A Fistful of Charms th-4

by Ким Харрисон

  My heart seemed to swell and my eyes warmed from gratitude. "What about your driver?"

  Marshal shrugged, his rubber-clad shoulders looking good as the sun glinted on him. "He'll go along with it. We go way back." His eyes went narrow with worry. "Promise me you won't trying to cross the straits. It's too far."

  I nodded, and he handed Jenks his amulet back. "Watch the ferries coming in to Mackinac Island. Especially the ones that hydroplane. They come in fast. There's a second warmth amulet in my gear for your boyfriend. I have it for emergencies." He winced, his hairless eyebrows rising. "This sounds like one."

  I didn't know what to say. From beside me, Jenks peeled the sticker from his amulet and fed it to one of the gulls ringing us. It flew squawking away, three more in hot pursuit. "Marshal," I stammered. "You might lose your license." Best-case scenario.

  "No, I won't. I trust you. You aren't a professional diver, but you're a professional something, and you need a little help. If you have any problem, just dump the gear and swim at the surface. I'd, uh, rather you didn't, though." His brown eyes seemed to flit among the trees. "Something weird has been going on over here, and I don't like it." He smiled, though he still looked worried. "I hope you get your boyfriend back okay."

  Relief slipped into me. God, what a nice guy. "Thank you, Marshal," I said, leaning forward and pulling myself up to give him a kiss on the cheek. "Can you reach your boat okay?"

  He nodded, discomfited. "I do a lot of free swimming. Piece of cake."

  I remembered my stint of swimming in the frozen Ohio River, hoping he would be okay. "Soon as I can, I'll call you to let you know we made it okay and where your stuff is."

  "Thanks," he said, head swinging back up to me. "I'd appreciate that. Someday I'm going to track you down, and you're going to tell me what this was all about."

  I felt a sloppy smile come over me. "It's a date. But then I'll have to kill you."

  Laughing, he turned to go, then hesitated, the sun glinting on his suit. "Burn your card?"

  Brushing my wet hair back, I nodded.

  "Okay." This time he didn't stop. As I watched, he waded into the surf, diving into a wave and starting for his boat with clean, smooth strokes.

  "Now I feel like James Bond," I said, and Jenks laughed.

  "Into the woods," Jenks said, and with a last backward look at Marshal, I headed for the scrub. The smooth rocks were hard to walk on, and I felt like an idiot wobbling after him. It was warmer without the wind, and after only a few steps the beach turned into a thick brush.

  The first of the spring-green leaves closed over us, and as I picked my way through the vegetation, Jenks asked, "Do you like him?"

  "No," I said immediately, feeling the tension of a lie. How could I not? He was risking his livelihood, and maybe his life.

  "He's a witch," Jenks offered, as if that was all it took.

  Toying with the idea of letting the stick I was holding fling back to slap him, I said, "Jenks, stop being my mother."

  The brush thinned as we forced our way into the interior and the trees grew larger.

  "I think you like him," Jenks persisted. "He's got a nice body."

  My breath came quick. "Okay, I like him," I admitted. "But it takes more than a nice body, Jenks. Jeez, I do have a little depth. You've got a great body, and you don't see me trying to get into your Fruit of the Looms."

  He reddened at that, and finally breaking through into a clearing, I stopped, trying to find my sense of direction. "Which way do you think the compound is, anyway?"

  Jenks was better than a compass, and he pointed. "Want to run until we get close?"

  I nodded. Jenks was wearing Marshal's warmth amulet and looked toasty, but it was too much for me. Without it I felt sluggish, and I hoped I didn't hurt myself until I warmed up. Between Jax and the old plot map in the local museum, we had a good layout of the island.

  Jenks ran a finger between his heel and his shoe before taking a deep breath and breaking into a slow lope that wouldn't stress us too much and would give us time to dodge obstacles instead of running into them. Jax had said most of the buildings in use were by the island's lakes; that's where we were headed. I thought of Marshal swimming for his boat and hoped he was okay.

