“Yeah,” Paige said as she walked around the car and dug her chirping phone from her pocket. “I’m sure that’s it.” She spoke on her phone while the rest of the luggage was unloaded from the car. When she was done, she grabbed a duffel containing her own weapons and gear and joined the others inside the back portion of the club. “That was Milosh,” she said to Cole. “None of the Amriany are in the States anymore.”
“The Gypsies moved on, huh?” Waggoner grunted. “Big surprise. Things get too hot for them around here?”
“Full Bloods are wandering back to their own territories,” she explained. “The Amriany think some of the other shapeshifters are moving in on the ones that have decided to stay here. They think Esteban left a good portion of Spain and Europe unguarded and another one has come along to claim it. They’ve never seen her before.”
“Her?” Cole asked. “Is Minh still locked up?”
“She’s supposed to be somewhere in Japan,” Paige said. “There’s no reason to distrust the person who told me that, and there haven’t been any confirmed sightings of her there or in any other region yet.”
Waggoner crossed his arms and said, “That’s a whole lot of vague talk. You don’t trust me?”
“Don’t take offense to it,” Paige said. “It’s hard to trust anyone. Besides, we’ve got a whole lot of vague information. From what you’ve seen regarding your Vigilant buddies, you can’t blame us for being a little cautious.”
“I suppose not.”
Paige stood just inside the door and told Taylor, “I was thinking we’d only have to go to Texas to meet our friends, but it looks like we may have to go farther.”
“How much farther?”
Wincing, Paige replied, “Hungary. Do you have enough energy stored up to get us all that far?”
Taylor shook her head and rubbed the smooth slopes of her arms. “I’m afraid not. Why don’t I get you guys something hot to drink?”
That sounded good to Cole, but since his partner wasn’t moving, neither was he.
“If we can’t get what we need here, then we can’t stay long,” Paige said. “I’m not a huge believer in signs, but even I can’t deny that every single one of them is pointing us toward the Amriany. We need to get someone we can trust on our side who knows how to deal with Full Bloods. They’re the ones who designed the Jekhibar. We know we need their expertise on that.”
“You have a Jekhibar?” Taylor asked.
Cole recognized the awe in Taylor’s eyes. Considering that expression was on the face of a Dryad, it held more weight than usual. “Yes,” he said.
“And what do you expect to use it for?” There was an unmistakable sternness to Taylor’s question that made it clear she required an answer before she made them regret they’d even considered coming to a Dryad temple.
“The Torva’ox is how the Full Bloods got so powerful,” Paige explained. She wrapped her arms around herself as if she’d just discovered the cold. “The Jekhibar is the only thing I know of that can let us manipulate it.”
“The Unity Stone cannot manipulate the Torva’ox,” she said. “It can only store it.” Taylor’s eyes narrowed and she drew in a breath. When a wind came along to tug at her robe and rustle the jewelry around her waist, she didn’t even shiver. In fact, Cole wondered if every twitch or vaguely human response the nymphs had shown was merely another dance they performed in order to blend in with the world around them. “Do you know about the Mist Born?”
“I never even heard of a Unity Stone,” Cole said.
Smirking as if to a child, Taylor said, “It’s just a translation for Jekhibar. As for the Mist Born, that is what they are called as a group. They are elder beings that have gone unnoticed ever since humans stopped writing legends in favor of reporting simple facts.”
“Great,” Paige sighed. “More problems to deal with. Where have these guys been hiding?”
“The Mist Born hide from no one. They go where they please and do what they will. It is just not in their nature to interfere so blatantly in the affairs of humans. Well, it is not in most of their natures. I believe you know of a Mist Born that was captured by one of your founding fathers and recently released.”
“Kawosa,” Cole said, as if the name itself was a curse.
Taylor nodded. “The First Deceiver has always enjoyed toying with your kind. That is why he appears in so many of your legends. The natives of this country know him as Coyote. Some of your early religious texts depict him as a serpent, but they may have confused him with another.”
Paige chuckled. “You mean like the serpent that tempted Eve with the forbidden apple?”
Taylor nodded again. One time, leaving no room for misinterpretation. “Neither he nor any of his kind are interested in your religions. They simply . . . are. Human storytellers put the rest of the pieces together.”
“We already know about Kawosa,” Cole said. “Do you know of another one like him that may help us?”
“You want to manipulate the Torva’ox,” Taylor continued. “Since you already have a Jekhibar and know well enough to seek out your Amriany brethren, then you are close enough to be given a name.” She closed her eyes and slowly shifted the angle of her head as if hearing a distant song or feeling a lover’s touch beneath the flimsy material wrapped around her flawless body. Finally, she said, “Chuna.”
“That’s his name?” Paige asked.
“Chuna isn’t a him. Chuna isn’t a her.”
“Can you tell us where to find Chuna?”
The Dryad turned and walked farther into the club, speaking in a voice that required the Skinners to follow her if they wanted to hear what she had to say. “I can tell you you’re headed in the right direction. Chuna was last seen in the Amriany regions. I don’t know a lot more than that.”
“Then we’re back to needing a ride to Hungary.”
