Shrew & Company Books 1-3

by Holley Trent

  Women.

  Maybe he’d never understand them. He didn’t want to ever understand them if he’d had to try with another woman. He didn’t want another woman.

  “The fortuneteller has a small dog she walks hourly when she’s awake. She hates the dog, but she keeps it as an excuse to get outside.”

  “Ah. I know that fortuneteller well,” Mr. Tolvaj said, a grin of recognition spanning his face. “She’s kind to me. Makes me stews, sometimes. Says I look skinny.”

  That sounded like the fortuneteller Felipe knew. “Perhaps until she makes her showing, we can open some of these tin cans and set the inmates free.”

  “Which? We can’t fit them all in the SUV.”

  “No, but we can fit a few more in our van.”

  Felipe turned at the sound of the feminine voice, thinking he’d heard a phantom.

  It couldn’t have been his Sarah. But, there she was, wearing the same angry scowl as she’d worn that morning—after she’d punched him in the jaw.

  Same one she’d had after she’d told him she loved him and—

  Oh. Felipe, you are a fool.

  Was that all it was? Something so simple? Well, he could tell her time and time and again, really meaning it, if that’s all it was. But not at the moment. He didn’t think she’d believe him.

  She crouched near the Dumpster between Dana and Patrick, checking her firearm and looking far too sexy in such a tense moment. Her jeans were tight and molded to every muscle, every curve of her legs, and as he scanned up them, he noticed she’d somehow managed to leave the button unfastened.

  It wasn’t like they were going to fall off her, but she was generally more meticulous than that.

  The sound of rustling made him shift his gaze from Sarah to Patrick. He unbuttoned his plaid overshirt and shrugged out of it.

  Felipe didn’t need to wonder why. He’d grown up around enough shapeshifters to know that if they disrobed in unlikely places, it was because they were going to change forms.

  Felipe and Fabian never had to worry about such things. When they phased into the air, they took their clothes with them. It was a simple matter of wrapping their minds around their clothes as well as their skin. Kind of. It was easy to do, but hard to explain.

  He looked back at his Shrew, wondering if he could extend the wrap to another person standing nearby. Take them into the air along with him.

  He’d never thought of it before. Never had a reason to try.

  The only other person he would have considered taking with him was Fabian, and Fabian didn’t need his help.

  “Where are the kidnapped shapeshifters housed?” Dana asked, putting Felipe back to the matter at hand.

  He scanned the rows of trailers again. “Hard to say. I used to be able to tell you, but the units I’d usually suspect are missing. I could only make the educated guess that they’re in the ones with the padlocked on doors. The rest of the troupe remains because of fear. They don’t need the locks anymore.”

  Dana eased up closer to the hedge and tied her hair into a hasty bun. “I’ve got some bolt cutters in the van. Do what you have to do, and let me and Patrick find the Bears, Wolves, and Goats. Don’t get distracted.”

  Was she bossing him? Yes, she sure as shit was.

  He couldn’t help but to grin, because he didn’t mind so much. She wasn’t like Jacques. She wasn’t a dictator, but a leader. Being under her employ would be a privilege, not a curse.

  “No, ma’am. I won’t.”

  She clapped him on the back and eased toward the alleyway they’d snuck in through.

  Sarah moved up into Dana’s vacated place. She didn’t meet his gaze. Just scanned the lot, looking for some sign or signal, just as he had before.

  “We have a lot to talk about,” he whispered, nudging her shoulder with his own.

  “No kidding.”

  “Hey.”

  “What?”

  “You meant what you said? About moving on to Fabian?”

  She rolled her eyes and edged away from him. “When did I even say that?”

  “Shh!” Mr. Tolvaj whispered. “I see him. Jacques. Coming out of his RV. I’ll go make my report. Tell him the others got away. Ask what he wants me to do.”

  “Be careful,” Sarah warned.

  “Don’t worry. Contract or no contract, he needs the Visas to do his dirty work. He’s not like us. He’s got his brain and a sharp tongue, and that’s it. He’s always trusted me.” Tolvaj’s dark eyes went steely, the set of his jaw tightened. “I will make him regret that…and everything else.”

