Tala Prophecy: The Complete Series

by Tia Silverthorne Bach

  Someday, Reagan hoped she’d know him as a grandfather, not her superior officer. But, for now, she needed to be strong and follow his lead. “I’m going to check on Rowan.”

  “I’ll stay with Sarah tonight, since you and Jed need to leave so early. I’m sure there’s a room available for your mom and dad,” Nana said.

  If things were different, if Sam was with them, Reagan would beg her loved ones to flee—to go as far as possible and try to outrun this prophecy. Somewhere Rafe could never find them. It wasn’t an option. Fighting back tears, she turned and walked into the hallway with Papa, determined to find Rowan.

  A few steps outside the library, she froze when she realized she didn’t know where his room was. Papa must have sensed her confusion. “Come on, I’ll take you to him.”

  Overwhelmed with feelings, she almost bumped into him when he stopped. He motioned toward Rowan’s room with a bent neck before continuing forward. She turned the corner to see Madeleine sitting on the end of Rowan’s bed. He was sitting up, his bare chest bandaged. She was holding his hand, but she let go when she saw Reagan approach.

  “Take care. I’ll check in on you later,” Madeleine said. She acknowledged Reagan with a nod and a quick pat on the shoulder before exiting.

  Reagan stood at the end of his bed. “Thanks for going after Dad.” She moved around to sit down, fighting the urge to crawl under the covers and hold him. Instead, she reached out and touched his chest. He was hot to the touch. She moved her hand to his damp forehead. Werewolves had a higher body temperature, but he seemed warmer than usual. “Have you seen a doctor?” For all she knew, there was a small medical facility buried somewhere in this mountain.

  “I’m fine. And you’re welcome.”

  “Papa and I are heading out early. I hope you aren’t thinking of coming; not in your condition. I won’t be the one responsible for you getting,” Reagan stopped herself from saying what she feared most—killed—and continued, “hurt even worse.”

  “It’s not your decision to make,” Rowan said. He tried to sit up more in the bed, but winced as he pushed up with his arms. “But, no, I don’t think I’d be much help tomorrow. I tried to talk Jed into waiting a day or two until I was feeling better, but there’s no time. Madeleine, Sasha, and Ricardo will go, along with a few others Jed trusts. You’ll be in good hands, Tala.” He faded on the last syllable.

  But I won’t be in your hands, Reagan thought.

  Trees became a sea of green as the wolves raced to the location. Reagan remembered how she used to get carsick going up to the mountains. She’d watch out the side window at the scenery whizzing past and nearly throw up. An ironclad stomach must be another benefit of being a werewolf.

  There was no time to take in the beauty around her. Papa was fast, and she strained to keep up with him. Madeleine, Sasha, and Ricardo were close by, but Reagan linked with Papa since he was leading.

  They ran under the cover of night and the forest, having left in the wee hours of the morning. She assumed they would wait for nightfall to head back. A pack of wolves might go unnoticed in the wood, but Reagan’s bright red coat would shine like ornaments on a Christmas tree if she was out in the open.

  She sensed Papa slowing down and matched his strides, coming up to him in a clearing. “Time to rest,” he said as she caught up. He tossed some clothes to her from a black backpack.

  “Thanks.” She wondered if she’d ever get over her modesty. Even if she did, she doubted she’d feel okay being in the buff around her grandfather. She hoped he felt the same way. Remembering how he looked earlier as a wolf wearing a backpack brought a smile to her face and a welcome distraction from their mission.

  “We’re close. It might be easier to take it on foot the rest of the way. I’m not sure the welcome mat is going to be rolled out, but we have a better shot like this than we do as wolves. Call it intuition.” Papa was tying the laces of his tennis shoes as Reagan put on hers. She studied him. For a guy who should be in his early seventies, he was quite defined. His snug t-shirt showed no signs of a pooch underneath. Shaking off the fact that she’d just checked out her grandfather’s chest, she surveyed the area.

