The doc checked the temperature on the cauterizing device and, satisfied, put it away in his bag. The bleeding was stanched. Johnny had been effectively tended to. I breathed a relieved sigh. Then the doc stood, ready to leave. “Doc, wait.” My respite from stress was too short. This wasn’t over yet. “I have something to show you before you leave.”
“Red,” Johnny interrupted, “I want a minute with you first. Kirk, you and the doc step out.”
No one questioned him.
I sank down on the bed, grateful for a moment alone with him. My fingers pushed into the jet-black waves of his hair, scrubbing over sand still on his scalp. My mind flashed on the beam cutting a dragon in half, then incinerating a Beholder’s legs as the rest of him burst into flame. I could still hear his final scream.
That grit also reminded me of what Johnny had done. In wolf form, he’d attacked the fairy Fax Torris. She’d dragged him beneath the surface of Lake Erie. They’d been under a long time. Too long. In those moments when my fear was most intense, I regretted terribly not yet telling him that I loved him.
My heart compelled me to say those words now, but with him lying there injured, it seemed that telling him here, like this, would cheapen the words. I didn’t want to say them out of pity or as a reaction to fear.
I said nothing and kissed him. Not a sexy, passionate kind of kiss, but a so-alive-in-this-moment kind. I put to memory the feel of his soft lips pressed to mine because earlier today I’d thought I might not ever get to kiss him again.
Johnny, however, took it as a “Let’s get naked” kind of kiss. His hands rubbed up my arms—and he jerked in pain and said something very improper.
“Doc said no activities that would risk the stitches,” I whispered.
Undeterred, he put on a brave face. “I don’t care. Any chance you’ll do a little voodoo on me tonight?”
CHAPTER TWO
I sat up, rolling my eyes. “Your libido is insatiable. You’re not in any shape to be doing—”
“Wait, wait—not voodoo, I mean probing. Can we do a little probing tonight?” He grinned.
It was such a Johnny thing to say that the words filled me with relief. He’s going to be fine. “I’ll give you two innuendo points, but that’s all you’re getting.” I’d lost track of the score in our little game of who could use the most sexual innuendoes in normal conversation.
He carefully moved his arm and laid his palm across my thigh. “Seriously, Red. We’ve shared pieces of our souls. I need you to use our connection to find out what you can about who inked me up and stifled my powers.”
“I will.” I found a clean spot on the towel and blotted the blood that had seeped between the stitches when he moved. “Let’s get you past this first.”
“Does the process of digging in my memories involve hand-to-hand combat?” he asked sarcastically.
“It might.” The point he was making was clear, but so was mine. “I’ve never done this kind of thing before. It might involve mud wrestling for all I know.”
Expecting him to wiggle his brows and make a remark about bikini-clad females in shallow pits of mud, I was surprised when his mirth faded and he became very serious. “Red, the top dog is coming. I need this unlocked pronto. I don’t want anything holding me back when he arrives.”
“Johnny.” He’d lost blood and energy. Because his power was locked in his tattoos, transforming at will wasn’t ever easy. Right now doing so would have been harder still. “I get it that the Zvonul are the wærewolf equivalent of the Witch Elders Council, and that this won’t be as easy as a couple of neighborhood dogs getting introduced via mutual butt-sniffing. But what is this Rege going to do?”
“He has to see me change. The rest of the wæres won’t accept me until he confirms me as the Domn Lup.”
“Other than the Rege, Todd said something about an adevar?”
“Titles up the chain of command. Let me start at the bottom so this makes sense. Dirija is a local pack lord, like a mayor or a priest. They account for a hundred to two hundred and fifty wæres, depending on area and city size. They answer to an adevar—think of them as IRS agents with governorships. Each adevar deals with ten to fifteen dirija. They aren’t well liked.”
“Why not?”
“The dirija see them as buttinskis and tattletales.”
“But ‘bean counter’ was the term Todd used.”
“They’re basically accountants who get furry once a month. They kennel with the packs they oversee on a rotating basis. Never a fun time. It’s like being audited.”
