Her room sat at the end of the hall on the third floor. Big enough for a full-sized bed but still the smallest of the apartment’s four bedrooms, it had always been a reflection of her sensual yet eclectic nature. Decorated in rich shades of purple – the color associated with the Higher Self in Eastern beliefs – it also called to the Renaissance period of her Italian heritage: ornate masks in keeping with the Commedia dell'Arte, pastoral scenes of enchanted forests and mystic temples in gilded frames, brocade fabrics trimmed in gold braid, beaded lampshades, and crystal baubles. Over the brass and white wrought iron of the headboard hung garlands of silk roses entwined with a string of white lights, and the laughing face of the Roman god Bacchus at the center.
Her African roots could be seen, as well, in the hand-carved figures of elephants, lions, and gazelles adorning the shelves that ran along each wall just below the crown molding, and in the musical instruments hanging next to her closet – a kalimba and a talking drum – and the shekere, a gourd covered in a net of beautiful beads, standing in the corner next to her djembe. Along with her chest of drawers, an antique vanity with a large round mirror, and the old rocking chair that had belonged to her paternal grandmother, the space had always seemed crowded. Savannah knew she could always move to one of the larger rooms now that she had the whole house to herself. She had even considered taking the master bedroom, which had its own en suite bathroom. Mom and Daddy had no problem converting Tynice and Ceara’s rooms once they had moved out – one had become a sewing room for Mom, while the other had been turned into an office that she and Daddy both used when working on the bills for the restaurant. When it came to their bedroom, though… I can still feel their energy in there, Savannah thought, as she paused to gaze at the framed photo of her parents that stood on her dresser. It had been one of the last ones taken of them together, just before Mom had started her chemotherapy sessions. Savannah smiled wistfully. I know they’re gone, but they still come to check on me, to make sure I’m all right.
Turning to her closet, Savannah took a moment to select her ceremonial garb for tonight. She chose a full-length velvet dress in ivory with white and gold spirals embroidered across the yoke and the hem. She slipped it on over her head and took a moment to check her reflection in the vanity mirror. She liked the way the off-white color contrasted with her light brown skin. She took a moment to fluff her still-damp curls, using her fingers to pick them out a bit. From her jewelry box she selected a black velvet choker with a large silver pentacle within a gold circle, and a beryl cabochon at the center. Her adornments included a pair of simple, large gold hoop earrings and the rings she wore on her index fingers – an onyx stone set in a silver band that Grandma Martelli had passed on to her for the left hand and a gold one etched with flowers and vines that had belonged to her mother for the right. Because it promised to be a little chilly tonight, she chose a wine-colored cloak with a hood to keep her warm during her incantation.
“Let’s get this party started,” Savannah told her reflection. She felt another rush of anticipation as she gathered up the case that contained all her ritual items and headed for the stairs that led up to the roof. She breathed in the cool evening air, taking a moment to look up at the heavens. The moon had risen higher, a bright white orb hovering against the indigo sky. The city’s persistent glow blotted out all but the most determined of stars and Venus, Savannah’s ruling planet, which she could see to the east. She smiled. Crossing the terrace, she made her way to the marble table at its center. Years ago, Daddy had surprised Mom with this space for ritual use, having arranged slate paving stones to form the pattern of a large circle within a square. At the four corners stood small pedestals for the four cardinal directions, each in their proper placement. Mom had been the one to start the fresh herb garden in large clay troughs, and later put in pots with tomatoes that they used in the restaurant. Savannah had carried on that tradition, adding the privacy hedges, lavender, and even a few blueberry bushes that now lay dormant for the coming winter.
