The DarkWorld SkinWalker Series Box Set Vol II: The SkinWalker Series Books 4, 5 & 6: Blood Promise, Scorched Fury, & Fate's Edge (DarkWorld: SkinWalker)

by T. G. Ayer

  And one of those rules was the preservation of evidence. The agency currently had a whole forensics department devoted to crime scene investigation and research. Which meant that evidence had to be preserved so Forensics could do their jobs.

  And though, in the past, I’d had very little respect for CSI work, I was now well aware of the volume of information that the biology of an item could contain. And how much each bit of data could help solve a case.

  All Elite agents were supplied with the necessary tools to retrieve evidence. Tubes, spatulas, boxes, plastic bags, gloves. The whole thing was straight out of a crime scene TV show.

  I was about to stow the vials into a small cardboard box when something moved at the corner of my vision. I turned to my right, searching for the cause but found nothing. Pausing, I studied the area around me, looking harder, beyond any glamor that may be hiding an interloper.

  But I saw nothing untoward.

  Still, I remained wary as I craned my neck, peering into the dense shadows above. Within the tangle of branches once-green leaves hung lifeless, dark and sickly, as if painted with a macabre shadow. Every single leaf on the tree now an ailing replica of its once vibrant and beautiful past.

  I felt sick.

  It wasn’t a surprise now that someone would assume that the tree was dying. I wanted to think that it was merely ill, afflicted with some kind of magical or ethereal disease. But two things told me that whatever was killing the tree was not natural.

  One was the hard, heavy feeling in my gut.

  The other the putrid stench that rose at every wound where the black substance met fresh air. I refused to imagine what the inside of the tree looked like considering the awful odor.

  Was I kidding myself by retaining some tiny hope that the tree could be saved? But it wasn’t just my hope that was important. The tree stood for so much more than met the eye. It represented the existence of the nonhuman species.

  Normal humans had little idea what the Great Ash truly meant. But the tree had risen when the supernatural community had finally decided that they would no longer hide, when they at last decided to choose a new form of invisibility. What better way to stay under the radar than to live right next door to the humans?

  And it seemed that the Great Ash had agreed.

  Around the world, in cities where the concrete jungle had long overtaken the spirit of the citizens, ash trees took root, growing fast, and strong. In some cities, citizens were concerned by the sudden appearance of the pale tree. A tree that defied attempts to remove, kill, poison or damage it in any way.

  But here in Chicago, the tree was revered immediately, accepted as something special so much so that a fringe cult had emerged, dedicated entirely to the tree and its apparent representation of life on earth. It surprised few that the group believed firmly that should the tree die, then so would the world. Wonder what they’d do if they saw the tree in its current condition?

  Nausea burned within my gut as I sensed the ebb and flow of the dark energy that seemed to run through the root system of the tree, and rise within its gigantic trunk all the way to the sky.

  As I stepped away from the tree something shifted in the branches. Just as I lifted my eyes to scan the canopy, three tiny leaves floated down toward me, drifting back and forth on an invisible breeze. I lifted my palm and the leaves found their way onto the center of my hand.

  My stomach twisted into a rock-hard knot. Here was more proof that this was indeed bad. That maybe there was no reversing the rot that had taken up residence in every cell of the ash tree. I cupped my hand carefully, praying that I wouldn’t destroy any of the leaves, so fragile that a mere gust of wind would render them to dust.

  With my left hand I dug into my satchel, and withdrew three plastic bags. Sealing each leaf in its own separate bag, I gave them a firm nod, bidding them to reveal all their secrets, give us some information to go on.

  I placed the bags and the vials carefully into the cardboard box, then filled in the details on the white label on the top of the box. Case name and number, names of the items, the name of the agent who procured said evidence, the tests required, and any suspicions the recovering agent may have.

  I smiled as I scribbled my signature at the bottom of the label, wondering what Logan would think should he awaken today and discover how much I’d begun to follow the rules.

  With one last look at the Great Ash, I turned on my heel and headed for my motorbike.

