“I know what you are.” There was no malice in her words. No anger, or trickery. It was a statement of fact meant to convey one thing. She knew. And if she knew, I was willing to bet everyone else knew too. I’d been fraking marked.
She stood and reached out, touching the back of Justin’s shoulder with one finger. “Be careful.”
“We will,” Justin replied, glancing over at her, and his face hardened into a look of determination I hadn’t seen before. If he could have looked like that in Werewolf Ninja, well, maybe it wouldn’t have been such a B-movie.
“I don’t care about her.” Laura waved dismissively at me as she shut the door. “I care about you, Prince.” The door shut, leaving us in abject silence with her words hanging in the air. I knew Justin was supposedly next on the hit list, but somehow I didn’t think that was what she was referring to. No, those simple sentences carried weight. Fortunately, Justin was a boy, so I don’t think he caught it, especially since he just shrugged and continued into the depths of the hotel, but I did. She felt responsible for him in a way that immediately made me want to throw her in the ocean.
Only, I had no reason to feel jealous. We weren’t anything at all. What did I care if the Breaker liked her prince in a way that wasn’t entirely professional?
A whole hell of a lot, evidently.
“We’ll arrive at my father’s chambers shortly.” Justin reached out and pointed at a door made of mahogany, etched so it looked like it was covered in spreading frost. “It’s just through there.”
As we moved along the polished obsidian tile, I realized we were heading downward, deep into the earth. It was almost imperceptible at first, but as we got closer, the slope increased, and the natural chill in the air made the gooseflesh return. We were heading into the underground lair of the most powerful werewolf in the country, if not the planet. Great.
“Looking forward to it,” I replied, trying to swallow the fear sitting in my gut like a leaden bowling ball. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to head into the underground lair of someone who has pretty much haunted my every waking moment.”
“He’s not so bad.” Justin smiled at me as he spoke and it almost reassured me. Almost. “Besides I’ll protect you.” His grin widened. “And not because I think you need protection, but because I want to do it for me.” He touched his chest with his free hand. “Let me be selfish and do this.”
“You’re good,” I said, shaking my head as I tried to ignore the tension in my back and shoulders. Justin could say what he wanted, but I’d just seen his dad teleport in a puff of darkness. It was absolutely insane. “But I don’t know if you can do anything. I’ve never seen a werewolf teleport.”
Justin shrugged. “It’s the title, not him per se. Before he became the King of Wolves, he was the King of Cold and Darkness.” His grip tightened on my hand imperceptibly as he spoke. “It’s based upon his hands of powers.”
“What the frak are you talking about?” I asked, stopping so abruptly, Justin nearly stumbled. “Werewolves don’t have hands of powers. That’s a fairy thing.”
“That’s what we want you to think.” Justin didn’t look like he was joking, but he had to be because the idea that there were werewolves with actual hands of power like the fae had was too scary to contemplate. When a fae gained a hand of power, they got all sorts of crazy powers like the ability to suck the air out of a room or make your old wounds start to bleed once again. If werewolves had a similar power, it was frightening on a whole new level.
“All the kings and queens have hands of power.” He continued. “No one is quite sure if they come with the title or if the title is just bestowed upon one with a hand. All we know is that when the head of a clan falls, a successor is chosen by the wild magic. They gain a hand of power and a title. If they live long enough, they can gain a second one.”
“So, if what you’re saying is true, every person in that room is a hulking rage beast with claws, fangs, and insane healing plus they have magic?” I asked, wishing I’d never gotten out of bed this morning. It was sort of sad because I’d been having a really good hair day, but wow. Fuck this bullshit.
“Pretty much.” Justin shrugged. “It’s why no one in there has overthrown my dad yet. He may be old, but he’s strong, and as the King of Wolves, he can negate the hands of the other kings and queens. They would have to face him without magic. It’s almost impossible to do that.”
“So what the frak would you do to stop him?” I asked, pulling my hand from his and balling it into a fist. “You don’t have any magic at all, do you?”
