Arcane Solutions (Discord Jones)

by Gayla Drummond

  Nick smiled, his eyes flicking to the review mirror to check traffic behind us. “Yeah. Not everyone’s did, which I guess you know. Some think it has to do with blood and ties, for those that did.”

  “Come again?”

  “Our pack was first formed over four thousand years ago. We’ve held the same territory for most of that time. Our dead are buried there.” He paused, signaling a lane change to pass a slower moving car.

  “Most of those that did come through are ancient territories. Newer packs with less established ones lost theirs.”

  Listening, I suddenly realized I had no clue which of the four faerie mounds that had appeared in Santo Trueno was Thorandryll’s. That was another thing to remedy as soon as possible.

  To the east, in San Antonio, I knew there were a dozen. Larger cities had received bigger influxes of supernaturals. “How many packs are here?”

  “Two larger and about a dozen smaller ones. Ours is one of the larger ones.”

  “How many is ‘large’?”

  His answer astounded me. “Around twelve hundred or so, last count.”

  Census time was going to see a huge jump in population, if everyone was honest about their numbers. I knew that there were at least a few thousand vampires in the Barrows, possibly a lot more. “Wow.”

  His face dissolved into a proud smile. “We’ve been lucky.”

  Maybe not entirely lucky. Glancing over my shoulder at Leglin, I wondered if he had understood our conversation about him earlier.

  The hound’s head turned, his eyes briefly meeting mine before going back to watching the scenery. It was the work of three seconds to convince myself it was important to know what his mood was.

  Opening a tiny crack in my shield, I peeked at his emotional state.

  Interested. Content.

  Before my curiosity led to delving deeper, I closed my mental shield tight. His emotions weren’t as complex as a human’s, but more so than any true dog’s that I’d scanned.

  A true dog usually had just one emotion uppermost. Not so the hound.

  Did he dislike being treated like a dog? Was he aware that he couldn’t shift? Several other questions buffeted my brain, but fell aside as a blazing line of silvery red flashed into existence in my mind.

  “I have a trail. Turn around.”

  Twenty-three

  “You wouldn’t let me drive, so you’re going to have to go faster.” I was getting extremely impatient with our slow pace.

  Nick tossed an exasperated look at me, but increased the truck’s speed. The thread shimmered down the highway, fading in the distance. Are we heading toward the Palisades? I dug out my phone, just in case.

  A sign flashed past, and the truck slowed. “I’ll let you know if there are any cops around, Nick. Keep going.”

  Nick increased the truck’s speed again. Almost certain of our destination, I began pulling up Logan’s number.

  “Who are you calling?”

  “Logan. Whitehaven said to call him if the Palisades came into play again. He hired him as a local liaison.”

  The tiger shifter answered on the second ring. “Hello, Discord.”

  Just the sound of his voice woke my smile. “Hey, I think we’re heading your way. My tracking sense is wide awake.”

  “All right. Drop by here, and I’ll be ready to go.”

  “Cool. I’ll call back if I’m wrong.” We traded good-byes and ended the call.

  Logan was waiting in front of an opened garage door, and waved us toward it. The truck stopped before entering, Nick rolling the window down.

  “We’ll take my truck. Yours is too new. Someone might mess with it,” Logan said. A single jerk of his head signified Nick’s acceptance of the idea, and we rolled through.

  Two other men were present, and they stayed well back while we exited the truck, their gazes glued to Leglin. Nick grudgingly accepted Logan’s offer to shake, before the tiger turned to me. “Still have your trail?”

  “Yeah. It’s a good one.”

  “Let’s load up and go, then.” He led the way to the other truck. Leglin had to jump into the bed, since it was a regular cab. I sat between the two shifters.

  “Open the back window, and he can stick his head inside,” Logan suggested while starting the engine. I did so, twisting around as he guided the truck out of the garage.

  Still afternoon, the streets were crowded, and I wondered if the trail would continue to hold. “Left up at the next light, please.”

  My directions were the only conversation for the next twenty minutes.

