by Joshua Roots
I could see the disdain for sullying the Shifter family name in the eyes of my peers.
And I tried my hardest to convince myself it didn’t bother me.
“Your service to the Delwinn Council has been exemplary, albeit unorthodox,” Devon said, returning me to the present. “I won’t deny that your presence has ruffled many feathers among the Council, and the Elders themselves, but you and your team have an excellent track record with the rift closures. As a whole, your team has ensured the safety of both the Skilled and the Normals. Your suspension was not an easy decision and it’s doubly vexing because of this.”
He punched a button on a remote. A large screen on the wall that I hadn’t noticed sprang to life with the image of an overly pretty news anchor staring intently into the camera. In a box to her upper left were the words, “Breaking News.”
“Although information is minimal, we have received reports that Carla Jones, Ambassador to the Skilled, and several of her staff were attacked by unknown assailants at the headquarters for the Delwinn Council hours ago. Initial reports indicate that at least three people, including Ambassador Jones’s deputy, Meghan Descar, were killed in the assault. Although the details are still unclear, we understand that several Skilled personnel and a Normal security guard were instrumental in stopping the attack. We’ll provide more details as they become available, so stay tuned for up to the minute reports on this dramatic story.”
Devon paused the program and set down the remote.
“That was the Normals’ Ambassador?” I asked in surprise.
The Elder nodded grimly. “Yes.”
I whistled. Normals weren’t uncommon at HQ, especially since the Council preferred to meet in their own chambers, but were usually around only during daylight. After-hours were reserved solely for internal meetings, the kind that shaped the Skilled community and didn’t include our non-magical counterparts.
HQ might be a place for partnership and cohabitation during the day, but at night, it was where we hashed out our in-house differences privately and quietly.
“So, what was she doing here?”
Devon’s jaw tightened. “That’s not important. I’m not here to debate Council business with you.” He rubbed his chin, obviously struggling with whatever he was trying to say. “I just...want your take on all this.”
I gave the old man a long stare, but decided not to screw too much with him. Partially because I was tired and partially because I wanted to piece together everything while the details were still fresh. Something about how the Mimics operated bothered me. They were organized and focused which was atypical for the species.
What concerned me more was how quickly the information about the attack got out, especially considering the Council’s obsession with privacy. “I’m surprised that the media has word on this already.”
The Elder ran a hand over his face. “One of the survivors, or someone close to them, leaked the story. Unfortunately, that forces the Council to comment before we’ve had a chance to figure out what happened. I wanted more time, but that’s no longer an option.” He sighed with an air of resignation. “The Normal Ambassador was almost killed within our walls. There will undoubtedly be an uproar from both the Normals and the Skilled about safety. Relations have been a little strained since the incident with Simeon Fawkes—”
I tensed when he mentioned Quinn’s father. No one was supposed to know I was trying to dig up clues on a twenty-year-old conspiracy. Especially not the Elders.
“—and this will only add fuel to the fire,” he continued. “The sooner we get our facts together, or at least get everyone on the same page, the sooner we can all go home. So, please. What’s your analysis of the incident?”
I relaxed, but only slightly.
“The Mimics attacked after normal business hours when foot traffic would be the lightest,” I said. “And since everyone knows we employ Normal security guards, they must have assumed that HQ would be vulnerable. I don’t think they expected Elsa Klein to be such a bad-ass. She knocked down a handful of Mimics and activated an emergency defensive barrier, all on her own. That woman deserves a medal or something.”
“Already in the works. Please, proceed.”
“Honestly, there’s not much else to it. You had a clandestine meeting with the Normal Ambassador and the Mimics went directly for you all. If I was a betting man, I’d say the evidence screams of an assassination attempt.”
Devon peered at me. “I agree.”
“The use of Mimics was interesting, though.”
“How so?” the Elder asked, his face unreadable.
“They’re solitary by nature, yet they attacked as a group. Granted, they were sloppy and unable to coordinate, but it was a unified effort. Not to mention, at least one was armed.”
He squinted in thought, as if trying to dredge up information long-since buried in a mental filing cabinet. “It’s rare, but not unheard of. They’ve been known to use ‘modern’ conveniences. Weapons and vehicles for example.”
“Yes, but for protection. You were a Master Summoner in your day, so you know better than anyone that their sense of self-preservation drives those usages. It’s also the reason why they copy other life-forms. During this attack, however, they used both in an aggressive manner.”
“I’ll admit, I was surprised by that myself. All my years of studying Mimics and I’ve never heard of this happening before. It may require more research on my end.”
I couldn’t help but feel a little validated. Even if you didn’t like them, getting a compliment from an Elder was a big deal.
“Anyway,” I said, trying to conceal my pleasure at hearing something other than accusations from the old man, “my theory is that they planned to copy the Normal guards which would allow them to hunt down the Ambassador and kill her before anyone knew what was going on.”
“Then why so many Mimics?”
I shrugged. “Maybe it was their Plan B or maybe it was simply safety in numbers. Either way, they definitely gave up trying to copy us when things went south. Instead, they focused on finding and killing their targets.”
