Chantal blinked, surprised. “You mean go to Vieques? I’m flattered, but I’m trained as a first responder, not in recovery work. And I’d be leaving the Sheriff’s Department short-handed.”
“Yes, but you speak Spanish and you’re self-reliant.” Renée smiled and waggled a finger between herself and Belinda. “We flamingos can’t decide what to have for breakfast without a community forum and runoff votes.”
“It’s true,” Belinda agreed with a chuckle. “Half of Vieques is a protected wilderness. Your mountain-rescue experience and your feline abilities are just what are needed to assess the damage and help prioritize rehabilitation projects. From what we’ve seen, you know when to take initiative and when to call for help.”
Chantal had to admit the opportunity was tempting. Her inner leopard loved independent exploring and discovering things. Keeping the peace in Barron consisted mostly of issuing tickets for expired license plates, serving warrants, and keeping drunk-ass shifters from tearing up the local taverns and shooting each other. Luckily, sensitive shifter noses detested the smells of drug cooking, or the county might have had a more serious problem.
On the other hand, she took her job seriously. “It’s not fair to leave the department down one deputy.”
Belinda exchanged a look with Renée, then turned to Chantal. “You wouldn’t be. We enticed Sheriff Torres into joining the Tribunal’s law enforcement exchange program by promising to fund the new position outside the department’s budget. We thought it would be a good way to introduce new ideas.” She made a frustrated hiss. “Instead, he’s found every excuse to delay sending one of his deputies away. They’re at full staff without you. We recently found out he’s given you a deliberately random schedule and crappy assignments so you’ll quit. That way, he can call the program a failure.”
Realization blossomed in Chantal as facts took on a new light. “Well, that certainly explains a lot.” She shook her head. “I just thought they were in disarray after the town, er, unincorporated.”
Renée hooted with laughter. “That’s how the cougars are describing it now?”
Chantal snorted. “They don’t talk about it at all. I only know what you told me on the first day and what I overhear in the diner.”
“The cougars stole so much the town went bankrupt,” said Belinda. “Or would have, if our flock hadn’t stepped in. Our loan kept us off the state treasurer’s radar and out of the state courts.”
“Oh, I see.” Chantal nodded, putting more pieces together. “You let Torres stay because he’s a Barron cougar, not necessarily because he’s the best person for the job.”
Belinda and Renée exchanged another look.
Renée sighed. “Yeah, that about sums it up. Not all the cougars were corrupt. Some had no clue and some were horrified, and that includes Torres. They should have some representation in the government.” She shook her head. “To be fair, being sheriff is a stressful job that no one else wants. Torres commands respect from his cougar clan where they wouldn’t listen to a flamingo or anyone else.”
Belinda waggled her eyebrows suggestively. “So, are you interested in getting filthy hot and sweaty for two weeks?”
Renée smirked.
Chantal laughed. “And that’s different from Barron in what way? Yeah, I’m interested. It seems fitting, since my namesake storm caused the damage. How do I get there—fairy portal?”
“No. Very strange,” said Renée. “Fairy portals can’t open anywhere near Vieques. Witch and wizard portals can’t, either. We’ll get you ported to Puerto Rico and arrange a boat to take you to the island. The flamingos on the team will probably shift and fly.” A corner of her mouth quirked. “Heavy boats make us seasick.”
“That’ll work.” Chantal resolved to study a map when she got to her computer in her rented mobile home. It was too embarrassing to admit she only had a vague impression that Puerto Rico was south of Florida somewhere in the Caribbean, and she’d never heard of the island.
Belinda opened her laptop again. “It’ll have to be unpaid leave from the department, but the flock will make up your salary.”
Chantal shook her head. “Donate it to the cause. Just supply the equipment I’ll need and feed me, and we’ll call it even. When do you want me to leave?”
“As soon as possible.” Renée brought up a calendar on her tablet. “Could you go tomorrow night at eight? They’ve already reserved a supply boat.”
No wonder they’d won their elections. Flamingos liked organizing things, but these two were the queens of efficiency. “Sure, if I can get some things from home. Boots that fit. Wilderness gear. Clean underwear.”
