The thought made her uneasy, but she didn’t see another choice. “Okay, but no snooping in the lingerie drawers.”
Pressure expanded in her head, then released like an air-pressure change. She swallowed hard.
Welcome to our party. Sunscar sent her names and three-dimensional images of his friends underwater. Kelvin, floating near the surface. Yipkash and Rayapkhal, the two capricorns, tails intertwined. Nibi, a feline covered with copper-colored fish scales, chained to an underwater pillar. Rosinette, a sea wyvern leaking blood from pierced and hobbled wings.
And Dauro, an Ice Age aquatic sloth the size of an elephant, with a long, wide snout, beaver-brown shaggy fur that fluttered in the current, and huge claws dug into the bank as anchors.
Thank you for trying to help us. That was the female capricorn named Yipkash. You’ve put yourself in terrible danger.
Chantal opened her mouth to reply, then had to remind herself to use her thoughts instead. It’s in the job description. Are you hurt? I have healing spells.
She healed me after the gnome kicked me, said Kelvin. It didn’t hurt much.
We were healed by the forced shift, said Rayapkhal, the other capricorn. He wasn’t good at hiding his stress.
No offense intended, said Nibi, but you have to be more than a leopard shifter. Otherwise, the pink quartz crystal you carry would burn you as fast as the Alfar chains would burn me if I shifted to human.
Chantal sent the group a thread of amusement. No offense taken. I’m a melting pot. On my mother’s side, I’m human from a long line of witches, plus fairy, elf, and kitsune. As to my sperm donor’s side... They tout their pure leopard heritage, but they probably invented the phrase “catting around.” A lot of outcrosses like me aren’t on the official family tree.
Can you feel the demesne magic? Dauro’s question held a note of hope. Maybe a better question is, can you use it?
Of course she can, said Rosinette, or she’d never have made it past the portal. Even in mind speech, Chantal could hear the unique wyvern accent, which had an undercurrent of music.
I can feel it, Chantal admitted, but I mostly get by on instinct. Fairies aren’t patient teachers, and I’m a youngling by their standards. I know it energizes some kinds of other magic, like shifter or wraith. To be honest, I don’t know why your demesne didn’t collapse when its creator died.
Nessireth was millennia old, said Dauro. Her tribe rejected her because she liked to show off her prodigious magic. She poured all her power into building the demesne to protect herself, then to flaunt her skill. The collections came later. She craved being envied.
Telepathically, Dauro had one of those voices she could listen to all day. If he’d been her instructor instead of an irascible vampire, she might have enjoyed the lessons.
I’m flattered, Dauro replied with good-natured humor, but as a sloth, I’m limited.
Sorry, she sent, along with embarrassment. I’ll try not to overshare.
A wave of amusement came from Nibi. We’ve all done it. We’re beginners compared to Sunscar.
They teach classes in magic and telepathy in the world these days? asked Sunscar.
Sanctuary towns and hidden institutes do, Chantal replied. Not in the rest of the world. Humans only believe in science.
Yipkash spoke up. We brought our treasure. She sent an image of a bracelet and a heavy charm. They have magic, but we don’t know what. Nessireth cursed when she threw them in the river, so they may not be useful.
I don’t have anything. Kelvin’s small voice sounded dejected.
Chantal focused a soothing thought toward him, but couldn’t tell if it worked. If she survived this adventure, she planned to find a better telepathy teacher. One with a soothing mental voice.
My treasure isn’t a thing, it’s knowledge, said Rosinette. I memorized every spell she ever used within my hearing. The suppressor magic in the wing hobble means I can’t speak them, but I can teach others.
Excellent, said Dauro. You are very clever.
I do what I can. Rosinette’s modest words belied the pleasure she took in Dauro’s praise.
Mine is knowledge, too. Nibi’s words held satisfaction. Nessireth pretended the castle is the demesne’s heart, but it’s not. It’s this bridge. I nearly escaped four times. It’s the only thing strong enough to hold me captive. We have an understanding of sorts.
Very interesting, thought Sunscar, with sincerity. My contribution is also...
Chantal’s inner leopard twitched and demanded she look toward the castle.
