She wouldn’t survive the whole winter homeless. She’d starve or freeze or a combination of the two. Why let her suffer?
*
Wynne was where she should be, waiting outside the small restaurant where he’d bought her supper every evening for the past week.
Patrick went along with it—well-fed, her life would be stronger, would feed the demons better and give him more power. To stay casual and friendly grew harder with each passing day, though. More and more, she reminded him of Irina. Brilliant sixteen-year-old Irina, who had challenged him to a game elvenmages commonly played with illusions, all innocent smiles. Half-trained Irina, who had defeated her twenty-two-year-old cousin so thoroughly, so effortlessly, that he’d walked out of Falias, unable to bear that final humiliation of countless others. Deceitful Irina, who had feigned such distress over his rage and embarrassment, who hid her contempt behind a mask of concern that fooled everyone else.
And Wynne’s mother had been a Lioren, like that arrogant showoff he’d encountered a year ago and not yet gotten around to tracking down. That meant she was a Lioren, by blood though not by name.
This year, he didn’t think he’d find his task nearly as disagreeable as he usually did.
He encouraged her to eat as much as she could, and ate well himself—he wouldn’t be able to grab quick snacks tonight, his mind would need to be on what he was doing.
“Tonight’s solstice,” he commented, while they lingered over tea.
Wynne shrugged, carefully neutral. “Yeah, so?”
He gave her his best, most charming smile, and backed it with just a hint of magical suggestion. “The longest night of the year isn’t a time I enjoy being alone. I don’t know any elf who finds it a comfortable night. Maybe if we spend it together, it won’t be so bad.” He left it up to her to interpret what he might mean specifically.
Briefly, Wynne hesitated, then nodded. “Solstice always makes me feel all tense,” she confessed. “I don’t want to be alone either.”
He paid, and they walked back to his motel room.
Sikial was waiting, sitting in mid-air, legs crossed. It saw Wynne, and licked its lips.
Wynne stopped, suddenly uncertain. “What’s that?”
Patrick closed the door. The lock snapped shut, and light coiled around the knob, sealing it in place so it couldn’t be turned. With a thought, he ringed the entire room in light, soundproofing it—or rather, creating an illusion of silence from within, which amounted to the same thing.
“Let me tell you about my cousin Irina, Wynne,” he purred. “And about the new friends I found after I left Falias.”
25
Rebecca settled herself more comfortably on the large cushion, while Avryl and Moira fussed over preparations. She gazed distantly out the window, where some time before the sun had set in a glory of colour and only stars remained.
Within, the only colour lay in the designs painted meticulously on a large black square of pure silk, some five feet on a side. Avryl, Moira, and Duayne had spent many hours and some expense on it, but Rebecca had to admit that in any number of ways it was preferable to coloured sand or chalk all over the wood-tiled floor. The entire coven was, of course, in black. Karl, like Rebecca, was sitting out of the way, though he looked indulgent rather than bored; technically, there was nothing stopping a wolf from being involved in this sort of magic, but neither had much interest in doing so. Being present through it was, for the most part, tedious enough.
Avryl set a black candle in a clear glass holder at each point of the star, while Moira busied herself with the incense. Rebecca wrinkled her nose, but resigned herself to enduring it.
Personally, she thought they spent much too much time worrying about finicky little details; most magic was simply will and so-called “spells” were merely to help focus will, so why should this be any different? Duayne, however, insisted that there was power inherent in the actual symbols and the ancient words in Sumerian or Arabic or whatever it was.
If they wanted to do all that extra work, well, why argue?
Hopefully midnight would come before she fell asleep.
She amused herself by thinking about the past few months. Kevin’s black wolf pet didn’t seem to notice any fences or chains; perhaps, she mused, this was to him freedom in contrast with what he’d known before. The unspoken truce between Whitethorn and Sundark did make life a little calmer, and it made matters peaceful between the members of Whitethorn.
More peaceful, at least; the demon-summoning games were becoming more and more of an obsession with her non-wolf coven-mates. Karl made it very clear that though he considered it a waste of time, he also considered it their right to waste it that way if they so chose. Calling demons had taken over from plans of so-called revenge as the new issue of heated discussions within Whitethorn. Certainly it was useful, and kept her coven happy and busy, but this was perhaps being done too often for the reasonable safety of all concerned. The many stories of the dangers involved were probably not all exaggeration by frightened sheep.
Midnight, finally.
Avryl and Moira and Duayne spaced themselves evenly around the pentagram and began the calling. Rebecca found it extremely difficult to concentrate on words she could make no sense of, words that sounded to her like they were mostly consonants, but she focused her gaze on the nearest candle and disciplined her thoughts into the proper quietness.
As the invocation ended, the demon came, stepping out of air as though through a door they couldn’t see. It chose this time the form of a tall blonde man with great golden wings for arms. It examined its prison, determined that it could not escape, and turned its attention to its captors.
“What do you seek?” it demanded.
“There is a book,” Avryl said. “Written by Zayda and Isak Maridas. The Transcendent Wisdom of the Elementals.” Though her back was to Rebecca, the wolf could envision easily enough the glow in her eyes at the thought of yet another book to feed her hunger. “I want it.”