  And he took off, meandering through the maze of RVs, campers, and vans, and rigs to obscure his initial origin before walking pointedly toward Jacques.

  Dana returned, only to set out immediately for the camp, and Patrick—having shifted into his cat—followed her into the dark shadows cast by the trailers. They kept low, well beneath the few open windows. A scant few of those vehicles likely held troupe members who were neither weird nor had any idea that their fellow performers were weird. There’d always been separation between the two. The freaks kept quiet, because trust was a currency that ran in short supply, and the others acted as if they were blind to the magic around them.

  Jacques started at the sight of Mr. Tolvaj.

  His pulled his features into an angry mask.

  Their quiet argument escalated quickly to shouting.

  Felipe’s gut clenched. Although he couldn’t hear the words clearly, he knew nothing Jacques had to saw would be complimentary. No matter how he’d felt about the Visa initially, Mr. Tolvaj was trying to be a good man, and he deserved a chance to be one on his own terms. Felipe wanted him to have that chance almost as bad as he wanted his own freedom from Jacques and his games. He wanted that freedom for all of them.

  He needed to find his and Fabian’s contracts and destroy them. He wanted his final departure to be with no strings attached, but that wasn’t a pressing concern. Figuring out where Fabian was more important. Their trailer wasn’t there.

  Where is he?

  Jacques gestured toward his RV’s open door, and Mr. Tolvaj nodded before ascending the short staircase.

  He wanted to take it inside, apparently, so no one could hear the words.

  Jacques followed him in and shut the door.

  An unexpected moment for amends.

  Felipe turned to Sarah, opened his mouth, and engaged his diaphragm to give her those words.

  Before he could get them out, a flash originating not too far from Jacques’ RV pulled his attention. It was the glint of a metallic door opening and closing.

  The old fortuneteller hobbled down her stairs, her dog skittering ahead of her.

  “There she is,” he whispered. “Give her a moment to make the rounds. She may have already sensed me here.”

  The old woman clasped the leash onto the small dog’s collar and ambled around the lot’s periphery, moving from shadow to shadow.

  When she was as close as she could get without approaching the hedge, she said in a stage whisper, “Do your business, dog. You are always so slow.”

  “Stay here,” Felipe warned.

  “Fuck you,” Sarah said under her breath, just loud enough for him to hear.

  He blew out an exasperated breath and turned to her, “Look—”

  She made a shooing gesture as Patrick, in his golden cat form, ran past them in a silent bolt with three wolves on his tail. He must have been heading to the van.

  “There’s a reason I didn’t bring you along,” he said, pulling up to his full height.

  “Yeah, there’s always a reason.”

  “It’s not your fight, querida. It’s Fabian’s and mine. And Patrick’s, maybe.”

  “If you say so.”

  He groaned, but couldn’t waste another second arguing with her. They’d hash it out later. There’d probably be some yelling and maybe another punch to his face if he was unlucky, but he’d deserve it.

  The fortuneteller extended a han
d as he approached, and he grasped her gnarled digits in his own and kissed them.

  “My boy,” she said in Spanish, “why’d you come back? Stupid! I told you to stay away. There’s nothing for you here. You did good by going.”

  “My brother—”

  “He’s not even here, Felipe. He’s been gone for weeks.”

  “Where is he?”

  “They drugged him. Started sedating him right after that television interview. That’s how they got all the Bears here. They wouldn’t have come without a fight.”

  As if on cue, a low roar emanated from the other end of the lot. It was a Bear, and a pissed one at that. Sounded like a male, but Felipe had never been able to tell for sure.

  Fuck, Dana, be careful.

  “Felipe, what is happening?” she asked.

  “Hard to explain. Jacques did bad taking shifters from this area. The politics were a mess long before we came, and now they’re worse. They’re having to resort to drastic measures to normalize the situation.”

