by Mary Hughes
Killer leaves the trailer two blocks away going forty miles an hour. Sophia starts at the same time and must cover a block limping and huffing badly, going three mph if she’s fricking lucky.
She’d never make it to safety in time.
King growled, low in his throat. Coldly angry, it was almost scarier than Killer’s howl.
But a growl wouldn’t defend them. Fumbling for her pepper spray, she edged out of the doorway and trembled down the steps.
Instead of the spray, her stupid hand kept landing on the stupid wand. Pain jolted her each time. Her eyes blurred with tears of frustration.
The wolf was almost on top of them. King, on the sidewalk, wasn’t doing anything but growling. They were out of options. Using magic would hurt her or worse, but she had no choice.
She whipped out the wand.
Her head exploded in pain. Her hands ached like they were cramped around live wires. Her heart froze in her chest. She gasped for breath.
The wolf leaped for her.
Chapter Six
When Noah Blackwood opened the door to the Uncommon Night Owl Bookstore two nights previous, he’d known full well he was walking into trouble.
He’d only been alpha a few days, but already he had a sense for when members of his pack were in trouble—and when they were causing trouble. Marlowe was the younger brother of even bigger trouble, Killer, one of the old corrupt alpha’s inner cadre of bullies. Because of Killer, Marlowe was a bully in training and a young man with too much time on his hands.
By bloody tooth and claw, Noah would give the pup something better to do.
He glided soundlessly across the threshold of the bookshop onto broken glass. Marlowe was frozen in place near a front display case, his dirty fingers wrapped around a foot-long psychedelic capped tower that looked uncomfortably like an erect penis. The boy was squeezing it as if he couldn’t let go.
Noah frowned. He wasn’t sure what was more unnatural, that frozen boy or the flower-power dildo.
“Mr. Blackwood.” The store’s proprietor—he knew her name was Blue and that she styled herself as a seer of some sort but had never met her—swept apart a back curtain of beads and trundled out. “You’ll need to keep better control of your people. You’re better than Scauth of course, but…oh my.” As she neared, her hand fluttered to her ample bosom—and magic flared in his sight, nearly blinding him.
She’d cast a spell.
Damn it, she was a witch. Noah’s palm pressed automatically to his chest, shielding his medallion. Witches were even bigger trouble than Killer. The sooner Noah got Marlowe out from under her feet, the better. Why hadn’t Mason warned him? No, Mason wouldn’t know. None of the pack would. Witches didn’t generally identify themselves, especially to the likes of mere shifters.
“This won’t happen again, ma’am.” His wolf half-growled it. “If you’d let me talk with the boy…?”
She waved a hand. Marlowe staggered as if released. The idiot dared to snarl at him.
Noah seized the pup by the scruff of the neck and hoisted until his legs batted air.
Snarls changed abruptly to thin whines. Noah snatched the rod from Marlowe’s hand and set it aside. Imbecile. A doodad in a magical store full of doodads that did who-knew-what. The pup didn’t know how close he’d skated to disaster.
Noah gave him a good scold, then set him down and rapped him on the nose. The boy slouched, as if his tail were tucked between his legs.
With a final glare, Noah turned to the witch. Trouble was, Linda Blue was also a respected member of the community of Matinsfield. Until the pack got stronger, he needed to stay on her good side. “I’m sorry for the boy’s behavior, Ms. Blue. Naturally, I’ll pay for any damages.”
“Well…” She rocked on her toes and Noah could see her mind working. He waited for the worst, but her plump cheeks went rosy. “If it can make us friends…apology accepted.”
“Thank you.” Friends? With a witch? He’d rather pal around with a rabid badger. “I’m glad to have this settled.”
He turned Marlowe toward the door. The witch hustled past them to open it.
She misjudged the distance and plowed into them both. Noah twisted to catch her from falling.
She blinked up into his eyes, beaming. “Oh, thank you!”
That girlish batting disoriented him just long enough for Marlowe to duck away, grab the dildo and run.