“Okay.”
“Between them and the Zvonul are the diviza, who are more like mafia dons crossed with U.S. senators.”
“I think the government official examples help me understand, but the priest and mafia descriptions create a bunch of blanks that I’m not sure I want filled in.”
Johnny snorted. “Yeah, but actual government officials are elected or appointed. These guys fight for position. The Zvonul are a pack of the most powerful wæres on the planet, each with a region under his direct influence. They keep control through loyalty they create with spiritual connection, intimidation, and strategy. So the idea of a group of priests, mafia dons, and generals—with a whole lot of Big Brother mixed in—is a more accurate analogy.”
“Yikes. Sounds like a cult.”
“See why I wanted to stay out of it?”
“Yeah. But you’re in it. Big time.”
He didn’t reply. He just picked at the sheet on the bed.
Though etymology made it pretty obvious, I asked, “And the Rege?”
“The Zvonul’s main man. Think of him as …” he considered it and said, “Pope-Czarzilla. If he called the packs to unite, it’d take the airlines weeks to handle the exodus of wæres to Romania. No one would dare refuse.”
“But the moving industry in America would crumble!” My flippant statement won me the lopsided grin I was hoping for, but it faded too quickly.
Johnny had taken the mantle of his fate in order to help me defeat the fairies: He’d killed Ignatius Tierney, the former dirija, who also happened to be his father figure, and in doing so he’d claimed the pack. The responsibilities of his destiny were changing him, siphoning off his lightheartedness, replacing it with new gravity. He’d risked everything for me; to deny him anything would have been selfish.
“Okay. We’ll do some probing tonight. But you’ve lost a lot of blood; you’re going to have to drink a gallon of orange juice.”
“You should know, Red. This household has the potential to single-handedly keep Florida orange growers in business.”
Johnny was referring to my own frequent need to consume OJ. The vampire Menessos was my servant, and part of being his master meant letting him feed from me.
But Johnny had been unconscious on the beach during part of the battle. He’d missed some very important events … such as me staking Menessos. If he’d known what I’d done, I don’t think he would have made that joke. I’d taken a terrible risk to defeat the fairies. Menessos may be well and truly dead, never to rise again. Just thinking those words caused tears to threaten, so I changed the subject. “Is Todd going to be a problem in all this?”
“No. He must’ve realized that I’m only in his way until I’m confirmed. Then, the Zvonul will have other plans for the Domn Lup. This pack will be his anyway. I’d bet a guitar or two that, to hurry the process up, Todd personally called them before Ig’s body had even cooled.”
“What do these ‘other plans for the Domn Lup’ entail?”
“I’m not sure what they’ll expect. There hasn’t been a Domn Lup in centuries. But,” his fingers tightened on my thigh, and his warm voice rescued me from the sadness building inside me, “I won’t move to Romania.”
That deserved another kiss. This time, instead of reaching up for me, his fingers glided around my leg and over my hip. I broke off the kiss when he poked at the contents of my pocket.
“Why do you bother keeping it with yo
u now?”
He meant the protrepticus, an inanimate object—mine was an old cell phone—that housed a spirit. It could never be very far from my person. When I’d created it with Xer-xadrea’s help, it had bound me with her and the spirit. She’d given her life to save mine at the Cleveland Botanical Gardens late Friday night. We’d had to leave her body behind. It was an awful thing to do.
With her death, the spirit should have been freed, but I hadn’t had the nerve to check. “Dunno,” I mumbled. “I’m sure it’s useless but … I feel guilty for leaving her and maybe, somehow, through this thing I can tell her I’m sorry.”
“If you figure out how to find the dial directory for specific dead people, I want to talk to Randy Rhoads.” He patted me softly. “Hey, you better get the doc on to his next appointment.”
I stood. “You want anything?”
“A bowl of Lucky Charms would be nice.”
He’s definitely on the mend. “I’ll send it up with Kirk. And the juice.”
“Kirk’s going to have to go soon, Red.”
