Harvest: Dark Urban Fantasy (Shifter Chronicles Book 3)

by Melle Amade

“We have two banished shifters and the Ridder to Muiderkring West,” Uncle Steve drums his fingers against the base of a cattle trophy resting on the mantle. “I mean, if El Oso is looking for any of them, it’s highly likely he’s going to find us. I think they’re endangering our entire family.”

  “He’s not looking for us,” I say.

  “He might, at some point, be looking for him,” Uncle Steve points at Callum.

  “El Oso doesn’t want any of us,” Callum says. “He has what he’s looking for in Shae’s dad.”

  I swallow, my eyes flicking to Mom.

  “Look,” she says. “We appreciate your hospitality. Immensely. But these kids have survived a fire, a murderous revolt, being captured and attacked, watching their – I don’t know, mentor? – executed in front of them. I mean, beheaded! And now, well…” Her voice fades and she doesn’t say the words everyone knows are resting on her tongue. Now Roman and I’ve been banished and marked with a collar we will wear for the rest of our life.

  “Right. This is exactly why they should be in class,” Aunt Emma says. “A bit of normalcy will go a long way. Some physics and trigonometry.”

  “They teach trig out here?” Zan asks over my shoulder.

  “Why don’t you tell them we’re homeschooling them?” Natalie asks, tucking her sandy brown hair behind her ear.

  “And just how is that going to look?” Aunt Emma asks. “The principal of the school, married to a member of the school board, and we have long-term guests who are being home schooled?”

  “So, the question is, do we gain more attention not sending the kids to school or sending them?” Uncle Steve asks.

  “I’ll go,” I say.

  “That’s not your decision to make,” Mom admonishes me.

  “I don’t think you guys should worry so much about it,” I say. “How long has this place been here? A hundred years? El Oso doesn’t know it exists, he’s not going to know it exists. I think we want to blend in as much as possible with the local community.”

  Zan stares at me, her eyebrows raised. “Blend in?”

  “School started a couple of weeks ago, right?”

  Aunt Emma nods, a smug smile on her face.

  “I’ll be there,” I shrug with a slight smile. “No point in being a high school dropout as well as banished and marked.” My finger lightly presses against the collar.

  Mom frowns, but doesn’t say anything. Her fingernails pick at a worn button on the blue velvet couch. No one else in the room raises any objections. The screen door squawks as I press it open and step onto the porch.

  I’m around the back of the house in moments, but Zan has stayed inside.

  Good.

  Roman, Callum, Henry and Cooper are in the middle of game of horseshoes. A ripple of irritation moves through my shoulders. Are we just going to spend the rest of our days out here in the country playing stupid games?

  I pick up a water pistol lying forgotten on a bench and, staying in the shadows move closer to the game, I aim it carefully at Roman’s head. It’s a perfect shot. Water hits the back of his neck, slides under his collar and drips down his neck.

  “Hey!” He swipes backwards and glares at me, but my hand is against my lips, telling him to keep quiet. His gaze floats over the others, who are all in trying to show Henry some equine footwear throwing technique. Roman sidles over to me near the edge of the yard.

  “Can you get the keys to Cooper’s truck?” I ask. The distinct odor of compost wafts by me from the garden. The animals are fed and put in their stalls and the still air is only mottled by the low scuffle of hooves and the occasional bleat as the animals settle down for the night.

  Roman rests an arm on top of the fence as he narrows his gaze on me. “Why?” he asks.

  “I need something from the store.” I raise my shoulders innocently as if going to Hopper’s Corner is a normal part of my evening, which it isn’t. In fact, except for the rodeo and tubing on the river, I’ve avoided everything other than feeding the animals, bucking hay, and sulking around the farm.

  “Right,” Roman nods, pushing off the fence and going over to Cooper as I slip back into the shadows and go to wait by the truck.

  “Where are we really headed?” Roman asks as we bounce onto the short bridge crossing the Russian River. The dim lights of Hopper’s Corner and Saloon are just ahead of us. I point past them and down the other road.

  “That way,” I point. “Over the hill.”