Laughing, the pup dashed toward the back of the store, pumping the tower in the air like a bizarre personal barbell.
“My vibrating skyscraper mushroom!” The witch spun.
As if Marlowe was trying to aggravate the damned witch, the boy turned and crowed. “It’s a psycho dildo ’shroom!”
The witch flitted forward, spinning her fingers like a thousand itsy bitsy spiders, her jewelry clacking like an antique train. “One for the money, two for the show.”
Twist his tail, she was casting a spell. She looked sweet but if she had real power, well, he’d seen the destruction of mages’ battles. He darted after her. “Don’t—”
“Three to get ready and four—”
“No!” Dread kicked Noah between the witch and the boy.
“—to go!”
Air warped past Noah, wavering like hot day. It arrowed for Marlowe. Noah leaped to tackle the boy, taking him out at the knees. The dildo flew from his hands and bounced through the beaded curtain. Noah raised his head.
Plus: the pup was out of the spell’s way.
Minus: the spell sailed into a free-standing Snow White oval mirror near the doorway and rebounded.
A glittering tsunami of magic whooshed out. He shoved to his hands. The mirror’d not only bounced the spell, it augmented it. This was why he hated magic. The spell shot into a glass curio cabinet full of pictures, hit one, and ricocheted—
Straight into his face. It punched him like a fist. He twirled and fell onto his back, magic shivering into his skin like a thousand tiny barbs, spiraling into him, condensing in the middle of his chest…and then nothing.
While he lay there panting, Marlowe leaped to his feet and disappeared through the beads, bending as if scooping up the mushroom on the other side.
Noah wrestled to his elbows. The witch may have looked like a long-nosed Mrs. Santa but she packed a wallop.
She stared down at him in plate-eyed horror. Swished a hand at him. “Reveal.”
Her face drained of all color.
His hackles rose. “What is going on?” His words were more growl than voice. He normally had excellent control of his wolf but with the recent alpha fight and the challenges to his leadership…damn it, he didn’t need this on top of everything. He pushed himself to his feet. “What did you hit me with?”
The witch’s fingers covered her mouth. “You felt that? Oh my. Oh dear. This is not good. This is very not good.”
“If you don’t tell me what—”
“Nothing. Everything.” The plump woman flitted to the mirror. She traced its dark wood frame with fluttering fingers, her eyes surprisingly intent.
“Lady, I don’t know what you’re talking about. But that was some serious magic.”
She whirled, skirts flying. “How do you know that?”
“Same way I know you’re a witch.” He tapped his nose.
“That’s impossible. No one can sense a witch.”
He shrugged. “I can. I’m pack alpha.” The truth, in so far as it went.
She whirled back to the mirror, studying it so intensely Noah was surprised it didn’t blush. She was muttering to herself. “Impossible. Magic is paradox. Witches sense the paradox but shifters are the paradox. A shifter sensing magic would be like…like a color sensing itself.”
Typical witch. No real answer. “Just tell me what you hit me with, Ms. Blue.”
The witch’s cheeks pinked. “Call
me Linda.”
He tapped his dwindling reserve of patience. “Nice to meet you, Linda. I’m Noah—stop that!”
She wagged fingers at him, muttering.
Noah stepped sharply back, too late. The spell hit him with a brief glitter. “Damn it, I hate sparkles.”
“You saw that?” Her eyes widened like hobbit doors. She spun, trotted to the curio cabinet, opened it, picked one of the pictures and carried it back to him. “It hit Sophia’s photo before it struck you.”
Sophia. The name rang like the purest bell in his mind.
“Anything special?” She switched it around so he could see.
The face hit him harder than the spell. Smooth, elegant, so beautiful he wanted to howl. Glossy bronze curls, elegant nose, and eyes that hit him in the gut. Big and intelligent, yet hinting that if a man got her someplace private they’d do some amazing things—
Noah backed away. He’d never heated up that fast. Damn it, what had the witch done to him? He tried to speak, but nothing came out. He swallowed and tried again. Still nothing.
