Only Lycans Need Apply

by Michele Bardsley

  He didn’t move.

  Shit. The idea that Drake was hurt . . . or something so much worse . . . sharpened my focus. The scorpion was adjusting its position, and to my mind, trying to find Drake to finish him off. Or maybe it had remembered it had a second adversary and wanted to get me next.

  “The hell,” I muttered. I waited for the scales to retract, and when I saw those strips of black armor push apart, I jumped with everything I had left and pushed the statue up as hard as I could.

  This time it pierced the flesh, so much so that the three-fourths of the obsidian Bastet was lodged inside the scorpion.

  I was shaking, sweating, cursing.

  Above me, the scorpion screamed and tottered. For an awful moment, I thought that the monster would fall on Drake and that even though I was skidding toward him, reaching out, I wouldn’t get there in time.

  But the scorpion danced away, its pincers clacking, its screeches echoing with pain and fury. It hit the wall, hard, and collapsed. Its pincers gave one final wave—a good-bye to the world—and then it stilled completely.

  And then . . . because this day hadn’t been creepy-strange enough, it burst like a smashed piñata . . . into a very big pile of sand.

  Huh.

  “Drake!”

  I ran to the werewolf, and good God, he was huge. I think I could’ve saddled and ridden him like a pony. (Only, I guess I’d done that already, right?) I knelt next to him. He was lying on his side, covered in sand. I assumed that whatever blood or gore had gotten onto him had also turned into sand when the scorpion was dispatched.

  I wasn’t sure how to check for a pulse on a wolf. I put my ear up to his snout, hoping I could hear him breathe.

  Something wet and flat smeared my cheek.

  “Ugh!” I reared back and looked down.

  Drake’s eyes were open, and it seemed to me that they were shadowed with pain. Well, who wouldn’t be hurt after falling several stories off a monster scorpion?

  “Are you all right?”

  He heaved himself onto his belly and looked at me, cocking his head. His big red tongue lolled out of his mouth.

  “I don’t speak werewolf. Or German. How’s your French?”

  He offered a weak woof, then laid his head on his paws and closed his eyes.

  “Oh, honey,” I murmured. I stroked his silky fur, and I thought about Drake the man. And here was Drake the wolf. It was a crazy concept to believe. But no crazier than anything else I’d seen today.

  “Drake? You . . . er, feel like moving? Or changing back into a human?”

  He didn’t respond. He was breathing, though, steady and strong. What should I do? If I stayed here and tended to him, I risked us both. If I went on without him, and he woke up . . . well, he’d be pissed off. But it would be easy to follow my trail . . . at least until some magical door closed up behind me like all the rest had. Yikes.

  “Sorry,” I murmured. I patted his head. “A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”

  I gathered his clothes and left them next to his resting wolf form. I also stopped to finish tying my boot.

  Then I crossed the room and paused before the yawning darkness of the room beyond.

  “Hey.”

  The female voice made me stumble forward and yelp. Heart pounding, I whirled around.

  Patsy floated a few feet away, staring at me with arms crossed.

  Okay, it wasn’t quite Patsy. She was faded, like an old photograph. She was sorta bluish, too, and her bottom half looked like smoke. She was either a ghost or a djinn.

  “Oh, my God,” I said. “Are you dead?”

  “Well, I’ve been dead. And undead. And alive again. But this is weirder.” She stretched out her arms and examined her own ghostly pallor. “I didn’t even know I could do this.” She wiggled her fingers at me. “Out-of-body experience.”

  I blinked at her. “So, you’re just visiting?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “I decided, hey, why not pop out of my seven-month-pregnant body and risk my baby, freak myself out, and float on in to a deadly pyramid so I could see you.” She huffed in impatience. “Where’s Drake?”

  I glanced over her shoulder at the unconscious werewolf, and Patsy followed my gaze.

  “What happened to him?”

  We had the most awesome sex on the planet, and then a giant scorpion tried to eat us. “It’s a long story, but it ends with him needing a really big nap.”

  She returned her gaze to me. “Men.”