“There will be a price, mistress.”
There always was, and usually it involved the death of some animal; it had progressed, as the tasks grew more difficult, from mouse to chicken to rabbit.
“What price do you ask?” Moira said.
“There is one who interests me, mistress, yet he is well protected and my curiosity remains unsatisfied.”
Rebecca frowned to herself. One thing to turn over an animal or two, already destined to be food, to a demon, but to hand over a person? That seemed like a lot of risk and trouble over a book—and cold-blooded murder was an uncomfortable thought.
“Who?” Avryl asked calmly.
“I cannot speak his name. He is that one about whom you have asked many questions of me, mistress.”
This she liked less. Break the truce between Whitethorn and Sundark?
“What exactly do you want us to do about him?” Avryl sounded not at all disturbed by the thought.
“Drive him from this place, out where I can see him clearly. Drive him from those who shield him. Swear this to me, mistress, and you shall have what you ask.”
“That’s not going to be easy,” Moira said doubtfully.
Avryl made a dismissive gesture. “Yes it will. It will, however, require a way to neutralize wolf immunity to poisons without letting him know.”
“This I can do.” The demon looked just a little too eager to help. “There is a way. I can fetch for you wine from… elsewhere, mistress. Wine which will affect him as strong wine of your world reaches a human, and reduce his resistance greatly while it remains within his body.”
“No wolfsbane taste?”
“None, I promise. The wine and the book, and you will drive him out of this place, mistress?”
“Maybe we should think about this,” Moira cautioned. For the first time in a while, Rebecca agreed completely with the mage.
Avryl, though, was too caught up in the fire, the hunger for ever more knowledge. “The wine and the book in return for o
ur best effort to chase Jesse out of Haven without his friends,” she said. “Sworn.”
Rebecca felt a cold chill shiver along her spine. Breaking bargains with demons was a distinctly unwise thing to do; Avryl had just bound them to it.
Anger surged. Just who led this coven, anyway? How dare Avryl make a commitment like that for all of them? For Rebecca?
“May I go, mistress? The wine will take a short time. The book may take longer to find and bring to you.”
Avryl nodded curtly. “The wine tonight. The book as soon as you can.”
The demon bowed as best it could, and slipped away through its unseen doorway.
Seething, Rebecca held her tongue until Avryl and Moira and Duayne had completed the ritual.
Then she rose and advanced on Avryl. The witch spun around when Rebecca slapped a hand down on her shoulder.
“How dare you,” Rebecca hissed. “I lead this coven, or have you forgotten? Who gave you the power to make such a promise in the name of all Whitethorn?”
Avryl blinked at her in confusion. “It’s only Jesse. You weren’t terribly concerned about his wellbeing when you tricked him into a circle with us. I can take care of this, you won’t need to do anything. What’s got your tail tied in a knot?”
Rebecca shoved the witch hard enough that she stumbled and fell on the couch. Fists clenched, Rebecca stood over her.
“Don’t you ever, ever, swear anything for all of us again, is that clear? Or do you have a problem with that, human?”
Duayne laid a hand pacifyingly on Rebecca’s arm. “Come on, Becky, calm down. It’s not a big deal. There’s no time in the middle of a ritual to stop and hold a coven discussion.”
Rebecca whirled, and slapped him hard. Duayne retreated a few steps, one hand flying to his abused cheek.
“It is a big deal! This is my coven! I risk my damned life to keep you safe, and I get no gratitude other than lip-service thanks! I stay here in this cage instead of going farther north, somewhere I can run free, and you try to add a leash as well as the cage!”
“You’re making an awful big fuss over Kevin’s little pet,” Karl said lazily. “You wouldn’t be going soft on us, would you?”
“This isn’t about him! This time, we will do as her royal highness Avryl swore us to do. If anything like this ever happens again, I’ll stand back and let predators eat the whole lot of you. Unless, Karl, you really think you stand a chance alone?” Silence. “Do whatever you have planned, Avryl, just don’t expect any help from me. Then you’d better enjoy this book it brings you, because it will be the last until I say otherwise. Is all of this getting through?” She glowered at Avryl until her eyes dropped, did the same with Duayne and Karl and Moira.
She strode to the kitchen door, and flung it open, not caring that the January wind swept into the house and the warm air made its escape while it could; she shifted to wolf, and trotted out to the road. On its cleared surface, she lengthened her strides to a run, then pushed herself faster still, pouring all her fury into the smooth rhythm of the exercise, her joy in her own body. She rounded a corner, and a hare looked up in surprise, without even time to bolt before she was on it, tearing at it.
The hare’s hot blood and flesh were a cleansing of sorts; calmer, she loped away, still reluctant to return to the house just yet.
For that matter, maybe she’d just sleep outside. She was wolf, she’d be fine, she’d spent colder nights than this curled up with her face between her hind legs and her tail over her head, more comfortable than any human would understand.
Not just yet, though, she’d run more first, work off the extra energy, then later she’d find a place to sleep. If her coven—she would have laughed in derision if this form allowed it; her coven—wondered where she was, that was their problem. She did whatever she pleased, and answered to no one. That was how things were meant to be.
