by Lisa Ladew
Not so with Riot. He was a fuck-up who couldn’t be trusted to do anything. Gemma was better off without him. In fact the best thing he could do for her was disappear altogether. Now. Before she gets used to having me around. As much as it hurt, it was the right thing to do. Thanks, Resperanza. Next time just shut the door on my tail, would ya?
Hitting the ground below the tree on silent paws and digging his claws into the soil, Riot felt the pull of the angry winds. They dogged him all the way to the corner of the house, and for a moment Riot wished they'd yank him over the edge and into the abyss. Right. And then where would Baker get his medicine?
Riot passed the cliffs and prowled into the trees. No baby’s breath to shoot him through space, so he’d take the long way back to his bike. What a waste of time.
The howling of the wind over the cliffs faded with every step. Looks like it’s back to sleeping in trees.
* * *
“Darby, are you okay?” Goldie rushed to her sister’s side as Gemma looked on from the doorway to the courtyard, still trying to absorb what she’d heard from Cora. Cora had hit the truth right on the nose. There was no man more special to her than Riot, and no weapon she’d rather carry than the one he’d given her.
Darby was rubbing her elbow and her head, with a pained expression on her face. “I dropped the first one, and then the rest jumped off the rack somehow!” She pouted. “Not one thing has gone right since I touched that mega-sized motherfucker this morning. Dropping trays all day at work, and now this? Fuck dinner, I’m going to bed before I end up in the hospital again.” She stomped out of the kitchen.
Goldie smiled at Gemma. “Sorry Darby interrupted you.”
Gemma shrugged. “You’re right, is all I was going to say. I’ve never met a better man than Riot, and believe me I’ve met a lot of good ones.” It was true. Trips overseas where she rubbed shoulders with military men, long nights at diners with good cops willing to talk about tough stories, not to mention Gemma’s own father and brothers; and still there’d never been anyone she trusted like Riot to do the right thing when shit went wrong.
Of all the men she’d met, Riot Cofield was the only one Gemma still dreamed of.
Chapter 13 - Start a Revolution
Two days later, Gemma had to admit she’d pinned her hopes on nothing. Riot hadn’t come back to Resperanza after that first night.
And she tried to be cool about it. After all, he hadn’t promised to stay forever. But it still hurt. He’d said it was nice to have a familiar face around and Gemma had thought that meant he wanted to keep seeing it. Guess not.
Regardless of Riot, Gemma had been making decisions about her new life circumstances - savage warrior switch, magical house, oodles of newsworthy stories laying at her feet - and putting them into action.
With all of her most vital possessions here at Resperanza, and with no plans to go back to Atlanta anytime soon, Gemma had arranged to have her mail forwarded and emailed the apartment building’s property manager to inform them of her for-now-temporary absence. At least for the time being, Gemma was a free agent.
And as excited as she was, she was sad about a lot of it, too. No chance to say goodbye to the friends she’d made in Atlanta, and no idea when she’d see them again. Or even talk to them. What would she say if someone asked where she was? Sorry, I’ve been super-busy discovering new languages and learning I’m a magical warrior. Oh yeah, and vampires are a real thing. So what’s new with you?
She’d kept herself distracted from the conflicting feelings by focusing on translating the Keeper’s Book. It had taken her twenty-four hours to break the code, plus another day to translate a sizeable chunk, and she’d spent the time right where she was now, holed up on the couch in her cozy home office. Goldie checked in with her at every meal, bringing along a plate of whatever they were eating downstairs. Gemma knew she was being antisocial but she truly couldn’t help herself. Every time she left the book, even to go to the bathroom, she felt an urgency to get back, like she’d left her baby on a changing table.
Gemma picked up the Keeper’s Book and her notebook, nearly full already with the scribbled ideas and attempted translations she’d rejected before hitting on the one that worked. Finally she had something to show for all her time.
Her eyes drifted to the side, where her Resonant rested in its sheath on the table. Gemma had stopped wearing it everywhere yesterday morning, when she’d woken up and found Riot hadn’t returned to Resperanza after the meeting. She'd felt… abandoned, somehow. Which was weird and unlike her.
