Shifters And Glyphs

by Bauer, Christina;

  I open a new window on my computer and start searching like mad. Turns out, Boucle-Roux is a deserted farm outside Paris. While I’m searching, the three little dots appear on the screen. WaterGirl is typing away once more.

  * * *

  WaterGirl: You can still catch the 6:20 a.m. out of JFK and be at Boucle-Roux well before midnight. I know you think this is a trap. It’s not. I have the device and only want to help. It’s in perfect condition, including the three discs inside, made of silver, gold, and ruby. Can you really afford to ignore me?

  * * *

  My fingers hover over the keyboard. I need to get WaterGirl typing more about herself and what she’s up to. If I find out enough, I can determine if this is really not a trap. Elle has taught me all sorts of techniques to keep folks talking. I’m about to type a question about the glyphs on the device when WaterGirl leaves the chat.

  Damn.

  I check my tracer program. Nothing there, either. All of which means I have no clue who this person really is and what they’re after.

  Even worse, I have about half a minute to decide whether to hightail it to JFK and catch that plane to Paris.

  The thirty seconds tick away slowly as my mind runs through all the reasons not to meet WaterGirl. This is dangerous. I could waste an entire day on a wild goose chase. After all, I met this girl on Magiweb, for crying out loud.

  Then, I picture Knox’s pale skin and how his frame trembles with pain. I grab a duffel from my closet and stuff a bunch of clothes inside.

  Looks like I’m going to Paris.

  Chapter 19

  I’ve fought the undead, so you’d think JFK wouldn’t be an issue.

  It is.

  There are four reasons for this.

  First, I’ve never been in airport before. I mean, in the past, I barely left the penthouse. Going to the Adirondacks or to Brooklyn was a big journey. Now, I’m in an airport.

  Second, there are people everywhere. They’re all rushing around with their bags and their briefcases. Everyone seems to know exactly where to go and what to do. For my part, I needed to ask four people in uniforms before I figured out how to get my ticket and go through security.

  Third, why do they hate my shoes? I was almost past the scanner gateway thing, but I left my flats on. Not sure what that was all about, but I was basically dragged back and had to go through again. However, leaving my shoes on seemed to mark me as dangerous. They even had to bring over a lady guard to touch my junk. That was unexpected.

  All of which brings me to the present moment and item number four. How do I find my gate? It’s all very confusing to find signage, in my humble opinion.

  If there’s one benefit to this situation, it’s that my wolf is still asleep. What she’d make of this entire situation, I don’t even want to imagine. The words freak and out come to mind. My inner animal isn’t fond of crowds.

  Although I don’t have to worry about my wolf, that doesn’t mean I’m not carrying around another kind of anxiety. As I step along, the weight of guilt settles into my bones. I know what it’s about: Elle and Knox. I left them a lame note saying that Colonel Mallory asked me to join him on a tour of Europe, so they shouldn’t bother trying to text or call for a few days. It seems pretty believable and something the Colonel would do, but I still feel crappy about lying.

  Finally, I find my gate and get in line to board.

  And that’s when a familiar face steps out of the crowd. All the blood seems to drain from my body.

  Standing before me is Reggie, the undead dude who was imprisoned in Alec’s basement but escaped last summer.

  The guy who used to follow Jules.

  And I know for a fact that Reggie’s favorite meal is human.

  Oh, no. If Reggie starts attacking people in JFK, things could get ugly. Fast.

  Reggie strides forward. Like before, he looks like he fell out of a toothpaste ad from 1950. He’s dressed in a three-piece suit and fedora. His black hair is slicked back with way too much gel. And his skin is too smooth and perfect to be real.

  He waves at me like we’re old friends. “Bryar Rose!”

  I freeze. “Don’t eat my brains.” There are smoother things I could say at this point, but it’s been a long twenty-four hours.

  Reggie steps closer. “Didn’t the Colonel tell you? I’m your guardian angel now.”

  “Buzz off.” There, that sounded much more like me.

  A manic gleam returns to Reggie’s blue eyes. “Haze, plays, means, and ways. Ignore my words; he’ll die in three days.”