“I can’t send you from here,” Taylor said, “but I can get you to the Hub.”
“What’s the Hub?” Cole asked.
Taylor patted his cheek and spoke in a voice that was perfectly suited to the sparkling lips that breathed life into every word. “The Hub is where it’s at, baby.”
Chapter Fifteen
Shreveport, Louisiana
It had been the better part of a day since Adderson lost most of his unit on the outskirts of the city. He’d already joined up with the surviving forces of Ravens One through Three and set up a base camp inside an electronics store with metal shutters over the windows. The werewolves had caused more hardship than the recession and taken a similar toll on local businesses. The shelves had nothing on them but dust, and the storerooms were partially filled with empty boxes. Even so, there was still power flowing through the nearby mains, which one of the IRD techs was able to splice and divert into the store’s back room.
It was early morning by the time Adderson stretched his back and worked the kinks from his legs. He made his way to the soldier hunched over the dented metal case containing enough equipment to hack local wireless networks and use them to send and receive encrypted messages. Adderson ignored all the other miniaturized displays as he extended a hand to the squat young Marine with the headset wrapped over his ears. The Marine handed over an earpiece along with a quick warning. “Wasn’t able to raise Command, sir. Got patched straight through to one of the other field units, though.”
“This is Adderson,” he said as soon as the earpiece was fitted in place.
“There’s significant movement southeast of your position.”
“Who am I speaking to?”
“Sergeant Tate, sir.”
The voice wasn’t what Adderson had been expecting. It was almost as tired as his, several years younger, and female. “Where did you get this intel?”
“We’re entrenched in Carthage, Texas, tracking the shifters via satellite.”
“You’re able to keep a fix on them?”
“Upgraded the positioning systems yesterday morning,” she said with a faint hint of relief i
n her voice. “Got them online about three hours ago. They’re still not quick enough to track the Class Ones, but we can keep a closer eye on the larger packs. There’s three of those headed your way.”
“How many are with you there?”
“Just me, a private, and a sniper. We’ve got a Humvee with a mounted .50 cal but don’t want to gun the engine until it’s time to abandon this position.”
“Are there any Class Twos there to keep you company?”
“For now, no sir. But there’s no way of knowing how many more are on their way.”
“Abandon your position and rendezvous with us in Shreveport,” Adderson said.
“Where in Shreveport, sir?”
After giving her the coordinates, Adderson told her, “Come to us ASAP. Monitor the Delta frequency once you get within range, and if you hear me issue the command to break formation, turn around and head for a safer position. Until then use that .50 cal to chop up as many of those things as you can. Focus on the Class Twos.”
“We’ve heard about sightings of at least one Class One shifter in the area, sir.”
“You heard the command. Focus on thinning out those packs. If you find any wounded, all Priority Cleanup Protocols are in effect.”
There was a longer pause before Tate gave another tired affirmative. After that, Adderson signaled for the connection to be cut and handed back the earpiece.
No matter what he’d seen since the beasts came in from the woods, he felt sickest when enforcing the Cleanup Protocols. Every instinct he had was to either help the wounded or find a way to move them to where they could be helped. Those instincts had to be squelched after the first wave of police officers were attacked and turned in Kansas City. There had been rumors about werewolves before then, but most of them relied on whatever was cranked out of Hollywood or fairy tales. For a man who’d been polishing his boots since the third grade, that sort of thing simply didn’t cut it. Adderson was a military man brought up by military men. Even his grandmother had done her part by serving as a gunnery instructor in World War Two. His uncle had been in ’Nam and used to get drunk and brag how his skin was the same color as his jungle fatigues. All of them held one solid belief where battlefield ethics were concerned: nobody was supposed to be left behind.
Cleanup Protocols mandated that those attacked by any class of shifter couldn’t be allowed to change into one of them. Plenty of the medics and lab coats still wanted to do their research, but when times got bad, the protocols stated very plainly that no chances should be taken. The wounded were put down. No exceptions. Adderson hated that order, and he hated himself for giving it, but there just wasn’t anything else to be done.
Looking out between the cold wooden slats nailed in place over the electronic store’s front door, he watched the shadows pull away to reveal an empty street. If he squinted hard enough, he could make out the scratches left behind by a pack of shifters. Their claws had dug into the concrete and spilled blood that dried into cold, dark stains on the curbs and sidewalks. The sounds of panting, barking, and scraping reached his ears. They came from the other side of the window, and as he closed his eyes to savor one last moment of morning sun brushing his face, he could tell the sounds were getting closer.
“Do you have any details on where the survivors are taking shelter?” he asked.
The Marine at the keyboard searched a few files and said, “There are a few local postings about a gym a few blocks away. Other than that, it’s just the usual scattered basements patrolled by Neighborhood Watch.”
“Send some men to that gym.”
“Should they be ready for cleanup?”
“Only if absolutely necessary. The shifters may try to sniff them out. Rather than move any survivors into the open, let’s post some explosives at the safest minimum distance and vaporize some of those Class Twos.”
“Yes, sir!” the Marine said with a grateful smile.