“No, I don’t.” His face dropped as he looked at me, and I knew I’d broken something inside him. It made me feel like a bitch, but it was true and needed to be said. “But I’d try. For you, I’d try.”
“So you’d have tried to protect me from your dad even though you’d have lost?” I shook my head, barely able to contemplate it. “I can’t believe you’d do that while being unable to protect me. That would just make both of us dead.”
He started to look back up, but I turned away from him so I wouldn’t see his face. If I did, I might break, and I couldn’t break right now. No, I had to put my big girl pants on, find some brass balls the size of Jupiter, and go meet the king of fraking wolves with his magic fraking hands.
“There is no try. You either do or do not.” I moved past him toward the door. The cold emanating off of it made me shiver so violently, I almost couldn’t progress. The brass knob was covered in a layer of hoarfrost. Fan-fraking-tastic. “So you better do.”
Justin’s face brightened in a way that made me think of a baby bird flying after it leapt from the nest and something inside of me that had been made of nails, grit, and Hellfire melted a touch. Not a lot, but enough for me to know I was totally fucked. And not in the way I normally liked.
“I will.” The steel in his voice almost made me believe it because he believed it, and as I stood in front of the door to my almost certain demise, it was something. Not enough, but something, and maybe, that would make it okay.
I reached out to open the door, but before my fingers touched the icy knob, the door pulled inward to reveal a woman wearing a flannel skirt and a hand knit white sweater. She had hair like snow, a face like Mrs. Claus, and cheeks so rosy they must have been fixed in a permanent blush. The smell of hot cocoa and fresh baked cookies filled the hallway as she turned a pair of cornflower blue eyes on me.
“You must be Annie,” she said in a way that put me instantly at ease. “Come inside and chat with us.” Her smile broadened. “We have cookies.”
I didn’t move. I couldn’t move. Who was this woman? How did she know me? What kind of cookies?
“Mom? I didn’t know you were back,” Justin said from right behind me, and I suddenly wished I still didn’t know who she was because the idea of meeting Justin’s mother was strangely more terrifying than the King of Wolves could ever have been.
12
As I bit into a cookie that had to have been made with ambrosia, nectar, and like sixteen pounds of butter, I stared into the faces of Justin’s mother and father. They sat on a brown leather loveseat practically draped on top of each other like a couple of horny teenagers. The king’s hand trailed along his wife’s thigh as he munched on his own fist-sized chocolate chip cookie. I glanced at Justin as he took a sip from an enormous glass of milk, but at least he had the good grace to look embarrassed.
Still, it was nice to see how much his parents loved each other. I’d not known my parents because the moment they’d found out what my brother and I were, they’d sent us down the Nile River hoping a good Egyptian family would take us in. Okay, that wasn’t true, but it would have been if you replaced good Egyptian family with psychotic aged master and Nile with the back alleys of New York City. Not that it mattered since they were dead now.
“So why haven’t you slit my throat and bled me out like a pig yet?” I asked because I couldn’t hold it in any longer. They’d been nothing bu
t nice to me, and that combined with the richly appointed room that smelled like pine trees and lemon Pledge was starting to wind me up in a way I couldn’t explain.
For one, I’d never been comfortable around the whole family atmosphere thanks to my damaged childhood, but I didn’t dwell on it. No, that was just icing on this particular cake because I felt like I was wearing a hamburger necklace while eating cookies with a tiger.
“You’re straight to the point, aren’t you dear?” Justin’s mother said in her too sweet and too understanding voice that made me envy Justin and wish she’d been there to kiss my booboos because she probably could make it all better.
“I’m not trying to be rude,” I said, letting the words out slowly and making an effort to control my tone. As I said, a cage full of tigers. No need to make loud noises or sudden movements. “But yeah, we all know what I am.”
“We do,” the king responded. He seemed amused and altogether different from how he had appeared in public. It was weird because out there he had been an authoritarian tyrant, and now, well, he seemed more like Jim’s dad from American Pie. “You’re an animator. Feel better now that I said it?”