  She pressed a hand to her large bosom. “He’s going to get angry. You’ll never get your brother back if you poke him. He’ll keep him drugged, hidden. Fabian—he knows too much.”

  “About what?”

  She shook her head. “Better you not know. Don’t worry about him. He’s got a plan. He didn’t tell me what, but I sensed he has one. He’ll fix it for all of us…if he survives.”

  He grasped her shoulders and bent so his eyes were on the level of hers. “I will find him, and I will find him alive and well. You tell el negrero that if he asks you.”

  “Felipe, please, I don’t want it to happen again. Not like—”

  The sound of Sarah’s primal grunt followed by the cracking sound of breaking bones punctuated the fortuneteller’s warning.

  “Querida?”

  “You better help her. That one fights dirty.”

  He didn’t need to be told twice.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Sarah hadn’t heard the burly man creep up, but recognition dawned on her as he maneuvered through the shrubbery.

  He was the circus hand she’d seen the night she’d visited Fabian.

  “You look better without the getup,” he said, pausing briefly to move the heavy box he toted to his other shoulder.

  She shifted her weight and slowly inched her fingers toward her waistband. She’d feel better with her gun in hand. “I guess I won’t wear that disguise again.”

  “It wasn’t your face, princess. It was your boots.”

  Shit.

  Sarah stole a peek down at the rugged things and swore again. They were men’s boots bought in a woman’s size. Comfortable. She wore them ten months out of the year. They were heavy and made the rare kick to a guy’s head that much more satisfying.

  “Not that your face isn’t nice in all of its forms. I remember those eyes now.”

  “What?”

  “No offense, lady, but I’m starting to think you’re up to no good. Wrong place at the wrong time just doesn’t happen that much.”

  “No offense taken, because I’m damn sure you’re not up to anything good.”

  Her right hand was wrapped around her Glock’s handle, but she didn’t draw it just yet. Her silencer hadn’t been packed in that big bag of goodies they brought, and she didn’t want to send the cavalry running in her direction for something she could handle quietly. She was surprised no one had reacted to the sound of the Bears, who hadn’t yet made it out. But maybe that sort of noise was typical in RV Land.

  Damned shame.

  She wished they could free them all—everyone who’d been taken against their wills and pressed into this sick workforce, but they didn’t have that kind of manpower with them. They’d gone in to rescue one man, and maybe the local shifters—not the entire circus. For all she knew, maybe some of those folks actually wanted to be there, though she couldn’t imagine why.

  Constant transience? Having no family? No home? It sounded absofuckinglutely miserable.

  She willed herself not to look toward the shadowy spot where she’d last saw Felipe gesticulating madly at the old woman. She didn’t want to give him away to the man with the box. He still needed to find his brother.

  “What are you, police? You keep turnin’ up in our business.”

  Huh?

  “Well, let me tell you something. We haven’t done anything wrong,” the man said, now setting the box down. He rolled up his sleeves, and Sarah didn’t like the looks of him. It was aggressive posturing, and if he thought she was going to back off just because he showed a little bulk—a little muscle—he had another think coming.

  She was small and powerful, just like a nine-volt battery. If he pressed her, he’d get a shock.

  “I guess I’m sort of like the police, in a way.” She stood, slowly, and kept her gun’s barrel pointed toward the ground. “But I don’t wear a badge and I’m not going to cuff you or take you to jail.”

  His features folded into crinkles as he scrunched his face with confusion. “Say what?”

  “Come, now. You know as well as I do that this community is self-policing.” She slipped her gun into its holster and rolled up her sleeves, too, smiling at him. No magic involved. No fancy Shrew tricks.

  She didn’t want to make him comfortable. Didn’t want to make him talk. For once, she wanted quick and dirty confrontation, because there wasn’t a damn thing he could tell her she didn’t already know.

  “This community? What are you, besides a whore? Wolf? Bear? I can never tell your stinking scents apart.” He dropped the box and lurched for her in the same motion.

  Whore?

  She dodged him easily, being smaller and far more nimble, and as he rounded, preparing to swing again, she said, “I’m no one’s whore. If you want a label for me, how about Shrew?”