She left her room, books in hand, feeling like a teenager who’d finished her homework. She found Goldie, Cora, and Darby sitting together on the sofas in the living room. Sort of. The two switches sat on one couch, their heads behind one of the bridal magazines that seemed to litter every horizontal surface in the house, while Darby sat on another, using the back of one hand as a canvas for special effects makeup. A closer look showed Darby was painting fake blood on a gory latex wound. A show with brides hunting for the perfect wedding dress played on the TV, but nobody was watching it.
Gemma couldn’t contain her news, reaching for the remote to turn off the television. “You guys want me to read you what I translated today?” Three pairs of eyes shot up, two of them shining with curiosity. Darby returned her attention to her hand.
Cora and Goldie followed Gemma as she led them to the dining room table. She laid out the Keeper’s Book next to her notebook to show them what she’d done. “So I started with the characters that repeated the most, and I found three. There’s this one here,” she said, pointing to what looked like a dagger stabbing downward, with a straight, sharp blade. “I figure that’s us, ‘switches’. And that same symbol with a circle around it, I think that means ‘covens’. Then this one.”
Gemma’s finger moved to a stylized “V” with black curls of ink swirling off of it. “That’s got to mean ‘vampires’, right? The only one I still haven’t figured out is this one here.” She pointed at a character made simply of three jagged parallel lines, like slash marks on the page.
It haunted her, that symbol. She felt like she'd seen it before, and she wanted to know what it meant. Gemma looked up at her switch sisters just in time to see them exchange a knowing look. Instantly her curiosity was piqued. “What is it?”
Cora’s eyebrows went up as she glanced back to Gemma. “Hmm? Oh, nothing. What else did you translate?”
Gemma blinked. Cora was hiding something. And it wasn’t just this time. She shook off the feeling and her lingering curiosity about the slash marks. They weren’t important for the part she’d translated tonight, anyway.
“Okay, so I found this whole history section that tells about the first switches. You wanna hear it?”
Goldie clapped her hands and grinned. “Heck, yeah, I do!”
Gemma laughed and pulled her notebook closer, reading aloud her painstaking work of the last two days.
I am Palladium, firstborn switch and author of this history. I commit these words to the page for the benefit of future sisters. Long years we have wandered the earth, hunting our foe. Now we have gathered in this sacred place, to make our home here together. And so first I shall introduce myself and my sisters, the five of us.
Breath is my coven, swift of hand and foot, light as the air that fuels our power, mobile as the metals that carry it forth. Every Breath switch has a love of words and voice running deeper than her blood. Seek ye a switch who can speak and read in many tongues, or wind their words around another’s heart? Seek ye a Breath switch.
My sister Sapphire leads the Belief switches, so staunch and stubborn in their views. Think not to argue with these square-jawed sisters unprepared, for they love nothing so much as to view every side of a dilemma before choosing the one that best fits their principles. And once they have chosen, beware, for they wield their faith with as much fury as they do the lightning that fuels their power. Think not to change their settled hearts, for like the stones that
exemplify their strength, these sisters are immovable.
Strongest to the eye are Bone switches, carried by our sister Zeby on her muscled back. All of Bone coven are strategizers, death-defiers, with constitutions as strong as the earth they manipulate. Hundreds of years I have spent with Zeby and never heard her cough, though the rest of us could have consumption. And if she was hurt we might never know, so high is the Bone switch’s tolerance for pain. She once pulled out her own tooth for a spell with nary a tear.
And then there is sweet Persimmon, our sister of Bond coven, who spends her days communing with any creature that can claim to have a heart. So generous and loyal, so nurturing she could mother the world and still have love yet to spare. All Bond switches bring light to their sisters’ eyes, for though their power be not loud, it is the thread that weaves us all together and makes us more than what we are apart. Have ye a Bond switch by your side and you will never want for the comfort of a loving heart.