Desperate to hang onto his control, he closed his eyes and used his three-two-one descent to his quiet place, one of the few things he’d kept of his father’s. After dipping a toe in the cool, calm waters of rationality, he opened his eyes again on the witch. “No. Nothing.”
She tapped the frame against her lip. “Interesting.”
“Linda, enough. What hit me?”
“The tiniest of hexes.” She bustled to put the picture back then trundled to an armoire to lift a folded white sheet from the shelves. “A simple bur.”
He shook his head. “That didn’t hit like a bur.”
“Yes, well, it took a few detours first.” She closed the cupboard, trotted to the mirror and threw the sheet over it. The cloth slithered into place like silk. She twitched a few places to cover the mirror completely. “There, that’s taken care of. I—oh dear.”
She stared at the front door.
“What’s the matter…yip?” Suddenly dizzy, he pressed a hand to his head. Or tried. A paw wavered in front of his face.
“We’re closed.” Linda’s tone was strained.
Noah shook his head to clear it. He felt so strange. He finally managed to focus on the front door where a woman stood, hands over her mouth, staring at him.
The woman stuttered, “The door was open and I… D-did that man just turn into a—?”
“No, no.” Linda bustled to the woman and turned her away. “All an illusion. Mirrors and such. Come back tomorrow.” She hustled the woman out, closed the door and collapsed back against the jamb, hand against her forehead. Heaving a breath, she straightened and trotted toward the back of the store. “I have to check out a few things.”
“Yip?” He couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Then, in a flurry of hairpins and a rattle of beaded curtain, she was gone.
“Yip yip…? Yip!” He ground his teeth. Witches. Couldn’t trust the lot of them. Always secretive, and not in the necessary, protecting-the-pack way. He started after her…and upended, landing on his back, little furry legs batting above him.
That was when he found out he was a fifteen-inch dog.
The wolf arced toward Sophia. Her bowels froze. A slavering mouth filled her view, inches from her nose—and stopped with a piccolo howl of pain.
King had launched himself into soft wolf belly and latched on with tiny steel jaws.
Killer curled midair. Fell back to the sidewalk, King still attached. Killer dropped onto his side and bicycled his legs to push the small dog off.
King hung on despite the scrabbling horny untrimmed wolf toenails. His dear little nose scrunched, his eyes clenched tight and spatters of fresh blood marred his fluffy fur.
Sophia released the wand into her pocket. The pain ebbed and she started breathing again. Her hand finally landed on her spray. She yanked it out, flipped back the hinged cover, thumbed the button, leaned in close to the wolf and released the stream directly into his face.
Killer yowled, pure pain. He started morphing from wolf to human, several bone-cracking moments.
Just as Marlowe’s wolf bounded into sight. He saw Killer and screeched to a halt, eyes wide. With a howl, he came running.
Sophia snatched King and tried to flee. The dog was still attached to Killer and she had to tug.
King’s teeth tore off a few layers of Killer-hide.
The instant King came free, she ran. The dog was a furious fuzzy tornado yapping his displeasure. Blood decorated his muzzle, not all of it his.
Her protector. She hugged his sweet sturdy little body to her. His head ended up pressed between her breasts. His yipping stopped abruptly, along with any movement. And then his tail began wagging and he wiggled happily in her arms.
Her last sight of Killer was the man kneeling on the sidewalk, clawing at his streaming eyes, Marlowe trying to help and getting swatted.
She ran all the way to Aunt Linda’s, clutching King to her chest. Her hand trembled as she unlocked the bookstore door. She darted in and slammed the door behind her. She was out of breath—not just panting, but the kind of wheezing rasp from scoured-off layers of lung.
King, despite bleeding from numerous scratches and abrasions, licked her face like he was trying to reassure her. The sweetie. The imbecile. Why had he attacked Killer like that? Man-Killer was gross, but wolf-Killer was big, fast and deadly.
The instant she could breathe without danger of puking, she set King down and locked the door. Although even gross, human-Killer would have hands. The lock wouldn’t keep him out.