  It’s amazing how different every tree looked when you took the time to notice their subtleties. Some branches seemed to strain to touch the ground while others reached toward the sky. Beautiful shades of gold, red, and yellow graced the leaves all around. Some had already abandoned their host, and lay scattered along the ground, dying. Reagan could connect with the feeling.

  She put her hand on the closest tree and leaned into it. With her other hand, she pulled her foot behind her to stretch her thighs. It wasn’t because she was sore, but she figured a good stretch wouldn’t hurt. They still had to make the trip back. She repeated the same on the other side.

  “Okay, follow me. Once we get there, let me do most of the talking. But if he asks you anything, be honest. I have a feeling, from everything your grandmother has told me, that he won’t take kindly to manipulation. Plus, we need him to trust us,” Papa said.

  “Understood. I have no reason to lie to him.”

  Papa pointed in the direction he wanted them to head and took off. Reagan focused on his face, making sure they were linked again. Her internal GPS locked onto him and she followed. Not long into the run, she sensed something—a tugging, much like pull of stitches in a numbed area. It wasn’t painful, but it was uncomfortable. Was it simply dread for what she might learn? The feeling strengthened as they continued, becoming a dull ache that wouldn’t go away.

  A rush of déjà vu almost took her breath away. Her memories connected with this place, and it drew her in. She didn’t need to be linked with Papa. Somehow, she knew exactly where she was going. Every tree and smell seemed familiar, like beacons showing her the way. When she arrived at the archway in the trees, Papa wasn’t there. Had he gotten lost along the way? She reached out to him. “Papa. Where are you?”

  “I was just about to ask you the same question. I’ll find you. Hold tight.”

  Reagan couldn’t believe how much the area looked like her vision in the cave library. She sensed Papa was behind her, but she was intent on moving forward. Walking through the archway, she bent so she didn’t hit the top of the braided branches overhead—a joining of two trees. She could hear the rush of water before it came into view. Hesitating, she felt Papa’s fingers on her right shoulder, his touch reassuring. Like she’d done in her vision, she pushed her hand through the water. She hit hard stone.

  “Wait, this can’t be. In my vision, it opened up when I reached in,” Reagan said. Racking her brain, she wondered why it was different. Did Cheveyo not want to see her? Then she considered the only thing different about her vision and this moment. Papa was with her. Maybe Cheveyo wanted to see her alone.

  As clear as her vision was, she couldn’t remember ever having been at this spot. Was she actually here at some point? Or, was the image somehow shared with her or planted in her mind as a future resource?

  “Papa, step back a little.” Closing her eyes, she brought forth the image of the inside of the cave. She pushed her hand through the water again. This time, it went through. With half her body through the waterfall, she reached back and grabbed Papa’s hand. He came through with her, and both of them slid into the opening.

  Everything about the cave was as she envisioned. She and Papa stood up and let their eyes adjust to the darkness. He walked over and studied the drawings, running his fingers over the cave walls.

  “Should we call for him or something?” she asked.

  “No need.”

  She jerked toward the sound of a voice she was sure she’d heard somewhere before, although she couldn’t bring forth an image to match the deep timbre.

  An old Native American man stood before her. His long, gray hair was in a braid that fell to his mid-back, and he wasn’t that much taller than her. He looked like every older Native American she’d ever seen in the movies.

  He chuckled. “Oh, yo
u have seen Dances with Wolves.”

  If a jaw could hit the floor, Reagan’s would have. “You can read my mind?” She thought Nana’s necklace prevented others from invading her thoughts, but Reagan had just been thinking of images from that movie.

  “Among other things.” He turned his gaze to Papa. “So you are Jed. Jackie’s love for you was one of the strongest I had ever sensed. Susie could barely function after she lost you.”

  “Do you know who I am?” Although the answer was obvious, Reagan had to ask.

  “Reagan,” Cheveyo said, reaching up to stroke her cheek. “You are a very important young lady.”

  When he touched her, she didn’t feel the need to pull back. Something about him was like coming home. He pulled away, and a shiver ran up her spine, as if her body was reacting to losing his touch. Then, the strangest thing happened. Intense pain rocked her core, like a bad menstrual cramp. She winced and pushed the heel of her hand into her lower abdomen.