  As usual, Jenks took point, leaping over decaying logs and dodging boulders the size of a small car, which had been dumped by the last glacier. He looked good running ahead of me, and I wondered if he would run a few laps with me at the zoo before I switched him back. I could use the morale boost of being seen with him. It was quiet, with only birds and animals disturbing the morning. A jay saw us, screaming as it followed until losing interest. A plane droned overhead, and the wind kept the tops of the trees moving. I could smell spring everywhere, and I felt as if we had slipped back in time with the clear air, the bright sun, and the spooked deer.

  The island had been privately owned since forever, never developed from its original temperate-zone mix of softwood forest and meadow. Officially it was now a private hunters' retreat, patterned after Isle Royale farther north, but instead of real wolves tracking down moose, it was Weres sporting with white-tailed deer.

  During a careful questioning, Jenks and I had found that the locals didn't think highly of either the year-round residents or the visitors who passed through their town on the way to the island, never taking the time for a meal or to fill up their gas tank. One man told Jenks they had to restock the deer every year since the animals could and did swim for the mainland—which made me all warm and fuzzy inside.

  According to the records and what little Jax told us, a primitive road circled the island. I was breathing hard but moving well when we found it, and Jenks cut a hard right as soon as we crossed it. He slowed too, but we still ran right into the deer carcass.

  Jenks jerked to a stop, and I plowed into him, pinwheeling to keep from falling into the hollowed-out body, its head flung over its back and its eyes cloudy.

  "Holy crap," he swore, panting as he backed up, white-faced. "It's a deer, isn't it?"

  I nodded, transfixed and breathing heavily. There was surprisingly little smell since the temperatures had been keeping the decomposition slow. But what worried me was that it had been gutted, the entrails eaten first and the rest remaining as a slow smorgasbord.

  "Let's get out of here," I said, thinking that even though the Weres were on a private island, they were doing their entire species a great disservice. Remembering and honoring your heritage was one thing. Going wild was another.

  We backed away, the low growl rumbling up from behind us pulling me to a heart-pounding halt. Damn. From the other side came a high yip. Double damn. Adrenaline pulsed through me, making my head hurt and my hand drop to the reassuring feel of my splat gun. Jenks turned, putting his back to mine. Shit. Why couldn't anything be easy?

  "Where are they?" I whispered, bewildered. The clearing looked empty.

  "Rache?" Jenks said. "My size recognition might be off, but I think it's a real wolf."

  I followed his gaze, but I didn't see anything until it moved. My first flush of fear redoubled. A Were, I could reason with, shouting things like I.S. investigations, paperwork, and news crews, but what could you say to a wolf whose kill you ran into? And what in hell were they doing with real wolves? God, I didn't want to know.

  "Get your ass up a tree," I said, fixed on the yellow orbs watching me. My gun was in my hand, arms extended and stiff.

  "They're too thin," he whispered. "And I've got your back."

  My gut clenched. Three more wolves came skulking out from the brush, snarling at each other as they closed the distance. It was a clear indication that we should leave, but there was nowhere to go. "How good are you with that slingshot?" I said loudly, hoping the sound of our voices would chase them off. Ri-i-i-ight.

  I heard a low thrum of vibrating rubber, and the closest wolf yipped, shying before it snapped at its pack mate. "It didn't break against the fur," Jenks said. "Maybe if they're closer."

  I lick
ed my lips, my grip on my gun tightening. Crap, I didn't want to waste my spells on wolves, but I didn't want to end up like that deer either. They weren't afraid of people. And what that likely meant gave me an unsettled feeling. They'd been running with Weres.

  My pulse jackhammered when the nearest wolf started an unnerving pace to me. The memory of Karen pinning me to the floor and choking me into unconsciousness raced through me. Oh God, these wolves wouldn't pull their punches. I couldn't make a protective circle.

  "Use 'em, Rache!" Jenks exclaimed, his back to mine. "We've got three more coming from my side!"

  Adrenaline burned, tripping me into an unreal high of the calm-of-battle. I exhaled and squeezed the trigger, aiming for the nose. The nearest wolf yelped, then dropped in its tracks. The rest charged. I gasped, praying the compressed air would hold out as I continued to shoot.

  "Stop!" shouted a distant masculine voice. The sound of tearing bushes spun me.

  "Rachel!" Jenks cried, falling away.