Lighting two large, three-wick candles, Savannah proceeded to set up the altar. She spread a white silk cloth over the cold marble surface. Upon this, she placed a small, cast iron cauldron that stood on three legs. “I call upon the Elements to join me on this night,” she announced, as she began setting out a series of earthenware bowls. A blue dish went in the place designated for the element of Water, which she then filled with clear spring water. A green bowl containing rich black soil represented Earth. In a yellow bowl, she set a small white votive candle for Air. She struck a wooden match and held it to the edge of a charcoal disk and watched as it sparked to life, coaxed along with a gentle stream of breath from her pursed lips. She set this inside the cauldron as the symbol of Fire. Reaching into her kit, she pulled out a small leather pouch with a drawstring and removed a pinch of crushed cedar and frankincense. She sprinkled this over the charcoal and smiled as it began to burn and release a heady, aromatic smoke.
The next order of business called for drawing a line of protection around the ritual space. Traditionally, salt – an ancient purifier – would be used. Savannah poured a handful into her palm and began to let it fall from her fist as she walked clockwise around the circle to lay down a continuous line. “I create this ring of protection,” she murmured, “to ward off any evil that might try to enter this sacred place.”
The last items to join the altar had the most significance. First came her athame, a special dagger with a six-inch blade with garnets set in the hilt. Next, her wand, which she had fashioned from a willow branch and carved with runes and alchemical symbols. Finally, she withdrew her Book of Shadows. With hand-stitched parchment pages and bound in tooled leather with gold leaf inlay, it had been passed down through several generations on her mother’s side. The first few pages had been written in Latin and Italian by the first Strega to own it. Over the years, English translations had been added. It contained sketches of altars settings, hand gestures, and other magical designs, recipes for special ritual foods and drinks, and even the notes and lyrics for songs to be sung during key ceremonies throughout the calendar year. Savannah smiled, reverently caressing the book’s cover before opening it to a page she had marked with a green ribbon. “’The Bonding of the Familiar,’” she read aloud. Her mother had performed this spell several times throughout her own life. Her first Familiar had been an orange tabby cat that had suddenly appeared on her windowsill; the last had been a little Dachshund-mix dog that they had found huddled against the restaurant’s front door the morning after she had sent out a summons. Savannah had been twelve years old at the time and she remembered that dog – which Mom had named Randolph after a popular local brand of sausage. It had followed Mom everywhere, and always seemed intuitive to her moods and even her health. Savannah had no doubt in her mind that Randolph had detected Mom’s cancer even before her doctors found it. He had been a great companion, though. Shortly after Mom’s passing, Daddy had let Randolph out and later found he had somehow slipped his collar and disappeared. They had tried to find him, put up posters around the neighborhood, offered a reward, even checked local shelters, but the dog had never been found. He came when Mom called, and after she left, so did he.
Savannah had never had a Familiar. As mean as Tynice and Ceara had been to her, she had often worried what they might do to any animal she might have had as a companion. She had considered taking one after her sisters had left home, but then she got caught up in her studies and working in the café, and had felt she did not have time for a Familiar. Now that she lived alone, she found herself yearning for another life to share her home. Mom said I would have one when I was ready. She placed the book on the altar and picked up her athame. I’m ready, now.
Chapter Four
He was being chased.
Justin could hear the rumble of a car’s engine; it took no time to recognize it as one of the vehicles from the community’s fleet. He had worked on a few of those cars himself whenever he got bored and decided to hang o
ut with the Omegas. Back then, his dad would get pissed if he found his son rubbing greasy elbows with the Labor class. Justin had to snort at the memory. So he decided to punish me by making me one of them? The thought occurred to Justin that maybe his father had been so ashamed, demoting his only son to Omega had been more of a punishment to himself.
The slamming of car doors brought Justin’s focus back to his present situation. Two of the Betas – Gerard and Samuel, from the scent – had exited the vehicle. Shit, Justin thought. They’re hunting me on foot, now. He ducked into an alley and hid behind a stack of wood pallets as the sedan cruised past. Probably going to circle every block while the goons look for me. He scooted along toward the other end of the passage and glanced around before racing across the street. He had to keep running. If he stopped, they would find him.