  “What did you do to her?” Papa asked. He came up behind her so she could lean into him.

  “I would never hurt her. That much you can be assured of. I need her as much as you do.”

  So the riddles begin, she thought, still reeling from the pulsing pain in her stomach, near her belly button. “You want me to defeat Rafe, don’t you?” Why else would Cheveyo need her? He must have some stake in the prophecy playing out.

  “Yes. He is evil; a cancer on nature. We cannot allow Hell’s army to be unleashed. Defeating him is the only way to ensure that does not happen.” He pronounced each word with authority, like a President giving a State of the Union address. “Follow me. There is much you must know.”

  He disappeared into the darkness. Before following, she looked to Papa for some sign of approval. He nodded, and she moved forward. While the space they were just in was primitive, this new room was lit and resembled some of the cruder ones in their home cave. A large oak table was in the center, surrounded by six chairs. It looked like a set from an older person’s kitchen, and there was a musty smell.

  “Take a seat. I will get some tea.”

  Reagan and Papa sat. “Do you think Madeleine, Sasha, and Ricardo know we’re okay?” She said the words out loud. Her first thought was to speak telepathically with Papa, but she figured it was pointless since Cheveyo could read her mind anyway.

  “I tried to send them a message when we first came in, but I don’t think it went through. At least, I didn’t hear anything back. If I had to guess, this place is protected by something. How else would he have stayed so hidden all these years?”

  “You are a wise man, not that I expected anything else,” Cheveyo said. He carried a tray with a tea pot and three tea cups with saucers, all in silver. It looked to be an antique, at least from Reagan’s untrained eye. He set it on the table, and poured hot liquid into each one before placing them in front of his guests and then himself.

  Two sides of her struggled, and she hesitated. One side, the more intense feeling, told her to trust him. The other wondered if something could be in the tea.

  “It is safe,” Cheveyo said.

  “Sorry. It’s just that my Aunt Sarah gave me some tea to help me remember something, and…” She let the words trail off.

  Beside her, Papa looked perplexed. He was probably wondering what they were talking about.

  “We don’t have much time, and we have a feeling you have some answers we need before we face Rafe. As you know, Reagan will be eighteen soon.” Cheveyo nodded, so Papa continued, “We know Susie came to you when she couldn’t get pregnant.”

  Another nod from their host.

  “Did you help her?”

  “I did.”

  Reagan was beginning to get frustrated. She didn’t want to play twenty questions. “Please tell us what you know about me; about this prophecy.”

  “First, I want to tell you why you should trust me, why I want to make sure Rafe’s tyranny is put to an end.” Cheveyo pushed his tea cup away and folded his hands in front of him. “I had a daughter once, and she gave me a beautiful granddaughter. Her name was Dyani. She was graced with her mother’s beauty, but she also had a strong will. She was angry with me for keeping her in the cave so much of the time.”

  He paused, unfolding his hands and reaching for the cup. After a long sip, he started again. “I knew the dangers of the woods. Her mother died in childbirth, and I lost her grandmother years before. Dyani was all I had left. He knew that.”

  “Rafe.” Reagan knew it with every fiber of her being.

  “Yes. He came to me years before, wanting to know more about the prophecy. He was obsessed. Evil surrounded him like a bad odor. I told him nothing. He threatened me, but I sent him away.”

  Papa and Reagan exchanged glances. They knew firsthand how strong Rafe was.

  “I may not be a warrior, but I am powerful.

  “Back to my story. I knew my part in the prophecy, long ago told to me in a vision. A woman I never met—but knew so well by her many visits to me in dreams—Cecilia.”

  “My great-grandmother?”

  “Yes. I kept a close connection to your family over the years. Jackie came to me in times of need, just as her mother did, and then your mother. But let me back up. Rafe was so angry. And I begged Dyani to stay indoors. Insolent child. She did not listen, and she paid the ultimate price. Rafe took her as a warning. Little did he know, his actions only made me more determined.”