Belinda beamed. “You phone home, and I’ll break the news to Torres and get the Pink Ladies to arrange the portal.” She started typing on her computer.
“The Pink Ladies? Is that a tribe of fairies?” asked Chantal.
Renée laughed. “It’s the charity. The real name is Las Damas Rosadas del Paraiso. The ‘Rose Women of Paradise’ sounds like a brothel to American ears, so we just say ‘Pink Ladies.’” Her fingers worked rapidly on her tablet.
Belinda looked up. “Let’s not keep you here any longer. We’ll keep you posted by text. Send us a list of anything you want added to that supply boat.”
Chantal knew a polite dismissal when she heard one. She stood.
Renée put down her tablet and stood as well. “We really appreciate your willingness to do this, especially on such short notice.”
To Chantal’s surprise, Renée enveloped her in a warm, strong hug.
Chantal shrugged, a bit embarrassed. “I like looking out for people.”
“You’re a good person. We owe you for putting up with the sheriff’s bad behavior and our neglect,” said Belinda. “Go get some sleep. You’ll probably need it.”
3
“You! Big fat mammal with pointy snout and claws! Come here!”
The shouted words came from the taller of the two rock fairies who stood on the high, flat boulder that had once served as part of a dock. Behind them, the walkway curved from the castle’s back doors to Dauro’s home habitat area.
A push of geas magic from a blue wand accompanied the order, compelling him to obey. It wasn’t the demesne’s geas, so he could have resisted, but he was curious.
Hours before, the pair had dropped from the unreal sky and landed with a tremendous thump on the back lawn, close to his lair. They’d obviously breached the demesne’s portal.
By the time Dauro had swum closer, the four nearest castle statues had already come to life and were marching toward the interlopers.
The fairies waved charms and spoke words he didn’t understand. Magic buffeted his senses like a howling wind and rippled throughout the demesne. The castle statues stopped their advance, then returned to their pedestals and plinths. The castle’s gigantic back doors, which had been closed for decades, creaked open to full width. The fairies marched in like they owned the place.
Apparently, they did.
“Out of the water!” yelled the shorter fairy. She held a large, open book in her hands. “We know you can understand us. Nessie’s book says so.”
“Don’t make us get nasty!” shouted the taller fairy, waving the wand. Another punch of magic pushed at him.
The taller, wand-waving fairy had short and curly, pale-blue hair with pink striations, blue-gray skin, and blue-and-orange speckled eyes. The shorter fairy had straight and long quartz-white hair, blue skin with pink marbling, and sky-blue eyes.
Like old Nessireth, they had sharp, pointy teeth and sharp claws on their fingers and toes. Unlike Nessireth, they wore clothing. The taller fairy pulled at the cloth on her legs as if it scratched. She carried an ornately carved stone box.
Dauro pulled himself up out of the river and sat on the sandy bank. He’d already asked Sunscar, with his superior telepathic skill, to alert everyone in the demesne of the new arrivals. They all planned to lie low and play as dumb as dirt.
The shorter fairy wit
h the book pointed to herself. “I am Trixis and this”—she pointed to her taller companion—“is Omorachi. We are the heirs and new owners of the demesne and everything in it, now that our horrible harridan aunt is finally dead.”
“About effin’ time, too,” muttered the taller fairy.
The shorter fairy looked down at the book, then up again. “You’re supposed to be a shifter, so shift.”
Dauro tilted his head quizzically. From his height advantage, he could see the open pages had detailed sketches of him as a sloth and a lot of cramped, uneven rows of symbols. He finally recognized the tome as Nessireth’s precious record book.
Trixis peered closer at the pages, squinting. “I wish we could figure out what his name is. This is the worst script I’ve ever seen.”
“Let’s try a shortcut.” Omorachi opened the stone box. “Which is the alpha charm?”
Trixis flipped to another section of the book. “The bone.”
Omorachi lifted a heart-shaped avian bone and pointed it at Dauro. “I order you to shift.”
