Tides of Spring: A Dark Shapeshifter Urban Fantasy (Echoes of the Past Book 3)

by H B Lyne

  'What are you scared of, Weaver?' Eyes asked, his eyes dark.

  'Drowning,' Weaver replied quickly. Stalker looked at her quizzically and wondered if she was using a euphemism. Weaver took a drink from her goblet and didn't meet Stalker's gaze.

  'Is that all?' Stalker asked gently.

  'No,' Weaver replied with an enigmatic smile. 'I guess I'm pretty scared of losing any of you lot too.' Stalker nodded and tried to catch Weaver's eye to give her an encouraging smile, but Weaver's gaze was fixed on the fallen leaves in front of her.

  'Stalker?' Claws asked hesitantly. 'Have you ever been afraid to tell us something important?'

  She glared at him, he wouldn't meet her eyes. She knew full well that he knew exactly what he was asking and she fought the urge to leap up and smack him around the head.

  'I don't believe so,' she replied, her teeth clenched. 'I wasn't too keen on telling Eyes about the vandalism at the house, but that wasn't fear.' She was not going to say anything about Rhys, that was her own, private burden and she didn't appreciate Claws trying to prise it out of her. The Orchard rustled around them and she glanced anxiously up at the quivering branches. It seemed like it knew that she had not been honest and she chewed her tongue as she wrestled with conflicting obligations. 'I guess there is something.' She paused, thinking furiously for an alternative, equally truthful secret. 'I am scared of losing my temper at work and hurting a student. That worries me a lot actually and I've never spoken to you about it because I was afraid of looking weak or burdening any of you with my own stuff.'

  Claws rolled his eyes but didn't press the issue. She lifted her chin and looked at him defiantly. 'Wind Talker?' she said quickly, not allowing anyone else a chance to quiz her. 'Who do you most want to kill?'

  'The Alpha,' he replied immediately. Stalker nearly choked on her cider and spat it out in a dramatic spray into the circle. Her gaze switched rapidly between him and Eyes, gauging what was going on. Eyes was impassive, his gaze lowered to the ground, his fingers caressing the rim of his goblet. It seemed this was not a surprise to him. She knew there was tension between them and Wind Talker had wanted to be Alpha when they first formed their new pack, but she hadn't realised he wanted it that badly.

  The Orchard sighed again, leaves rustling all around them.

  'Thank you.' A soft voice emerged from the gentle rustling sound, it was more like a quiet chorus of voices. 'The last time the Blue Moon were here they shared their secrets too.'

  Stalker looked up into the trees, surprised to hear them talking and alarmed by their words.

  'We aren't the Blue Moon,' Claws said quietly but firmly.

  'No, I suppose not,' The Orchard replied.

  'What were their secrets?' Stalker asked, unable to contain herself.

  'Ahhh.' The Orchard sighed with an audible smile. 'They are not mine to share.'

  'It was worth a try,' Stalker mumbled and Eyes patted her knee gently.

  'When were they here?' Eyes asked, looking up into the leaves.

  'Many, many cycles ago,' replied The Orchard. 'I do not know how to tell you in terms you would understand.'

  'Years? Seasons?' Weaver whispered, glancing around.

  'Lunar cycles?' Stalker asked out loud, looking up.

  'They had a fae of the moon with them, Caeruleum Lunulam.'

  'Why did they have a fae of the moon with them? Was she their ally?' Eyes asked, looking around at the trees with a deep frown on his brow.

  'Yes.'

  Stalker looked at her pack mates, confused by the significance. Weaver's eyes were wide in surprise and Wind Talker looked deep in thought.

  'So Grins-Too-Widely wasn't always their patron?' Stalker asked.

  'Apparently not,' Wind Talker replied. 'What happened to the lunar fae?'

  'I don't know,' The Orchard replied. A heavy silence hung in the air for a moment. 'Thank you for wassailing with me, it was nice to have company but I must sleep now.'

  'Could we come again?' Weaver asked.

  'Yes,' the trees rustled. The Lightning Lords got to their feet, Stalker stumbled slightly, her head still foggy from the alcohol. 'Beware Crimson Thorns,' the Orchard sighed sleepily. Weaver grasped Stalker's hand to help steady her and they looked around at the rustling leaves.