Devon’s beard twitched downward as he mulled over my theory. “I don’t care for the implications of all this.”
“Neither do I. Because if this was a coordinated strike, then someone close to us or the Ambassador is the one responsible.”
The Elder grimaced as he processed the thought. Then he stood. “I appreciate your time, Marcus. This was very informative. And before I forget, thank you for saving my life as well as the life of Ambassador Jones.”
I rose on shaky knees and reached for the outstretched hand. The wrinkled skin was spotted and dry, but the grip surprisingly firm.
“Anytime.” Hopefully I wouldn’t have to honor that statement.
“I’d also like to ask a favor. The Council is still sifting through the wreckage, so until we are able to make an official statement about the incident, please keep your comments to the media to a minimum.”
“In other worse, keep my big mouth shut?”
The Elder suppressed a slight grin. “More or less.”
His Admin Witch appeared in the doorway, indicating for me to follow.
“One last thing,” Devon said as I turned to leave. He handed me a slip of paper.
“What’s this?” I asked, staring directly into Devon’s deep, gray eyes.
“The name of a good psychiatrist.”
Tension bled back into my shoulders. “I don’t need to see a shrink.”
The Elder inhaled, then released a slow, steady breath. “I saw what happened and yes, you most certainly do.”
Chapter Five
Of Mice and Minotaurs
The next morning it took a long, hot shower, two ibuprofen and a full pot of coffee before I started to feel human again. I was fixing myself another bowl of Corn Crunchies when my phone buzzed. It was a text from Arbent.
Heard about last night. Glad you’re okay. Give me details when you can.
I smiled. Arbent was a good guy and a phenomenal leader. He didn’t deserve the treatment he was getting from the Council, but maybe the attack at HQ would force the hand of the voting members. Between the rifts and the assault, they’d need every able-bodied Warlock they could get. Even if that meant reversing their decision on one of their best combatants less than a day after suspending him.
My phone buzzed with another text, but this time it was from my buddy, Steve.
WTH?
I frowned, then saw the time.
Aw hell.
There in 10, I sent back.
I hauled myself back upstairs, changed into my workout gear, threw a dry towel into my gym bag, and scampered down to the garage. My rusting Honda SUV, nicknamed the Gray Ghost, rumbled to life and I eased it onto the pavement.
With nothing but green lights between me and the gym, I made the drive in eight minutes flat. I jogged to the small side room that was covered in wrestling mats, tossed my bag against the wall, and skidded to a halt.
The room that we used for training was empty.
“I’m not that late,” I grumbled, leaning back out the door. There was no sign of Steve. He was probably hitting on Amy, one of the cute personal trainers who, surprisingly, didn’t mind his advances.
I killed time by stretching.
Quinn had talked me into trying yoga a few months earlier, so we’d recorded a couple shows on one of the fitness channels. I’d rolled my eyes at the whole centering-my-Chia Pet part of it, but there was no denying its ability to get me limber. Alone in the workout room, I leaned forward, grunting as my bruised body protested.
I was halfway through Downward Barking Cheetah, or whatever the hell it was called, when the atmosphere in the room changed. A heavy, musky scent filled the air while tension replaced the calm I had been trying to channel into my inner child.
I froze, then slowly turned toward the entrance.
The beast was huge, filling the doorway with his massive frame.
Bred specifically to kill overconfident warriors who’d angered the gods, the creature was something straight out of a mythological nightmare. The human-ish body contained long, muscular arms and thick, powerful legs. The head, however, was that of a bull and covered with dark, coarse fur. Its horns were sharpened to points that glinted in the stark light from above. The long snout flared as the beast huffed.
I burst out laughing.
The Minotaur blinked. “What?”
“Nice outfit.”
Steve glanced down at the neon blue bike shorts, yellow spandex top and black combat boots. “It’s workout gear, smartass,” he growled. “Speaking of which, are you ready?”
“Yeah, one sec,” I said, rising, but Steve was already on the move.
He came at me like a hurricane of speed and strength. I spun, narrowly avoiding the massive fist that brushed past. Rotating with the move, I gripped his wrist, rotated my hips, and swept his legs out from under him. My attacker fell forward, thumping heavily to the ground.
“Ha ha!” I cried dramatically. “First blood is mi— Oh crap!”
He popped upright, caught me around the waist, then hurled me like a discus. I made two full rotations in midair before crashing to the floor. Thankfully, I was able to twist just enough that my side absorbed the majority of the impact, distributing the blow across my entire body like my old Judo instructor had taught me, instead of on a single point.
Not that it did me a whole heck of a lot of good.
The shock of connecting with the solid ground rattled my bones. The inertia of being a human Frisbee carried me several feet before I finally slid to a halt. I gasped and struggled to rotate back toward my attacker.
“That’s what you get for gloating,” Steve grumbled as he swung his massive boot at my face. I raised my hands instinctively, but as my palms made contact with the steel toe, I tapped my emotions ever so slightly.
Power flooded to me as I dumped some of my pent-up frustration into my arms. It wasn’t enough power to stop the boot’s motion, but more than enough to prevent it from reshaping my face.