Hell. One of the statues was stepping down off its pedestal. A smaller one was already moving toward the river. And there she stood, gawking like a summer tourist.
Striding hurriedly toward the bridge, hoping to find someplace under it to hide, she sent the others a mental snapshot of what she’d seen.
You won’t make it in time. Step in the water and stay still, said Rosinette. I will hide you.
Chantal threw aside her misgivings about the magic-charged river and waded in. It was colder than she liked, but not unbearable. Unpleasant tendrils of wetness infiltrated her boots via her socks.
A flare of wyvern magic settled on her, like the net that had been around the human-shifted capricorns. She was grateful to be hidden, but she felt completely exposed, standing there. A close observer would notice where her legs disrupted the water flow, but hunkering down would only make it worse.
Remorse came from Dauro. I think Omorachi and Trixis want Nibi. I meant to warn you, but I fell asleep.
I can’t hide you all, said Rosinette. We’ll have to separate.
They won’t bother the rest of you if I’m on the usual ledge in plain sight, said Nibi. Why do they want me?
Pictures, replied Dauro. Questions. Maybe to try magic objects. They used a new force-shifter on me twice. He sent an image of a crystal wand. They’re reading from the book Nessireth kept, but they don’t know what they’re doing.
About a hundred feet from Chantal, under the bridge, a copper-scaled cougar climbed onto a thick ledge that circled one of the bridge’s sturdy piers. Nibi walked toward the outer side of the bridge until the chain pulled taut, then crouched on all fours. The Alfar metal chain glowed even in the shadows. A heavy lock rested across her shoulders, keeping the Alfar harness tight. Even from that distance, Chantal felt its lethal magic. No wonder Nibi was afraid of it.
I hate that book, said Nibi. She used her truth-geas ring to make me tell her my name and history so she could write it down. Gloated the whole time like she was counting diamonds.
You aren’t the only one she did that to. The information in that book could kill us all. Sunscar’s bleak declaration silenced them for a long moment.
The taller statue, a malformed, hunchback version of a forest giant—humans insultingly called them Bigfoot—stepped onto the bridge. The shorter statue of a malevolent fanged and clawed cherub followed.
They opened their mouths in unison. A booming female voice emanated from both at once, like stereo speakers.
“Swimming cat shifter. Come with the statues to the castle.”
She can’t! thought Kelvin. The chains!
Those clusterfucking fairies will kill her. Cold anger iced Sunscar’s words.
“Oh, bloody hell,” a higher-pitched voice with a British accent emanated from the open-mouthed statues, “the book says she’s under the bridge and we need a key for the harness. Nessie added a walkway to go visit her.”
“I’ll get the box,” came a lower voice.
Nibi, what does the key look like? asked Dauro.
Big gray crystal top, Alfar metal shaft and bit, maybe ten inches long. Nessireth wore it on a heavy necklace whenever I saw it. Her tail switched in agitation.
Nothing like that was on the table. Dauro shared an image of a long, thin table with magical artifacts haphazardly scattered across it. About a third of them felt magical. I was only able to hide the Alfar knife and steal Nessireth’s portal pearl before they changed m
e back.
What!? demanded Sunscar angrily. Why didn’t you tell us?
He just did, pointed out Chantal, irritated by Sunscar’s lack of empathy. Maybe you’re immune, but even for Ice Age shifters, being unnaturally force-shifted just once is like being run over by a tank. I’m impressed he’s even coherent.
Don’t mind Sunscar, said Dauro. He thinks he can’t leave when the rest of us escape. It makes him depressed.
A flurry of mixed emotions came from Sunscar, too fast for Chantal to follow.
“Found it!” The British-accented voice exclaimed from the open-mouthed statues. “Here. Go unlock it.”
“No, you go,” said the lower-pitched voice. “I’m tired of doing all the work around here while you drink all the dew.”
“Fine. We’ll go together.” The British voice sounded testy. “That way you won’t nick more things while I’m gone.”
“Fine!” boomed the lower-pitched voice. “But I haven’t stolen anything. You probably lost it.”
“Shut up.”