  “Huh?” Roman’s head swivels towards me. “You want to see the Pomos?”

  “Can you drive the switchbacks?” I respond.

  He rolls his eyes at me. “That road has got nothing on Topanga,” he murmurs. “The question is, can you find the village in the dark?”

  I nod slowly. “Yeah, I think so. It’s the left-hand road at the top of the hill. It’s all dirt and may be pretty rough going, but that’s the only way I figure we can get there.”

  “Okay,” he nods. “But why are we going? And why didn’t you want anyone else to know?”

  I take a deep breath as we start up the mountain road. “It’s crazy,” I murmur.

  “Go on,” Roman nods. “I like crazy. Well, for the most part.”

  “You know the girl we saw in the woods when we were tubing?” I ask.

  “Yeah?”

  I nod. “Yeah. Well, she told me to come up to – to her party tonight.”

  “And we’re not telling anyone else because--why? They weren’t invited?”

  “I’m not sure,” I frown, staring out the window at the shadows of the trees we’re passing as the truck climbs from the valley floor. “The invitation was, I don’t know, only for us?” My tone is hesitant because I can’t describe the feeling in my guts; somehow, I’m connected to this girl and these people. It sounds crazy if I say it.

  “They might think…” Roman’s voice trails off, his fingers waving back and forth between us like there’s something going on. “Not sure you want Callum thinking that.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I insist. “We have to go.” He doesn’t remember too much from the rodeo grounds after his rodeo escapade, I still don’t dare tell him I think Jacqueline caused the earthquake at the rodeo. I don’t want him to think I’m too crazy.

  I point Roman down the dark dirt track that winds its way through the shadows. Mostly guessing at the direction, one would reach the reservation by road.

  “Are you sure this is the way?” Roman asks.

  I don’t bother to say anything, just give a simple nod. His knuckles turn white as his hand grips the steering wheel, trying to keep the truck on the bumpy earthen road.

  “We better not add another dent to Cooper’s truck.” I mutter. “The old thing’s dented up enough, but I’m pretty sure he knows every single scratch and mark on the it.”

  “We won’t,” Roman says though gritted teeth.

  A dim light glows between the dark shadows of the towering trees in front of us. “There,” I exclaim, my hand jabbing to beyond the dust swirling in front of our headlights. “Stop the truck,” I grip his elbow and he brakes immediately. I don’t miss the look of relief that comes over his face as the jostling of the cab comes to a halt.

  “Let’s park here and walk in,” I decide.

  “Okay,” Roman agrees as we both slide quietly out of the vehicle. There’s a good chance they heard us and know we’re here, but for some reason, we both keep silent as if we’re stealing up on them.

  As we softly shut the truck doors, a chorus of chanting rises louder through the woods. It comes from just beyond the village, past the large roundhouse at the end. It reverberates through me, tingling against my skin in a way like what I felt when Dad played the didgeridoo during the ceremony to keep me as a dove and raven. But here, with the soaring black woods all around, the sound seems to echo and bounce off everything and drive back through me.

  Flickering firelight scatters across the cabins. But the village is empty, everyone is gathered into a clearing on the fa
r side, one I hadn’t seen before. We’re intruders into their very private world. And there’s something, pushing against us, warning us. Trying to keep the rest of the world out.

  Roman feels it too, grabbing my elbow. “Maybe we should come back during the day and ask permission or something?”

  But I move forward. “No,” I say. “We’ve been invited and I want to know more. I want to understand what’s going on.”

  “Isn’t that what started all this in the first place?” Roman asks. “Back in the Sanctuary when you thought something was up?”

  “My hunches were right then,” I argue. “Something was up and I am a shifter.”

  “Okay, but we’re not Native American. I mean, maybe sometimes there’s things we should just leave alone, Shae.”

  I frown at him. He’s right. But my feet don’t stop. “We have been invited,” I insist.

  We slip through the dark shadows, hidden from the flickering fire light in the small shadows between two of the cabins. Roman towers over me so we go in single file until we get just to the edge where the light meets the dark.

