Ghosts of Winter: A Dark Shapeshifter Urban Fantasy (Echoes of the Past Book 2)

by H B Lyne

  'Huh,' she shrugged and held it out for one of them to take. Wind Talker took it without taking his eyes off Echoes.

  'Thank you,' he said with a strange sense of wonder to his voice.

  Stalker smirked and followed Last-Breath-Echoes back down the stairs, Wind Talker followed behind her.

  When they arrived back in the living room the others were sat in uncomfortable silence.

  'Everything OK?' Stalker asked.

  'Yes, fine,' Eyes said a little too quickly, jumping up from the sofa.

  Scribe stood up and smiled stiffly.

  'We'll need to make funeral arrangements,' he said softly, trying not to look anyone in the eye. 'Echoes here works in the city mortuary, she's already taken possession of, well, of what was left.'

  There was a painful ripple around the room. Stalker felt suddenly fiercely protective of the remains of her pack and hated the idea of anyone prodding and poking them. It seemed that the others felt similarly from the rigid jaws and clenched fists appearing on her pack mates.

  'There was something left of one of the Phoenix Guard,' Scribe went on cautiously. 'There was really nothing that could be identified at the petrol station, but there was definitely one of them taken down at the betting shop. What would you like us to do with it?'

  Stalker looked at Eyes, fighting the rage that boiled in her chest and trying to focus on her Alpha for strength and leadership. He sighed and ran his hands through his hair, just like Fortune used to do. She pressed her hand to her mouth to suppress a sob.

  'May I have it?' Wind Talker asked, and everyone turned to look at him.

  'Yes,' Echoes chimed in, smiling serenely. 'I'll get a message to one of you when everything is in place. I'm so sorry for what happened to your pack.' A sad crease reached her brow and Stalker wondered if that was as expressive as she ever got.

  'Thank you,' Eyes said, barely above a whisper.

  Scribe and Echoes moved towards the door and Wind Talker followed to see them out.

  Stalker shook out her tense arms, and she noticed Weaver doing the same. She leaned on the door frame and watched Wind Talker seeing out their guests. There was something wrong with Scribe's shadow as he walked down the hall, it seemed to move a split-second later than him, it sent a cold shiver down her spine. Her thoughts ran back to the strange flicks of her fingers that accompanied Echoes through the doorways and Stalker squinted to look at the wood on which she was leaning. There were tiny scratches in the peeling paint, fresh from Echoes' sharp nails. She thought of Flames and his strange mannerisms and the air of unease that followed him. Perhaps it was something to do with being so closely connected to death that turned these Scroll Keepers odd.

  Wind Talker closed the door and walked slowly back down the hall, still holding the box that Echoes had found in the attic. He was looking down at it and opened it as he walked. Stalker watched absently, her mind still on the Scroll Keepers. Her reverie was shattered as she saw Wind Talker start convulsing, dropping the box and whatever was in it and erupting into his savage Agrius form right there in the hall with an almighty roar.

  Eyes and Weaver ran out from the living room and together with Stalker they pounced on Wind Talker to contain him. This was the true monster within, bursting out through Wind Talker's skin and he thrashed and roared with madness. Between the three of them they wrestled Wind Talker to the ground and pinned him down until the rage ran its course and he lay shaking under them in the hallway in his human form. Gradually they moved off him and let him sit up.

  'What the hell just happened?' Eyes asked him.

  Wind Talker crawled along the floor, his head turned to one side so as not to look at where he was going and he reached blindly with one hand as he approached the box, quickly flipping the lid closed and hiding its contents from view.

  'That,' he panted, 'is one interesting painting.'

  'Painting?' Weaver asked, reaching for the box.

  'Don't open it!' Wind Talker yelled.

  She ignored him and lifted the lid, Stalker winced, waiting for the same reaction, but nothing happened. Weaver sat on the floor looking into the box with her head cocked to one side.

  'Huh,' Stalker uttered and crawled over to have a look too. She steeled herself against whatever she was about to see. It was a long, thin painting on canvas, mounted on a wooden frame. Looking at it made her head ache instantly; it was a cacophony of swirling colours forming spirals that almost seemed to move as she tilted her head this way and that.