  My heart sinks. Reggie loves to speak in a singsong. It’s super creepy. Every cell in my body wants to run onto the plane and forget this conversation ever happened. But I can’t get past the last thing Reggie said.

  * * *

  Ignore my words; he’ll die in three days.

  * * *

  “You’re talking about Knox,” I say in a low voice.

  Reggie nods, his eyes still gleaming manically. How could Colonel Mallory think that having Reggie help me would be a good idea? I stare longingly at the jetway. I’d love to walk away right now. But if there’s any chance Reggie knows something that will help Knox, I simply have to try.

  I grip the straps of my duffel so tightly, my nails bite into my palms. “Tell me what you know.”

  “Fountain of magic, fountain of magic. Destroy it all, and life turns tragic.”

  I frown. “No one’s been talking about destroying the fountain, Reggie.”

  Not yet, anyway. But if I haven’t confided the fact to my mate and best friend, I’m certainly not sharing it with an undead freak who’s accosting me in JFK.

  “Ties, tries, words, and lies. Remember that, and no one dies.” Reggie then turns and stalks off into the crowd. I watch him leave, my head shaking in shock.

  Well, that was a useless conversation.

  With Reggie gone, I’m finally able to walk the jetway and find my seat on the plane. The flight no sooner lifts off than my eyelids feel like they’re weighed down with boulders. Looks like staying up all night hacking is finally catching up with me. Within minutes, I fall asleep.

  At first, my dreams are pretty cool. I have a vision of the plane’s cabin filling with white mist. Child Me runs up and down the aisle. I catch flashes of bright red hair. Her laughter is like the tinkling of bells.

  “Come and find me!” she calls.

  I unbuckle my belt to do just that when I notice the shadows creeping down the curved inner walls of the plane. The mist on the floor turns a thicker shade of

  white. The darkness on the walls congeals into the forms of two Shadowvin. A knot of emotion tightens in my throat.

  I’m in a plane.

  Over an ocean.

  A mile in the air.

  Shadowvin showing up here can’t be a good thing.

  With halting steps, I force myself away from the Shadowvin. The mist by my feet turns even heavier. The air thickens. It becomes an effort to pull in a breath.

  This is a dream, Bryar Rose. Everything will be fine.

  Up front, the door protecting the pilots bursts open with a BANG. The plane rocks; I fall on my butt. A wave of mist and white light pours into the main cabin. All the passengers start to lose their minds. Everyone screams and crawls over one another, moving in a mad rush to get away from the front of the plane. The aircraft lurches violently. My heart beats with such force, I worry it will break through my ribcage.

  The Void appears at the far end of the aisle, right by the ruined pilot’s door. I want to scream and run, but I’m rooted to the spot.

  Stupid dream.

  When the Void speaks, his voice booms through the air. “Bring me to the fountain! The fountain!”

  Somehow, I croak out one word. “No.”

  The Shadowvin cackle with glee. “Whether you want to or not,” they say in unison, “you’re already helping us.”

  The plane starts to spiral downward. My body becomes squished against a nearby wall. Luggage falls
out of the overhead bins and tumbles through the air. The screams turn deafening.

  I grip the top of a seat and yell with all my strength. “Never!”

  The dream ends. I find myself wide awake. My wolf is alert, too, and shivering with fear. A super-nervous flight attendant stands at the end of my aisle. “Are you all right, miss?” he asks.

  I look at the two business folks in the seats beside mine. The way their eyes are bugging out of their heads, I was definitely just screaming “never” at the top of my lungs.

  Ugh.

  “I’m fine,” I say quickly. “Bad dream, that’s all.”

  The flight attendant narrows his eyes at me. He isn’t buying my bad dream story, and I don’t blame him. But what do I say? There’s a supernatural big bad following me around?

  “Seriously.” I force a grin. “I’m all right now.”

  The flight attendant nods. “You’ll want to rebuckle your seatbelt. We’re about to land at Charles de Gaulle.”

  After re-clicking my buckle, I let out a long sigh. We’re about to land. That’s good news.

  I think.