“No, you shut up!”
The mouths snapped closed and the statues went inert. If Chantal hadn’t seen the statues in action before, she might have mistaken them for just weirdly-placed yard art.
Rosinette, asked Chantal, am I invisible to rock fairies?
The wyvern’s long hesitation didn’t inspire confidence. You should be, as long as you’re in the water.
I’ll conceal her, said Dauro. We need her demesne magic.
Seconds later, a long, brown snout appeared above the surface of the water. You should back up. I’m big.
Chantal backpedaled onto the bank, keeping half of one water-logged boot in the water.
The size and heft of his sloth amazed her. She’d seen smaller dragons. His wavy, beaver-like fur quickly shed water as he lumbered up the bank. The triple claws on his front and rear paws were easily three feet long. No ears, but whiskers on his muzzle and huge, mesmerizing blue-green eyes, the color of a tropical island sea.
He moved closer. If it’s all right with you, I’ll wrap around you and pretend to be napping.
Yes. Will you be okay? She appreciated his protection, but she’d seen what the statues could do.
Yes. He sent an image of a tiny, frustrated fairy struggling to push his wide hindquarters.
After a bit of grunting effort, he settled his elephant-sized bulk half in and half out of the water, with his belly facing away from the water.
Keeping a watchful eye toward the statues, she stepped carefully into the middle of him. He curled his limbs slowly toward her.
Movement near the castle galvanized her into ducking and half lying on one of his muscular limbs, and rolling into his broad, damp chest.
The physical contact immediately amplified their telepathic connection. Shifter magic threads lit up. I’m not hurting you?
No. You’re like holding a kitten. Humor colored his thoughts.
She smothered a chuckle. I promise not to bite. Relaxing into his wet warmth was easier than she’d imagined. Which reminds me, why did Sunscar tell me not to shift?
The demesne keeps us permanently as animals so we can’t speak or work magic. He was probably worried you wouldn’t be able to shift back to human.
Wow. She couldn’t even guess what it must be like never to shift. Nessireth must have been going for induction into the Ancient Asshole Hall of Fame.
A distressingly high number of Kotoyeesinay residents had horrific experiences with collectors and the hunters who supplied them. The whole heinous industry royally pissed her off.
With her nose practically buried in his fur, she could finally smell something. He had an unexpectedly mossy, peppery, almost mineral scent. Her inner leopard wanted to roll all over him.
Sternly warning her leopard that giant sloths were not catnip toys to drool on, she cast about for something else to think about. If you don’t mind my asking, how long have you been here?
Four hundred years, more or less. Nessireth said the demesne keeps real time. The last I saw of the real world, the Spanish invaders were decimating the human tribes and empires of South America. Their sorcerers destroyed the last mixed shifter clan and sold most of the defeated warriors into slavery. Me, they sold to Nessireth. He blew out a long breath. With her head against his wide chest, it sounded like a wind tunnel. Sunscar is very talented in the mental arts. He taught me English and gave most of us context memories from young Kelvin so our ignorance wouldn’t kill us if we ever get out of here. But there is so much I still don’t understand.
A near-overwhelming impulse to comfort him warred with a fiery desire to resurrect Nessireth and haul her and her demesne to Kotoyeesinay for exacting judgment. I came here to help the capricorns, but I’m expanding my mission to include you all.
Thank you. Relief threaded through his thoughts and through the haze of shifter magic that surrounded him. I am doing all I can to free them. None of them deserve this.
The depth of love in his words moved her. You don’t, either. Unexpected tears filled her eyes. Luckily, no one was there to see. Everyone should have an ally like you.
Whatever he might have said was interrupted by the arrival of the fairies.
“Oy! Swimming cat!” came the high-pitched British accent Chantal recognized from the statues . “Where are you?”
Nibi, crouched on her ledge, yowled. Anyone who spoke feline would recognize the irritation in her tone.
“This river bank smells like ass,” came the other now-familiar voice.
Chantal asked Dauro what the fairies looked like. In the image he shared, they were barefoot, claw-toed teens dressed like they were going through a Goth phase. However, based on their independence, they had to be several centuries old. Fairies were odd.