  Wind Talker jumped to his feet and made grumbling noises behind her and she tried hard not to laugh. He came up behind them and looked cautiously over Stalker's shoulder, one eye closed. Nothing happened.

  'Huh,' he echoed Stalker's previous sentiment. 'There's a demon in it.'

  Everyone looked at him.

  'It's fine,' he reassured them and bent to pick up the box. The pack moved into the kitchen and Wind Talker put the box on the table for them all to examine more closely. 'It's dormant now; it used all of its energy on me back there. It's The-Madness-of-Spirals-of-Bright-Agony.'

  'You're going to have to explain to me what that means,' said Eyes, leaning over to peer closely at the painting.

  'I would if I could, but that's all I know. But as an initial bit of guesswork I'd say it's a demon of the insanity aspect of someone called Spirals-of-Bright-Agony.' Wind Talker poked the painting and raised an eyebrow.

  Weaver made a few guttural noises and Stalker turned to look at her. Her friend looked very worried, bordering on scared.

  'What's the matter?' she asked, touching Weaver's shoulder gently.

  'Well, it's got to be something to do with the Spiral Hand, hasn't it?' Weaver said, her voice wavering.

  Wind Talker jerked reflexively and Stalker watched as his face went ashen. Eyes looked about as confused as she felt.

  'Yes,' Wind Talker whispered. 'I'd say you've hit the nail on the head. I should have realised right away.'

  'What's the Spiral Hand?' Stalker asked, looking from Weaver to Wind Talker, confusion and fear mounting in her already worry-filled head.

  Wind Talker closed his eyes and turned his face to the ceiling. He rubbed his face with his hands before looking Stalker straight in the eye.

  'A very, very, dangerous cult.'

  Chapter Six

  Stalker looked at Wind Talker and back at Weaver, waiting for more of an explanation. Weaver sat down at the table and quietly closed the lid on the painting. Stalker felt the atmosphere in the room lift slightly and realised that the demon in the painting may have been dormant, but it was still exuding negative energy. Just shutting it away helped alleviate that slightly. No wonder Flames-First-Guardian had hidden it in the attic.

  'The Spiral Hand is a chaos cult,' Weaver said softly, staring out of the kitchen window into the tiny garden. 'They don't worship Artemis, or any of the Gods from any of the pantheons of the realms. They worship chaos, fear, anger and every other dangerous demon.'

  'Right,' Fights-Eyes-Open said, sounding a little impatient.

  'They blend in,' Wind Talker chipped in. 'They work by disrupting normal shifter activity, essentially undercover. They can be anyone, anywhere.'

  Stalker reflexively looked at each of her pack mates, uncontrollable suspicion creeping up on her. She shook her head and shrugged her shoulders to get rid of it. She was being ridiculous. Wind Talker must be exaggerating for effect. But Weaver looked so scared and Eyes was frowning, deep in thought.

  'What are they trying to achieve?' Stalker asked.

  'They want to strengthen the demons that they worship by spreading chaos and fear,' Weaver replied. 'It's about power. They don't want to expose the true nature of the world to humanity, but they do want humans to live in fear.'

  'Why? What do they get out of it?' Stalker asked. Her mind was racing.

  'Power,' Wind Talker replied, his voice low and laced with worry. 'They ally themselves with the forces that, they believe, are most likely to win come Ragnarök, the apoc
alypse, whatever you want to call it. They want to survive.'

  'Why would Flames have that painting?' Stalker asked, though she really didn't want to.

  'I don't know,' Wind Talker answered. 'Perhaps he killed this Spirals-of-Bright-Agony and kept the painting as a token of the victory. Or perhaps to keep it secure and prevent it falling into the wrong hands.'

  Stalker nodded in agreement, that must be the case. She felt deeply unnerved by the knowledge that there were shifters who would go against everything she had been taught about their role in the world.

  'Could the Phoenix Guard have been made up of Spiral Hand?' Stalker asked.

  Wind Talker shook his head firmly.

  'No,' he said. 'They are a pack of Furies, like the Witches and the Rutherford Estate.'

  'Furies?' Eyes asked, raising an eyebrow. 'Like from Greek myth?'

