.” She laughed. “I swear, the weirdest shit happens to us.”

  “That’s the truth.” As I turned around, I saw that Roz and Morio were leaning over the sword, staring at it intently. Camille was staring at it like it was a snake about to bite her, and the others were just sitting there with blank looks on their faces.

  At that moment, I got a text and pulled out my phone again. It was from Daniel. He’d sent me all the information he had on Leif. It might not tell us much, but it was at least a place to start. Feeling tired, I pulled up a chair at the new desktop computer we’d bought for the living room and flipped it on.

  I glanced back at Camille. “I’m sorry this happened on your birthday.”

  “Not a problem. If this was the worst of the night, then we’re doing well, given the past few months.”

  “At least open your presents. You do have them with you, right?”

  “No, I left them at the bar, remember? Menolly’s going to bring them home.” She shrugged, grinning. “I’ll have to wait.”

  “Well, not for one.” I crossed to the fireplace and picked up one solitary wrapped package. “Menolly and I didn’t want to chance taking this to the bar. Here—open it.” I stood back, waiting. Menolly and I had taken a risk on this gift, but we thought we were on the right track.

  Camille tore the wrapping paper, then opened the box. As she unfolded the tissue paper inside, her lip began to tremble and she glanced up at me, her eyes misty.

  “Oh, Delilah . . .” In her hands, she held a small framed picture. It was a photograph of our parents. Mother had taken a camera to Otherworld, in hopes that it would work. With older technology, sometimes the gadgets would function, and the camera had. Mother had persuaded Sephreh to sit for it with her.

  She’d also taught herself how to develop pictures, and taken a lot of them during our childhood.

  The photograph had hung over our
fireplace in our home in Y’Elestrial. I’d contacted Aunt Rythwar to send it over. Menolly and I had it restored—it was very old by now—and framed in a hand-carved frame Trillian had bought for us when he was over in Otherworld looking for Darynal.

  It was our parents’ wedding picture. Mother’s wedding dress—the same one Menolly had worn when she got married to Nerissa—flowed around her in a billowing cloud. She was laughing, and our father looked like he had found the rarest gem in the world. He had. He’d loved our mother with every ounce of his being and never gotten over her death.

  “You like it?” As I stared at the photograph in her hand, I felt tears of my own welling up.

  “Like it? I would never have dreamed . . .” She glanced up at me. “I am not keeping this in my room. We’ll hang it on the living room wall. They’ll always be with us.” And with that, she crossed the room and hugged me.

  We stood there, arms wrapped around each other, a bittersweet embrace. The loss of our mother had been a long time ago, but Father had died barely two months back and all three of us felt the impact keenly. Even though Menolly wouldn’t admit it, we knew she did, too.

  “Happy Birthday,” I whispered to her. “Blessings this and every day, my sister.” The standard Otherworld greeting sounded oddly out of place, and I suddenly longed for the days when we ran free through the fields, before Menolly had been turned, and before we knew about the demons.

  With a dizzying flash, I found my thoughts roaming back.

  After finishing our daily chores, we’d race out to the wide expanse of grassland bordering our house. I’d scramble for the tallest tree while Menolly would turn cartwheels across the grass. And Camille, she’d whirl, dancing like a spinning top, making herself so dizzy that she’d fall over, laughing. We’d spend the day picking berries or fishing, or telling each other stories. In winter, we’d build forts out of the snow and wage war. There was never a clear winner, but we battled it out with all our might, pummeling each other’s kingdoms with snowballs.