  Technically the Ducati belonged to Tara. It had been just one more thing that I’d appropriated from my Fae friend in her absence. My only justification was that it served her right for not being around to prevent me from taking them.

  I frowned, thinking about Tara and the Fae creatures. All Fae were closely connected to the Elemental Planes. Tara and her mother Gracie, being Fae royalty, were far more powerful.

  I’d gone to Tara’s store a few weeks back, intending to use it as a base because I was tired of having everyone coming in and out of my apartment. Pretty sure Grams didn’t enjoy our home doubling as Grand Central when stuff hit the fan, which they tended to do where we were concerned.

  I needed a place to hide, to relax away from the mayhem of my life.

  To my surprise, the abandoned shop had gifted me with the bike which I’d found inside the back room, covered with an old red tarp. The shiny black helmet had been safely stored on the top shelf of a metal cabinet, right above Tara’s collection of obsidian, mercury and platinum. I’d had little use for the metals, but the bike and its peripherals were another story altogether.

  I turned the key and listened as the machine growled beneath me. How had I never understood the satisfaction of riding such a beast before? I now understood Grams’ obsession with her own Ducati. For an older woman she rode like a born biker.

  As I gave the great tree one last sad glance, I gunned the engine and took off down the brightly lit street. I knew that the only person that would be able to help us right now was the very person who may not appreciate the intrusion on her privacy. The rot taking hold of the great ash tree, while probably not biological in intent, was likely biological in origin. And poison, biological or not, was the forte of the Fae.

  Tara and Gracie had helped me with species-related poisons before so I was certain they’d be able to help me now.

  I just had to find them.

  Chapter 2

  Holy shit, where the hell did you come from?” Lily’s voice broke on a high-pitched squeak as she stared at me, frozen in place. She stood on the threshold of the inner doorway that led into the apartment behind Tara’s shop-without-a-name. It was a Fae thing, from my understanding, and I wasn’t about to start complaining.

  I rolled my eyes and pulled my satchel over my neck, placing it on the glass countertop as I slipped behind it.

  In recent weeks Lily had taken to coloring her golden hair every shade of purple possible, from pale to mauve to indigo. And oddly they worked for her, the hair going well with her shitkickers, black tights, and fingerless net gloves. With her clothes and dark eye makeup, she looked almost goth, but just a little too cute to go all the way.

  “You can’t be seriously telling me that you didn’t hear that great big bell on the door.” I glared pointedly at it. The bright metal bell now sat silent, but a moment ago it had clanged annoyingly, loud enough to wake the dead.

  When Tara had been here, she’d needed loud, especially when she’d been busy in the back room working on her weapons. Today her absence prodded me like a hot poker. Had she been here we may have already solved the problem of the dying Ash Tree.

  Tara’s weapons and ammunition shop was the other thing that I’d appropriated in her absence. I sighed and sank onto the stool behind the main counter, then stared at the empty, dust-covered display shelves around the shopfront.

  She’d been here one moment - Greer’s funeral - then left the next. Sent her clients to other manufacturers, and left her friends behind. Without an explanation, or even a goodbye. />
  She had her own responsibilities, likely related to her royal bloodline, or something to do with the Fae Council or the Court of the Fae. Stuff I didn’t ask about because the business of Fae royalty really wasn’t any of my concern. So how could I blame her for not being there for me, not being there to see how badly Storm had betrayed us, to sit with us and mourn the loss of Anjelo at Storm’s hand, to help us try to find a way to save Logan?

  But right now, sitting in her shop, surrounded by our memories, I felt her absence keenly.

  “Seriously, Kai.” Lily shook her head as she stared at me from the threshold, her voice pulling me out of my thoughts. “If the bell had rung I’d have heard it. I’m not deaf, you know.” She sounded annoyed, and a little distracted.

  Her distraction may have been attributed to the sticky bun in her right hand, or to the smears of sugar around the thin annoyed line of her lips. But I knew better. There was a sadness, a murky shadow in her eyes, that told me that Lily was still deep in mourning.