  Eventually, buildings and crowded streets gave way to actual houses, all old and in dire need of repair or razing. Those dribbled off until Logan stopped the truck at the end of a road, between two that were slowly collapsing in on themselves. “We’re out of road. Now what?”

  “I guess we walk.” I slid out through the driver’s door, following him to the tailgate. He lowered it, and Leglin jumped down. He spun around, head held high, tail whacking Logan in the leg.

  Taking a step sideways to keep his balance, Logan said, “Ow.”

  “Sorry. I’m going to have to register his tail as a dangerous weapon.”

  He rubbed his thigh. “Let me know if you need an affidavit.”

  Nick joined us, sliding an arm around my waist and scanning our surroundings. “Which way, Cordi?”

  “Straight on. Let’s go, Leglin.” The hound bounded ahead, ranging side to side with his nose to the ground and tail waving like a banner. At least he was enjoying the outing. It didn’t take long for me to begin to feel cranky, with the heat, bugs, and vegetation all seeming to be out to get me.

  Trees seemed determined to catch and pull my hair. Scratches opened up all over my legs, thanks to the lower-lying weeds and brush. Shorts had been a huge mistake.

  “I wish we’d brought some water.” Slapping a bug off my arm, I grimaced at the streak of blood left behind. “The country life, it ain’t for me.”

  “I can carry you,” Nick offered, wiping sweat off his brow with the back of one hand.

  “Thanks, but I’d just sweat and bleed all over you.”

  Logan spoke up. “Is this the longest your tracking sense has stayed active?”

  “No.” The question was enough to cause a mini-flashback. A blade held up, blood dripping black in moonlight. Pushing it away, I realized that I’d stopped, and both men were watching me. “What?”

  “Maybe we should take a breather. You’re pale.” Nick reached for my hand. “And cold.”

  “I’m fine. Bad memory.” Pulling free and walking, I explained. “The first time my tracking sense popped up, the trail lasted for four days.”

  Batting aside a tumbleweed, Nick caught up. “Four days? What did it lead to?”

  “Well, the first day I spent trying to convince someone to listen. The trail led to California, and a serial killer who liked to do his victims with a straight razor.” Mom hadn’t known how to handle it, so had called Dad. He’d convinced the right people to listen, and then accompanied the two Feds and me.

  Afterwards, he’d taken me to Disneyland to try and offset some of the horror. Come to think of it, that sort of set the tone for how each parent handled my decision to join Arcane Solutions.

  “How old were you?”

  “Nineteen. I was just getting a decent handle on my abilities.” Hopping over a branch, I pointed ahead. “It ends up there. Can either of you see anything?”

  No, because trees and heavy undergrowth obscured the view. We kept going until Nick pulled me to a halt. “What?”

  He sniffed the air, glancing at Logan before answering. “There’s a dead body in there. Stay here and I’ll take a look.”

  It was tempting to agree, but no. “I’ve seen dead bodies before.”

  As the stench hit my nose, my decision wavered, but turning chicken in front of them didn’t sit well. Upon reaching the body, my first reaction was to move away. I knew not to contaminate a crime scene, so vomited the r
emains of breakfast a good distance from it.

  Neither shifter felt the need to unload their stomachs, or remarked on my doing so. Dragging a hand across my mouth, I fumbled for the phone and called Damian while telling them, “Don’t touch anything or go any closer.”

  The warlock answered on the first ring. “We found the woman who was sacrificed in my vision.”

  “Where?”

  Looking around, I gave up before even attempting an answer. “Do your GPS tracking magic on my phone. We’re out in the hills, way past the edge of the Palisades, pretty much BFE. Oh, and bring some water.”

  “All right, give us a moment to locate you.” He spoke to someone before asking, “How bad is it?”

  “Bad. Demons eat their sacrifices.” Much of her was missing, bones marked with gouges from large teeth. The hanks of dark hair still attached to strips of scalp were my evidence she was the sacrifice. Part of her face was still present.

  “Damn.” He breathed the word. “All right, we have your location. We’re on the way.”

