“Don’t pose. Just stand there,” he instructed as he adjusted the lens. “Now, say death.” I flinched, wondering if I heard him correctly. He smiled as he watched my reaction, taking several shots.
“Did I make you uneasy?” he asked as he continued to snap shots.
“No … no, I’m fine. It was just odd,” I admitted. Odd being an understatement.
“That word seems to bring out so much more in people: hate, sorrow, introspection, anger.
He continued snapping pictures and didn’t seem like he was going to stop anytime soon. I took several sidesteps, moving out of his line of sight.
“I think you have enough pictures,” I said, making an attempt to sound both firm and polite. I wasn’t sure if I quite pulled it off, but he stopped abruptly and gave me a forced smile.
“You have beautiful eyes,” he admitted, raising the camera slightly and taking another picture.
“Yes, they are,” I heard Josh say as he leaned against the doorframe. I looked up, but Owen didn’t move from his position or acknowledge Josh’s presence. “We have to leave tomorrow at six,” he informed me. Josh smiled when I gave him an appreciative look for offering a viable interruption to this weirdness.
I nodded, “I really should get some sleep,” I stated politely to Owen, who still seemed to be oddly fascinated with me. It wasn’t a physical attraction—I was sure of that. It was an odd form of curiosity that left me baffled. “Good night,” I said firmly.
His lips tightened as he worked at a smile. “Night,” he whispered before he left the room.
I closed the door firmly behind him then leaned against it listening until I heard his footsteps down the hall.
Josh, Steven and I boarded an empty ferry that would take us from the mainland to a small island nearby. It was fall in the Midwest and it was getting cold; too bad no one let the people below the Mason Dixon line know. I wore a small jacket over a thin shirt, something unthought-of during late fall. I finally asked where we were going as we sailed across the murky river to the unknown small island. We inched further from the beauty: large magnolia trees, blossoming flowers and trees that bore the very best thing about Georgia—peaches.
“Sapelo Island,” said Josh. That didn’t tell me much, especially since I was expecting us to stay on the mainland, preferably Atlanta. I wondered if sources ever lived in large cities or would we always be traveling off somewhere to a land where man was either forgotten or barely acknowledged. “And who are we meeting?”
“A dream guide. When I have my visions, I can only see you, Demetrius and the seethe. So many pieces are missing, and if he’s as good as rumored, he will help me put them together.”
Josh seemed more than hopeful; there was a sense of desperation as if this might be his final hope. He wore it so casually, displaying a level of confidence under pressure that made me a little envious.
The ferry docked at this little island, located on the far southern end of Georgia. It was a beautiful piece of land that at one time served as a plantation. Despite its distasteful history, it maintained its historic simplicity and charm with the help of the government and the locals. The island population consisted of less than a hundred. The ferry was more like a time machine, taking you back to an era of small towns, nature and pre-industrialization. It was nature in its most simplistic and basic form.
Instead of a grocery store chain, they had a neighborhood market. There were two small churches adjacent to each other that previously were segregated but now were divided by denomination. A small gas station was within walking distance from the library, which was run by the locals on a volunteer basis. I didn’t see a tower for cable, and both Josh and Steven seemed put off by the fact that they didn’t have cellphone service.
We treaded through the marshland as bugs had dinner at our expense. We eventually came to a small blue house located in the middle of the woods. Surrounded by trees and plants, there wasn’t another house for miles.
Josh listened at the door for a moment then knocked. He waited for several more minutes and knocked again when no one answered. Someone was home; I could hear movement. We walked around the house, and sitting on the porch, was an elderly man. Deep creases from age and years of sun exposure ran along his creamy mocha forehead. He acknowledged our presence with a frown. A pair of mix-matched eyes, one deep gray and the other cloudy topaz, did an excellent job of making us feel unwelcomed.
When he stood up, his tall ragged appearance was intimidating—well to me anyway, Steven and Josh seemed unaffected. “Thomas, I am Josh and these are my associates. I need your help,” Josh stated directly.