  A black shadow crashed into me. I screamed, clenched into a ball as I hit the ground. Leaf mold hit my cheek. The musky scent of Were filled my senses. The memory of Karen's teeth on my neck paralyzed me. "They're alive!" I shouted, covering my face. "Damn it, don't hurt me, they're alive!" This wasn't an alpha contest, but an attack in the woods, and I could be as scared as I wanted.

  "Randy, stand down!" the masculine voice shouted.

  I still had my gun. I still had my gun. The thought of it slid through my panic. I could plug the son of a bitch if I needed to, but putting him down might not be the best way to go about this. Now that we were found, I'd rather talk my way out of it.

  The Were standing over me grabbed my shoulder in his mouth, and I almost lost it. "I submit!" I shouted, knowing it would likely trigger a different set of reactions. My hand still gripped my gun, and if things didn't change really fast, I was going to drop him.

  "Get off her," Jenks said, his voice low and controlled. "Now."

  All I could see was werewolf hair, long, brown, and silky. The heat from him was a moist wave of musk. I shook from the adrenaline as the Were snarled, my shoulder still in its mouth. I heard three pairs of people feet come to a thumping halt around us.

  "What is he?" I heard one whisper.

  "He's going to be a chew toy if he doesn't put that slingshot down," another answered.

  I took a breath, willing myself to stop trembling. "If this moldy wolf hide doesn't get off me, I'm going to spell him!" I shouted, hoping my voice wasn't shaking.

  The Were growled, and I couldn't help but shriek, "I'll do it!" when his grip tightened.

  "Randy, get your wormy ass off her!" the first voice exclaimed. "She's right. They aren't dead; they're knocked out. Stand down!"

  The pressure on my shoulder increased, then vanished. Hand on my shoulder, I sat up, trying not to shake as I took in the clearing. It was full of downed wolves and Weres, all but one in their people shift.

  Jenks was surrounded by three Weres in brown fatigues holding conventional weapons. I didn't know what they were, but they looked big enough to leave holes. He still hadn't lowered his arm with the slingshot on it, and it was pointed at a fourth Were standing a little apart from everyone else. He didn't have a drawn weapon, but it was clear he was in charge since he had a shiny little emblem on his cap instead of a patch like everyone else. He looked older too. There was a pistol in a holster on his belt, and brown face paint marked his skin. Swell, I'd fallen into a freaking survivalist group. Just peachy damn keen.

  The Were that had pinned me was nosing the three downed wolves. In the nearby distance a wolf howled, and I shivered, pulling my legs straight. "Can I stand up?"

  The Were with the emblem on his hat snorted. "I don't know, ma'am. Can you?"

  Funny, funny man. Taking that as permission, I sullenly got to my feet, brushing the sticks and leaf mold off. He had a twang to his voice, as if having grown up in the South.

  "Your weapon?" he said, eyes tracking my movements. "And the bag and any charms."

  I debated for all of three seconds, then emptied the chamber and broke all the balls underfoot before tossing it. He caught it with an easy grace, an amused smile on him. His gaze lingered on my neck and the clearly Were bite marks, and I made a face of exasperation. God! Maybe I should have worn a turtleneck to storm the rebel fortress.

  "Witch?" he said, and I nodded, throwing him my pack and two amulets. I could have given them to Marshal, for all the good they had done me.

  "I came for Nick," I said, shivering in the new cold. "What do you want for him?"

  The surrounding Weres seemed to relax. Jenks jerked when one reached for his slingshot, and I did nothing when they wrestled him to the ground and took it and his belt pack away, looking like bullies falling on a kid after school. Jaw gritted at the grunts and thumps of fists into flesh, I watched the leader instead, wanting to know whom we faced. He wasn't the alpha, I decided, while his men smacked Jenks into a temporary submission. But by his clean-shaven face and his bearing, he was high up in the pack.

  Standing my height in heavy-looking military boots, he made a good-sized Were, well-proportioned and tidy in his fatigues, with narrow shoulders and a body that looked like it was used to running. Trim, not blocky in the least. Maybe late thirties, early forties—his hair was cut too close to his skull to know if it was gray or simply blond.