Her palms broke out in a cold sweat. Sticking them under her arms, she peeped through the window. Without magic, she was a sitting duck.
No, the wards were up. Although could a magical creature break though them? Or worse, Auntie might have wanted to let them in. It would be just like her to weave in a loophole.
A profound longing surged through Sophia—she wished Noah were there. Then she wouldn’t worry about Killer as wolf or man.
King gave a pained yip.
“What’s wrong, sweetie?” She immediately dropped her own worries to kneel beside the dog. “Are you hurt?” She parted his blood-smeared fur, looking for wounds. The fur was too thick for her to see anything.
She had to get him to a professional. But the only vet was miles away, and she wasn’t sure her car would make it.
Her eye landed on a flyer, tacked to Auntie’s “Local Businesses” bulletin board. Matinsfield Happy Tails Pet Store blazed across the top, and just below New Grooming Salon NOW OPEN!
She nodded. Maybe not a full-fledged omen but surely a good sign, literally. “King, I’m taking you to the doggie salon.”
“Yip, yip.” King barked rapidly, as if he was trying to talk her out of it.
She silenced him by scooping him up and hugging him to her bosom. He again stilled, then wiggled happily.
She didn’t want to stop to hunt up more leash string, so she kept the dog firmly clasped in one arm as she let herself out, locked up and hurried across Main, eyes open for pissed-off wolves.
Her cell phone rang, startling her so badly she nearly threw up her heart.
The ringtone was her cousin’s, her terror the same as getting a call at three a.m. Lungs pumping, she pulled out the phone.
It was pulsing red. 911 emergency. She nearly cracked her cheekbone answering. “Daniel? What’s wrong?”
“The first knell has struck.” He intoned it, the solemn wizard prince frighteningly removed from the playboy she knew Daniel to be. “You have been chosen to carry the burden.”
“Burden? Me?” The words hit her with an almost physical blow. Then… “Wait. Are you talking about that crazy poem?”
Last October Daniel had discovered the Avignon Quatrain, fabled
lost prophecy of Jean-Dion d’Avignon. Supposedly a sort of treasure map, they hadn’t been able to decipher it.
“But it’s been nearly a year,” Sophia sputtered. “We decided it’s a fake.”
“You decided it’s a fake,” Daniel said in his normal baritone. “Mostly because it named you first.”
“It doesn’t name me.” Why did everyone insist Blue meant her? She was hyperventilating. King yipped and licked her chin. “Total coincidence my last name is a color. And anyway, prophecies are all image and metaphor. Clear only in retrospect.”
“It’s a little more specific than you make out.” He recited the Quatrain.
HEART beats for a wolf and a Blue
MIND is focused by Light
SOUL belongs to those who are True
The KEY unlocks the Night.
“So there’s a wolf too.” Noah was a wolf. Her body shimmered. She ignored it. “Big whoop.”
King gave a short yowl. She was squeezing him so tightly she was in danger of crushing his ribs. She let up immediately.
“Cousin Arianna had a vision. She says Heart, Mind and Soul are pieces of the Key. She’s adamant that you’re the Blue to find the heart piece, and she is the seer in the family. So I have to ask you…fall in love with any wolves lately?”
“That’s taboo.” Even and especially wolves with silver eyes and clever hands attached to all that was tall, dark and umm-hmm. “Maybe Aunt Linda met someone. She’s a Blue. Or Arianna. Can’t be me. I just got my life on track. I’m not messing it up with love.”
“I see.” His dry tone said he did see, too much. “Well, that’s a problem. Because if it’s not you, who is the Blue I need to warn?”
“Warn?” She screeched to a halt so fast she almost smoked her heels. “Warn about what?”
“Red script appeared beside the first line of the Quatrain. A warning.”
“About what?” she repeated.
“If you’re not the Blue in the prophecy, why should you care?”
Sophia wished for a smite button of her own. “Because it’s a warning. Everyone needs to heed a warning.” She waited.