  'What does that mean?' Wind Talker asked, raising his voice almost to a shout.

  'Redfield Park plays host to a troubled fae, Crimson Thorns. She will block your path on your way to defeat your greatest foe.' A breeze blew through the woods scattering fallen leaves across the floor and Stalker felt a shudder run right through her.

  'That was cryptic,' Eyes growled as they made their way back along the path they had entered from.

  'The Orchard is a thousand years old,' Weaver explained. 'She has great insight but is not the most direct fae in Hepethia.'

  Weaver led them back across the veil. Stalker kept hold of Weaver's hand, her head gradually clearing and she tried to make sense of what they had learned. She wasn't sure how much of it was useful, but she knew one thing for certain, she would have to have Eyes' back.

  Stalker woke the following morning feeling groggy. The pack was stirring to life around her, even though it was early. They had to collect a van and some equipment that Claws had arranged to hire and then get over to the house they were to heal by 9am.

  'Morning,' Stalker said to the others as she emerged from her sleepy state. The others murmured in reply and Wind Talker simply gave her a curt nod. Stalker couldn't quite bring herself to look at him, the memory of his revelation in the Orchard stirring in her jumbled and slow mind. It seemed no one wanted to discuss it, and Stalker eyed her pack mates carefully, unsure if she should bring it up or not.

  Eyes arrived as they were eating breakfast, having gone back to his mother's house for the night.

  'How's your family?' Weaver asked him as she passed him some orange juice.

  'Could be better,' he shrugged. 'I'll be glad when we get this over with and get Chloe healed. She's been moved to a psychiatric unit now, which is not where I want her.'

  'Of course,' Stalker said quietly. 'Let's go, shall we?'

  They rolled up to the house just after 9am in a big white van, all of them clad in blue overalls, except Eyes, who was in a suit. He went to the door and exchanged a few words with the mother and returned with a set of keys. Stalker watched the house, waiting anxiously for the mother to vacate.

  'I wish we knew what we were going to find in there,' she whispered. Weaver placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed.

  'It'll be fine,' she replied.

  The mother came out of the house with a large bag over her shoulder a few minutes later and went to her car in the driveway. She nodded to Eyes before getting in and driving away.

  'Where's the girl?' Stalker asked, her brow furrowed.

  'At school,' Eyes replied as he swung out of the van and marched up to the front door.

  Stalker slid gracefully out of the van and went around to the back to open the doors. Claws gave her a brief smile and passed her a tool belt, which she dutifully put on. He and Wind Talker lugged a large drill to the edge of the van and together the three of them hoisted it out of the van and carried it up the path and into the house. They put it down in the living room on a huge dust sheet. This was all for show, for now at least. Eyes was waiting in the kitchen for the rest of the pack, his face set in a grim expression.

  'What's the plan?' Stalker asked.

  'We break open the door on this side and take a look around. Wind Talker, you check across the veil and tell us what you see.'

  Stalker glanced between Eyes and Wind Talker. There was an edge to Eyes' voice and she just knew that he was wishing he had the talisman that allowed the bearer to look across the veil, rather than having to trust Wind Talker with that task.

  Claws pulled back the rug on the floor and lifted the trap door open. Stalker pulled a torch out of her tool belt and flicked it on. She pointed it down the steps and glanced around at the o
thers.

  'Who's going to do the honours?' she asked.

  'I will,' Eyes said brusquely. He snatched a crowbar from Claws' tool belt and set off down the steps.

  'Wait,' Stalker called and Eyes stopped and looked back up at her. 'We should search the house for a key for that padlock.' Eyes blinked at her for a moment, confusion in his eyes. 'For one thing, we might want to be able to lock the door again and for another, this trap door and stairwell are well used. Look, there's very little dust, the door opened easily and that padlock is in good condition, not rusted or anything. The family uses this, they must have a key. It might help us to understand.'

