Rayne entered the encryption code on her phone and aimed the camera at her face for the authentication. After a long wait, the logo appeared, faded, and was replaced by words on the screen. “Recall confirmed.”
“Goddamn it.” Myelle pointed toward the map now displayed on the console. “Why do stupid witches have to live in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere?”
Rayne chuckled. “I don’t think the Hamptons qualifies as Bumfuck.”
“Bastet, plot fastest route to the Long Island Airport. Deploy radar scrambler.” The Tribunal’s network of emergency portals included most modern airports. “Ninety miles from civilization is Bumfuck, as far as I’m concerned.”
“Depends on whether or not you consider New York City civilized.” Rayne tapped menus on her phone. “Here’s the full recall notice.” She scrolled down. “Shit.”
“What?”
Rayne met her colleague’s brief glance. “It’s war.”
Rayne leaned against the side wall of the standing-room-only auditorium. The tiny pocket demesne that contained the auditorium deep in the Shifter Tribunal building had three thousand seats. She’d never seen or smelled so many shifters in one room, not even when she’d been in the auction house.
And not just shifters. Magical humans, elves, fairies, vampires, wraiths, djinn, and representatives of a dozen other ancient species shared the space. Spellcast images allowed even more to be present in spirit.
Triffum, the Shifter Tribunal’s new interim president, stood on the dais, eyes cast down at the podium. The bear shifter was older than the hills but still vigorous, and had been drafted specifically because he had no ambition to run anything. The previous president had turned out to be an investor in the buyers’ consortium organized by the shifter-purity cabal. No one had seen her since the day before the timed arrests, and her house had burned to the ground that night.
Precisely on the hour, Triffum looked out at the audience. “Thank you for coming.” Built-in magic carried his voice throughout the room. “This is the most serious threat to shifters and the secret of our existence—and that of all magical peoples—that we have faced since the polar fairy-Arctic elf war in 1908.”
As Triffum spoke, Rayne heard the quiet murmur from translation spells for non-English speakers.
The four giant multimedia monitors above the dais displayed an image of a map of northern Canada marked with a pulsing spot near a river.
“Most of you have heard that nine weeks ago, the long-missing sanctuary town of Fort LeBlanc reappeared. Four nights later, a company of wizards took an invasion force in a bid to take the town.” A series of still photographs and short video segments accompanied his words. “They were defeated by the newly awakened town elders and returning citizens, including the crow shifters who took these photos. Because of a long-standing treaty, they were aided by volunteers from the sanctuary town of Kotoyeesinay, Wyoming.”
Rayne hadn’t expected to see anyone she knew in the images, but she recognized one. She pushed herself off the wall and stood up straight. In the candid photo, a smiling polar fairy wearing battle armor was talking to a serious-faced, tall, well-muscled human who looked like a mountain man. He’d shaved his beard and trimmed his wild hair, but she recognized his build and his eyes. The auction house had called him “Brick,” because they’d believed the Siberian tiger’s human half was brain-damaged. His real name was Nic, and he’d been smart enough to fool the guards for weeks. More important, he’d last been seen escaping the flooded facility with her sister, Skyla.
The big displays blanked.
Rayne made herself relax and lean against the wall again. One way or another, she would be in the group that went to Fort LeBlanc.
“... reporting another threat to the town. Ordinarily, we would not insert ourselves, but in this case, we must.”
For the first time in his measured speech, anger colored Triffum’s tone. “Taken as a whole, the predictions point to a deadly enemy that our elders remember, and that the oldest of us saw for ourselves. They were once the locusts of the north, taking everything they found and killing without remorse. They openly used magic, and didn’t care who saw them. They were unstoppable. Our clans, packs, and herds had no defenses against them. We couldn’t find their homelands. No one knows why their attacks slowed considerably in the early 1800s, and ceased altogether by the late eighteen-eighties. It wasn’t because we were winning.”