  'That's right,' Wind Talker said. 'There are three sects, each named after one of the Greek Furies; Alecto, the never-ending; Tisiphone, the voice of revenge; and Megaira, envious anger. At a guess, the Phoenix Guard was aligned with Megaira.'

  Stalker ran her hands over her face. It was a lot to take in. She had become used to the idea that the Furies, as she now knew they were called, had different ideas about how to dominate the demons and run the city, and even about how to interact with humans. That was a clash of ideologies, essentially political in nature. Even though Fortune had been adamant that the war between them was long term and that their differences were irreconcilable, Stalker felt that if both sides could stop killing one another long enough to talk there might be hope of peace. But the Spiral Hand sounded like a group of religious fanatics, intent upon destroying the world. She was very new to all of this and had very little experience or knowledge, but she knew bad news when she heard it.

  'I really don't think it's helpful to spend too much time or energy speculating on this,' Eyes spoke up. 'We have a lot to do to get ourselves up and running. Let's try to stay focussed on things that we have some control over.'

  There was a murmur of consent from the others.

  'Does anyone have any ideas of where to start with looking for an ally?' the Alpha asked.

  'I was thinking about this,' Wind Talker said authoritatively. 'How about the river? Our territory can easily run to the river from here, it's not that far and we should find a fae that's powerful enough for us there.'

  'Agreed,' Eyes said with a nod of his head.

  'I think I can repair the veil today,' Wind Talker added. 'We should do it sooner rather than later.'

  'Let's do that first, then,' Eyes said with a firm nod.

  The pack crossed the veil into Hepethia and set off for the ruins of the betting shop, trying to keep as low a profile as possible and avoid unwelcome attention from any demons who were unlikely to be friendly.

  Stalker's muscles were tense and she kept her eyes sharp. When they had visited the site after the fire and discovered the hole in the veil, three very large, powerful demons had come crawling up from some hell dimension. She didn't know what they were going to find now. Wind Talker had patched the hole in a hurry before they left. It didn't bear thinking about what might have happened if the patch had failed already.

  As they approached the site, there was a marked increase in activity. Minor fear and chaos demons scurried away from them, the shadows moved strangely and the smell of smoke still hung on the air. Police tape was still strung across the street and beyond it was the black hole in the terrace.

  The pack ducked under the tape and walked cautiously down the middle of the street. The sky above rolled with white clouds and Stalker could feel the eyes of a hundred demons and fae on them. Her eyes darted to every movement but nothing came forward. As her gaze fell on the hole great sadness welled up inside her and she burst into tears. Weaver took her hand and squeezed it. Eyes placed a warm hand on her shoulder and Wind Talker looked visibly moved to be back here too.

  The patch had held. Stalker could feel that there was still a tear in the veil, but it wasn't hanging wide open. She peered carefully into the hole in the ground. She could see right down into the core of the earth and into some other hellish realm that lay beneath the surface of Hepethia. Looking up into the sky there was a similar hole in reality and through it she glimpsed shimmering gold and light. All around the hole was a thin, clear film. The patch. It formed a sort of tunnel between worlds, anything could still move freely through the tunnel, but they couldn't get out at this stop, like a lift shaft with a set of doors that would not open.

  'Nice work, Wind Talker,' she whispered.

  'Thank you,' he replied, with a small smile. 'I did my best in a hurry. The real fix will be harder.'

  He directed the rest of them to take up positions around the hole, which for Stalker meant picking her way carefully across the blackened rubble, right along the edge of the hole, to the other side of the terrace. She stood alone, guarding the site from demons that might want to interfere in their work. On the other side of the maw, Wind Talker was setting up his ritual while Weaver and Eyes took up positions a little further away to guard him. There was no sound. It was like looking through a slightly blurry window and Stalker had to fight the urge to reach out and touch the patch.

  She turned her attention to the street. A small, tabby cat was slinking its way towards her on the other side of the street. She watched it carefully, it wasn't a shifter. It stopped a few feet away and sat down to wash itself. After a few minutes it stood up, stretched and trotted across the road towards her. In the pale sunlight, the cat shimmered slightly, betraying its fae nature.