Lastborn is our sister Antimony, a killer from birth and the strongest of us all. She has the power of Blood coven, able to manipulate liquids from the smallest drop of mist to the oceans’ currents; even blood has been bent to her will. But all Blood switches - most especially our sister - suffer from the cruelest curse, borne of magic as black as the hair on their heads. Doomed, they are, to spend their whole lives feeling unwanted, out of place even in the sweetness of sisterhood. A cruel accident of birth, to always feel such. As a coven they remain dangerously independent, of our kind as well as each other.
Gemma stopped. “That’s as far as I got.”
Cora was looking back at her, wide-eyed and grinning. “You’re a fucking genius.”
Gemma sobered. “It’s just us three?”
Cora tilted her head, hedging a little. “There’s one other switch we know of, but she’s way old, and she doesn’t talk. And she’s not Breath Coven, either, because she lights up pink, not green. Jameson’s known her for years. Her name’s Auntie.”
A thrum of excitement revved in Gemma’s belly. I smell a mystery. “So where is Auntie now?”
Cora wove her fingers together, resting her joined hands on the table in front of her. “In a nursing home where she’s been for years. But my lawyer, Bonhi, she’s trying to get us power of attorney so we can get her out of there. Just this one nurse is doing everything she can to slow it down.”
Gemma’s lips curved. The plot thickens. Why would a nurse do that if a patient has a loving home to go to?
Goldie gasped and tapped one hand rapid-fire on the table. “But now we know what to look for, to find switches from the other covens! Read that part back again.”
Gemma did, and as she spoke she could see Goldie eyeing Darby in the other room. Probably trying to figure out which coven her sister belonged to, if any. Maybe Belief? It was hard not to notice how outspoken Darby was. But she doesn’t have a square jaw, so maybe not.
When she finished reading the translation for the second time, Gemma flipped to the next page in the Keeper’s Book. She pointed to a section that had caught her eye, of words interspersed with illustrations of different animals. “There are a lot of those slash-marks on this page with all the animals.”
The illustrations were of animals you’d mostly see in the forest; bears and cougars, wolves and birds of prey, snakes and vultures. Basically everything that would have sent her into a panic ten years ago. Gemma pursed her lips. “Would’ve been hilarious if I was a Bond switch. All those animals.”
Cora stiffened. “Why’s that?”
Gemma laughed lightly at herself. “I used to have a phobia of predators. Long story.”
Goldie’s eyes were wide and worried. “But you’re over it now?”
Gemma shrugged. “Years ago. Went to this workshop on phobias and found a therapist who helped me through it.”
Cora blew out a breath. “That’ll make this next part a lot easier, then.” She looked Gemma full in the eye and smiled hopefully. “Ready to have that brilliant mind blown again?”
Chapter 14 - Riot Control
Riot stomped through the forest at night with another sackful of bud, his overactive mind grumbling at him again. What the fuck do I have to do to shut this thing off? The last two days had been nonstop action and distraction on his part. He’d been scouting with Ryder, led some climbing tours, sparred with both twins, and now he’d spent another few hours harvesting buds for Baker’s CBD oil. But none of it had kept his mind off Gemma.
Darkness was falling deep as Riot made his way down the cliff, his puma’s eyes reaching into the shadows to discern what made their shapes. Pebbles skittered away as he strode to his bike, the glossy chassis giving off a shine in the rising moonlight.
Riot stuffed his pack in one saddlebag and pulled his phone earpiece out of the other. Need to get your mind right? Call your mother. He started the bike up and hit dial before tucking his phone away and kicking off.
Riot knew he’d be lucky to find his mom with a free minute to talk, even at this hour of the night, but it had been almost a week since they spoke and he liked to check in on her. Truth was, at fifty-two years old Blossom Cofield had a far more active social calendar than her son, and was as likely to be out at a trendy new restaurant or leading a ladies erotic book club as she was to be home playing with her dogs or canning tomatoes.
So he was a little surprised when she picked up on the second ring. Riot heard her fussing at the dogs in the background, then her voice came closer. “Riot, my baby boy, I’m so happy you called. How are you, sweetheart?”
