“Translation, Mark’s a stubborn man who thinks he knows everything.” Michaela sighed and poured a couple more glasses. It was quickly becoming obvious this conversation was going to require more ‘fortifying drinks’ than she’d expected. “And you just let him go? Do the boys know?”
Sam shrugged, and shook her head. “It’s not a question of let.” She picked up her newly filled glass and gulped it down. At least this time she set it back down on the table carefully. “I couldn’t stop him.” Sam held out an arm, and pushed her short sleeves up over her shoulders so her tee shirt resembled a tank top. Bruises the exact outline of a hand print marred both shoulders, but where the fingerprints ended, red scabs marred the surface of Sam’s skin.
“Shit. That low-down, mangy, flea bitten, sonuvabeast! I’ll—”
“It’s not his fault, Mikey. Not really.” Samantha’s voice was low and soft. Tears tracked down her cheeks, but her voice was steady. “I tried to stop him, and I know better. When his beast is in control…” she sighed, and went quiet for a while. “He just isn’t himself. And he wants something better for the boys.”
“I don’t understand what is so bad about a medical condition that Mark would go crazy enough to hurt you. Aren’t you his fated mate? That’s like—”
“Like the other half of his heart and soul existing outside his body.” Samantha’s whisper was so soft Michaela barely heard it.
“Exactly. And who could actually damage themselves because they didn’t get the ‘right’ diagnosis from a doctor? Much less their better half?” Michaela genuinely didn’t understand why Mark was so volatile. Yet she took Sam’s situation to heart. Mom’s warning still rang loud and clear in Michaela’s memory. ‘Shifters are trouble, never date one. Don’t even look at one, they’ll ruin the good in you’. Mark hadn’t ruined the good in Sam but he’d sure as hell dented it. Sam’s soft, steady reply pulled Michaela out of her memories.
“He’s desperate to keep us safe. And he has to keep his place in the pack to do so.” Sam shrugged, and then continued slowly. “And a shifter who fathers human babies is… frowned upon. At least in his world.”
“That’s bull shit. There has to be other packs. Shit, Sam, genetics alone says that half the human-shifter kiddos are gonna be human. Or human enough. And yet, nobody else is sitting on my porch wearing a double handful of holes to illustrate their packs displeasure.” Anger knotted Michaela’s stomach, but she kept her voice low. She could feel her plants leaning in, keying in on her emotions, her magic quivered with rage. But she kept it leashed, let it siphon away. Not like she could use it anyhow. Not like a proper witch like mom or Sam. No. Her magic went only into the ground, and only when she was elbows deep in the earth. It was necessary for her own safety. Every trinket, spell, potion she’d made with any ingredients or requirements other than plants had gone disastrously wrong. She wasn’t about to let the walking disaster of her magic screw up Sam and the boy’s lives.
“I know. But he can’t bear to leave his parents, or brothers.” Sam stood and paced the length of the porch several times. Her steps were light, barely there. Just one more way that willowy Samantha was better, brighter, more than all-too-curvy, down to earth Michaela.
“So, how do we stop him?”
“We don’t.” Sam’s voice was hard and sharp with determination.
“You sure as hell don’t stop him alone, super-Sammy.” Michaela fought to keep her voice soft and empathetic. The sharp glare Sam leveled at her was proof she’d failed. Still wort a try to talk sense into her older sister before someone got seriously hurt. “This isn’t the super-Sammy and mighty-Mikey show, sis. We’re not invincible kids. We’re witches.” She deliberately left the ‘half crippled and broken’ off. Some of it must have gotten through though because Sam slouched even further in her seat.
Sam whispered “Yeah, we are.” The deep sorrow in her tone sent Michaela’s heart through the porch floor.
“Hey, chin up super-Sammy. We’ll figure something out.” Michaela poured another glass for each of them, and bit back a sob as the last precious drops dripped into Sam’s glass. “Not until morning though.” She raised her glass and waited.
Sam clinked her glass against Michaela’s with a half-smile. “To finding solutions. Tomorrow.”
“To solutions. And to us. May Super-Sammy and Mighty-Mikey ride again to save the day.”