  “Yeah. What can you do?” My stomach was starting to squeeze a little. Patsy showing up, well, her . . . er, soul anyway, probably didn’t indicate anything good. She didn’t strike me as the cheerleader type. And what mother would intentionally leave her pregnant body behind so she could go spirit-visit a crazy archaeologist and a werewolf?

  “You have bad news, don’t you?”

  Patsy sighed. “I’m sorry. We tried to protect her.”

  “Protect her? Who . . . Dove?” My stomach dropped out and I pressed my palm flat against my belly. “What happened? Is she okay?”

  Patsy’s expression did not offer hope. For a second I couldn’t breathe. I never should have left her in the company of vampires. I should’ve found a way to protect her myself, to drag her into the pyramid, which for all its trials seemed to be a safer place than a town supposedly protected by an invisible shield and supernatural creatures.

  “Karn found a way into Broken Heart. Him, and half a dozen other assholes. They snatched me and Dove and then holed up at the Thrifty Sip. It’s an abandoned burned-out convenience store on the edge of town.”

  I wanted to scream. Fury roared through me, but I sucked in a deep breath because I knew being reactionary wouldn’t help the situation. My hands fisted at my sides, and I swallowed my anger. It pulsed like a second heartbeat inside me, but I quelled it. For now.

  “Is she alive?”

  “She’s breathing,” she said. “But she doesn’t have a lot of time. Karn’s bleeding her out.”

  My vision blurred, and I sucked in a grief-stricken breath. “He’s going to kill her.”

  “Worse,” said Patsy. “He’s going to Turn her.”

  It took me a minute to process the information. “Turn her? Into a vampire?”

  “No, into a pumpkin. Look, the process isn’t always successful,” she said. “We estimate only one in ten humans make the transition.”

  Well, that was just more good news. Karn couldn’t have Dove. Although I was fairly sure Dove wouldn’t mind being undead, she sure as hell wouldn’t want Karn to do the Turning. Oh, my God. What was I thinking? Dove would die. She was tough, street tough, but a bad attitude wouldn’t help her now. I thought about watching the Turning of Amahté, and I could see why humans might not make it. It was certainly difficult to be made the undead, and damn, it shouldn’t be easy. In fact, the kinder option seemed to be death.

  But not for Dove.

  “How do you know Dove is still breathing? You’re not taking his word for it, are you?”

  “I know because I’m sitting in the fucking basement with her. Karn got me, too. And I’m trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey, and the manacles are magicked, so my powers are muted. Otherwise I’d kick his ass, or call up a zombie army to do it for me.” She held out her arms and looked at herself. “I guess the magical cuffs can’t prevent me from soul traveling.”

  I was still wrapping my brain around the idea that Patsy could call up a zombie army. I imagined all the mummies in Egypt shuddering to life and marching on Cairo.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “But I’m glad you’re there. For her.” Honestly, Patsy being there was saving Dove’s life. Not from Karn’s perspective, certainly. But having the queen trapped meant the other vampires would be very, very careful about how they approached Karn. Otherwise, they might’ve gone in full bore, not particularly concerned about saving one small human’s life.

  So, Patsy was their priority . . . and Dove was mine.

  “There’s n
ot a lot I can do,” she said. “Watching that bastard tor—” She stopped, and shook her head. “I didn’t know I could pop out of my body. Dove was the one who told me to try. She knows all about us . . . Theodora’s books, you know. She said Amahté could do it, so I probably could, too.”

  “She’s smart,” I said. My voice quaked.

  “He wants the ambrosia,” Patsy said softly. “It’ll fix his vampire problems and make him unkillable.”

  Shit. “Is that all?” I asked.

  “He wants you to murder Shamhat and Amahté. Obviously, we don’t want you to take out the Ancients,” said Patsy. “My understanding is that waking from a three-thousand-year nap takes a while. But once you get them free, we can help you.”

  “We who?” I asked.

  “Everyone who is not Karn’s prisoner,” she snapped.

  “How long do I have?” I asked. Now, there was a ticking clock that was counting down even as I had this conversation with Patsy. Karn’s little nightmare clock where he was killing my best friend.