  Jenks shoved the three Weres off him in disgust and got to his feet, a sullen, beaten pixy. He was bleeding from a scratch on his forehead, and his face went ashen when he saw the blood on his hands. With that, he lost all his will to fight, obediently wobbling into place behind me when we were encouraged to head back to the road.

  Time to go meet the boss.

  Thirteen

  As we jostled down the shaded road, the wind from our passage dried my sweat and made my curls into lank tangles. Jenks and I were in the back of the open-aired Hummer—whoo-hoo, a convertible—the Were with the pin on his black cap sitting opposite us along with three other guys, weapons pointed. It was kind of sad, really, as it wouldn't take much to wrestle one away and fall out of the vehicle if I wanted to risk being shot. But Jenks was bleeding from a scalp wound, shaking as he sat beside me, his hand pressing the clean bandage they gave him against it. It hadn't looked bad when I first saw it, but by his reaction, he'd be dead in five minutes. I wanted to see how bad it was before we did anything spectacular.

  The Were in wolf 's clothing was up front with the driver, squinting against the wind, his tongue hanging out. It would have been funny if it hadn't been for the guns.

  "Do they have to drive so fast?" I muttered to Jenks. "There're deer out here."

  The guy in charge met my eyes. They were brown, pretty in the flickering light coming through the skimpy tree cover and reminding me of David's boss, being both everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

  "They don't move much 'cept for dusk, ma'am," he said, and I bobbed my head. Especially if they're dead and gutted, I thought sourly.

  Not really caring, I turned away. What I'd wanted to know had been answered; he wasn't adverse to Jenks and me talking. I didn't know if we were prisoners or guests. But there were those weapons…

  Mr. I'm-in-charge adjusted his cap, then jiggled the driver's elbow, pointing to the radio. "Hey," he drawled into the mike after the driver passed it to him. "Somebody pick up."

  After a moment a slurred, crackling "What?" came back.

  The man's thin lips went thinner. "Three of Aretha's pack are down at Saturday's kill. I want a tank truck out there—now. Get a full data spread before you douse them."

  "I don't have any saltwater made up," whoever it was complained. "No one told me we were collecting data this month."

  "That's because we aren't," he answered, anger growing in his face, though it wasn't in his slow speech. "But they're down, and since Aretha has pups in her, I want an ultrasound. And be careful. They're riled up and likely to be unpredictable."

  "An ultraso
und?" came an indignant voice. "Who the hell is this?"

  "This here is Brett," he drawled, shifting his cap farther back and squinting at the sun. We hit a bump, and I clutched at a support post. "Who the hell is this?"

  There was no answer except static, and I snickered, glad I wasn't the only one in trouble. "So," I said when Brett gave the mike to the driver and settled back. "Are you a survivalist group or a wolf research station?"

  "Both." He shifted his brown eyes between Jenks and me. The large pixy had his head bowed over his knees, ignoring everyone in his effort to keep his hand to his wound.

  I pulled a strand of hair out of my mouth, wishing I had on more than my black tights. I looked like a thief, and the men surrounding me were getting their money's worth. They were in baggy camouflage, and from what I could see, each had a Celtic knot tattooed in the arch of their ears that matched the emblems on their hats. Huh.

  Most packs had a tattoo that all members subscribed to, but they usually put them in a more traditional place. Weres loved body decoration, standing in stark contrast to vamps, who shunned getting ink even if a parlor would give them any. It seemed that pain was part of the mystique, and since vamps could turn pain into pleasure, it was a rare artist who would work on vamps, living or dead. But Weres indulged themselves freely, and the best artists could run on four feet as well as two. I was glad David hadn't brought up the idea of a pack tattoo.

  Jenks was starting to hyperventilate, and I put a hand on his shoulder. "Take it easy, Jenks," I soothed, growing anxious when the light brightened and we slowed, easing into a pleasant-looking compound. There was a lake nearby, with a mishmash of small cabins and larger homes surrounding it, well-tended dirt paths everywhere. "I'll get you something as soon as we stop."

  "You will?" he said, tilting his head to meet my eyes. "You'll fix it?"

  I nearly laughed at his panicked expression until I remembered it was a pixy wife's ancestral duty to keep her mate alive and no one else's—and Matalina wasn't here.