They sipped the rest of the sweet wine in silence and watched the sun set over the tree tops. As darkness descended, Mike kept her thoughts focused on the bright side. Sam and the boys were here, safe. Answers would come soon enough. Hopefully without the trouble Sam’s shadowed gaze said was dogging them every mile of their trip here.
CHAPTER THREE
Monday morning fog rolled up, dimming the morning light streaming into Michaela’s window. A faint clicking noise jerked her out of a restless sleep. She’d been running from something, or to something, and her friendly woods and lake shore had somehow become dark and forbidding. Hell, even the morning echoed the dreary atmosphere of her dreams. No matter. It took a moment to chase the sleep from her mind, another for her to realize that she still had company. Maybe one of the boys was up?
Michaela stumbled from her room and made a quick circuit of the cabin. Nothing obvious seemed out of place. The doors to both guest rooms were closed tight, and everything was quiet. Maybe too quiet for seven am? She was damn tempted to peek into both guest rooms, but sanity won out. No need to wake the boys. A quick glance out front should allay her fears.
Except it didn’t settle anything. Not really. Where Sam’s little red Saturn had been, there was now only empty pavement and fog. The witch in her was absolutely certain the fog was Sam’s doing. It limited everything: sight, sound, scent, magic. Not that Michaela’s charms worked well. But her potions were first rate. Even her truth elixir would be limited by this weather.
Sam had obviously left. But what about the boys? She wouldn’t leave them here would she? Michaela tiptoed over to their room and eased the door open. She could feel her eyes grow round and bit back a gasp of dismay. Shit. Both beds were occupied by boys who looked all too angelic and sweet. Not that they weren’t either, but… sleep made them seem even more innocent and ‘good’ for lack of a better term.
Michaela closed the door as carefully as she had opened it, breath held the whole time. A soft snick echoed through the main room of the cabin as the door latched. She waited for a ten count, and when no sounds emerged from the boy’s room she backed up one slow step at a time. Soon as she’d moved far enough to be certain her footsteps wouldn’t wake the boys she darted for the center of what she called the great room. From there she could see every single flat surface in the kitchen, living room and dining room.
“Damn it, Sam. Where’d you go? You better be running to the store for milk or some shit,” Michaela muttered under her breath as she scanned the rooms again. Nothing. Not a vase, plant, or anything out of place. No stray slips of paper or envelopes. Michaela slipped into the other guest room, careful to be just as quiet as she’d been peeking in on the boys. One wrong move and they’d hear her in the adjoining bedroom. She had to have answers for them before she woke ‘em.
A quick search of Sam’s room proved to be unhelpful. No note, no explanation. A bed fully made, and suitcase missing. Damn, she’d even left her cell phone on the pine desk. Uncharged. Powered down. What the hell am I supposed to do now, Sam? Michaela sank down onto the freshly made bed with a curse and closed her eyes. Tried to remember anything strange, out of place. Anything that would give her a starting point to figuring out where Sam had gone and when she’d be back. Michaela refused to give in to her deepest fears.
“What the hell am I supposed to tell the boys, huh Sam?” Michaela’s low whisper was hoarse with unshed tears as she stared at the empty room. Soft stirring sounds from the room next door said she’d run out of time to come up with answers.
Michaela forced herself to walk out to the kitchen, made sure to
pull out her favorite cast iron pan and a batch of farm raised, free range eggs. She’d traded a good half dozen potions for all she could eat eggs from the local organic farming co-op. Considering she’d have hungry boys staying indefinitely, it was a damn good trade to have made. She just hoped the chickens would keep laying like mad.
By the time the boys wandered into the kitchen, breakfast was half done. Michaela grinned at their sleep-tossed demeanor. Eli was one step behind Jack in his chair as they meandered toward the table. She could almost see their noses twitching, and she definitely heard growling stomachs. “Guess asking whether or not two growing boys are hungry isn’t necessary,” she teased gently. Both boys flushed bright red, then settled in at the table.
“Shouldn’t you be at work?” Eli’s voice trembled, and his eyes were wide.
