by Holley Trent
Dana, Sarah, Tamara, and Astrid shared a complicated four-way look, and Maria drummed on the table.
“So, did I win?”
Astrid sighed. “Yes. Enjoy your cash.”
The other three women groaned and pulled out their checkbooks.
Sarah passed Maria’s windfall on to her, pushed back from the conference table, and rolled to the sideboard. She grabbed a bottle of water out of the mini-fridge behind the cabinet and uncapped it while focusing on Astrid again. “He likes you, you know.”
“Who does?”
“Fabian.”
Now it was Astrid’s turn to shrug, but feigning apathy was so difficult when she was, in fact, incredibly curious. She cleared her throat and locked her gaze on her pencil. “What makes you think that?”
“I wish I could say it was intuition, but really, I only know what I know because I threatened both him and my husband to get the information.”
“Cruel,” Maria said, shaking her head.
Dana scoffed. “Just you wait. One day, there’ll be some man in your life who you’ll feel comfortable enough with to drive crazy, and he’ll let you because he’d do anything for you and gives you guff just because he doesn’t want to feel like a pushover.”
Maria’s eyes narrowed at the convoluted statement. “What?”
“Ignore her,” Astrid said. “Look, I thought we were going to discuss the Bear situation. Isn’t that why we’re here?”
Dana, Sarah, and Tamara performed a synchronized shrug that made Astrid push her brows up. Why were they so laid-back about something that had been disrupting their lives for a year? They should have been agitated, or at least anxious. After all, Sarah had recalled her for this.
“Bears can take care of themselves for a couple of days,” Dana said. “I’m sorry, but I overreacted. That happens more and more lately, and you ladies don’t normally find out because Patrick filters it. When you girls aren’t nearby and I can’t feel you, I panic and can’t think clearly.” She drew in a breath and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Yes, a couple of Gene’s Bears have tracked Drea to Durham and they’ve been harassing her when she goes out, but we’ve got Tolvaj’s brother—”
“Do either of those men have first names?” Tamara interrupted.
Dana blinked. “Yes, Little Shrew, they do. You may be able to pronounce them since you’re used to Eastern European languages, but we ’Murricans would have a shit time with all those squashed-together consonants. We’re trying to figure out nicknames for them. As I was saying, Tolvaj’s brother has his immigration shit worked out now, and he’s on the clock trailing her.”
“What about the missing Bear?” Astrid asked. That had been one of the first bullet points Sarah had brought up right after she’d gotten out of the shower and taken the phone from Fabian last night. One of Bryan’s cousins was missing, and Sarah and Dana hadn’t thought it was because he’d intentionally disappeared, as they were so used to dealing with lately. Someone had abducted him.
“He’s still missing, but Bryan and the Ursu brothers are to try to deal with it themselves. Bears need to work out Bear problems without our interference, and Bryan insisted we let them try for a couple of days. Anyhow, we were long overdue for a check-in—the five of us—so that’s why we’re here. We move around so damn much that we haven’t had time to renew our link.”
“Share some energy,” Maria said, swiveling her chair side-to-side.
“Right,” Dana nodded. “We haven’t fought together in so long, I’m afraid we’d forgotten each other’s blind spots. We’re going to do some refresher training over the next couple of days. I booked some time out at the gun range, and there are a few minor cases we can clear off the books while we’re all in the office. Astrid, I have one you can do from home. Investigation stuff from our buddies at the law office downstairs. Files are on the reception desk, I think. Grab them from Drea on the way out.”
Astrid pushed up an eyebrow. Working from home?
She leaned back in her chair and pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. When had been the last time she or Maria had actually been inside their apartment? Had they even left the heat on? She’d been living out of her duffel bag for so long that the concept she actually had a place to go home to seemed foreign.
She must have been still ruminating on the idea when Dana concluded the meeting, because she missed the dismissal.
Maria gave Astrid a nudge. “Dinner out? Missed you.”
Astrid scanned the room around her. Tamara had left, as had Dana and Sarah, and Sarah heaving herself up from chairs nowadays was a production no one could miss. Just how long had Astrid been zoned out?
She blinked and cleared the fog from her head. “Missed you, too.”
“What are you thinking about?”
“Just being back here after such a long while, I guess. I never thought I’d call Durham home, but being kept out of our apartment for so long, I guess I didn’t realize how much the place had become a part of me. I’d like to spend more time at home.”
Maria laughed. “You and me both. We all need a place where we can calm our energy to neutral.”
“Right. I’ll have to take your word on that. But, listen, I’m going to pass on the dinner. I’m going to go home, unbutton my jeans, and stare at a television for at least an hour before I even think about cracking those files. Sorry, but not sorry, for being a slob.”
Maria shrugged. “Happens to the best of us sometimes. Every now and then, we just have to put our switches in the off position. I think you’re overdue.”
Sarah waddled back into the room, pulling her jacket on. “Hey. Overheard you. Why don’t you come to dinner?”
“Who?” Maria asked.
“Both of you. I can’t cook because I can’t stand on my swollen ankles for longer than five minutes, and since we’re all back, Patrick’s going to get the pub to cater. We’ll have everything from burgers to bean dip.”