  The chanting has died down and the only sound is the crackle of the fire as sparks fly up into the sky. Smoke drifts from burning embers that are raked out into a glowing orange and red carpet, stretching across the earth.

  “What are they doing?” I ask under my breath as my gaze takes in the burning red floor about ten feet long and three feet wide.

  My gaze flicks to Roman, but his eyes are hooded in the dark, his body tense.

  The Pomos glow orange as they surround the burning embers. They are all varying ages, sizes and shapes, but they all have one thing in common, their faces are reverently raised towards the sky.

  Maybe we shouldn’t be here. My skin is clammy, I’m an outsider interrupting a sacred ceremony.

  But we were invited. Evie invited us.

  I hold steady and take in the members of the tribe. Jacqueline is there, tall and broad with long black hair flowing like a thick dark river to her waist. She stands between two mountains of men, looking exactly alike, the roughhewn features of their faces boding no argument. Hercules is at one end, hands raised, gaze skyward. Next to him at the edge of the burning carpet stands Guinevere. She is quiet and peaceful as she stares directly across the bed of fire to a middle-aged woman at the far end.

  She is the most regal woman I’ve ever seen. Her dark skin and flat, round features glowing in the firelight. Her black hair is cropped short and presses up from her head like feathers.

  This woman is power. It emanates from her as if she is calling forward some energy from the earth and sky itself. Her hands are raised in front of her, palms upward, and she’s chanting something softly and quietly. Her eyes are open but unseeing. They stare into a world I know nothing of, something intangible yet real.

  Suddenly the woman’s chanting stops.

  The whole tribe holds its breath and Roman and I do the same.

  Suddenly Guinevere moves forward, stepping onto the burning coals. It’s smooth and direct and purposeful.

  But she is going to burn!

  I lurch forward. “No!” The cry dies before reaching my lips as Roman’s hands silences my mouth and arm wraps around my body, preventing me from racing out of the shadows to get the girl off the fire.

  “They’re firewalking,” he hisses in my ear. “It’s a thing.”

  My heart is racing in my throat, my muscles tense and crying to get her to safety, but she walks slowly and purposefully without looking down, without burning, without screaming, across the burning coals.

  She is walking on fire.

  Roman’s grip relaxes, but I sink back against him, my legs weak as Guinevere purposefully and calmly strides across the seemingly impossible. She stands at the end of the path, looking up at the older woman, who smiles down and sings over her.

  From the shadows, Jacqueline steps forward handing the older woman something brilliant, opalescent, and smoking. A strange dusky smell fills the air. But it seems to expand my lungs and I inhale deeply. The older woman squats down and waves a feather, wafting smoke all over the young girl.

  Even though Roman stopped me from yelling, we moved out of the safety of the shadows, and slowly, as the older woman finishes waving the smoke over Guinevere, people start to look at us. Nobody says a word, and Roman and I do not dare move. We have intruded into their sacred space and whether welcome or not, I’m pretty sure rushing away is not the solution.

  The older woman stands up, her black eyes penetrating as she looks over at me. But Jacqueline towers over me in seconds.

  “What are you doing here?” she asks. There’s not an ounce of friendliness in her voice.

  Hercules steps forward around the dying embers. “Guinevere invited her.”

  “How did you get in?” Jacqueline growls her inquiry.

  I glance around. I have no idea what she’s talking about. It’s not like there’s a guarded gate or something.

  “How did you make it past the guardians?” she asks.

  “Your mother welcomed her,” Hercules says and I suddenly remember the quail in the bushes that bobbed its plumage at me.

  “Get ready to make a run for it,” Roman murmurs in my ear, his hand strong on my elbow.

  “Get her out of here,” Jacqueline says to Hercules.

  “We are not done.” The older woman’s voice is deep and rich. Her gaze peaceful as it lands on Jacqueline. “Would you take this from Evie?”

  Jacqueline stands in defiance. My presence seems offensive enough that she might just take ‘this’ away from Evie. “You’re not going to let them watch, are you Mother?” Her tone is respectful, but her gaze clashing.