The screens showed a series of sketches and illustrations of males and females wearing striking jewelry and aboriginal cold-weather gear. Some sketches were of large wolves, some with similar jewelry. A few sketches showed islands and beaches, with fins visible in the nearby water. Wolf footprints led from the shore.
“The best evidence we have is a skeleton found outside the stasis chamber that saved the Fort LeBlanc elders.”
The photos showed a half-visible jawbone and skull, with huge teeth, stuck in a big pool of ice.
“This is the full skeleton, straightened out, and an artist’s rendering of what it might have looked like. The bracelets and other jewelry were found as you see them.”
The skeleton looked like an artist’s study for a fantasy animal. The illustration looked like a salmon with legs, wearing earrings and wristbands.
Rayne felt the color drain from her face.
Triffum’s words crashed into her head. “They call themselves the Ahklut. We called them Singing Death. They nearly destroyed Fort LeBlanc last time. Now they want to finish what they started. It’s our job, and the job of every species that can help, to stop them.”
A low thumping began reverberating through the room, as shifters began stomping their feet in agreement. War, war, war.
The moon goddess must hate Rayne.
In all likelihood, she’d have to kill the very people who Arvik hoped to find.
And if the moon goddess really hated her, she might have to kill Arvik, too, if he’d already found them and his current silence meant he’d chosen to join them again.
16
The huge fairy portal opened wide. The magic danced along Raynes senses, raising the hair on the back of her neck. She kept her head down and took two steps toward it.
“Chekal!”
Rayne hid a wince and turned to a thunderous Brooker. She smiled as if it had been weeks instead of hours since she last saw him.
He drilled her with his gaze. “Your name was on the roster for the second wave.”
“I know. Someone, and I can’t imagine who, must have made a terrible mistake, so I fixed it.” She widened her smile. “Besides, you’re not the boss of me, oh newly appointed Shifter Tribunal Council Special Liaison to the North American Sanctuary Cities. S-T-C-S… That’s a lot of letters after your name.”
He hissed his displeasure. “It’s temporary.”
“Good, because it’s making you grumpier than usual.” She waved toward the portal. “But as long as Myelle is my acting boss, she says what goes, and right now, she says I go.”
His lips twisted in annoyance. “The Council still wants to know where you got your counterintelligence about the Ahklut.”
Sharing the actionable information had been the right thing to do, because even Arvik had described his former tribe as a deadly scourge.
Rayne kept her smile diamond bright. “Ghost moon wolves. I traded them for the blood of a trapper.”
Guilt and regret sank sharp dire-wolf teeth into her heart with every fact she revealed, especially her theories on how to fight them.
Brooker shook his head. “You are more stubborn than your father ever was. I put you in the second wave because one of the prophecies mentions you.”
“I know. Look to the North Star for Skyla.” She missed Lerro’s refreshingly specific pronouncements.
He shook his head. “That was one oracle. This is a prophecy. Here.” He handed her a folded piece of paper. “Don’t get caught.”
With that cryptic warning, he turned and strode away.
She shoved it i
nto her pocket. A prophecy was usually nothing more than a revelation of oracles writing bad poetry by committee, only comprehensible after the fact. She realigned the backpack’s straps on her shoulders, then joined the ranks of armored shifter enforcers porting from the marbled hall into the outdoor world of Fort LeBlanc.
Probing magic flared, sort of like Kotoyeesinay’s barrier, but less subtle. She let it see her shifter nature but fended off deeper queries. She wasn’t offended that they tried. It was war, or soon would be.
The few low-resolution pictures she’d seen of the town hadn’t prepared her for experiencing the amazing architecture firsthand. Trees and rocks blended as if in a symbiotic relationship to create organic buildings, some four or five stories high. Heavy-duty layered illusions hid it from the outside world of satellite imagery and wandering humans, which made it all the more fantastic.
To her left, she recognized the three majestic evergreen trees, tall as redwoods, that marked the center of town. The street beneath her boots looked like a channelized lava flow of gray quartz that reflected the hazy afternoon sunlight. Shrubs and grasses glittered without sunlight and waved without any wind. Magic was everywhere.
