Feathers and Fire Series Box Set 1

by Shayne Silvers

  “How did you find me?” I asked, accepting his help to get to my feet. I kept my hand clamped over the wound and still held my dagger at my side, trying to look non-threatening.

  “Your room was empty, and we knew you had returned from the city earlier. There was only one place we told you not to go, so when we couldn’t find you or Roland in the obvious places we decided to come here.”

  I nodded tiredly, opening my mouth to explain.

  He cut me off. “We found two dead guards at the prison entrance or we would have been here sooner. Someone tried to break in…” he glared down at my bloody dagger and I groaned in disbelief at the silent accusation.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me…” I muttered as Fabrizio and Windsor appeared behind Crispin. “I was fucking stabbed! Did the dead guards have blood on their blades? Match it to mine and I’ll gladly turn myself in,” I rolled my eyes. This was just incredible.

  “I don’t believe it was you, Callie. I’m just pointing out how it looks…”

  I nodded in defeat.

  He growled in a steady stream of commands. “Rooms, now. We told you this was off limits! The one place you had to leave alone!” he seethed, sounding furious at the world in general. That he was forced to punish me, seeing no way around it.

  Windsor piped up, studying me acutely. He didn’t look pleased either, but he did look surprisingly more compassionate than normal. “Without her, they might have succeeded, Crispin. She distracted them,” he said, glancing down at my wounds. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine. The stab wasn’t deep. I just need some bandages to stop the leaking.”

  Fabrizio leaned closer, speaking for the first time. “Where is Roland?” It didn’t sound like concern for a friend. It sounded like a cop interrogating a suspect.

  “Out for dessert?” I offered, exasperated at the bipolar emotions the Conclave bred into their Shepherds. Trust. Distrust. Trust. Distrust. Friends. Not friends. Rinse and repeat every three minutes. All three of them leveled me with serious looks. “He stayed in the city. Check your logs. I returned alone,” I said, wincing as my wound stretched wider at the long explanation.

  Crispin whipped out a cellphone and tried to place a call. I assumed it was Roland, since no one answered him. He hung up and rounded on Windsor.

  “Take Callie to her rooms and see that her wounds are dressed. Keep her under guard, and keep calling Roland. I already heard he didn’t return through the gates, so he has to still be in the city. Fabrizio and I will go comb the city, check his apartment,” he sighed, frustrated. “Any of his known locations. Have the other Shepherds check every nook and cranny of the Vatican.” He eyed me. “For ninjas dressed like her.” I had watched all three of them for signs that they had witnessed my romantic display with Roland, but I didn’t see anything even remotely suspicious. Damn. But Crispin’s comment about knowing I had returned alone meant we were definitely still under surveillance. Bastards.

  “I’m back on house arrest? I just saved the wolves from murder!” I argued.

  Crispin held up a hand. “Or… you killed the guards,” he said in a soft tone, holding out a hand for me to give him my blade. I did, grumbling under my breath.

  “This place really sucks…” I groaned as Windsor led me back to my room, unsmiling.

  I just hoped Roland was alright because I now had zero chance of saving the wolves or leaving the Vatican. Roland was on his own.

  Chapter 46

  I stood before the Conclave, returning their milky, judgmental glares without blinking.

  “What were you doing last night?” Daniel demanded, even though I was sure he had been briefed before he saw me. If he hadn’t spent half the night debating the merits of declaring me guilty of a crime I had actually prevented. The Conclave seemed to excel at half-assed criminal procedure.

  “I don’t know if I can say it in simpler terms,” I seethed angrily. “I ignored your demand to leave the investigation alone and went to question the wolves. I was attacked by two assassins in black clothes. I hurt them a little. They hurt me a little. They fled. I survived. But bled a little.”

  Several members of the Conclave grumbled hotly, but Daniel held up a hand. “And you ran into… ninjas?” he asked in a mocking tone. “Not wizards? Nothing supernatural?” he frowned, no doubt disappointed in my lacking hand-to-hand combat skills. I hadn’t mentioned that I’d been distracted by trying to make a positive ID after I cut off his scarf. I hadn’t even told them about the scarf. I no longer trusted anyone but Roland, the blood-sucking vampire. Someone here was a dirty liar. It was the only thing that made sense.

  I lifted the bottom of my black long-sleeved shirt, revealing the bandage wrapping my waist, since they hadn’t bothered to use magic to heal me. Maybe as a lesson of some kind. Then I showed them my forearms, which were wrapped in fresh gauze to cover the knife wounds I had earned. “They fought well. Got lucky. Had better weapons.”

  “And where is Roland?”

  I shrugged. “He got lucky in town?” I watched all of their faces, trying to ascertain if any of them looked aware of our romantic act, belying that they had been spying on us. I saw nothing. They actually scowled at my flippant comment, not appreciating my humor. “He’s not feeling well. He needed some time to pray over his murdered friend. He wanted a crepe.” I sighed dramatically, throwing up my hands. “I don’t know where he is. He asked for privacy, and being a good student, I obeyed him and tried to make one last ditch effort to help those girls.”