“Yay, beans!” Maria said with far too much enthusiasm.
Astrid preferred her dips to come with at least a little bacon. And maybe a little more bacon on top of that.
“And…” A sly smile spread across Sarah’s face. “I’m sure Fabian will be there.”
“Who said anything about Fabian?” Astrid asked.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Maria said. “The energy around you spikes every time his name is mentioned.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“Do you feel the same way when I mention David?” Sarah asked from the door, and that smile fell away.
She really went there. Astrid wouldn’t have thought her friend would stoop so low. Heat surged up from her heart to her cheeks, and she ground her teeth.
“What about David? Are you talking to that fucker again?” Maria asked, and her voice had gone low and taken on an angry edge. But then her expression softened as if she’d come to some profound realization. “No, oh no, love. When I bring up David’s name, the energy draws in. Ice cold.” She swiveled her chair to the side, and stood. Striding toward the door, she said to Sarah, “The one time she’d be justified in not being calm, and she won’t let the anger out. I don’t get it. I would have roughed him up and left him marinating in a puddle of his own piss.” She walked through the conference room door and called back, “See you at dinner, love.”
Astrid didn’t want to meet Sarah’s gaze, but she could feel it on the side of her face, boring into her.
If Sarah wanted to make her talk, it would be no difficult feat. She had a scary-as-shit psychic gift that impelled people to give up the secrets they held closest. While she had no qualms about using it during the course of an investigation, she hesitated to use it on her friends and loved ones. She said using it on them would breach the tightly knit trust the women had built over the course of three years. As Shrews, they weren’t always in control of their gifts because they didn’t know what they all were. They would go months without any discernible changes, and then—all
of a sudden—new quirks and strengths would emerge from nowhere.
Maria had been the last one to undergo such a discovery, but she’d been coy about what exactly it was. Being her friend, Astrid didn’t push. When she wanted to share, she would.
“Want to talk about it?” Sarah asked from the doorway. “It must be hard. I think you’re the first one of us who’s been forced to interact with the people directly responsible for enrolling us in the study.”
Astrid cracked the knuckles of her left hand. “Thanks, but I don’t think there’s anything worth talking out. Every one of you can probably guess what I must be feeling. There’s plenty of blame to throw around, and I don’t want to open that can of worms.”
“Blame?” Sarah shifted in Astrid’s periphery, and when she looked up, she found Sarah leaning heavily against the doorframe. Astrid wondered if they’d all be so worn down if any others managed to get pregnant. Dana had been actively trying since she and Patrick got married. No one else had given it much thought yet.
“You blaming yourself?” Sarah asked, dark eyes narrowed.
“Like I said. There’s plenty of—”
“Nope.” Sarah put her hands up and shook her head. “Don’t go there. You had an emotional response to a traumatic situation. Some women might have gone home, curled up in little balls, and cried until they ran out of tears. You expressed your hurt in a more physical way.”
“That’ll teach me not to fuck with a cop, right?”
“It’s not even that. Dana was a cop, and she’s never been that kind of cruel. What he did makes my lunch threaten to come up. I don’t know if I would have reacted the same way as you, but I don’t fault you for it. I do find it interesting that after you took that sledgehammer to his car, he still wanted to keep you and tame you.”
“I think the taming more so than the keeping part. It would have been an accomplishment for him, is all.”
“Did he say anything? In South Dakota, I mean.”
Astrid shook her head. “Nothing. In fact, I don’t think I spoke a word to him directly. Rodriguez was doing most of the talking.”
“Well, if they’re able to track down the troupe again, perhaps we could send Maria if we need to have a Shrew there at all.”
“If Fabian goes, I have to go with him.”
“Rodriguez speaks Spanish.”
Astrid studied the scrapes on her knuckles she’d earned while dragging Fabian out of the campsite. Shrews healed quickly. In a couple of days, the scabs would be gone and the scars practically invisible. “I’m looking forward to getting some shooting practice in,” she said, hoping that’d put an end to Sarah’s line of questioning. What could she possibly say that wouldn’t sound corny? Certainly not “he just gets me.”
Lame.
Sarah’s gaze bored into Astrid’s cheek for a long while, and then she sighed and moved away from the doorway. “See you at dinner.”
“If you must.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Mierda.”
The senior Felipe Castillo drummed his fingertips along the side of his borrowed truck and sighed.
Perhaps borrowed was the wrong word. He’d stolen it, but just for a little while, just as he’d done numerous times in the past. He was always careful, always returned the items he’d used, and usually in a better condition than when he’d found them. That’s how he’d made his way in the past thirty-some odd years.
He really was invisible in that he rarely left a trace. Invisibility could only get him so far, though. Phasing used to be easy for him. He could pass from solid to air in the blink of his eyes and feel no strain from it when he shifted back, but the shifts were getting harder now. His mother had warned him when he was a young man not to stay as air for too long or snapping back would be harder. Eventually, impossible. He’d heeded her warning for many years, but what choice did he have now? He was too far gone.