Thomas looked at Josh intensely but made no effort to acknowledge Steven or me.
“I apologize for just showing up without calling. However, I had no way of contacting you. Based on your reputation, you are someone I need to talk to,” Josh stated with a small overtly friendly smile. His charms were wasted on Thomas, who continued to look perturbed by his presence.
Josh walked toward Thomas; Steven took my arm to stop my approach. Josh was less a foot from Thomas when he was brought to his knees by some unknown force. Thomas’s eyes glazed over as Josh struggled to breathe. His face paled; lips turned a horrid shade of blue. Then his eyes went blank. Thomas was doing this to Josh. My body tensed and adrenaline took over all logic. I headed for Josh, but Steven pulled me closer to him.
“Skylar, don’t,” he stated firmly near my ear.
“He’s hurting him,” I kept my eyes on Josh as he continued to struggle for breath.
“I know,” he stated in an even tone, unaffected by the situation.
“We have to help him,” I commanded impatiently. Steven’s grip tightened as I twisted my arm, trying to loosen from his grasp when he didn’t make an effort to assist Josh.
“We can’t,” he said firmly. Josh struggled for breath; then, in a swift movement, he was thrown back several feet, landing on his back. He was in reaching distance. When I tried to move toward him, Steven pulled me closer. Josh’s eyes were bloodshot, and deep blue vessels became apparent on his sickly pale skin.
I twisted against Steven, urging him to help. Instead, he focused on the area behind the house, intentionally ignoring the assault taking place in front of us. Thomas was hurting Josh and I had to stand there as an unwilling spectator. Suddenly, Josh waved his hand in front of him, and Thomas was thrown back against the house. A murky mist formed over his head and covered him.
“That’s enough of that.” Josh stated, standing up and gaining his composure before he walked over to Thomas, who was now in a trance-like state. Some color had returned to Josh’s face and his eyes were back to normal. Once he was close to Thomas, he waved his hands again, bringing him back. Thomas shook for a few moments, ridding himself of the residual effects of the magic.
Thomas nodded his head to Josh but I couldn’t tell if it were concession or reverence. “How may I help you?” he asked in his deep rough voice.
“I need you as a guide,” Josh informed him.
“Please, come in,” he offered as he opened the door. I was reluctant to proceed; if that were a typical dream guide greeting, I wasn’t sure we could take any more of his hospitality.
“I’ve had dreams and she’s in them. She’s in trouble but I can’t see much more,” Josh informed Thomas as we walked into the house.
Thomas stepped closer and tried to touch me. I sidestepped and moved out of reach. He smirked and returned his attention to Josh.
“She can stay with the coyote. Her presence is strong; she doesn’t need to be with us for the journey,” he said as Josh followed him out of the room.
“I don’t mind coming with him,” I offered. I didn’t like the idea of Josh being alone with Thomas if he decided to treat him to another one of his welcomes, although I was confident he could handle himself if he did.
Josh turned around to look at me. “It’ll be fine,” he assured me. “He’s done playing his little games.”
I loo
ked at him skeptically, wishing I had the ability to detect a lie.
He bit back a smile. “I give you my word,” he said.
I nodded once and reluctantly stayed put, feeling as if I had been unknowingly dropped into a foreign land where everyone expected me to know the norms and customs. Placed into a world where violence and hostile posturing were typical, almost expected, I didn’t know how to adapt and wasn’t sure I wanted to.
I paced the small room, which was illuminated only by the natural light from the small window in the center of the wall. The veneer bookshelves took up most of the wall space in the room. They were filled with books, mostly mystical and a few historical. Three small consoles where laid out throughout the room, covered with statues and figures. I wasn’t sure what religion he subscribed to, but candles surrounded the figures along with a few ornate talismans. The pungent scent of incense filled the room. After pacing the floor for twenty minutes throughout every inch of the area, I took a seat on the sofa next to Steven, who looked bored out of his mind.