“I’ll come back as soon as Dr. Lincoln’s shock wears off.”
* * *
The bar bouncer wære and the veterinarian were standing in the small foyer area on the main floor, obviously uncomfortable with each other. “Kirk, I need you to take some food up to Johnny.” He looked grateful for the promise of escape. “And, Doc, do you have plans for this evening?” I asked, even as I headed for the kitchen.
“I was going to order a pizza and watch my latest delivery from Netflix,” Dr. Lincoln called.
Without disturbing Nana and Beverley’s very serious game of Chutes and Ladders at the dinette, I gathered a small mixing bowl, a spoon, the cereal box, a half-full milk jug, and the half-gallon of orange juice. The items passed to Kirk and he headed up the steps. “What do you like on your pizza, Doc?”
“Why?” He drew the word out suspiciously.
“I was hoping you would evaluate a few animals I’ve acquired. If you will take a look at them, I’ll send Nana and Beverley to pick up some pizzas.”
The doctor, bemused, shook his head but conceded. “Banana peppers and sausage.”
“That was easier than I expected.” The prospect of losing his down time and taking on unexpected work seemed like something he should resist with a bit more force.
“Whatever you’ve got going on is sure to be more exciting than Underdog.”
On my way out I grabbed my jacket, an insulated flannel overshirt. The doc followed me through the cornfield, lugging his medical bag. “Is there a corral out here?” he asked.
It was colder than I’d thought. Buttoning the flannel, I answered, “Sort of.” We didn’t have to fight our way through the cornstalks; the elemental animals’ passage had bent the stalks down and created an eight-foot-wide path straight to the grove where the ley line ran.
“What kind of animals did you acquire?”
“You’ll see.”
He grunted. “How many of them are there?”
“Several. I don’t have an exact count.”
“Give me a hint or something.”
Our approach caused the animals to stir. There was nickering and bird sounds and a noise like a giant burp. It could have been Mountain’s belch or one of the dragon’s.
“Did you know a ley line crosses my property, Doc?”
“No. I’ve heard you use the term before, but I’m not sure what it means.”
“It’s a magic thing, an earth-energy line—but you can’t see it. If you’re attuned to such things you may gain a sense of it, but the animals are undeniably drawn to it. They’re keeping themselves close to the ley line in the grove of trees up ahead.”
The crunching of our steps abruptly changed. An over-the-shoulder glance revealed the vet had halted. He stood stiffly and his humorless expression was what I’d expect to see if I’d taken him snipe hunting and he’d just caught on to the game.
I stopped, too. “What?”
“Exactly.” He pushed his glasses up his nose. “You’re talking magic. What’s out there?”
Though he was confident with the farm animals he treated, the idea of magical creatures stripped away his certainty. He had learned some of how wære genetics changed the rules of medicine. I couldn’t blame him for being guarded. And, with the exception of a single normal Great Dane puppy, our relationship had involved injured wærewolves, kidnapped and thieving witches, and some very dangerous vampires. But I had hoped to get the elementals into his line of sight before he freaked. The elementals might be even harder to accept, but at least they were closer to regular work for him.
I strode back to him.
He said, “Tell me there aren’t any bizarre wære-creatures out there.”
“No bizarre wære-creatures. No wære-pigs or wære-platypus. Wære-things probably wouldn’t gather at a magic line, anyway. I promise, there’s nothing out there that’s contagious like that.” I used the word contagious rather than dangerous on purpose. These creatures had done a lot of damage while the fairies had control collars on them.
“And still you won’t name what I’m going to see.”
“Doc.”
He removed his glasses and wiped them clean on the tail of his shirt. “Very well. But I’m billing you. Regardless of the pizza.”
“And I’ll expect the overtime rate.”
He tucked his spectacles determinedly back into place and had just taken his first step forward when a shrill neigh pierced the air. The thump of hooves followed, bringing a pristine unicorn cantering into view.
Dr. Lincoln stopped in his tracks again. This time his jaw dropped.
The young stallion pranced to a halt and shook out his glorious mane as he noticed us. Then the unicorn leveled his horn at us and snorted. He pawed the ground, ready to charge.