He had managed to get to the train station in Wilmette without being spotted and caught the line headed into Chicago. That bought him some time and distance, but he knew it wouldn’t be long before they picked up his scent. Justin dropped into a seat near the back door of the last car and slumped down. He glanced around at the other passengers, a five o’clock rush hour crush of weary people headed home and shift workers on their way to their evening jobs. All Human, too, going by their smell. Good. Once he decided they posed no threat, he decided to take stock of his situation.
The only money he had to his name came from the wad of bills he had won playing Flip the Cup, which he remembered stuffing into one of his jacket pockets upon leaving the bar. He took a moment to pull out the wad of cash and count it. Close to three hundred, he thought, and grimaced. That would not get him very far. Still, he had to find some way to put as much distance between himself and his Clan.
And go where? Word would be spreading, warning other Packs in other regions of his Rogue status. He had a price on his head, now. He would have to go way off the grid, even if it meant living in the mountains for a while. Colorado, here I come.
He had decided he would take a bus out of Chicago, the cheapest mode of transportation at his disposal. Leaving the train at the Loop, he had started to make his way toward the bus station only to feel his heart sink when he saw a familiar figure standing near the entrance, looking around and sniffing the air. Gerard? What the fuck? It appeared that they had headed straight for the station, no doubt anticipating his plan to find a way out of town. Gerard looked his way and for a split second they had locked eyes.
Justin had bolted.
Now on foot again, he found himself passing the Museum of Science and Industry on the city’s South Side and heading into the neighborhoods. He considered circling back around to the train yards and hopping a boxcar on the first outgoing ride he could find. He just had to find a way to get there without being spotted by his trackers. Better find a way to throw them off, he thought. Spying a fire escape ladder, Justin doubled back. He leapt to catch the rung and hauled himself up. Quietly, he made his way up to the roof. From this point, he could see the street below but he also had the higher wind current to his advantage. He walked around the entire edge, sizing up the buildings on either side. Time to make like a frog. Backing up a few steps, he took a running jump, coming to land on his toes on the neighboring roof.
He continued to pick his way across the rooftops to the best of his ability, occasionally having to jump to fire escapes in order to get to higher levels. He checked the streets, watching and listening, always keeping himself downwind. If he could get back to the rail yards without detection, he would be safe.
With a grunt, he leapt to another roof and rounded the bulkhead only to stumble through a row of potted trees. “Shit!” he said, batting at the branches that caught on his clothes and in his hair. He tripped and wound up falling gracelessly onto stone paving tiles arranged in a circle motif, landing with a grunt on his chin. Only then did he see the flicker of candles from a table at the center of the area, and a full-figured African-American woman in a long white dress and red cape standing there holding a big knife in one hand. For an instant, she looked startled – and then almost at the same time, she and Justin both uttered the same words.
“Aw, fuck.”
Chapter Five
Who the fuck is this guy, and what is he doing on my roof?
That was the first thought to go through Savannah’s mind when the stranger stumbled into her sacred space and fell flat on his face. She still had her ceremonial athame in her hand, which she had been using to call up the spirits of Masculine energy. Only after she realized he had entered the circle without her assistance did it occur to her that he had just ruined the spell she had been trying to cast.
Now, she stared at him as he picked himself up, her shock and dismay quickly shifting to frustration. “Thanks a lot, asshole,” she muttered, setting her dagger down on the altar and slamming her Book of Shadows shut. “You just ruined what was turning out to be a perfect rite.”
“Whoa, lady,” he said, his deep voice heavy with agitation as he went on the defensive. He stood a good seven inches taller than her, which put him around six feet in height. “I’m sorry if I interrupted while you were in the middle of…sacrificing goats, or whatever it is you’re doing…”
Savannah’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?” she said, cutting him off. She gestured around them. “Do you see any goats? No, you do not. You know, you’ve got a lot of nerve judging me when you’re the one who’s trespassing on private property. It’s close-minded bigots like you who are going to bring on the next Burning Times.”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” he said. He glanced over his shoulder, and Savannah could see he looked nervous. “Look, I said I was sorry. I didn’t mean to barge in. I was just passing through; I didn’t expect anyone to be up here.”