She marched with the fifty volunteer enforcers from prides, clans, and packs throughout the Americas. Not many had known each other until arriving in Chicago a few days ago. An alpha gray-wolf shifter with a century of special forces experience had organized them into small squads and told them to work out tactics among themselves. It had worked better than Rayne would have expected.
After a few short blocks, she stepped out and stopped at an intricately carved stone bench. A large window in front of her facing the street advertised baked goods. Swinging her backpack forward and bending to open it served as a cover for sending out her discovery magic.
Her idea had been to wait until dark, then use her skills to track down the Siberian tiger shifter named Nic. Once again, reality stomped on her plans with turf cleats.
The town was alive. Not just full of hundreds of people from dozens of species, but the town itself bordered on sentient. Far beyond a normal elven glade, where elves and the land shared strength for mutual protection.
Invisible threads connected everything, including the people she took to be citizens. More threads floated above the marching shifters as they passed by. Floated above her, too. The bristling defenses she could sense made those at the Shifter Tribunal headquarters seem quaint.
There would be no slithering through the shadows of sleepy side streets. She’d be lucky just to stay unnoticed in the makeshift barracks on the northwestern end of town.
Increasing clouds from the west and a falling temperature warned of a coming storm.
She zipped the backpack shut and slung it over her shoulder as she caught up with the rest of the shifters.
She’d been in the midst of several human wars and one shifter-clan war in Brazil, but only as a spy on covert missions, never as a soldier. Doubt and fear soured her stomach. People she didn’t know and some she did would die. All the fight training in the world couldn’t save them, or protect her from loss.
The barracks turned out to be fifty tents and a few food and supply trucks fitted with ice treads. The field behind them had snow tractors, snowmobiles, and a variety of military-grade Humvees. The modern equipment looked out of place in Fort LeBlanc.
A bald polar fairy in polished black armor stood on a floating chariot and bellowed at the shifters as they claimed tents.
“I am Town Elder and War Leader Rorabek. Your leaders will report to me. Gasoline vehicles are prohibited in town. Small electric vehicles are acceptable on the main roads. Do not pee on the rock giants or the trees, and do not shit in the woods—use the toilets. You have thirty minutes to stow your gear, then proceed to the southeast field, near the river, for a briefing. Don’t be late, or I will send the forest giants after you.” He pointed to one standing near the trees. She stood ten feet tall, with huge shoulders and oddly jointed hips. Long brown fur started at her feet and only stopped at her brown face. Her evil grin said she’d love to have a shifter as a fetch toy.
Rayne chose a tent on the outer edge of the encampment and dropped off her backpack on the cot in the far corner. She’d already put most of her gear in her personal magical arsenal and wardrobe, so she’d filled her backpack with extra food and entertainment. As soon as the second wave of shifters arrived, she’d be sharing the tent, but for now, it was all hers.
Before anyone realized she didn’t belong to any of the squads, she shifted and nosed her way out of the tent and headed toward the town. She’d seen enough animals in Fort LeBlanc that her current borzoi illusion wouldn’t cause comment.
From the map she’d memorized, the streets radiated like spokes from the center glade and park. She’d already noticed that businesses intermixed randomly with personal residences. Getting a sense of the town and searching for a half-remembered Siberian tiger’s scent would be better than brooding.
She was just rounding a corner occupied by a small house, one of the few made of red brick, when she detected an unexpected familiar scent. She slowed, casting back and forth for the trail. It led back toward the center part of town, where she lost it altogether. Too many scents mingled. Too many people that might notice an excitable sighthound behaving like a stubborn bloodhound.
She took off running like she heard the dinner bell, and just barely made it to Rorabek’s briefing in time. She slipped under a tree, shifted, then strolled out in her human form. She stood at the back of the crowd, near a squad of shifters she didn’t know.