Steven eventually occupied himself by walking through the room, picking up, playing with and occasionally sniffing some of the many talismans on the tables.
“You’re going to turn yourself into a frog,” I quipped back when an odd-looking statue piqued his interest. He smiled, walked back and sunk into to the narrow, worn sofa.
“You weren’t born a were-coyote, were you?” I asked after we had sat on the sofa for nearly an hour in silence. Something about him was different: less instinctual, more learned behavior.
His lips pressed together, and his jaws became painfully taut. When he finally looked at me, his face held the look of suppressed pain and grief. His mood turned morose.
“I am sorry. Sometimes I’m too damned nosy,” I blundered out. “Your past is none of my business,” I continued, angry with myself for prying.
He made an attempt a smile. Taking a deep breath, he spoke with a voice that was light and mournful. “My parents died in a car accident when I was a young child. My sister, eleven years older than me, took on the task of raising me. The insurance money took care of most of our basic financial needs, but she took on the role as mother so well. It was amazing how she went to college while working diligently to keep my life together as though my mother were still alive. I still went to summer camps, boy scouts, Tae Kwon Do and soccer. She cooked … real meals, not the crap out of a box, the same way our mother did.”
He stopped briefly, taking a moment before exhaling a long ragged breath and continuing. “I was nine when my sister suddenly seemed on edge all the time. She believed someone was stalking her. We never saw anyone but she knew he was there and I believed her. Then one morning, she woke up with a bruise on her neck, which we later discovered was a vampire marking. He played with her like this for weeks,” grief lingered over his last words, and I felt his sorrow. He was quiet for a long moment as he composed himself, “She was being stalked by a vampire who had become captivated by her. He never made his presence known, except for the bite marks he left as gifts of his visit. He attacked her when he was finally overtaken by lust. I walked in on him during his attack and managed to kill him.”
“You killed a vampire at nine?” I asked, shocked.
He nodded. “If he weren’t so distracted with my sister, I might not have been able to, but I was terribly injured. It was Joan who found me and took me to the pack.”
“But you’re a coyote, if she turned you, why aren’t you a jaguar?” I asked confused.
“She didn’t turn me; their third did. Jaguars, like most felines, prefer a solitary life. Many of them do not choose pack life. With everything I had been through, she thought I would choose to be alone, refusing to establish bonds with anyone. She wanted me to survive the change but also accept the pack as my new family. I was so badly injured that I would not have survived a wolf transition, so a coyote was the next best thing. Joan raised me, and I was part of the Southern Pack until I transferred to the Midwest Pack.” He smiled as he thought of Joan and her convoluted plan to give him something he lost—a family.
I wanted to hug him, but I wasn’t sure how he would respond. The pack seemed to have an odd thing about emotions. Instead, I rested my hand lightly on his leg; eventually, his hand covered mine.
When Josh walked out of the room nearly three hours later, he looked uneasy. His bruising from his earlier altercation with Thomas had darkened, and he looked distant and deep in thought. “Your help will not be forgotten. Please feel free to call upon me if needed,” he told Thomas before walking out of the house.
He left the house, obviously disappointed while Steven and I rushed out behind him. Long, swift strides made his gait look more like a slow run.
“Was he able to help?” I asked, nearly running to keep in pace with him.
He stopped brusquely and shook his head. “Not as much as I would have liked,” he admitted and continued to walk toward the ferry.
I stopped abruptly, disappointed. We had come all this way and we were no better off.
“Skylar, we have far more information than before.” He handed me a sketch.
“What is it?” I asked, taking the picture. I examined the paper, turning it to look at it from different angles. It was a poorly drawn stone with a series of rings surrounding it.
“At this point, your guess would be as good as mine,” he breathed out, frustrated. “Demetrius had it on in the dreams. It’s newly acquired, and I am willing to bet it’s the reason for his newfound interest in you. I just don’t know what it is or what it’s used for.”