“Look,” shouted the lower-pitched voice with alarm. “It’s the fat sloth. Is he dead?”
That one’s name is Trixis, explained Dauro. In Chantal’s mind, Dauro pictured the shorter fairy.
“No,” said the British-accented voice, “his ribs are moving. Where are the stairs for the walkway?”
That’s Omorachi, said Dauro. She takes pictures with her cell phone.
“Over here, by the column. Why couldn’t Nessireth collect something smaller and easier to sell, like soul stars or phoenix ash?”
“A sharp stone in the ass, she was,” agreed Omorachi.
Chantal’s sensitive hearing picked out the sounds of scraping. She imagined fairy claws on stone.
After long minutes of scraping, Omorachi squealed. “There she is! At least she’s pretty.”
“Yeah, but she stinks worse than the sloth,” said Trixis. “Let’s make the statues walk her in.”
Chantal nudged Dauro. Don’t listen to them. I think you smell great.
Thank you, Dauro replied, amused. So do you.
“Fine.” Omorachi sounded long suffering. “The book says she’s an escape artist, so I won’t unlock her until they get here.”
Moments later, the unmistakable sound of statue-stomping drowned out the continued conversation.
I should have faced the water, said Dauro, so we could see what they’re doing.
I like where we are. She sent him an image of her leopard disdainfully shaking its paws. I’m not much of a swimmer.
Your leopard is as black as Sunscar’s skin!
Chantal was flattered by the surprised delight behind his words. Yep. Comes in handy for conducting surveillance on the graveyard shift. Not even the ghosts can see me.
Statue stomps became statue splashes, punctuated by unintelligible shouting from the fairies.
Nibi shared what she was seeing. The short, fanged cherub statue walked into the water as ordered and got stuck on the bottom of the river. The tall, hunchback forest-giant statue ignored the shouting fairies and went after its companion.
The fairies yelled at the statues, at the castle, at their misbegotten aunt, and each other. They nearly came to blows by the time the forest giant reappeared on the
river bank carrying the muddy cherub.
Finally, it occurred to Trixis to use the orange crystal geas wand from the box they’d brought. Omorachi unlocked the chain and harness, and Trixis compelled Nibi to follow them along the walkway, down the stairs to the riverbank, and up toward the castle.
Everyone in Sunscar’s telepathic network felt both Nibi’s anger at being compelled and her joy and relief at being free of the deadly Alfar metal and the spells it carried.
If you have the chance to escape the demesne, do it, said Dauro. You can go for help.
No. All together is our best shot, declared Nibi. I’ll play the docile dimwit like you did and learn what I can.
Dauro lifted his upper forepaw, which was Chantal’s signal to stand up and step away from him.
Her inner leopard, suddenly reluctant to leave his embrace, slowed her movements. He’s warm and smells nice. Let’s keep him.
Chantal had a sudden, soul-deep hunch as to why her leopard had become so possessive. Despite not being able to smell his full scent and not seeing any free-floating shifter-mate magic threads, there was a fifty-fifty chance that Dauro might be her mate.
In the history of wrong-place-wrong-time meetings, this had to rank in the top ten.
Mine, pronounced her leopard. Chantal shook her head. He doesn’t want to be kept. He wants freedom, and I aim to give it to him.
7
Dauro couldn’t make himself slide into the water, even though the pretend sun was too hot and bright, and his dense bulk too heavy to lie comfortably on the sandy bank. Chantal riveted his attention as if she’d used the geas wand on him.
Sure, she was beautiful with brown skin and eyes, sensuous lips, and black hair fraying out of a braid. And sure, she was the first human-shaped female he’d seen or touched in centuries, but it was more than that. Her fierce determination to help total strangers—his friends—resonated deep in his heart. Maybe it was true what old Nessireth said, that Ice Age shifters couldn’t have mates, but he wanted to spend time with Chantal.
Dauro, said Sunscar, only you can hear this. Quit moon-gazing over the leopard woman and come back to us. She’s safe for now on the bank with Rosinette’s spell hiding her. Time to plan the escape.
Shifter's Storm Page 7