The move paid off. Rather than being kicked into the nearby wall like a bruised, pink soccer ball, I sailed backward gracefully. As soon as my feet connected with the concrete, I launched myself forward into the Minotaur’s abdomen, knocking us both to the ground.
The beast landed on his back with a thunderous boom. I scrambled sideways, raised a fist, and drove it down into his chest.
Which was stupid because it was like punching a battleship.
I cursed as pain exploded up my arm. Before I could pull my arm away, however, Steve grabbed my shoulder with his massive palm and yanked me forward.
Horns passed on either side of my skull as he drove his thick, furry forehead into mine. My ears rang while my body went limp.
Without pausing, he shoved the open palm of his free hand against my chest and flung me backward. I slammed into the wall before flopping hard onto my ass.
Steve huffed, hopped upright, and stomped over to me. He lifted his boot, hovering it over my head.
“You give up?”
I nodded.
“Say it.”
“Listen, you win, so—”
“It’s not official until one of us says it.”
I mumbled a curse under my breath, then said, “I’m the prettiest princess of them all.”
Steve grunted with satisfaction, lowered his boot, then offered me a hand. I gripped it and was yanked to my feet as if I was made of nothing but feathers. The world spun and the Minotaur only released me when I finally was able to walk without stumbling.
“Thanks. I’m good now.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he demanded with a scowl. “Normally you put up more of a fight. You’re completely off your game today.”
I caught the towel he threw at me. “Long night.”
His expression changed to one that was hungry for gossip. “Quinn? Because if I had a woman like her, I’d be a worn-out zombie, too. Probably buy stock in Red Bull or something.”
“I wish that was the issue. There was an incident at HQ last night. I was up late debriefing one of the Elders.”
“Council crap?”
“An attack.”
Steve huffed. “I’m surprised it took someone this long.”
I gave him a dirty look, but had a hard time disagreeing with him. Minotaurs like Steve were one of the numerous paranormal creatures that, after countless millennia evading human hunting parties and even geosynchronous satellites, were slowly emerging from the shadows. Unlike the Skilled, which were almost entirely human, the paranormal world was a hodgepodge of clans of mythological species. And although the Skilled included all paranormals in the treaty with the Normals, most of the creatures didn’t seem interested in integrating with the modern world. The modern world seemed just as reluctant to fully accept them as well.
It was a wonder there weren’t more attacks, really.
Steve, however, was doing his best to survive among us humans. People still stopped and stared when he walked by. Other times, they ran screaming. Apparently it was one thing to watch a TV show about humanity struggling to fend off the dead and quite another to see a Minotaur buying apples at a grocery store.
Which was a shame, really. Underneath his gruff, blocky exterior was a gruff, blocky interior. But underneath that was a nice guy who loved kittens and collected original Frank Sinatra records.
I’d first met Steve a few months earlier while following the trail of Quinn’s father through the Underground. A series of secretive, mystical alleyways, the Underground had existed for centuries as a hiding place for paranormals during times of major persecution. Over the eons, however, it evolved into a bustling hive of commerce and trade used by everyone except Normals. Despite its growth, however, the Underground was still a sleazy enough place where someone like an innocent Necromancer could hide from a wrongful death sentence by the Council.
As luck would have it, my
search for clues about Simeon’s whereabouts, and his innocence, led me to the bar where Steve worked and lived.
As unluck would have it, I accidentally burned the place to the ground.
Saving his life that day was the only reason he didn’t kill me.
“So, what happened at HQ?” he asked.
“My official comment is no comment,” I said robotically.
Steve raised his eyebrows.
“Hey, just practicing for the cameras, man.” I then proceeded to give him a complete rundown of the battle.
“Mimics? That’s weird.” He wiped his sweaty brow. “So is that why you’re out of sorts this morning? Because you had to kill a bunch of furry cockroaches last night? Or do you have a Skilled hangover?”
“A little of both,” I admitted, trying to stamp down the bloody images that sprang to mind. “It’s frustrating.”
Steve folded his arms. “Nine times out of ten, I can’t walk down the street without some human calling the cops. I’m best friends with the concept of ‘frustrating.’ And what I’ve learned is that you can either whine about it or do you can deal with it. Either way, you, Mr. Combat Warlock, can’t afford to get sloppy because you had a bad night.”
I felt my ears turn pink. “I know.”
“Speaking of dealing with things, what’s going on with you and Quinn?”
Steve and I had gone around the bend about my relationship with little progress on either side. He constantly harped that after seven months, a person knew if they wanted someone or not. But Steve didn’t get how complicated human relationships could be.
Quinn and I were doing fine. I didn’t want to disrupt that. If she didn’t want to tell me why she took off for a week or two at a time, then I wasn’t going to bug her about it.
“Same old same old,” I said, hoping to avoid further conversation.
Steve huffed. “Relationships either grow or die, dude. The key is how much and how well you all communicate. You and Quinn need to have the You’re-My-Shmoopsie-Bosom-So-Let’s-Have-Liquid-Hot-Monkey-Sex-Only-With-Each-Other talk or you need to move on. It’s that simple.”