I stared at the picture, hoping it would jar my memory, but I had never seen anything similar to it. During the long walk back to the ferry, I stared at the picture, burning it into my memory. If needed, I could describe it and identify it with ease.
“What happened between you and Thomas? Why did he try to kill you and then help you,” I finally asked as we approached the sycamore-lined bank of the river near the ferry landing.
“He wasn’t trying to kill me. It’s a warlock thing.”
“It’s their silly pissing contest,” Steven offered lightly behind us with grin.
“Oh, you mean like the dominance stares. That’s nothing but a pissing contest at the most primitive level,” Josh rebutted with a glare.
Josh sat under a large sycamore and I sat in front of him, playing with the grass. “I guess you’re the dominant warlock,” I asked, looking up from the grass that I had shredded into small confetti.
“I’m always the most dominant warlock,” he stated. For something that should have given him bragging rights, he didn’t sound very happy about it.
“Are you an Alpha warlock?”
He shook his head, “We don’t have Alphas. It’s based on magical levels, ranked from five to one. Level fives are the lowest level, which most don’t consider worth mentioning. Their skills are no better than a cruise-ship magician. Your level is often determined after training but most of us don’t go through the testing; It’s long, tedious, and rather unnecessary. With witchcraft, you often know your level based on your skills and the magic you can perform. I’m a level one.. With the exception of the Creed, the witches who govern us and are also responsible for training, I only know of ten others.”
He was looking out toward the water, his voice impassive as he spoke. I couldn’t determine if he considered his abilities a gift or a burden. “Witches gifts are passed upon death to their child. Ethan should have inherited them, but because of the wolf magic, he couldn’t; so I got it.” He looked over and smiled, but he seemed so preoccupied with his thoughts that it came off as insincere, forced. “It’s a lot of responsibility,” he admitted, rustling his hair as his thoughts drifting off somewhere. Perhaps he was imagining life without such responsibilities. He suddenly snapped out of whatever held his thought, his lips twisting into a smile that could bring a blush to most women’s cheeks.
“If you are a stronger warlock, then why did Thomas attack you?”
I asked, walking toward the ferry as it docked.
“It’s a rather archaic practice by some older witches. When a favor is requested from a lower level witch to a higher level, it can be declined; if accepted, a very high debt is incurred. In this world, debts can be lethal. But a favor from a higher-level witch to a lower is rarely turned down. It is to their best interest to curry favor with them. He was just testing me to see who was stronger. He’s a level two; I doubt he imagined I would be higher.”
“They are quite a pair,” Owen finally offered as I leaned against the pillar of his home, watching Josh and Ethan. They were too far away for me to hear what they were talking about, but Ethan looked engrossed and neither bothered to hide their frustration with the results of today’s visit.
Owen had been behind me, quietly observing them as well. I glanced over my shoulder to look at him; as I suspected, he was preoccupied with them—or rather Ethan. Narrow penetrating eyes studied him. Owen stepped closer to me. “You’ll be safe with them. Josh will work diligently not only to continue proving himself to the pack but also to impress his brother. Ethan’s arrogance won’t allow him to fail.”
What was Owen, the narrator? I had become familiar with Ethan’s and Josh’s personalities and the dynamics of the house; I didn’t need his play-by-play analysis. Besides, he seemed more interested in what was going on between them than I did. “What’s your problem with Ethan?” I asked, turning to face him.
Stunned by my assessment, he smiled. I doubt it was possible to curve your lips into something less sincere. “My dear, I don’t have any problems with Ethan. I hold him among the few that I admire,” he stated in a very pronounced Southern drawl, making his words sound wholesome and sweet. He was lying. I didn’t have a basis for confirming it, but I just knew.
When Ethan walked toward us, the look on Owen’s face didn’t allude to anything that could remotely be perceived as admiration. It held disdain—utter, impenitent disdain. “We are leaving tonight,” he informed me. Steven and Josh had driven away just minutes before.
Moon Tortured (Sky Brooks Series Book 1) Page 11