I opened my mouth to make a snarky response because bees sting, wolves howl, and I make snarky responses, but I stopped myself because I realized I did in fact feel better. We had addressed the elephant in the room, and I still lived and breathed. I wonder if I’d get bonus points for every minute that remained true and what sort of prizes I could spend them on when we got to final jeopardy.
“Perhaps it might be better if you explained why you haven’t killed her?” Justin asked, raising an eyebrow as he leaned back on the sofa. His weight shifted the cushions in a way that nearly made me fall into him, but thankfully my death grip on the arm of the sofa kept me from doing so.
“We need you to find who is killing our progeny. It doesn’t make a lot of sense.” The king sighed, letting out a slow breath. “Our crowns are not handed down via heredity. Yes, it is more likely it goes to a prince or princess because it typically goes to the strongest in a family, and they tend to be the strongest, but not always.”
“Maybe someone just hates you and wants revenge?” I asked because now that I knew about the hands of power, I could see how killing a son or daughter might be a type of vengeance that would be much easier to carry out. After all, even a high-powered sniper rifle from a thousand yards misses from time to time.
“I could believe that if it was one or two murders, or a specific family. No, this is different. It feels different…” The king trailed off, looking at his wife, and it seemed like they had a bit of a mental conversation.
“What my husband is trying to say is there seems to be a reason for these particular deaths. It isn’t always the successor, or even just a child of a king or queen. Sometimes it is a sibling or a parent. But every murder has been a blood relation, and it’s only been one per clan. Loraline was not a particularly powerful werewolf even though she was the daughter of Alabaster.”
“Is he the albino?” I asked before I could stop myself.
“Yes,” Justin said from beside me. “He is the second most powerful wolf next to Dad.”
“Loraline was by far the weakest person related to him but also the most beloved,” Mrs. Bailey said, and she seemed genuinely saddened. Still, it was no wonder the albino had been pissed. I’d have been too if the person investigating my daughter’s brutal murder had zero leads.
“Let me guess, they started with the weaker kings and queens and are moving up the ladder.” I huffed the words out as a bad feeling settled over me. I knew what was going on. It was impossible and crazy and did I mention impossible, but I knew.
“Yes,” the king replied, getting to his feet and striding across the room toward a frosted glass curio. He placed his hand against it, and as he did, darkness stretched from his hand, enveloping the piece of furniture. The doors swung open at once to reveal a twisting expanse of void filled with seven fictional objects. None were particularly interesting in and of themselves. But they told a story I didn’t like. Alabaster had been right. There was an animator at work. My bad feeling grew stronger.
It must have been obvious from my face because Justin’s mom spoke up. “You know who is behind this and what their end game is, don’t you?”
“Maybe.” I let the word out and the weight of the world settled onto my shoulder because for all their power, I knew the werewolves were screwed. Unless… My gaze moved to Justin. “He’s the only blood relation to you isn’t he?” I gestured lamely at the King.
He stared at me a long time before answering. “Yes. He is.” As he did, part of him seemed to deflate in a way I’d not seen before. It was the admission that his suspicions were correct. Whoever was behind this was going to come at him through his son.
“Thought so.” I turned toward Justin, shifting on the green leather sofa so our knees nearly touched. “You’re the last piece then.” I tried to smile. “So all we have to do is keep you safe and everything goes away.”
“For how long?” Mrs. Bailey asked in a way that suggested we might be able to get through this if we just hunkered down and turtled for a while. We might, but it was a long shot unless Justin wanted to stay here in Santa’s cottage for the rest of his life.
“Forever?” I shrugged. “If it is the ritual I’m thinking of, well, it doesn’t expire.” I stood because I couldn’t sit here any longer. I needed to get out there and find the animator responsible. Fast.
Now that I’d admitted to myself that an animator was responsible, a bunch of pieces shifted into place. For one, the weird werewolf deaths made sense. As I said before, there was a reason animators were hunted down by pretty much anyone. As long as people believed there was a way to kill something, we could kill it. Hell, who do you think convinced Bram Stoker to write that particular book?