  This time when she targeted her punch, she didn’t put emotion into it as she had with Felipe. This time, she powered it with pure physicality. It was the punch she perfected on the heavy bag at the office. It wasn’t an impulsive thing that stemmed from hurt feelings. This punch, even with her weaker left hand, was a trained weapon, meant to cause destruction.

  A loud crunch sounded as her fist cracked bone for the second time in a day.

  Before the pain could register in her fingers, he fell hard to his knees, groaning. “Bitch.”

  That punch should have knocked him out cold. The fact it hadn’t meant…

  “Sarah!” Felipe shouted from the shadows.

  She turned to him, saw him, and then he disappeared into the air.

  Damn. Can’t keep track of him that way.

  The big man scrambled to his feet, and as he moved, his skin rippled over his bones and every part of him suddenly seemed to have grown larger. More dangerous.

  His fists reshaped into clubs. His teeth elongated, capped with deadly points. A long tail tipped with razor-like protrusions coiled around his legs.

  “Nice trick,” she muttered.

  “We’ll take you next,” he rasped. “Shrew. Whore. Whatever.”

  “Go ahead and fucking try.” She grabbed her knife’s handle and crouched into a defensive stance. She ripped her gaze away from the Visa to spot evidence of Felipe in the fray, but there was no hint of him.

  Don’t step on my toes, Felipe.

  The fortuneteller’s little dog barked madly and hopped at her feet, straining against its leash to run toward them. Sarah couldn’t tell if it was after Sarah or the Visa, and didn’t care which, either. She had more pressing concerns.

  Another loud roar echoed into the night, followed by the creak of a metal door being forced open, and Sarah knew in her gut that the Bears were out.

  She turned her attention back to the Visa right as one of his heavy club appendages arced toward her face. She fell into a backward roll to dodge it, immediately sweeping her leg out toward his, hoping to knock him off his feet. The kick was unproductive. In his current form, he was just too solid. Too heavy. It didn’t matter how muc
h torque she had and how good her angle of attack was.

  Need a new plan.

  While he paused there, likely judging his next move, she sliced her knife as close to him as she could get without coming too near one of his massive arms or the tail he’d just deployed. He whipped it around like a cat-o’-nine-tails, wildly and without true aim.

  She leapt over it as if it were a very deadly jump rope, and had a revelation. It was obvious. He couldn’t control all those appendages at once.

  He was making shit up as he went along, morphing into whatever he thought would hurt her most. He didn’t have practice in that form. He couldn’t use arms, legs, tail, and brain all at once. He wasn’t a fighter. Not even a thinker, for that matter. He was just a circus hand on a power trip.

  Keeping her stare fixed on his face, she took an educated guess of his tail’s whereabouts, said a prayer, then and threw her knife point-down at the ground.

  He bellowed as the sharpened Ka-Bar pierced his flesh, and the tail, pinned to the dirt, writhed as he tried to constrict it—to draw it back into his body.

  “Nice try, sucker.” She drew her gun. “Let’s all chill the hell out, and I’ll demonstrate just how nice we Shrews can be. I don’t really want to get blood on these jeans. They cost me a hundred bucks and my boyfriend likes them.”

  The Visa obviously didn’t find it as funny as she did.

  He reached for the knife, but Sarah forced her knee up to his chin.

  Another satisfying crack.

  “Hey, hey. I’m on a roll today.”

  That sent him toppling backward and sputtering blood through his lips, but still, he retained his consciousness.

  Sarah reached in quick and grabbed her knife, sighing. “Why don’t you just take a little nap, big guy? And when you wake up, we’ll be gone.”

  “No way,” he said, spitting more blood on the ground, and shifting into yet another shape. He got rid of the tail and shrank smaller, and smaller, until there was a man—a man she’d hoped she’d never see again—standing in front of her.

  Smirking.

  That. Fucker.

  Her ire mounted, teeth ground, and on reflex she leveled her gun and fired a shot into his shoulder.