  “Don’t forget the water.” Call ended, I looked around for somewhere to sit that didn’t include a view of the corpse. “Cops are on the way. Leglin, here boy.”

  He obeyed, sitting next to the rock I picked as a seat. Thanks to the trees, there was plenty of shade available. The men crouched down, exchanging mutters while pointing out things to each other.

  It wasn’t long before they finished, walking over to pick shady spots. Nick vented a gusty sigh. “There’s some faint tracks left, and a torn piece of plastic under her left shoulder.”

  “Looks like those cheap plastic painter’s drop cloths you can buy at a hardware store,” Logan clarified.

  “Wrapped her up. I guess even cultists don’t like getting their cars messy.” Digging my fingers into Leglin’s ruff, I gave his neck and chest a good scratching.

  No one really had anything else to say, so we waited quietly for the law. It took a while, with the faint sound of sirens heralding their arrival. Those were shut off, indicating they’d found Logan’s truck.

  Damian appeared first, Schumacher on his heels, a couple of uniforms following behind. More people appeared a minute or two later.

  Nick jumped up to talk to them, and I let him, catching the bottle of water the warlock tossed my way. First rinsing out my mouth meant I could enjoy the long drink that followed. “Ah.”

  Everyone received a bottle of water, and Damian conjured up a bowl so that Leglin could have a drink too.

  We waited. Crime scenes take a while to process. The sun was dipping toward the horizon before Damian came over. “Cordi, do you think you could try and see if there are any other bodies out here?”

  Nick was objecting before he’d finished. “I can look, if no one has a problem with my shifting to do it.”

  More than happy to hand off that job, I nodded when the warlock glanced my way. “Faster his way. My way might not work.”

  “All right. If you’ll step over here,” he led Nick off a ways, until a waist-high tangle of grass and weeds partially blocked sight of him, protecting the modesty of the one uniformed female. She looked disappointed.

  I smothered a giggle, which faded further on its own, buried under the beginning of a vision. “Damian!”

  “Just a min…”

  “Vision.” I heard him running toward me, and stuck out a hand.

  Grabbing it, he asked, “What do you see?”

  “The cavern again. Cultists and,” I needed to take a hard swallow. “A whole bunch of demons.”

  “Geeze, I hate when she does this,” Schumacher muttered.

  There was a struggle, two cultists dragging a shrouded figure toward the altar. “This sacrifice isn’t so willing.”

  A couple of other cultists broke rank to help, and the four simply picked up their victim. She struggled, and even got in a few good kicks and elbowings, but the cultists won. They chained her face up and some of the covering moved enough to show she was dressed in something flowing and dark crimson in color. Another figure entered the cavern, dressed in a red robe with ornate black and gold embroidery. “I think the leader just showed up. Damn it, I can’t see his face. “The shadow cast by his hood was too dark.

  He lifted something high, held in both hands. “He has the book.”

  “What are they doing with it?” Damian asked.

  Cultists moved about, lighting candles and drawing symbols on the base of the rock altar. “It looks like they’re doing the spell.”

  Dread curled inside when the leader picked up a knife and began intoning a chant. This couldn’t have happened yet. Zoe’s shimmer was still shining gold, and she was their sacrifice, wasn’t she? Demons weren’t running loose in the streets either. “I don’t understand.”

  Five cultists arranged themselves around the altar, kneeling with bowls of some sort in their hands. One at each hand and foot, and the last at the head. The leader moved around, making shallow cuts on Zoe’s wrists and the soles of her feet. I felt the sting of each. At another gesture from the leader, the cultist at her head yanked off the material covering her head, and I forgot how to breathe.

  “It’s not Zoe.”

  “Then who is it, Cordi?” Damian asked.

  I didn’t answer. Seeing yourself chained, about to be sacrificed, is an interesting, voice-stealing experience.

  Watching a knife plunge deep into your chest and rip you wide open? Not so much.

  A scream burst from between my lips when the pain blasted through my chest, my body stiffening while everything went black. Convulsions followed, and barely felt hands caught hold, lowering me to the ground.

  There was shouting, muffled by my frantic attempts to breathe. My body was full of lava, and there was blood in my mouth, filling my throat.