  Her mother smiles, her chin dropping slightly as she acknowledges Jacqueline’s anger, but does not submit to it. “If they are here, the guardians have allowed it. There is no other way in.”

  Jacqueline inhales deeply and capitulates. “Fine,” she mutters to me. “But I’m not leaving your side until you get out of here.”

  Roman raises his eyebrows and I edge a little closer to him. Having her hovering the whole time is going to make this awkward experience a whole lot more uncomfortable.

  Jacqueline’s mother is focused on Guinevere. Her hands, like the girl’s before, are moving in quick and clear motions as she signals something to Guinevere that I can’t understand. Finally, her hands flutter gracefully skyward and then settle by her sides.

  And then to my complete surprise, the young girl looks at me through the people and over the burning embers. Her eye descends in a single wink and she grins the most mischievous grin I’ve ever seen in my life. Her body begins to shrink and it grows dusky in the evening light and tiny, so tiny, until the girl is nothing but a small chick with a decorative feather bouncing at the top of her head. I shake my head in amazement.

  “Did you see that?” I ask Roman. “Did you see what she just did? She shifted.”

  “Roman doesn’t respond.

  “Isn’t she only twelve?” I ask Jacqueline, even though I’m sure she doesn’t want to talk to me. I want to know. Jacqueline just frowns and stays silent.

  Fine. She still looks about ten to me.

  Roman’s eyes are wide and his mouth is open. He looks just as stunned as I am. “I didn’t think it was possible. The Order always said –”

  “The Order has lied to you your entire life. I’m not sure anything you’ve ever been told is true.”

  We are whispering in what I think are very soft voices, but I must be wrong because Jacqueline’s mother’s voice continues loud and clear over the crowd. “Truth is not something one is told,” she says. “Truth is personal and something one must experience.”

  Her gaze falls on the young bird at her feet. She raises her hand in front of her and, there must be something hidden in the palm of her hand, because drops of water drip from Jacqueline’s mother’s fingers on to the head of the bird.

  I take a step back as the bird grows, but it doesn’t ch
ange back into a human. Guinevere doesn’t reappear. The bird transforms into a mammal, claws, muzzle and fur and all! Standing before us on all four legs is the cutest, most adorable little coyote pup I have ever seen in my life. Not that I’ve I seen many, but I’m sure this one will take the cake for cuteness.

  Guinevere is a bird and a coyote.

  She is a Nuverling.

  Just like me.

  8

  A swift tug on my arm spins me around. Callum is standing there, his eyes glaring at me. “You can’t just leave like that and not tell me where you’re going,” he hisses.

  “She’s a Nuverling!” I ignore his concern and point towards Evie who is still in coyote form. For the most part, the Pomos are ignoring us, except for the hulking twins who are scowling directly at Callum.

  Callum twists around to look at Evie, his eyes wide. “Do they know?” he asks, concern laced in his voice.

  “I don’t know,” I murmur. “We have to warn them.”

  “Okay, but not tonight,” Callum says. “Zan and Cooper are waiting back at the road. They couldn’t come in. I don’t know if it’s because I came in before, but I was able to get through. There’s some type of invisible barrier around this place. We shouldn’t be here.”

  “They invited her,” Roman defends me.

  “Cooper says we shouldn’t be here. There’ll be problems at Spotswood Ranch if they find out we’re up here.”

  I’ve been staring at Evie the whole time as she cavorts and plays by the fire, her family laughing at her antics, but at this, my gaze goes to Callum. “We can’t afford to have problems there,” I murmur.

  “No, we can’t.” he says.

  “How is it two shifter clans live right next door to each other and can’t get along?” It doesn’t make any sense to me. You think they’d bond together and help each other out.

  The hulking twins have targeted Callum from across the fire and start to move towards us.

  Roman pulls at my arm. “Let’s sort out the politics and Nuverling later. Now might be a good time to just go back to the ranch.”

  I catch Jacqueline’s gaze. In the shadowy light of the flames, she isn’t looking any friendlier.