  'Hello,' it said silkily, rubbing up against her legs. Stalker was slightly surprised, but bent to stroke the glossy fur.

  'Hello,' she replied.

  'Terrible business,' the cat sighed.

  'Yes,' Stalker said sadly.

  'You were one of them. What are you now?' the cat asked her.

  'I'm not sure yet,' she replied honestly. 'Were you here when it happened?' Stalker asked, a sudden spark of hope flaring inside her.

  'I was,' the cat replied.

  'Did you see what happened? Who did this?' Stalker felt desperate for answers and here was a creature that could provide them.

  'Didn't you ever hear what curiosity did?' the cat asked. It stood and began to walk away.

  'Yes, of course!' Stalker snapped in frustration. 'Killed the cat.'

  'Exactly,' the cat said quietly, glancing over its shoulder before it blinked out of existence. Stalker's heart hammered in her chest. She felt angry and sad and more than a touch confused.

  'What does that mean?' she shouted.

  No reply came.

  Stalker looked around for a sign of the fae, but it was gone. She caught sight of Wind Talker across the hole. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, deep in meditation. Behind the patch she saw the layers of reality slowly being drawn together. Wind Talker was like a surgeon, patiently sewing together each layer like flesh and skin, all with his mind. It occurred to Stalker how powerful shifters could be. Their actions could tear holes in the fabric of reality, but they could also mend them. It was a huge responsibility.

  'Well, well,' a soft voice interrupted her reverie. Stalker spun on the spot and came face to face with a shadowy figure, roughly human in size and shape, but almost featureless. It shimmered and shifted about, preventing her from latching onto any one aspect of it.

  'What are you?' she hissed.

  'Well, that would be telling,' it replied, a smirk in its voice. 'But I do love to tell.'

  Stalker was sick and tired of riddles. She reached for a sword, but realised she didn't have her customary dha, and she snarled in frustration.

  'What do you want?'

  'I wondered when you would be back,' the figure said, gesturing across the hole to the others. 'I was waiting a little longer than I had anticipated. But these things are usually worth the wait.'

  'Well we're here now. What do you want?' Stalker asked again, losing patience.


  'Blue Moon, Blue Moon, obedient to the crazy lune,' it sing-songed.

  Stalker felt anger rise in her chest.

  'What are you saying about my pack?' she growled.

  'I'm not supposed to say, it's a big, big secret.' There was a grin in its voice, though Stalker could see no mouth.

  'Tell me!' Stalker felt herself starting to shift, the rage was taking hold. What was this thing trying to tell her? Was it some sort of demon of deception or corruption? Whatever it was, she knew it was a threat and it was hinting at disparaging comments about her beloved fallen pack mates. Her body shook and began to shift.

  'Now, now,' it said, startled at her angry response. 'No need for that, I'm sure. Don't you want to know the truth?'

  But Stalker was tipping over the edge, no longer quite capable of rational thought, and she launched herself at the demon. She ripped into it with her fierce claws and teeth, pulling it easily to pieces. How quickly it came apart, like it was ready to spill its guts. As she shifted down into her human form, the rage having subsided with the kill, she realised that she had done something very wrong.

  Chapter Seven

  Weaver came running to her, skirting dangerously close to the hole, which was visibly much smaller now.

  'Are you okay?' she asked as she skidded to a halt.

  'Fine,' Stalker replied, still shaken. 'It was some sort of deception demon, it was lying about the Blue Moon and I think it was going to attack and stop us from mending the veil.' She knew she was lying and a nasty lump sat in her throat. She didn't think Weaver could tell, if she could she showed no sign of it and simply gave her a quick nod.

  'You did the right thing then, taking care of it.'

  Stalker tried to smile.

  'Has Wind Talker nearly finished?' she asked, looking over to him and seeing that the veil was nearly repaired.

  'Yes,' Weaver replied. 'It won't be long now. I'll keep you company.'

  They stood in silence, watching the street for signs of interference. After a few minutes, Stalker felt the patch dissolve and turned to look. It fell like a cloth falling from a table, a small ripple and then a clear view across the rubble of the old betting shop. Wind Talker was on his feet, his hands raised and his eyes on the sky.