  A tiny spark of light broke the darkness, growing larger to become a small, bent, wrinkled man. Deep brown eyes gazed into mine, lips pursing in disapproval. With weathered, walnut brown skin, he appeared to be Native American. He shook his head, long silver gray hair rustling. “You’re not following the right path.”

  “Excuse me?” My voice sounded normal, even though I was choking on my own blood. “Who are you?”

  “Eh, call me an interested bystander. You’re on a course filled with danger, Discordia Angel Jones.” His lips curved slightly. “Give your mother my compliments on that name. It suits.”

  “I’m sort of dying here, so I doubt there’ll be a chance to pass that on.” Awareness of what was going on with my body was fading fast. A voice seemed to be whispering to me.

  “Giving up that easy, are you?” The old man shook his head. “Maybe I’m backing the wrong horse.”

  “I have no clue what you’re talking about. Can you help me?”

  He smiled, revealing strong white teeth that belied his apparent age. “Silly girl, what do you think I’ve been doing? Not that you ever thank me or anything.”

  Great, I was dying, and stuck listening to a crazy delusion in the process. “And you are…?”

  A scowl moved his wrinkles in odd directions. “That, you’ll have to figure out for yourself. Now, can you hear him?”

  That lone voice was still whispering to me. Quiet desperation seeped from it. “Yes, but who…”

  “Shush the questions.” He rolled his eyes, one hand rising in an impatient gesture. “Listen to him, and let him guide you back. I’m far from done with you, young lady.”

  He turned, beginning to walk away, and then stopped to look back at me. “Pay closer attention to those colors.”

  With that, he disappeared, leaving me alone in the darkness. Well, not completely alone. The voice was still there, though even fainter.

  It was hard to reach for. I couldn’t feel anything, didn’t know what was happening to my body. Making one last, panicked effort, I reached out and caught hold of the whisper.

  Light blazed, burning my eyes. Hot air rushed deep into my lungs, and I retched, bloody drool spilling out. Sound returned, but I
couldn’t make sense of it at first. Someone had my hands. Someone else was supporting me in a semi-recline.

  My first clear image was Nick’s face. He was shirtless, face pale and drawn. “Cordi.”

  “Hey.” My voice cracked. Someone laughed in sharp relief, probably Schumacher. Nick squeezed my hands, head dipping over them to press his lips against my knuckles. I rolled my head enough to find out who was holding me.

  Dark green eyes, flecked with bright gold. Logan also looked a bit pale. He smiled. “Gave us a scare.”

  “Sorry.”

  ***

  “Somebody owes me a shirt.” Sitting on my rock, I held the front of my tank top closed with one hand. The material was tacky with drying blood, and ripped open from neck to hem.

  Everything but my shoes was covered or at the very least, splattered. Not that any of it had been my first concern. Checking the shimmer had been. Zoe was still alive.

  So was I, which could only mean one thing: a new ability.

  Damian had dragged Nick away to do the promised searching after one of the EMTs checked my vitals and announced they were normal.

  Logan removed the work shirt he wore, revealing a snug white tee, and silently offered it to me. His forearms had smears of dried blood, and his left hand was coated in it, because he’d cleared the blood out of my mouth.

  “Thanks.” After a glance around, I decided everyone had already gotten a look at the lacy, once lilac bra under my tank. Yanking off the ruined top, I quickly slipped the shirt on.

  “I’ll replace that,” the shifter said, nodding at the wadded remains.

  “You tore my shirt up?”

  He offered a sheepish grin. “When the blood soaked through, I thought you’d been shot or something. But there wasn’t a wound.”

  Yet. My future wasn’t looking bright enough to wear shades for. “Oh. Don’t worry about it.”

  “No, she seems fine now.” Phone glued to his ear, Damian paused a few feet away, his gaze raking over us before looking around. “I don’t know. Yes, that’s correct. Four minutes.”

  Fingers busy with buttons, I asked, “Four minutes what?”

  Logan’s eyes widened. “You were dead for a little while, Discord.”