Rorabek was probably a volatile pain in the ass to work with closely, but she gave him credit for simple tactics that took advantage of the strengths of the shifters, elves, fairies, vampires, and magic users that would be defending the town.
“Last time, they caught us unaware. Only sleeping saved us.” His chariot rose as he brandished a magical lance and raised his voice to the sky. “This time, we are awake! This time, we are ready!”
The resounding cheer echoed in her ears as she slipped away. Motivational speeches usually had the opposite effect on her. One more trait that meant she’d probably always be an outsider. She shifted again and ran back to the red-brick house.
This time, she traced the fading scent the other direction, but lost it when the compacted dirt path she’d been on came to an end in front of rough terrain and sparse evergreens.
After a long moment of listening to gusts of wind bringing snippets of sounds from the town behind her, she retraced her steps.
Back near the center of town, in human form, she bought two stuffed croissants from the bakery and sat on the stone bench out front to eat them. Savoring her prizes gave her the chance to watch and listen.
Like Kotoyeesinay, Fort LeBlanc was a United Nations of magical species, some of whom were traditional enemies in the world at large. She even saw an Arctic elf and polar fairy kiss, then realized the fairy was War Leader Rorabek.
Despite the impending trouble and the palpable tension in the air, people still took time to greet their friends. Children giggled and chased one another. Three crow shifters flew through like phantom jets, cawing loud laughter when they caused people to duck.
She couldn’t trust anyone in Fort LeBlanc or Kotoyeesinay with her suspicion. Sanctuary towns usually required formal requests from outsiders to arrest citizens, or even visitors. Considering the turmoil of the impending war, the petition would take weeks or months. Plenty of time for her quarry to disappear again.
All thoughts of the hunt flew out of her head when the man she’d been hoping to find stepped out of the community center building and onto the street. Nic, the crafty tiger shifter, in the flesh and coming in her direction.
The main thoroughfare was too public for a reunion. She stood, brushed the pastry flakes off her utility vest, and sauntered up the street. Reflective surfaces told her when he passed by, and the intersection where he turned.
She looked at her watch, sh
ook her head, then walked as if she had somewhere to be and turned at the same intersection. She kept her eyes down and matched his pace, catching and following his scent.
He slowed, looked both ways, then trotted across another street. When she glanced up, she saw him step onto the partially snow-covered ground and head toward a glade of trees.
She slowed. The glade would certainly be more private, but she could already feel its powerful magic like an Arctic breeze. On the other hand, she might never have another chance. She followed his footsteps into the glade.
Powerful probing magic washed over her, and she stopped to let it see her peaceful intentions. It let her in.
Like other glades she’d seen, it was larger than it looked from the outside, and had its own ecosystem. This one looked like a frosty twilight garden, with a frosty, crystalline floor, mossy rocks, and clusters of tiny plants everywhere.
Up ahead, Nic waved. Her knees nearly buckled when she saw who he was waving to.
Her beautiful, beloved sister, Skyla. Healthy and happy. And mated to the big tiger, from the neon-bright bonds surrounding them like an aura. He scooped her up into a twirling embrace and kissed her soundly.
Relief and wonder flooded Rayne’s chest. Her eyes ached with tears. She drew breath to call out, then froze. She was a perpetual nexus of trouble. She loved her job, but Skyla never signed up for that kind of life. What if–
“Rayne?”
Skyla’s voice sounded tentative as she looked straight at her, holding out her hand. Nic stood at her side, all his attention on his mate.
Rayne nodded, not trusting her voice.
To hell with her doubts and guilt. She would take her lumps as they came. No way was she isolating herself again and hoping for the best. Squaring her shoulders, she strode across the glade.
Skyla’s eyes widened. “Oh my god, you’re real!”
Before Rayne could puzzle that out, she had armfuls of her baby sister. This was her pack. This was home.
Skyla squeezed Rayne tight. “Don’t ever do that again! I thought you were another ghost, come to tell me how you’d died.”
Dire Wolf Wanted Page 13