26
Damn school anyway.
Jesse dumped the supper dishes in the sink with more violence than he intended; one of the plates cracked in three.
Somehow that fit his mood. Swearing fluently, he fished the pieces out from under the other plates and dropped them in the garbage.
I am not washing these god-damned dishes right now! If they’re still here when I get a minute, which they probably will be, then we’ll see. He rummaged in the cupboard for dishes for leftovers, turned back to the table to toss the rest of the spaghetti noodles in one and the sauce in the other. Both he deposited in the fridge hard enough to shake the shelves.
It wasn’t that he was angry over seeing so little of his friends; he remembered his own high school exams before he’d run away and sympathized with the stress, and surely college was worse. Nor was he angry that his four housemates had come home, found to their relief that he had supper ready, eaten quickly, and scattered again to studying and evening classes; that was why he’d done it, to save them the hassle. He didn’t really mind working a lot for Sam, to give her the study time for the classes she was taking, he liked spending time there, or doing extra hours for Tomas at the Brewery to take up the slack for Sonja who was dealing with January exams, it was interesting meeting people. In the six, almost seven, months he’d been living in Haven full-time, both jobs had come to mean a lot to him, and his friends certainly did. He didn’t mind taking over virtually all the care of Cynthia’s young white-footed, white-chested black cat Hob, a gift last summer from Sam; Hob was actually quite appreciative. He could understand Caitryn’s sudden absence from his bed; she’d made it very clear that sex between packmates wasn’t considered to involve any particular strings, only meeting mutual needs, and besides, he had no reason to think she wouldn’t go back to showing up a couple of nights a week again once everything calmed down. Anyway, Cait was a considerate and creative lover, but she was also enthusiastic, and he wasn’t sure he’d have the energy to keep up right now. And, okay, so there was no time for the pack to play and hunt and run together.
All that he could handle, maybe not happily, but resignedly, and waiting for exams to end and things to go back to normal—down to more reasonable work hours, and generally enjoying life with his friends, and continuing to learn all the countless things about Haven life that he still didn’t know.
What was frustrating him was completely irrational. It was all little things. Like at supper. Not once had any of the other four said anything not purely functional—pass the butter, Jess?—or comparing notes about, what else, exams. Not a word that indicated that they were really aware of his presence, and barely an absent-minded thanks from Deanna before they left. Little things like no one seeming at all to realize the effort he was making to help.
Come on, Jess, these people saved your ass and they’ve given you a decent life, which you were sure you’d never have. Aren’t you being just a bit touchy?
No, damn it! It wouldn’t have cost them anything tonight to talk about something else for a little while! At least Sam checks in once in a while that I’m okay. All Tomas says is, Jess, can you work Tuesday night, I need you.
Damn it all, people, I’m still here!
Feeling the urge to hit something, but refraining, he wiped the table off, threw the rag in the sink, and left for work. His usual way, running four-footed along the road—it wasn’t a problem wearing just his magesilks to work, if he so chose.
“You’re late,” Tomas greeted him mildly. No scent of anger, only distraction, impatience.
“Huh? It’s ten to seven.”
“Jess, Claudia had to take today off. I asked you yesterday…”
The memory finally registered. “To be here for five-thirty. Shit. I’m sorry. Would you believe I forgot?” Oh, that sounded wonderful.
“Figured it was something like that. When I called it was busy.”
“One of the phones is probably off the hook.” This was the finishing touch to his black mood.
“Everyone makes the odd mistake. I’m not going to throw fits over it. Just please, Jess, I really need to be abl
e to count on you right now…”
“Won’t happen again. I promise.”
“Go on.”
“Where have you been?” Nyssa demanded, meeting him between tables. “Here, take this to sixteen.” She shoved a laden tray into his hands, and swirled away.
The pace began to pick up within the hour, leaving him with no time to indulge himself in frustrated thoughts.
A tall redheaded woman sauntered in, and sat down near the back, well into his territory. He debated begging Nyssa to take care of her anyway—he’d met her once before and though she’d been civil enough, he’d found it a less than comfortable experience given that she’d nearly killed him—but decided not to push his luck.
“What can I get you?” he asked her.
“Just a drink. Bloody Mary.”
“Sure thing.” Why did that choice not surprise him? He passed on the order to Tomas, took care of another, got it and brought it to her. “Give me a yell if you need anything else.”
“Something bothering you, Jesse? You smell a bit off tonight. Things turned sour in paradise?”
“Rebecca,” he said tightly, choosing his words carefully, “with all due respect, what goes on in my life is my business, not yours, and I’d really appreciate it if you’d remember that.”
“All due respect. I like that.”
“I really need to take care of some other tables. Excuse me.” No way was he going to let her see what it cost him to stay in control, when everything in him screamed for a fight to release all the tension locked tight in his guts.
She ordered wolf-style steak the next time he came by, but she said nothing else out of line; he served her with as few words as possible and tried to stay away as best he could. She left him an oddly large tip, which puzzled him; why had she done that?
He worked late, until one, so Nyssa could leave early. He could think of no other way to make up for leaving her alone for an hour and a half earlier.
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