  'Stalker's right,' Claws said firmly. Eyes nodded and returned to the kitchen. 'Let's spread out. Check every drawer, every nook and cranny.' Claws turned and started rummaging through the kitchen drawers. Wind talker headed out to the pantry and Weaver set off for the dining room.

  'Let's go upstairs,' Stalker said to Eyes and grudgingly he followed. 'I know you want to do this quickly, but we must be careful too. We have no idea what we're going to find in there.'

  'You're right,' he said quietly as he followed her up the stairs.

  'You check the mother's room and I'll check the girl's,' she said gently, trying not to sound too bossy. He nodded again and headed off to locate the mother's room. Stalker went straight for the girl's room and looked around in the doorway. Drawings lined the walls and fluttered slightly in the breeze from the open window. Stalker crossed the room and pulled the window shut. A black bird landed on the sill outside and squawked at her before flying off. Stalker stepped away from the window and looked around at the drawings on the walls, they were nearly all of birds, but mixed in were some darker, more mysterious images. Black circles and something that looked like a well were repeated in several drawings.

  She heard Eyes muttering to himself in another room up the hall and was snapped from her curiosity. She looked around the room and went to the wardrobe that they had seen the worry demon in when they visited the house in Hepethia. She opened the doors and looked at the clothes hanging there, everything looked normal. She pushed the clothes aside and ran her hand over the back of the wardrobe, right into the corners and carefully over the whole surface. Nothing. There were stacks of shoes lining the wardrobe floor and she stooped down to root around amongst them. Right at the back was an old pair of ballet slippers that looked much too small for the pre-teen girl who lived here. Stalker grabbed them and shook them. A small key dropped out of one of them onto the thick carpet, making almost no sound. A gasp escaped Stalker's lips and she quickly picked up the key. 'I found it!' she yelled and tore from the room.

  Eyes came bursting out onto the landing and stared at her in disbelief. Stalker ran down the stairs two at a time and leaped down the last four at once without breaking stride. She floated gently to the ground and ran into the kitchen. The others appeared from their respective corners of the house and gawked at her as she held the tiny key up in her fingers.

  'Where was it?' Claws asked.

  'In the girl's wardrobe.'

  'The girl's?' Wind Talker asked, jerking his head in surprise.

  'Yeah. The drawings on her wall were strange too. Not just birds, but there was a well too.'

  'Let's get down there,' Eyes said, his voice firm. He took the key and went first again, into the blackness. Stalker shone the torch over his shoulder and heard the small click as he unlocked the padlock. He glanced up at them and lifted his eyebrows, a look of “this is it” written on his face. Stalker followed him down the steps, the others trailed after and Eyes wrenched open the door. It evidently wasn't as heavy as it looked as it flew open quickly and banged against the wall.

  She followed Eyes inside and shone the torch around the basement. The space wasn't vast, but bigger than expected. The walls and ceiling were lined with corrugated iron and empty metal shelf units lined two of the walls. Along the far wall were a set of fold away bunk beds. It was a totally normal air raid shelter and it was gathering dust.

  Stalker felt a vaguely familiar prickling sensation crawling all over her skin and now that the door was open the source was clear to her. She was reminded vividly of the Danegeld.

  'I don't get it,' Weaver whispered. 'If someone was coming down here regularly, why does it look like no one has been in here in decades?'

  'Can't you feel the doorway?' Stalker replied absently, staring into the space. She shone the torch at the floor and noticed scuffled tracks in the dust and a little patch just inside the entrance to the shelter where there was very little dust and a few crumbs of food. She bent down and pressed her fingers to the floor, picking up some crumbs on them. She sniffed and darted her tongue out to taste one.

  'Don't,' Weaver said loudly, her voice reverberating off the walls.

  'It's okay,' Stalker replied, standing up. 'Fresh bread crumbs, no more than a day old.'

  'What's the state of play in Hepethia?' Eyes asked, glancing at Wind Talker.

  Wind Talker shook his head slowly.

  'It's pitch black, I can't see anything.'

  'We'll have to cross over blind,' Eyes said quietly. Stalker felt her stomach lurch at the prospect. Her pulse was racing. Eyes took a step into the shelter and disappeared in front of her. Weaver and Wind Talker were quick to follow, leaving her and Claws facing each other in the dark basement. They exchanged worried glances and then crossed over together.