  Which was the reason I’d chosen to stop off here first. Lily enjoyed ferrying stuff to Forensics for me. It gave her something else to do besides mope around all day. Took her mind off stuff.

  Not that she didn’t deserve to nurse her broken heart.

  I did too, only in silence.

  We both grieved for Anjelo.

  And me, I nursed both grief and guilt. I’d failed to save Anjelo Alvarez, my friend, my clan. The boy had followed me from Tukats to the big city, emulated me in my search for freedom.

  And where had that gotten him?

  Killed.

  Killed by someone he’d trusted. Someone who’d mentored him, even helped him to get into bursary programs. A snake who’d masqueraded as a father.

  Storm, an Immortal, the fallen God Ares hiding amongst humans and supernaturals, had not just betrayed me. He’d betrayed Anjelo and Lily, and every other youngster and homeless person who’d come under his care.

  Worst of all, we had no idea how he’d been punished. How he’d paid for his sins. Jacinta Carnarvon, the Titan who’d been at Logan’s side for years, who’d claimed to be here to look after Logan because he was special, had taken Storm to the Immortal High Council weeks ago and had not returned.

  She assured us he’d be punished according to the Law of the Immortals and though nobody had been satisfied, we’d had little choice as the Immortals were, other than the Elders, the most powerful, and most revered of the paranormals. Now, in the aftermath of Storm’s ultimate betrayal, I watched Lily struggle to put herself back together.

  Despite every instinct to ask how she was coping, to ask how she was feeling, I had to give her space. She’d talk to me when she needed to. When she was ready.

  I wasn’t sure how that worked when it was my turn to need someone to talk to. It seemed that suddenly there was nobody to complain to, to sound off with. Mom’s services had been employed by Sentinel to investigate Omega’s off the books jobs, and Grams had been investigating the Walker High Council’s shenanigans in between her other Sentinel cases. Lily was busy with her broken heart, and my father was busy tending to Logan.

  And Logan, well, he was busy trying to recover from whatever the hell it was that Storm did to him.

  Storm who had gained our trust. Storm who had hurt us more than we realized. We were still grasping the extent of the damage he’d done.

  I moved off the stool and reached into my satchel to withdraw the evidence box. Handing it to Lily, I tried not to roll my eyes as she hurriedly licked her lips and wiped her wet fingers off on the back of her tights. She took the box carefully, her expression almost devout.

  “I need to get that to Forensics, like yesterday.”

  Lily nodded, her expression now serious as it was Elite-related. My suspicion that Lily wanted a job with the Elite was not unwarranted. It was merely unacknowledged.

  “Was it as bad as we thought?” she asked, the worry darkening her already shadowed eyes.

  I gave a tiny nod, reluctant to commit formally. But Lily knew me too well. She narrowed her honey-gold eyes, piercing me with a look that said she was sure to rip the truth out of me if she wanted it enough.

  “That bad huh?” she asked, watching me as I gave a soft sigh and followed it with a stiff nod.

  She gave the box a pointed look and said, “I’ll take this over to Forensics myself.”

  Before I could say anything in response, she turned and disappeared into the apartment leaving me alone in the storefront.

  Being alone had never been a problem for me. But right now, alone was a place that I didn’t prefer to be. It was probably because I’d glanced down into the glass counter, now bare when it would have once been filled with weapons and ammunition of every kind.

  The grime had built up so much on the windows that the light had a difficult time finding a spot to penetrate. Only a handful of rays had braved the dirt, striping the empty room with golden lines, enhancing the abandoned, ghostly feel of the store.

  I thought about the black ooze on the tree, and accepted what I’d known the moment I’d seen the rot. I needed the help of the Fae.

  Only, Tara hadn’t left me a contact number. At the time I’d assumed she was returning to the Faelands. Cell phones and other mobile devices wouldn’t work across the reaches of the Veil.