“’Passing through?’” Savannah eyed him. Blond hair, hazel eyes, he wore a black leather jacket, dark T-shirt, blue jeans, and motorcycle boots. Looks like a punk, she thought. Probably some white boy from the northern suburbs trying to hang with the brothers on the south side. “Who are you running from?” she asked. “Are you in trouble with the law?” A part of her wanted to reach for her athame again, but something told her that this man posed no threat to her and – for whatever reason – he might actually be in need of her help. Still, she had to err on the side of caution. “I don’t know what you did, but maybe you should just keep moving before I call the police.”
“You don’t need to do that,” he said quickly. “I’ll go.” He spared her another quick glance, and for a brief moment their eyes met. Savannah could not deny the fear she saw there, but before she could say anything more, the stranger looked around before heading back through the potted hedges.
“Uh, you can always use the stairs!” Savannah called after him, cringing as he pushed through the greenery. She sighed and muttered under her breath. “Idiot. Could have gone around them.” The screech of tires from the street drew her attention. Curious, she walked over to the edge of the roof. The light wind lifted her hair; she reached up to brush it from her eyes as she peered over the edge at the commotion below. Out in front of the restaurant, she saw a high-end sedan stopped in the middle of the road. Two men stood beside it, one leaning down to talk to the driver while the other scanned the area. After a moment, the men climbed inside the car and it took off. “What the hell is going on?” Savannah wondered aloud. Were those guys after the one who had crashed her ritual? Okay, maybe he’s not linked to the local gangbangers, she thought, but he was definitely on the run. Al Capone might be long dead but it was well known that the Mafia still existed in Chicagoland. If he got himself mixed up with that crowd, he’d be smart to keep running.
She turned back to her altar and sighed. The ritual was a bust. She considered starting over but it was late and she had already expended a lot of energy which left her feeling exhausted on top of being disappointed. “Guess I’ll just have to try again next month,” she muttered, and began blowing out the candles. Gathering up her Book of Shadows,
her wand and her athame, she made her way back to the stairs leading down to her apartment. She would get the rest in the morning. As an afterthought, she locked the door behind her, just in case the stranger decided to come back. Daddy always said you can never be too careful, she thought. If that guy needed her help, he could always knock. Whoever he was, I hope I never see him again. He had ‘trouble’ written all over him. Daddy would have also said something about her penchant for helping every stray that turned up on her doorstep, even the ones who interrupted her rituals. Savannah had to shake her head at herself. And he’d be right.
“Fuck it,” she said, “I need some ice cream.”
Chapter Six
After his encounter with the lady on the terrace, Justin could feel his heart pounding and his lungs burning from the almost non-stop running. He made a jump to another building but with exhaustion catching up to him, he misjudged the distance and just managed to catch hold of the ledge. For a moment, he dangled there, his pulse racing from more than just physical exertion. He glanced down at the dark alley floor ten stories below and gulped. Mustering the last of his strength, he hauled himself up and over, grunting with the effort. He sprawled there for a moment while he caught his breath. Staring up at the moon, he listened intently for the sounds of anyone following him.
He had managed to stay down-wind of his pursuers. Now, as he whiffed the air, he found his sense of smell overwhelmed by the musty odor of bird – more precisely, pigeons. He looked around and saw an old coop nestled against the bulkhead. Justin gained his feet and headed for the abandoned structure. He paused at a skylight to peer down through dirty, broken glass. He could hear no movement, no sign of life whatsoever, inside the rundown building. Checking the door to the stairs, he found it locked. He considered prying it open but decided he would be safer hiding out up here. The overpowering stink of pigeon – while old – would mess up any werewolf’s sense of smell and provide the perfect camouflage for a fugitive seeking a few hours of refuge. He ducked down into the coop, grimacing at the petrified droppings and feathers. Any port in a storm, he thought, as he found a corner and huddled into it.
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