  Chapter 20

  Landing at Charles de Gaulle is a nightmare. Not the part about the plane actually touching down; that bit goes pretty smoothly. No, I’m talking about how everyone is staring at me like I’m nuts for screaming NEVER at the top of my lungs.

  Ugh.

  After that, it takes a while to get through customs, but that’s my bad. The fake passport I grabbed was classic Elle—meaning it looked great—but I forgot my false name. In my defense, the name Brianna Rosacea doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue. In the end, I get through fine. You can get away with a lot, as long as you smile afterward. Did I misspeak? Silly me. Elle taught me that trick. Works every time.

  The real trouble is finding a cab. Once I explain I want to go to Boucle-Roux, they speed-talk in French and motion toward the door until I leave. Finally, I find a guy who will do it. Which brings me to the present moment.

  Gustav has been driving me in circles for at least three hours. Boucle-Roux is right outside Paris. I checked the distance before I left for Europe. Doctor Google says I should have reached Boucle-Roux from the airport in about an hour.

  So Gustav wants himself a big fare. Fine with me, so long as I arrive by midnight.

  Which is about twenty minutes from now.

  I lean forward and clear my throat. “Hello?”

  “Eh?” Gustav is an old, balding dude who reminds me of a human-size troll doll. He’s lumpy, with a large nose, bald head, and truly massive eyebrows.

  Now, here’s where it would be useful to show Gustav my cell phone, complete with a handy map to Boucle-Roux. However, if I turn my cell on, it’s sure to blow up with calls from Elle and Knox. Leaving a fake note was hard enough. If I pick up the phone, I’ll totally crack and tell them where I really am.

  Instead, I use my newfound skills as a mime. “Boucle-Roux?” I pretend to be hoeing the ground, farmer style. “When?” I point to the nonexistent watch on my wrist because, really, who uses a watch when you can just check your cell?

  Gustav grumbles something that sounds like “Bleugh-bleugh-bleugh-stupide-bleugh-bleugh-bleugh-BLEUGH.” Over the past three hours, Gustav has been crystal clear that he thinks visiting Boucle-Roux is a bad idea. Amazing what can be conveyed despite the language barrier.

  I point to my wrist again. “When?”

  Gustav pulls over to the side of the road. We’re in a deserted area of farms and a ton of sheep. The landscape around here changes in a heartbeat, by the way. One second, you’re in the middle of a big city and then—ZOOM—just two minutes later, it’s all farm land.

  Closing my eyes, I check on my inner wolf. Sure, she slept for most of the plane ride, but that all ended when I flipped out. Charles de Gaulle wasn’t her favorite, either. Once the cab hit the countryside, she conked out again.

  “Are you awake?” I ask my inner animal.

  There’s no response, unless you count snoring.

  So my wolf is still asleep. Good.

  I stare out the window at the darkened landscape. We’re surrounded by rolling hills dotted with sheep. A dirt road leads from the street to a large wooden farmhouse. Other than the sheep, me, and Gustav, there’s no one else around.

  “Are we here?” I ask.

  In response, Gustav points to a small wooden sign stuck in the ground nearby. The words “Boucle-Roux” are written in cockeyed letters.

  I pretend to write on my hand, which is the universal signal for How much do I pay you? Gustav asks for a crazy amount of euros, which I hand over happily. Funny how, when it comes to requesting money, Gustav is suddenly very familiar with English. Good thing Elle and I have deep bank accounts. As I hand over the cash, I check the digital clock on the dashboard.

  Ten minutes before midnight.

  I made it, just like WaterGirl asked.

  Now I need to meet WaterGirl at the farmhouse, and the Codex Mechanica is mine. All in all, things are going pretty well. Scooching my way closer to the door, I wave to Gustav. “Merci.”

  Swinging about, Gustav wags his craggy pointer finger at me. This time, his French sounds a lot like “Bleugh-bleugh-bleugh-STUPIDE-bleugh. BLEUGH.”

  “Thank you, I got the stupide part.”

  I grip the door handle. Who cares if this seems like a dumb idea? In thirty minutes, my adventure will be that much closer to over. I’ll have the Codex Mechanica, the location of the fountain, and a lot more control over the entire situation. Not so stupide, in my opinion.