A flavor of magic Dauro hadn’t felt in centuries buffeted him, but rolled on by with no effect. He was immune to alpha commands from any species of shifter he’d ever met. Always had been, much to the annoyance of the various insecure alphas who’d tried to dominate him.
Besides, even if the charm had worked, the demesne’s much stronger controlling magic would have forced him to shift back almost immediately. When she first bought him, Nessireth had done it five times in rapid succession to prove it, and as a demonstration of her punishment methods. Not even raptors shifted that fast in the real world. His bones had ached for days, despite speedy shifter healing.
Omorachi waved the bone again. “Change! Shift!”
The magic rolled on by. Interesting that alpha power could be captured in a charm and wielded by a non-shifter.
“Here, let me try.” Trixis snatched the charm away from Omorachi and ordered Dauro to shift.
The magic had no effect. He yawned. The heat of the day was making him sleepy. His human side prodded him to stay vigilant and learn.
“See?” Omorachi sneered. “I told you Nessie mixed rubbish in with the good stuff to fool thieves.” She tilted her chin toward the charm. “That’s likely the wishbone from a turkey feast.”
Trixis sniffed it and made a face. “Too bad she didn’t choke on it.” She threw it into the water.
Dauro memorized the location. In that part of the river, the currents eddied, meaning he might be able to find the charm again and add it to his hoard of discarded treasures.
A gust of wind ruffled Dauro’s fur and stirred the grass. Omorachi wrinkled her nose. “I don’t remember this place stinking so bad when we came here as younglings. We’re going to need a fumigator or no one will want to come.” She pointed toward the book. “Turn back to the page with the list of charms. Maybe something else in this stupid box will work.”
“I am not your servant.” Trixis slammed the book shut. “Just take shots of him as he is. We can get his other form later.”
Blowing out a whistling sigh, Omorachi shoved her box into Trixis’s arms, then pulled a flat rectangle out of a small glittery pouch that was strapped around her waist.
She pressed the narrow edge, then dragged her finger over one flat side, as if drawing a magical symbol. After a few more taps, she held up the rectangle. “Us first!”
Trixis leaned close to Omorachi. They both froze and bared their teeth in what could have been a smile or a threat display. It was hard to tell with rock fairies. After the rectangle made a faint clicking sound, they relaxed.
Omorachi held up the rectangle between her and Dauro. “Show us your good side, baby!”
A tiny light flashed, but he couldn’t feel any magic. Maybe it was what young Kelvin called technology.
After two more flashes, Omorachi slid the device back in her pouch. “Mammal, clean up this mess.” She waved toward the jumble of lawn furniture left by the flood. “Nessie’s book says you’re supposed to maintain something, so hop to it. But don’t go anywhere. We’ll want to talk to you later.”
They both giggled and started back up the walkway toward the castle.
Omorachi pointed toward the book. “Let’s go find the draco aqua shifter next. The book says they can talk while still an animal. We’ll order her to tell us about the others.”
Trixis shoved the box back into Omorachi’s arms. “No, I’m thirsty, and this book is heavy. Nessie used to brag about her fairy dew collection and never even shared a thimbleful. Just ’cause the tribe laughed at her and her freaky-ass collections. I want some liquid fortification before I go traipsing around this stinky demesne a minute longer. Smells like a zoo.” She detoured to wipe her bare feet on the grass, leaving furrows in the sod with her claws.
“Fine,” said Omorachi in a long-suffering whiny tone. “We’ll look for the sodding key to the cellar. But we need gobs of pics for the broker, or no one will nibble.”
Dauro stayed on the bank, listening but not understanding half their words, until they disappeared into the castle. Testing the air with his nose, he didn’t notice anything particularly pungent. The demesne hardly smelled of anything. Maybe four hundred years had killed his sense of smell.
He slid into the water, downstream of where the alpha charm went in, then walked sloth-slow upstream to where the whirling currents played.
The shifter gods must have been in a momentary good mood, because the bone was caught on some exposed roots. It was well worth the mouthful of sticks and silt to rescue it. He dove deep to his underwater stash, opening his lips to let the water help wash the dirt off his tongue.