  What a fucking jackass.

  “Not long. She’s such a little thing.”

  “Could the ambrosia save her?”

  “Yes,” said Patsy. “Brigid told us that ambrosia is extremely rare. It’s a cure-all, though. And there is that whole immortality thing that goes with it.”

  “If you can’t save Dove, then promise me you’ll give the ambrosia to her.”

  It didn’t appear that Patsy knew I was supposed to receive the ambrosia as a thank-you gift for handing over my blood-filled body to the Ancients. And that was fine. If the last earthly thing I managed to do was save that kid, then that was worthwhile.

  “I’ll be goddamned if Karn gets it,” said Patsy. “You’re doing us a huge solid, Moira. Once you awaken the Ancients and get the ambrosia to us, I promise you I’ll use it to save her.”

  I believed her. I didn’t have a choice, really, because if I was dead, I couldn’t make sure she fulfilled the bargain. But all the same, I did think she would try to save Dove.

  Patsy looked around the room, her gaze once again falling on Drake. “Are you almost to their chamber?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Well, that su—” Patsy’s eyes went wide, and then her form started wavering erratically. She sent me a look of regret, and said, “Aw, shit.”

  Then she was gone.

  For a few seconds I stared at the empty space.

  I guess Patsy had no real control over the whole soul journey aspect of her powers. However, I was relieved that the queen was back with Dove. I couldn’t imagine what she was going through, and I was making a promise to myself right now that Karn would pay for hurting her.

  I took a breath, tried to gather my thoughts into some kind of workable plan. Okay, all I had to do was find Shamhat and Amahté, steal the ambrosia, kill them, and try to get to Dove before I died from all the blood loss.

  Yeah, right. I gnawed my lower lip. That scenario wasn’t under serious consideration. Doing what Karn wanted only meant everyone would die faster. He was too smart to think he could do anything other than kill us all. We were obstacles standing in the way of his goal. And if he let us live, we’d figure out a way to stop him. I mean, the people of Broken Heart could certainly take the phrase “Never say die” really, really far.

  I heard a noise, and looked over my shoulder.

  Drake the man had returned. My gaze feasted on his naked form. He was still prone, groaning as he rolled over and put a hand against his forehead.

  “Are you okay?” I called out.

  He sat up slowly and offered me a tired smile. “I will live, Liebling.”

  “Glad to hear it.” I moved toward him, relieved that he was conscious, selfishly happy that I would be able to spend a few moments more with him. Granted, we’d consistently been in peril, but it had been a helluva first date.

  “Chosen, present thyself to thy fate.”

  The booming voice echoed through the chamber, rolling out from the darkened place behind me.

  I heard Drake’s strangled cry, but I couldn’t turn to see what had placed that look of shock on his handsome face. I was surrounded by a paralyzing Arctic chill, like a giant icy hand had closed around me. And it was pulling me inside.

  “Moira!”

  I saw Drake leap to his feet and run toward me.

  But it was too late.

  I was dragged into the darkness.

  Chapter 22

  Even preternaturally fast Drake couldn’t get to me quickly enough. I saw raw frustration and worry bleed into his expression, right before the doorway disappeared.

  My heart pounded so hard I could hear the beat of it inside my eardrums. My breathing had gone shallow, and fear added to the intense chill caused by my invisible captor.

  Being enveloped by darkness so quiet and thick was like I imagined it would feel being tucked into a sarcophagus. I wasn’t claustrophobic, but the feeling of having nothing around me was disconcerting.

  Know your beginning . . .

  The voice echoed in my head. I knew the feeling by now, the floating sensation that happened right before a vision. This time I found myself suddenly hovering at ceiling level in a room I recognized right away.

  • • •

  The classroom was typical. A big, solid desk sat in front of a white board and a chalkboard. A series of desks for the students took up the rest of the room, except in the back, where big black supply cabinets stood like sentinels.

  Oh, God. I didn’t want to be here.

  But wishing wouldn’t make me disappear.

  So I had to watch . . .