  But there were ways that I could get in touch with her. I knew enough jumpers who’d help me should I need them, but though I’d wanted to contact her in the past, I hadn’t allowed my feelings to get in the way of my respect for her privacy. Tara had left for a good reason, of that I had no doubt. And I respected that.

  But right now, the Great Ash Tree was far more important than our personal relationship, or anyone’s right to privacy.

  I got to my feet and slung my satchel over my shoulder as I headed into the apartment at the rear of the shop. Tugging my cell phone out of my jeans pocket, I tapped out a quick text to Mel Morgan, neighborhood tracker, and good friend. Mel had come to my aid many times, and through the past few months we’d forged a solid friendship.

  She’d recently said she wished she could help me out in a situation which didn’t result in me losing something important. She’d helped me bring Logan to safety, but she’d also been there to bring Anjelo’s body back home.

  Asking for her help now, where the Great Ash was concerned, would give her just such an opportunity.

  My cell pinged; Mel would meet me in three hours.

  That gave me enough time to make one important stop.

  I left the building through the back entrance, locked the gate and slung a leg over the seat of the Ducati.

  Flipping the kickstand, I gassed the engine and headed slowly up the alleyway.

  Running in shifter speed would have gotten me to Tukats faster, but I needed the drive. I needed the time to think.

  Chapter 3

  I stood on the threshold of my old bedroom, watching Logan lying unmoving on the bed. The sight of him still scared me more than I will ever admit. Beneath his closed lids, his eyes shivered, shifting left and right, the movements sudden, sharp, as if he was caught within his dreams, desperately needing to escape.

  My childhood bedroom had been transformed into a hospital room. The old double bed remained though, accommodating the patient and offering visitors like me a place to sit. Around the bed, my father had gathered more equipment than any patient could possibly require.

  Dad being overzealous in his care, or proof that Storm had damaged Logan in worse ways than I could imagine? Storm had frozen Logan, placing him into a cryogenic chamber, keeping him on ice for Ailuros knew what reason.

  I tiptoed further into the room, scanning his pale face, the tan long gone, his skin now a lifeless alabaster. I sat beside him and took his hand, holding it carefully between mine. Once-strong fingers which had hurled balls of fire, now appeared so weak and so fragile, that it seemed all I had to do was squeeze and they’d disintegrate into ashes and flutter to my feet.

  Three weeks
had passed and Logan’s condition remained unchanged. Sure, my father had murmured positive things every few days, well-meaning assurances that were not as assuring as he’d meant them to be.

  It wasn’t that I didn’t trust my father to take care of Logan. It wasn’t even the fact that I’d had no idea that my father was a scientist before he’d taken over the reigns as Alpha, or that he was just as skilled and educated as his brother Niko. In spite of the fact that he’d refrained from telling us all these years, I still trusted him to do whatever he could to help Logan.

  No, what brought me to my knees was that I didn’t trust that Logan would recover.

  I hoped, yes.

  Prayed too.

  It was just the sight of Logan, a man always doing whatever it took to keep supernaturals safe from harm and from doing harm, lying there so still and unmoving, and so lifeless. With not even a sign to indicate that he’d come back to me.

  There were traitorous moments in which I was unsure that anybody could save him. And I was so afraid Storm would finally get what he’d wanted.

  A sudden beeping snatched my attention from Logan to the machine beside me that measured heart rate; it had spiked. Was it me? Was my presence upsetting him?

  But he hadn’t opened his eyes. He wouldn’t have seen me.

  I watched his face, taking in the rapid movement of his eyes beneath his lids. He was still caught within his troubling dream, and even though I squeezed his hand in comfort, it didn’t alleviate his distress.

  He tossed his head from side to side, a low moan escaping his cracked lips. His fingers clutched mine harder, the desperation clear in the white knuckles, his other hand grabbing onto the sheets just as tight.

  Logan moaned again, then cried out, the sound sharp, cutting through the air, filled with hysteria. His pain tore through me, wildfire scorching its way through my heart. But I could do little else other than hold his hand and pray that my touch would be enough to pull him free from whatever demons sought to control him.