“There are packs moving into the area,” Adderson announced to everyone in the room, without taking his eyes from the window. “A scouting team has picked them up thanks to the new satellite relays, but we all know there could be a lot more than that. We also know there’s at least one Class One in the vicinity and no reason to think it would have left just so we could go out for breakfast.”
Despite every soldier feeling the same fighter’s twitch that accompanied the thought of running away, none of them could argue with the fact that Esteban had allowed them to survive. One of the pilots who’d escaped from a downed NH-90 had something else to say.
“What about those Class Threes? I saw them burrowing underground when my crew was turned. I think it was attacking the Class One.”
“Just set the explosives and get ready for a fight. If those things are turning on each other, we’ll let them rip each other to pieces. Stay back and give them room. Our top priority is in keeping this city from falling. If we can’t do that, we’ve got to at least keep those Class Ones in one spot long enough for an artillery strike.”
“Those things are too fast to be hit by artillery,” one of the soldiers pointed out. Adderson recognized the man’s voice but was too tired to come up with a name.
“Then we’ll have to get creative and find a way to keep them in position. Nobody will turn their noses up at a target if we can make it juicy enough.”
All the soldiers could muster up by way of enthusiasm was a few nods scattered among the dirty faces.
The wolves were coming in from the forests.
Chapter Sixteen
Randolph awoke at the bottom of a small crater. Several feet of drifted snow had broken his and Kawosa’s fall, but the impact of their bodies was still enough to put a dent in the ground. The trickster was gone. Judging by the tracks left behind, Kawosa had dragged himself up less than a minute before he came around. The Full Blood’s head ached and there were thick layers of blood frozen into his fur. He pulled in a deep breath and found a few promising hints residing within the currents of air. The trickster’s scent was fresh. More than that, Kawosa was wounded.
Both of Randolph’s feet were buried in the snowy wall of the hole, and his hands formed fists around solid clumps of ice that had been loosened on impact. After a short search, he found one curved talon stretching up from the center of the flattened area where his back had been resting. Not only did it explain the nagging pain at the base of his spine, but also why Kawosa hadn’t reclaimed the piece of him that had been lost. Although the First Deceiver would more than likely be able to recover from the loss, having the missing wing would speed the process along nicely. Randolph stuck his hand into the packed snow and removed the wing he’d pulled from Kawosa’s back.
It was lighter than a tree branch and stank like lard that left to burn for too long at the bottom of a poorly made lantern. Still, as the tattered flaps of skin ruffled in the breeze, Randolph couldn’t help but smile. Finding the trickster was the most difficult part. Freeing him from Lancroft had been a trial. Getting Kawosa to trust him well enough to stay close until an opportunity like this arose was a small miracle. If not for the recent Breaking Moon, he might not have had the strength to chase the wily Mist Born down. While Esteban, Liam, and Minh were channeling their share of the Torva’ox into newly awakened powers, he had added to his foundation. Speed and strength. Two things that every Full Blood had at their disposal, but not in the amount necessary to run down an elder shapeshifter, survive an encounter with its purest form, and claim a piece for himself.
After bounding up the side of a nearby mountain, Randolph buried the wing beneath enough cold rocks to keep it safe for the short time he needed to hunt. It didn’t take long for him to find a small family of mountain lions consisting of a mother and two cubs. He chased them down easily, weathered a brief but intense flurry of claws and teeth from the panicked mother, and was soon feasting on warm, bloody meat. He scooped out the carcasses, discarded what he couldn’t consume, and fashioned a crude sling by knotting the hides together. When he retuned to wh
ere he’d buried the wing, he was able to strap it across his back within the sling. That way he could shift into his four-legged form and run at full speed without having to worry about losing his precious cargo.
He ran south through Wyoming and Colorado, skirting the Rockies until they led him to the southernmost portion of the state. Cold wind blasted across his face, broken occasionally by the scent of burning buildings. He did his best to avoid civilization, simply because he no longer had any business there. Human screams and Half Breed howls reached his ears in a mush, entwined with the rustling breezes like a few noteworthy strands in an otherwise uniform bolt of fabric.
Using his instincts along with knowledge gained from centuries of patrolling the same territory, Randolph knew when to point his nose to the east and run toward Kansas. Confronting the trickster was no small feat, but there was much more business to conduct before he could get the quiet he so desperately wanted.
Slowing his pace, he allowed himself to drink in the calm tranquility of a dawn where the humans were too frightened to stick their noses into the daylight. There were no longer any planes crossing overhead. When the other Full Bloods were aided by Kawosa to extend their howls in every direction, dozens of the flying machines had dropped from the sky, their pilots and passengers randomly subjected to the Breaking. Jet planes had plowed nose first into the ground. Randolph passed several wrecks that had been turned into metallic dens by the wretches that survived the crashes.
There was a bare minimum of vehicles on the roads. Although Randolph had grown accustomed to the constant roar and stench of trucks, cars, and motorcycles, being without them was infinitely better. The air was easier to ingest, and the humans were forced to keep their piercing screams and grating music within the confines of whatever shelter they could find. When the wretches got hungry enough to make their rounds among the humans, even those annoyances were silenced.
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