  The little girl wore a blue checkered dress and white shoes. Her red hair was pulled into two ponytails. The little fasteners had white daisies on them. She sat in the first desk in the first row, concentrating on the coloring book page. The unicorn was pink, all except for its horn. That was currently being made into a rainbow. Because unicorns had rainbow horns. Everyone knew that.

  The mother sat at the big desk marking her way through a stack of papers. “Almost done, honey,” she said. “You okay?”

  “Yes, Mommy. I’m okay dokay!”

  Regina smiled.

  My heart clenched. I hadn’t remembered her smile. Just the feeling of her love. My grandparents had loved me tremendously, had given me everything. But they couldn’t give me that. A mother’s love was unique, precious.

  “Want to see my picture, Mommy?”

  “Yes, darling.”

  I took the page and skipped to the desk, crawling onto my mother’s lap. I put the drawing on the desk.

  “That’s beautiful, Moira!” She gave me a smacking kiss on my cheek, and I giggled.

  “Do me a favor, babe? I need a new red pen to grade my papers. You remember where they are?”

  “In the back room, first cabinet on the left. Third shelf.” I preened, obviously proud that I’d gotten my mother a red pen before.

  “Perfect.” She twirled the chair around and lifted me off her lap. “Scoot now. As soon as I get these papers graded, we can go home.”

  “And have ice cream?” I asked.

  She smiled. “After dinner . . . absolutely.”

  “Yay!”

  I skipped to the back room and went to the cabinet. The boxes holding red pens were lined up neatly, and I was careful about picking one off the shelf. Opening the top took a little longer, but finally I was able to extract one red pen.

  I replaced the box. Then I walked the short distance to the door that led to the main classroom. It was halfway open, and I went to slip through it, but then I heard a deep male voice.

  I hesitated. My heart hitched in my chest, and I gripped the red pen as I poked my head through the door.

  “Your mother is dead. And with her, all that lovely magical protection you’ve enjoyed.”

  My mother rose from the desk and faced the man standing in the doorway. “I didn’t know who I was,” she said. “They didn’t tell me. But you did, Br
an. You knew.”

  “Of course I knew. You were the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, Regina. The proof I needed. And our little tryst . . . well, I had hoped for better results.”

  “You’re a bastard.”

  “And you’re a lying bitch. I’ve seen the girl. I bet you wish I’d stayed buried under that pile of rocks.” He laughed, but it was not a joyous sound. “That little tumble down the mountain didn’t kill me. By the time I recovered, your mother had enacted the spells. I couldn’t get near you. Or her. My daughter.”

  “She’s not yours.”

  “Oh, yes, she is.”

  Something about the man seemed strange. His eyes were too bright, and there was a sweaty sheen to his skin. He was tall, but on the lean side. He had short blond hair and was dressed in an oxford-cloth shirt, black pants, and black shoes. He looked feverish and pale.

  My mother kept her voice calm and edged away from the desk. I got the feeling she was trying very hard not to look in my direction. She didn’t want the man to notice me. I shrank back, but kept an eye on what was going on. I had a very bad feeling in my tummy.

  “I want what’s mine.” He stepped into the room. “So long as I have her, I don’t need you.” The man raised the knife. The blade was made of a white stone. The hilt was made of beaten copper. I recognized it instantly. My grandfather claimed to have excavated it from an Indus Valley site. He’d displayed the knife in a locked glass case in his study. To this day, it was in the same location. After he died, I hadn’t touched my grandfather’s study, leaving it intact because I so enjoyed the memories invoked when I tucked myself into his big leather chair and stared at his books and archaeological treasures. Now, I was astounded that he’d openly displayed his own daughter’s murder weapon.

  I knew how this would end, I knew and I didn’t want to see. I wasn’t only a victim of tragedy, but also a witness to it. I had spent the entire rest of my life trying to forget, to not deal with it, to . . . oh, God. My father. My father took everything from me.

  “No.” Her voice broke. “Please.”

  Sorrow pressed in on me. I was formless, merely a soul visiting my so-called beginning. I was so fearful, so immersed in that awful feeling of helplessness and fury and grief that I couldn’t bear it.