The charm was so tiny, he was afraid of crushing or losing it with his big claws, so he twisted his head up and into the small, grass-lined chamber and let it drop from his teeth. He used his magic and his long, dexterous tongue to secure it in the reeds.
That done, he concentrated his thoughts on his friend. Sunscar, we all must gather now.
Yes. We’re already at Nibi’s bridge. Come as fast as you can. I’ll have to sift your memories of what happened. I can’t read the new fairies’ thoughts any better than I could read Nessireth’s.
Dauro pushed into the center where the fastest river current ran and folded his front paws up under him to offer the least resistance while he kicked with his back legs.
Several minutes later, he grabbed a big lungful of air, then dove for Nibi’s lair.
The sight of them all was startling. He’d never seen the entire collection gathered before. Nessireth hadn’t ever let them do that. His inner human gave them a big, beaming smile for how beautiful they all were and how much he loved them.
We think the world of you, too. Nibi’s warm thoughts mixed with her amusement.
Sorry. He shared his embarrassment. I’ll try to contain my thoughts.
No need, replied Yipkash, one of the two mythological capricorn shifters that Nessireth had added to the collection about fifteen years before. She was true-mated to the other goat-with-fish-tail, Rayapkhal, who hovered protectively. Their intricately woven shifter-mate bond glowed even in the shadowed underwater depths. You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t share.
Kelvin, the young pygmy hippopotamus shifter, swam closer. Or perhaps more accurately, put Dauro between himself and Sunscar and Nibi, who both scared the daylights out of him. Dauro felt guilty for not spending more time helping Kelvin get past his animal’s survival instincts and make friends with them.
Rosinette floated nearby, green blood leaking from her crippled sea wyvern wings. Old Nessireth, rightly wary of tremendously powerful wyvern magic, had cruelly pierced the wings with Alfar metal rods held tightly together with a locked chain. The shackles not only prevented flight, but were bespelled to prevent Rosinette from being able to speak in her shifted form the way other wyverns could. Despite all that and what had to be constant pain, she had a surprisingly sunny outlook.
Plunging his rear claws into the bank to s
tabilize his position, Dauro focused his thoughts. I assume Sunscar relayed what the fairies said and did. We must escape before they can do whatever they have planned.
They’re going to sell us, declared Kelvin angrily. They took your picture with a cell phone so they can put it online.
Dauro understood the first part, but the last was meaningless. What they didn’t know could get them killed.
Sunscar’s mottled fins fluttered in agitation. After a stretch of silence, he calmed. I promised Dauro I’d help with the escape. If I shift to my wraith form, I can transfer some of Kelvin’s modern knowledge to all of you. You’ll feel terror like you’ve never known, and you might have a headache for hours. But you won’t be crippled by ignorance.
Kelvin’s legs churned, sending him to the surface.
Not if it will hurt Kelvin, declared Yipkash. She brushed her tail against Kelvin’s flank in reassurance as he gulped air.
Sunscar darted away, then back. He’s the only one who it won’t hurt. I can’t do anything about the fear—it’s what wraiths do. My magic started working again after Nessireth died.
Will it hurt you? asked Dauro. Sunscar’s grumpy demeanor hid a softer heart.
No, replied Sunscar. I eat fear.
From that, Dauro assumed Sunscar’s wraith form fed on fear the way his eel form fed on fish.
Yipkash swam to the surface for a private conversation with Kelvin. Dauro envied her skill at that. In sloth form, he was either sending thoughts to no one or everyone. His human side had better control.
After long moments, both Yipkash and Kelvin swam down again.
Okay, I’ll do it. Kelvin’s telepathic voice felt scared but determined.
I will be first, said Dauro, touched by Kelvin’s stalwart courage. The others can decide after they see what happens to me.
You’re braver than I am, thought Nibi. Her thoughts pictured a trembling copper-colored cougar trapped in a hunter’s cage.
I’m not braver. Just… more experienced with being afraid. I was a warrior for a hundred years before I ended up here.
Shifter's Storm Page 3