“I don’t open the greenhouse until nine. It’s only seven thirty kiddo.” Damn you, Sam. Michaela stepped away from the stove long enough to give both boys a quick hug. “You’re welcome to join me once we’re done eating.” She closed her eyes and prayed to whoever was listening that the boys would just take her up on her offer.
“We have to ask mom first.” Jack’s voice was solid, immovable.
“Honey, your mom left to run some errands. She forgot to mention when she’d be back, so it’s either come to work with me…” Michaela hesitated a moment before continuing. “Or we all take the day off.”
Two pairs of green eyes grew round and scared as she watched. They both sat up ramrod straight and just stared at Michaela for an endless moment. Then those fearful gazes lowered slowly to the empty plates in front of them. Michaela was pretty sure she spotted tears glistening in both boys’ eyes.
She bustled about the kitchen a bit, giving them time to compose themselves. She remembered being young like them, not quite a teen, and she’d hated when her feelings got away from her in front of her own aunts and uncles. No need to rattle them further. Twin grumbling stomachs had her rambling into the dining room, cast iron pan full of scrambled eggs in one hand, spatula in the other. No way she’d let these boys starve just because of a few tears.
“Here we are, fresh from the stove,” she chattered as she piled their plates high with food. She took a quick turn through the kitchen and back again to deposit fresh toast, orange juice, and fruit in front of both boys, then settled in across from them. She filled her plate, although not nearly as full as she’d piled theirs, and dug in with a hearty appetite.
The boys stayed true to the unwritten family rule ‘eat first, then talk’ and shoveled their breakfast down fast. Before Michaela had the plates cleared, washed and dried the boys were headed for her truck.
She dreaded figuring out how to get Jack situated in her little truck, but by the time she made it out there Jack was buckled into the center seat, his wheel chair folded up in the truck bed, and Eli settled in the passenger seat. It looked like he was fumbling with the belt a bit, but he’d gotten them both situated. Somehow.
“I hope you boys are ready to work,” Michaela slid into the driver’s seat and cranked the truck. Thankfully it started on the first try. Temperamental beast was gonna get her best vomit inducing potion right to the gas tank if it gave her any trouble while the boys were here.
They both nodded, and Jack twisted in his seat to wave to Patches and her kits as Michaela backed carefully out of the drive way. Soon as she had the boys safely occupied with her re-potting project she’d be making some phone calls.
And hopefully getting answers. Or help. Something.
CHAPTER FOUR
Devlin Quinn cursed when his cell phone rang. He had his hands full with escorting his wayward target to the nearest facility capable of containing a shifter who was also a witch. He considered the combination of wolf and witch to be anathema, but there the asshole stood, cuffed, cocky grin on his stubbled face. Fucker.
And since they were short-handed, Devlin was making this arrest solo. He didn’t dare ignore any call that originated from Headquarters though. Only one solution presented itself. He pulled his Glock in one smooth motion, stepping back several paces as he moved. The cuffed shifter stumbled at the unexpected release of pressure on his cuffed hands. Too bad he didn’t fall on his face. No matter.
“Don’t move. Gun’s loaded with silver bullets.” The suspect shivered from head to toe and froze in place as Devlin pulled out his cell. “Agent Quinn, how may I serve you today.” Damn he hated playing the game, being all politically correct. Not playing was what had landed his partner in the hospital this past week. Devlin refused to follow suit, and had no problems winging a criminal to keep him from shifting forms long enough to check in.
“Got a case for you, Quinn.” The operator’s voice was cool, impartial. Uncaring.
“You’re joking, right? Still wrapping up the case I’m on.” Devlin kept a sharp eye on wolf-boy, and kept his pistol aimed squarely at his center of mass. A single shot there probably wouldn’t kill the little punk but it would slow him down without a doubt. Shifter healing being what it was, even a wolf could take one round from his service pistol.
“Nope. New case might be connected to this one, so tie up the loose ends fast.” There was a slight hesitation on the word might, just enough to catch Devlin’s attention. His bear was absolutely certain that might was a little white lie, but they had no way to prove it over the phone. “I’m going to patch a caller through to you. One moment, please.”