Riot smirked. His mother was the only one who could get away with calling him so many pet names, partly because she did it to everyone she knew, from her best friends to the cashier at the grocery store. “I’m supposed to ask you that, Ma.”
Blossom tutted at him. “Hush it. Once a mama, always a mama. Everything okay down there? You staying safe?”
The ever-present knot in Riot’s gut tightened. We’re not going there. “You know I am. So what did you do today, Ma? Underwater basket-weaving? Naked yoga?”
He smiled at his mother’s roaring laughter, her voice loud with fake outrage. “Riot Austin Cofield, that was one time!”
It was true. His mother had done naked yoga. In a group. And when she’d told him the story on a visit to see him in prison, Riot had openly, laughingly vowed revenge for his traumatized psyche. He grumbled at his mother with a grin in his voice, enjoying their long-running joke. “Once is all it takes. Then they hit you up for the orgies.”
His mother’s voice turned wicked. “What makes you think they didn’t?”
Riot fake-retched into his helmet. “Ma! Too far!”
Blossom’s laughter ended on a sigh. “You started it. But I’ll let you off the hook. You ever hear from my great-nephew and his mother?”
Off the hook and into the bucket. He had to step carefully around this topic. Couldn’t afford to let his mother know about the risks he was taking, or she’d have his ass. “They’ve got a steady roof over their heads.”
Blossom was silent for a moment, then her uncharacteristically sober voice spoke quietly. “Well, that’s good. That’s more than they ever had when his father was around.”
Riot took the words like another knife to the gut. Things should have been so different. He could have done so much more, if only he hadn’t fucked things up so badly from the start.
“Speaking of fathers,” Blossom interjected herself into Riot’s guilt. “Yours sure would be proud of you, down there working for The Cause. You’re doing the right thing, Riot. You’re a good man.”
The knife twisted with her words. A good man. Right. “I gotta go, Ma. I love you. Take care of yourself.”
She said goodbye, Riot’s phone hung up, and he looked around to find himself halfway up Resperanza’s driveway, the lamp-lit terracotta bricks rolling steadily under the wheels of his bike. And it wasn’t because of a stray patch of baby’s breath or other-wordly shortcut. He’d simply gone on autopilot to th
e place he wanted to be.
Riot slowed his bike to a crawl. Was that… a new tree? Has to be. No way I could’ve missed that tree before.
It was a fully-mature beech tree, his favorite kind of sleeping tree, sixty feet tall and with branches that reached just as wide, set towards the back corner of the house where it wouldn’t shade the greenhouse turret. It had a wide trunk and thick, horizontal branches that reached almost all the way to the second-story windows on that side of the house. The autumn leaves were halfway through their change, some still green and clinging to their branches as others dropped to the lawn in all the soft peaches and yellows of a mountain sunset.
Riot needed to be in that tree.
Chapter 15 - Cougars And Wolves And Bears, Oh Shit
Gemma dragged herself up the curving staircase and into her room. She had claimed she was going to bed, but really she just needed some alone time to process Cora and Goldie’s revelation. Her mind was spinning like a tornado. Shifters? That’s what Cora had called them.
Gemma thought it to herself again: shifters. They were the animals illustrated in the Keeper’s Book, as well as the three-slash-mark symbol that littered the text. They were people who could turn into animals in an instant, some of whom were bound to serve the Cause. Cora had said that everyone Gemma had met so far, who worked for the Cause but wasn’t a switch or Carick, was a shifter. They only hadn’t told her yet because Riot had told them about her phobia, and Gemma knew exactly how he knew. One more humiliating memory she’d prefer to forget.
But the big news, the thing that was sending her up to her room to deal in silence, was that if everyone was a shifter then that meant Riot-
Gemma’s brain screeched to a halt, unable to wrap around the idea. It was one thing to hear Cora say Jameson was a huge white wolf, or for Goldie to show Gemma a selfie of her and a bear she claimed was Flint in grizzly form, but Riot? Gemma had known him since high school, he couldn’t be a shifter… could he? She would have known somehow… wouldn’t she?