  There was no tug at her navel, no spinning sensation. Just another step, straight through the open door that anyone could enter.

  Stalker raised the torch and shone it over her head. They were in a very different space. The ceiling was impossibly high and just behind them was an open door with a little daylight filtering down a very long staircase. At her feet was a circle drawn in white chalk as perfect as if it were brand new and Stalker looked carefully in the little pool of white light from the torch to see footprints in the dust leading away from the circle. She double checked the floor between the circle and the door and confirmed that the footprints originated in the circle, the doorway in the veil.

  The vast cavern stretched out ahead of them and cautiously, Stalker led the way, following the tracks. The walls were stone and as she shone the torch over them she noticed graffiti covering them. Faded red spray paint warned them to “stay away”, “keep out” and “turn back” but interspersed were smaller declarations of “feed me” and “hide me”. A shiver went up Stalker's spine and she felt movement in the dark around them. She stopped still and felt the others halt right behind her.

  'What was that?' Eyes whispered. He had felt it too. Stalker closed her eyes and focused on the darkness, welcoming it, inviting it into her. When she opened her eyes she could see more clearly and she sensed Pursuit-of-Midnight-Solitude somewhere just out of sight, urging her on.

  'It's okay,' she said firmly. 'We have to go on. Nothing's going to hurt us, it's just darkness elementals.'

  'There are no demons here, it feels like there should be,' Weaver said, her voice floating away into the black.

  'I'm guessing the graffiti is mostly doing its job,' Eyes said dryly.

  Stalker shone the torch on the floor just ahead and set off walking again. An unpleasant smell crept up on her as she walked, at first stale air but then the distinct smell of urine and faeces.

  'Oh god, what is that?' Claws asked, clamping a hand to his face.

  No one answered, there were no words. Stalker caught sight of silver glinting in the torchlight and edged slowly forwards. She could feel the space open up ahead of her before she saw it clearly, that feeling of being on a precipice. She shone the torch into the empty space. It was a huge well in the floor, easily fifteen feet wide and it was lined with silver. The others gathered at her sides to peer into the pit and she heard movement inside it. She lowered the beam of torch into the well, it was deep, but not so deep that she couldn't see the bottom.

  'Hello?' a distorted voice croaked up out of the darkness.

  Chapter Fo
urteen

  'Oh my god,' Stalker breathed, her hand shaking and making the torchlight shudder over the man's filthy and fragile body. His bearded face was turned towards them and he held a trembling hand up to shield his eyes against the bright light.

  'Who are you?' the man croaked feebly. 'Where is she?'

  'She?' Stalker asked, turning to look at Eyes beside her.

  'The girl? Has she been feeding him?' Eyes whispered. He crouched down and looked into the pit.

  'What do we do?' Stalker asked.

  'We have to get him out, obviously,' Weaver said firmly.

  'How? The sides are silver, it'll fry any of us that touch it,' Claws said, stooping to gently tap his fingers to the silver rim of the well. He yanked his hand back as his skin hissed and smoke issued from his singed fingers.

  'What's going on?' the frail old man called up and then burst into a fit of coughing at the strain of raising his voice.

  'It's all right,' Stalker called down to him. 'We're going to figure out a way to get you out.' She turned to Eyes. 'Get me a rope from the van. I'll go down there.'

  The others looked at her in alarm. Stalker lifted her chin defiantly and glared at Eyes. He was the first to relent and gave her an appraising nod. He looked over at Claws, giving a single jerk of his head and Claws was off, sprinting back the way they had come.

  'What's your name?' Weaver called gently into the pit.

  'Hidden Voice,' Eyes replied. Stalker's gaze darted to the Alpha. 'I seem to be able to tell any shifter's name. It started recently when the Witches attacked my house,' he explained.

  Stalker swallowed hard. It was an interesting ability.

  The shifter in the pit croaked something in reply but it was impossible to make out.

  'This is horrific,' Stalker murmured. 'How long do you think he's been down there?'

  'Years,' Wind Talker replied, his voice steady, his face impassive.