Maybe one day he’d fade away all together—to never be able to pull his body back into its physical shape. Maybe that’d be exactly what he deserved—to still be alive and have his soul bound to the Earth when he wanted nothing more than to pass away from it. He’d be a living ghost. Fucking shame if that would happen now that he had a renewed passion for life—the granddaughter who didn’t have a name yet. She was quite obviously meant to be a Gabrielle like the grandmother she’d never know. His wife had always stolen all the attention in a room without trying.
Maybe he’d have to be less discreet in dropping name hints.
Movement in the dirt lot in front of him roused him back to his mission. The caravan had pulled over for a while to regroup. Senior had caught up to the splintered troupe near the Canadian border with North Dakota, and if they got that far, he wouldn’t be able to follow. He didn’t have the credentials to drive across the border. He could abandon the truck and walk across it, but then he’d have to borrow another. Too tricky.
He suspected the only reason this group was lingering as long as they were was because they were getting their paperwork in order. If they’d acquired new troupe members since their last border crossing, there may have been people in the group who didn’t have the legal documentation to leave the country. Jacques usually held onto his employees’ passports as a means of control, so either he was with this group, or he’d delegated the paperwork dispensation to one of his toadies. The latter didn’t seem likely.
An older gentleman Senior didn’t know finally tossed his cigarette butt to the ground and strode to the door of the camper he’d emerged from ten minutes prior.
Senior had been waiting for that man to turn his back so he could slip out of the truck.
He did, closed the door softly, and drew a long, cold breath into his lungs. He closed his eyes and sensed the air around him, imagined pulling it into himself, and through him. His limbs went weightless and he felt like a helium-filled balloon tethered to the ground by only a thin thread.
He had no arms. No legs. No anything. Everything that made him a man had been diluted by the air elements around him. He couldn’t control the wind, but he could be a part of it. The only thing binding together the thing that was Senior was his spirit. When he was ready to pull himself back together into the shape he’d been born with, it would all be there. He hoped.
He mentally directed himself to the makeshift campsite and through the back wall of the vehicle the portly smoking man had entered. He passed through the small, cramped bedroom, past a fetid-smelling lavatory on his right, and studied the women at the kitchenette table. One older, two younger. He didn’t recognize them, either. He knew most of the older performers, but this woman, and the man from outside—they were strangers to him.
Senior had picked this particular camper to investigate because it’d been in the lead position of the caravan, a location usually reserved for Jacques. Jacques, however, was nowhere to be found.
The women at the table chatted over a fine meal of steaks, mashed potatoes, and fresh vegetables—far better fare than Senior had ever had when he was on the road—and the man at the front, rooted through his duffel bag in search of something muttered under her breath.
Senior tried to make sense of his chatter and watched him toss wads of cash aside as he riffled for some other thing in the bag.
“You seen ’em? I ain’t seen ’em,” the man said, ostensibly to his wife.
She kept right on sawing at her steak and didn’t look up at him. “No, I haven’t seen them. I don’t know nothin’ about your arrangements with that man. You don’t tell me nothin’ after you meet with him, and I don’t go lookin’ for information.”
The man stood and pulled his holey undershirt down over his distended belly.
Senior would have rolled his eyes if they’d been solid at the moment. He’d never had the luxury of excess. Neither had his boys.
“Any other time, you’d be poking around acting nosy like the Cat you are, but you gonna tell me this one time, you didn’t go looking?”
She cut off a piece of steak
and stuffed it into her mouth. She chewed for about thirty seconds before responding. “If I don’t know nothin’, none of this shit’s going to blow up in my face when the cops catch up to us.”
The man waved a dismissive hand at her. “We’re not gonna get caught. We just got to keep moving, like Jacques said. Hope he catches up soon, ’cause we’re going to need more cash once we cross the border. Costs a lot of money to disappear.”
So, Jacques was nearby. Senior settled into the corner behind the table to listen in.
“I still think this was a bad idea. Money or not,” she said. The sparkling jewels on her rings caught the light as she dragged her fork through her potatoes.
Pretty jewelry for a probable criminal.
“When we get to where we’re going, are there going to be other Cats? We gonna be able to finally find mates for these girls, Billy? Or is that another lie Jacques told you to get you off his back after he kidnapped them last year?”
As if on cue, the two young women at the table lifted their heads from their meals and turned their faces toward the man the woman had called Billy.
Senior committed that name to memory. Billy. They were Cats of some kind. Born, most likely. To the best of Senior’s knowledge from associating with so many shapeshifters in the past, only born Were-creatures experienced the insuperable compulsion to choose a mate.
“He said there are Cats where we’re headed, and I tend to believe him,” Billy said with a huff.
“What kind of Cats?” the woman pressed. “If they ain’t Mountain Lions, they ain’t doing us a lick of good. You tell him they gotta be Catamounts?”
“I told him.”
“And?”
Senior floated to the front of the camper.
“And he said it weren’t a problem.” Billy shifted his weight, and then turned his back to the women so they didn’t see the look of panic on his face when he knelt over his bag once more.
Ah. Trouble in paradise.
Perhaps Billy had already learned that Jacques’s word meant very little. He was a master at luring people in and making them think they hit the jackpot, when in reality, all they’d hit was a brick wall…one that would quickly close around them and box them in.