“Wait, what—this is highly irregular--” Devlin’s protest echoed through dead air. There was a click, and a whispered ‘hello, anybody there’ sent his heart to racing, and his bear to demanding they help the mysterious caller now. And damn the consequences to abandoning their current assignment unfinished. It took all Devlin’s will to keep some part of his attention focused on the suspect. He sorely missed Ash right now. Hell, he’d even be happy to have a new recruit by his side. Someone, anyone to keep focus and eyes on the criminal in front of him so Devlin’s bear could devote all their focus to the caller.
“I’m here, miss. How may I help you?” Devlin ignored his beasts growled ‘mate’ and focused on the voice whispering in his ear. She sounded distraught, overwhelmed. Downright terrified. And determined to keep this phone call secret from someone since her voice never rose above a whisper.
“My sister’s missing. She’s a witch, and she left her boys with me without a word of explanation.” Her voice shook on the word missing, and he could hear the tears fall by the time she’d finished her whispered report.
“Miss, I need some information in order to provide the help you’re looking for. Can you please give me your name, location, and a description of your sister?”
“I’m Michaela. Sam’s not the only one missing. Her husband, Mark—he’s a wolf shifter—is also gone. Dunno where, but Sam seemed sure he was looking for trouble.” Her voice faded away, overwhelmed by the clatter of something falling in the background and children’s voices raised in surprise.
“Hold on, back up a bit. Can you please—”
“No time. We’re at Steele’s Flowers and Fancies Greenhouse in Maple Lake township. Please hurry.” There was a loud click and then the dial tone rang in Devlin’s ear.
“Fuck a duck,” he muttered under his breath. He tucked his phone back into his pocket with a half mumbled curse and then turned his attention back to the suspect. “Guess we’re going to have to expedite this a bit.”
The bastard chuckled at him and held out his cuffed hands. “You’re letting me go, Agent Quinn?”
“Hell no, Rollins.” The grin faded, and the young man cocked his head to one side, then the other. His face was scrunched up in that confused look younger shifters got when facing the unknown. At least the punk was smart enough to be confused.
“Well, what’s the plan, Stan?” Rollins’ voice took on a taunting tone. “Even I can tell your bear is certain she’s your mate. Be a crying shame,” his face brightened, and a shit-eating grin spread across his face, almost enough to bar
e his incisors. “Be a damn crime to refuse to help your mate.”
Damn Headquarters for calling him, and double-damn this sneaky, drunk fool for being right. “You’re the fuck-wad who doesn’t know how to hold your liquor, so much so that you terrorize unsuspecting humans for fun. For sport. Now that is a crime. And you’re going to sleep off your drunk in the most convenient cell I can find.”
The guy’s grin got even wider. “No shifter-proof cells round here, Agent.”
“Nope. Portal’s a good couple miles that-away though, and there are plenty of cells open in the basement of HQ.” A tiny part of Devlin was delighted with the disappointment radiating from his current captive. The rest of him was terrified of wasting too much time with this useless punk; of leaving the woman who might well be his mate hanging out to dry in the wind instead of helping her.
His bear rumbled displeasure at that fear. Loud displeasure. Rollins heard it and hunched in on himself, barely restraining his fear based reaction to run. “Whatever, let’s just get this done.”
“Good idea.” Devlin tossed the kid into the rear seat of his unmarked car and threw himself into the driver’s seat. “Glad I thought of it,” he said, ignoring the spiteful edge his own voice had acquired. Kid deserved a taste of his own medicine far as Devlin was concerned.
Devlin made the trip across the portal to Headquarters and back in record time. It’d taken a matter of minutes to hand Rollins over to the on duty Agent. The guy hadn’t looked happy to have a ‘resident’ to care for for the next day or two, but it wasn’t Devlin’s concern any more.
No. His sole focus, and his bears, was on getting to Maple Lake Township as fast as possible. Unfortunately fast was definitely relative, all things considered. Devlin didn’t have access to the big budget accounts, so no planes or helicopters for him. And the nearest portal was at least an hour and a half drive away from the township. Something in that remembered whisper convinced him the woman didn’t have the time to spare if he could help it.
Bear My Soul: (Arcane Affairs Agency) Page 2