  As hard as it was to believe Rafe was the son of the Devil, there was no way he and Rowan were from the same gene pool.

  “You are very perceptive,” Cheveyo said.

  She’d never get used to him being in her brain. “So you made sure my mom became pregnant with the child who would fulfill the prophecy?” Reagan was putting the pieces of the intricate puzzle together, or at least she thought she was. “But that doesn’t make sense. If I was part of a prophecy, I was fated to be. Or whatever force you want to call it. Right?”

  “Yes. Your mother was destined to have you, but I was also destined to play my part.”

  Reagan wanted to scream. It was like watching the results show of American Idol—Ryan Seacrest had the two possible singers who might be voted off standing before him, but instead of announcing the one who’d go home, he always went to commercial. She was sick of the games and the pauses for dramatic effect. This was her life. “I mean no disrespect, but spit it out. What part did you play?”

  “Ah, you remind me so much of my Dyani; beautiful and spirited. It is not my intention to frustrate you, but what I have to tell you will be shocking. I know how strong and powerful you are, because I had a hand in making sure it was so.”

  What part of spit it out did this man not understand? Reagan felt like she was back in Dr. Ableman’s office in Boulder, the psychiatrist her mom insisted they see when all the changes had started. He’d ask open ended questions that trailed off, and then he’d wait patiently for an answer. Of course, he’d then scrutinize whatever Reagan said. If this was a game, she wasn’t interested in playing.

  Before she could remind Cheveyo about time constraints and her own frustration, he continued, “Susie came to me, desperate to get pregnant. I knew how important her children were to the fate of the world. I refused to take any chances. Her bloodline was strong, as was your father’s. I wanted to make sure it was even stronger.”

  “What did you do?” Reagan asked. This time it wasn’t to hurry him along. Instead, fear prompted her inquiry. She scooted around in her seat, trying to find a comfortable position that would ease the still flaming cramps in her abdomen.

  “I made sure your mom was comfortable for the procedure. What is a term you would understand?” Cheveyo looked to the cave ceiling and appeared to be searching for the right word. “Ah, artificial insemination.”

  “Are you saying Reagan isn’t her father’s biological child?” Papa asked, leaning closer to their host.

  Reagan was trying to catch up. She knew what artificial insemination was, o
r had a general idea. A turkey baster came to mind. No matter what anyone said, she knew who her father was.

  “Reagan is the product of an especially powerful mix of werewolf and witch blood, amplifying the skills she would need to win.”

  Numbness took over her body, like she was having a vision and wasn’t actually in the room. Time seemed to stop as she looked from her grandfather to Cheveyo. Then, in slow motion, she saw Papa fly across the table and grab the top of Cheveyo’s shirt, pulling him to eye level. “You son of a bitch.”

  Before she could react, the pain in her lower belly became intense, almost taking her breath away.

  “What you are feeling is your body’s response to your sibling.” Cheveyo choked out the words, and Papa loosened his grip so the man could talk.

  “What about Sam?” Papa asked.

  Her breaths were coming in short gasps, and she wondered if she was starting to have some sort of heart attack. The room began to spin, and she thought she might faint. Then, she saw Papa at her side.

  “Are you okay?” With a voice barely below a scream, he looked to Cheveyo. “Help her.”

  “I can help.” A female voice came from behind them.

  Reagan didn’t have the energy to turn her head, even though the cramping started to subside. As her vision began to clear, she sat up. A young lady came into view. She was about Reagan’s height and build, but had dark black hair much the color of Madeleine’s. This woman’s eyes were the same intense green as Reagan’s. Was this some kind of witch? Some associate of Cheveyo’s?

  “Don’t be afraid.”

  How could this girl be in Reagan’s head? Fear clawed at her throat; as soon as the feeling was on the brink of taking over, it faded. She felt manipulated. “Who are you?” she asked, but something clicked in her memory. “Wait,” she started, pivoting toward Cheveyo and looking for understanding in his face. “You weren’t talking about Sam earlier, were you?”

  He shook his head. “Reagan, I’d like you to meet Winona; your sister.”