“Errol, get your twitchy self back over here!”
Mountain’s voice was followed by a whistle. The unicorn hung his lovely head and walked out of view. I’d have sworn he was sulking.
I needed Dr. Lincoln to accept that he was seeing creatures that weren’t supposed to exist and to give them medical attention. The world had been forced to recognize vampires and wærewolves for over two decades, but a real unicorn was still inconceivable. “You coming, Doc?”
“Th-that horn …”
“Was real.” I started walking. “C’mon. You’re going to be amazed.”
He followed me.
Mountain waved at me when we cleared the stalks. He always wore sumo wrestler–size major league sports shirts and, like his jean-pocket–length black ponytail, the shirts suited him. At least they did when they weren’t torn and bloody like the Cleveland Browns jersey he presently wore. His shirt was a victim of this morning’s battle.
Mountain was a Beholder, one of Menessos’s once-marked servants, and though strong as an ox and visually intimidating, Mountain didn’t bother hiding that he was a big softie. He’d struck me as rather shy when I first met him, but shortly after our first encounter he’d told me he grew up on a farm. Now that he was in charge of converting my twenty rural acres into a farm for very non-traditional livestock, he was coming out of his shell.
He scratched under Errol’s bearded chin and said, “Don’t mind him. He’s harmless.”
“I doubt that,” the doc muttered behind me.
After polite introductions and a quick update on Johnny, I asked, “Errol?”
“Aw, he prances around and swings that horn like he’s Errol Flynn swashbuckling with a sword. You don’t mind me naming them, do you?”
“Not at all. You’ll be tending them. They’re yours as far as I’m concerned.”
“Elementals? No way. You’re the witch. They’re yours. I’m just the happy ranch hand.”
The doc was gaping, taking in the scene, the animals—even Mountain’s obvious vampire bite—when a young dragon slithered forward, sniffing excitedly. The veterinarian backpedaled, but I steadied him with a firm grip on his shoulder. “
These animals fought in a battle today. Many of them have minor injuries. Some are worse. Would you check them over?”
The dragon stopped sniffing and a forked tongue shot out. It tasted the air like a serpent’s tongue before receding back into the creature’s eel-like maw.
“I don’t even know what to do with a … a … a …”
I gave the doc’s shoulder a little squeeze.
“Dragon.”
Mountain laughed. “Neither do we.” He offered his hand, palm up, fingers wiggling, and the dragon leaned to get some of that chin-scratching for himself. “But we’ll find out, won’t we, Zoltan?”
I raised my brows at him and repeated the name.
Mountain chuckled. The dragon raised his head higher and flicked his gill fins straight out. “I don’t really need to explain that one, do I?”
“How many of them are there?” the veterinarian asked.
“Fifteen unicorns, twelve griffons, twenty-six phoenixes, and five dragons,” Mountain answered promptly. “I’m going to suggest we need two barns and one aluminum coop. Don’t want anything that’ll burn around the phoenixes. If you want me here tending them, a studio apartment attached to one of the barns would work for me.”
“What are we going to feed them?” I was willing to accept an answer from either of them.
The veterinarian shrugged. Mountain said, “We’ll just have to figure that out. I suppose dried corn like chickens eat would work for the phoenixes, and oats and grains for the unicorns. The dragons are water creatures so some kind of fish for them. And griffons … would that be bird food or giant-feline food?”
“You’re going to need goats,” the doc said. “They’re part falcon or eagle, not the type of bird to eat carrion. Both lions and birds of prey hunt.” He appraised Mountain. “Not sure I’d want the job of feeding them.”
“They’re all pretty tame, really, Doc.” He pointed over his shoulder at a griffon. “All but that one, anyway.”
That particular griffon was one of the most beautiful animals I’d ever seen. His feathers were raven-black, as were his front bird-legs, one of which he kept lifted with claws curled in. The rest of him was Bengal tiger, gold and orange and black. The tip of his tail had flaring feathers on it.
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