  I twist the handle just as a low rumble shakes the night air.

  Crud.

  Thunder.

  Nothing more happens, so I figure maybe that’s it, storm-wise. Hoisting up my duffel, I leave the cab and step to the side of the road.

  A torrent of fat raindrops pelts my head because, of course, it’s going to rain.

  Oh, well.

  The faster I get to the farmhouse, the more quickly I’ll be out of the storm. As Gustav peels away, I hustle up the dirt road and quickly discover a fun fact: Wearing leather pants in the rain is a terrible idea.

  Talk about chafing.

  In record speed, I reach the top of the hill and find a two-story farmhouse. There are lights on inside, but all the windows are open. The front door is ajar as well. I step onto the porch.

  “Hello?” I ask. “Anyone here?”

  The good news is that the porch is mostly covered. The whole place is built with weathered wood that is so warped, there are huge spaces between each slat. It’s like whoever built this place never heard of insulation. Still, it’s better than nothing. Even standing on the porch, I’m no longer getting pelted so badly by the rain. The air scents of green grass and sheep. It’s the second smell that awakens my wolf.

  My inner animal stretches. “Where are we? Can I eat the sheep?”

  “We’ve arrived at a place called Boucle-Roux,” I reply in my mind. “We need to meet WaterGirl here. Dinner can wait.” And we aren’t eating random sheep, although I don’t add in that part.

  I set down my duffel and knock on the opened door. “WaterGirl? Are you in here?”

  No reply.

  I scan inside the house because, hey, if they didn’t want anyone peeping around, they should have closed the door. The interior is French rustic. I’m talking rickety wooden furniture, faded drapes, and threadbare braided rugs. It’s a look that could be cool if it were shabby chic. Only here, it’s just shabby. Rain drips through holes in the floorboards and seeps through the walls. Great puddles form on the floor. No one’s even bothered to put out a bucket to catch the rainfall.

  The place looks deserted, only it isn’t. A long wooden table sits against the far wall. Three bowls of stew have been laid out in a neat row. Wisps of steam curl up from the meals.

  People definitely live here.

  Cautiously, I step inside. “Hello? WaterGirl?”

  My skin breaks out into gooseflesh. Nothing like being
in the rain and then a drafty farmhouse to trigger your shiver reflex. My inner wolf perks up again. Rain always throws off her sense of smell.

  “There’s something strange in this place,” grumbles my wolf.

  “You’re not kidding,” I reply in my mind. “WaterGirl should be here by now.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” Inside my soul, my wolf hops up onto her four paws. Her eyes gleam with golden light. “We must shift.”

  “I’m not changing into wolf form in some stranger’s house.”

  “Shift!” howls my wolf.

  At that moment, the scent of foreign wolves becomes strong, along with the smell of burnt charcoal. Shifters are nearby. And whoever these wolves are, they’re furious.

  The wall to my right buckles. Windows shatter. Beams of wood snap like kindling. A wave of wind and rain pelt into the house. Tearing through the ruined wall, six massive werewolves leap into the room. Their eyes all shine with golden magic. Low growls reverberate through their chests. Since their ears are back and teeth bared, there’s no question what these shifters are here to do.

  Attack.

  I make a quick assessment of the pack. Five of the weres have dark gray fur and lean bodies. All of these wolves hang back in a semicircle around the largest of their number, a massive wolf with pale gray fur and extra-long fangs.

  That one’s their alpha, no doubt.

  Inside my soul, my wolf claws at the ground. “Make the change,” she urges. “These are six male wolves. I smell burnt charcoal on them. You know what that means—rage.”

  My wolf is right. Enraged shifters won’t join a discussion about WaterGirl and ancient devices. They’ll kill first and ask questions later.

  I take my wolf’s advice and shift.

  Fast.

  Energy and magic charge through my nervous system as my arms and legs transform into hefty limbs with massive claws. White fur erupts across my body. My fangs descend.

  I become a wolf.

  Moving in unison, the six weres leap at me. Finishing my shift, I lunge out of the way, sliding into the opposite wall. The weathered boards snap under my weight. The other wolves follow in a mad rush for the same wall.