“What’s the ritual do, exactly?” The king turned toward me and his eyes were hard and angry. “I understand striking out at me through my son. Perhaps I can buy someone doing it to all of the nine clans for fun or vengeance or general craziness.” He waved his hand dismissively, and as he did, little ice crystals cascaded through the air like flakes of snow. “But I’m guessing it isn’t so simple or you wouldn’t look like a bunny about to bolt down the rabbit hole.” He showed me his teeth.
“Why what big teeth you have,” I replied, turning away from them all and shutting my eyes as I tried to recall the ritual my master had been preparing when the werewolves broke in and killed him and my brother. When they took everything I held dear. Now I could admit it hadn’t been much, but it’d been mine, and as twisted as it had been, that was worth something. What, I’m not sure.
I sucked in a breath and turned to look at Justin sitting there and expecting me to help. Was it worth him? Was a decade of pain and hiding worth Justin? Could he wash it away? We weren’t even a thing, and I’d be silly to think we ever would be. Hell, I wasn’t sure why they had let me continue breathing.
Actually, that wasn’t true. I could see the fear in his parents’ eyes now that I knew what to look for. It was in the way they moved, the way they glanced at him. The pictures of him throughout the years that decorated the walls. He was everything and killing him would break them.
Just not in the way they thought.
“It’s a bloodline spell.” I swallowed hard, trying to keep the sense of betrayal I suddenly felt deep within me. If I told them, I was betraying my clan, assuming it even existed. I didn’t know how it was possible, but if there was an animator on the loose…
“A bloodline spell?” The king looked from Justin to me and back again. “What does that mean, exactly?” He left the word “animator” unspoken, but I almost wished he wouldn’t. I was about to betray my clan for a man, for a werewolf. No. I shouldn’t say anything. I should run. Fast and far.
“You said your crowns do not fall by heredity, but to the strongest. What happens if all the crowns, and I do mean all of them, go away at once?” I
shifted my eyes from Justin to my hands as I wrung them nervously in front of me.
“Nothing good,” The king replied and his voice was glacial. Hints of power sparked through the air like diamonds and black pearls. “New hands will appear among the clans, assuming there is a worthy successor. Maybe it will be nine, maybe twelve, maybe four. Clans will rise and fall. Then, after the aftermath has settled will there be a war for this one.” He tapped the empty space above his head. “There must always be a King of Wolves. More with hands of power will die. The cycle will repeat until one stands on high.”
“And during that time, how many wolves will die?” I swallowed back the bile rising in my throat. “Because when the big dogs fight, the little dogs die.”
“Many.” The king shook his head. “But they are not killing me or the other kings and queens. Only our relations.” He stopped. His eyes got wide. “You don’t mean…”
“Yes.” I moved past him and stepped up to the curio to look at the seven idols tucked away inside the darkened shelves. Inky tendrils wrapped around each and I knew, just knew what they were meant to represent. Not the murdered, but their king or queen. Their blood relation. They were voodoo dolls, and whoever had been working this ritual, was as smart as they were horrible.
“When this ritual goes off, everyone, and I do mean everyone, related by blood to those who have died will die all at once and with great fury.” I tore my eyes from the statues and turned to look at the King of Wolves. He didn’t seem strong anymore. Now he was just feeble and tired.
“And when we all go, the wolves will go down with it,” Justin replied, swallowing hard as he came toward me. “So how do we stop them, Annie?”
“Here’s the thing, Justin,” Mrs. Bailey said. She had her hand on my shoulder before I could have blinked. The old bird was fast, I’ll give her that. “Right now Annie has to make a decision. She has to decide to help us and save our people or let this happen because we wiped hers out.” Her words were calm as she spoke. “That is a choice only she can make, but think about it from her perspective. We’ve probably murdered her family and friends. We’ve forced her into hiding, and if anyone outside this room knew what she was, she’d be dead.” She reached down and took her hands, drawing them to her rather matronly chest as she hit me with the warmest eyes I’d ever seen. “It is not a choice I’d want.”
Throne to the Wolves: An Urban Fantasy Novel (The Spell Slinger Chronicles Book 1) Page 8