  But I was terribly nervous about the truth, because I hadn’t heard back from Roland. He hadn’t called, and I hadn’t been able to leave my rooms, guarded all night until Windsor woke me to be rushed to this meeting. I had failed. Because it was time for the trial. Roland was gone, and the girls were going to be condemned. I just knew it.

  “I’ve known Roland for over fifty years, and he’s never taken a… sick day,” Richter said.

  I found myself surprised to hear Roland was that old, but dismissed it as Daniel spoke.

  “Well, they didn’t succeed in their ultimate mission, whoever they were. Your dagger was not the murder weapon, and you obviously didn’t stab yourself.”

  I couldn’t help myself. “It’s truly frustrating when the evidence doesn’t fall the way you like it, right?” His face turned that lovely shade of purple I loved so much. To think I had almost liked the guy during our first meeting. But to even mutter a comment about me stabbing myself being a plausible option brought out the bitch in me.

  “I think this ordeal only proves that we need to proceed with the trial. Immediately. Before anything else can go wrong. Before their partners break into this room and try to free them.”

  “There you go with the objectivity again. Calling them partners without evidence is pretty slick. Almost as slick as convicting two little girls without proof.” I clapped my hands delicately.

  Daniel turned to Windsor, barely containing his rage, but knowing that if he resorted to arguing with me further he would only increase how ignorant he looked before his peers. “If Miss Penrose speaks one more time, you have permission to send her out and lock her up until we have time to coddle her.”

  Ohhhh, I almost commented on that, but managed to take a breath instead. Windsor grimaced, not happy with the order, but he gave a nod. Then he shot me a look that both spoke of his resolve, and begged me not to test it.

  I gave him a much more polite nod than I had given anyone else this morning. Then I sat down, studying the faces of the Conclave, this crew of blind old wizards who thought they knew what they were doing. If I was running the show, I would have made sure they had beneficial areas of expertise. Technological. Military. Police. Shifter experience. Ex-Shepherds.

  As I studied them, I realized a startling thought. They were a bunch of scared old men. Sure, they were wizards, but had they earned their position by playing politics or had they paid with scars? Even if by scars, did that mean they were a table of grumpy, ignorant brutes? The worl
d was a different place now than from twenty, ten, even five years ago, and these men refused to adapt.

  And were willing to execute two innocent girls in order to maintain their strip of power.

  The real killer had wanted to silence the girls, but why? It was the night before the trial. It made no sense. They had to be aware that their conviction was a forgone conclusion. There was no need to risk exposure like they had. Unless… the girls knew something.

  None of that mattered now. Two guards had died last night, and I didn’t have a chance standing against the forces before me. They wanted a culprit, not the truth. The Shepherds were done being lenient. Because everything that had happened in the last few days had made them look horribly incompetent. And I had only shone a big spotlight on that fact. The other visiting Shepherds were now patrolling the grounds, ready for anything. Two of them even guarded the door to the Conclave, just in case of more ninjas.

  As if on cue, Fabrizio entered the room with the wolves in tow, followed a minute later by Crispin and two middle-aged men. One had dark, slicked back hair, and was young, tall, and handsome, but had a nervous slouch. The other was ten years older with thinning hair and plump, bearded cheeks. His eyes darted around like a cornered rat, searching for a hole to hide in. The girls looked healthy, but exhausted, practically quivering with fear. Then I realized why. They were crying, but not making a sound. They were magically gagged, prevented from speaking.

  Instinctively, I wanted to kill everyone at the front of the room. Gagging the defendants? Not even giving them a chance to speak? But then I thought about it. The two witnesses were Regulars. The Conclave didn’t want the wolves saying or doing anything that might reveal the truth and scare the living hell out of the Regulars. Because that would prove the Vatican knew magic was real, and all hell would break loose.

  Their only other option was to let the girls talk, and then kill the witnesses after they heard the truth. So in a way, this was the Conclave saving their lives in exchange for their testimony. But this was only acceptable to me if they later escorted the Regulars out, and then let the girls speak their side of the story. Before any verdict was called.

  I hadn’t seen the girls clearly before, since they had either been covered in filth and ruined makeup or hiding in the back of a cell before Roland transported them here.

  They weren’t cleaned up for a dance or anything, of course, but I saw enough to recognize their potential beauty. Both were dark-haired and vibrant, one taller, one shorter, but both with an exotic look to them. The shorter one had a round, innocent face, and thick brown hair. The taller one had harsh cheekbones and full lips I would have murdered for.

  They didn’t need makeup, but if they applied some, they could have convinced a priest to challenge his vow of celibacy. It was no wonder why they had been kidnapped in the first place. They could have been sisters – not identical, but similar enough to pass. Like Claire and I.

  I rubbed my arms absently, my injuries itching as I locked eyes with the them, wondering which was Tiffany and which was Jasmine. Their eyes moistened in recognition, and the fear I saw made my stomach lurch.

  They were silently begging me to save them.

  All I wanted to do was look away, but that would have been cowardly. I shot them a sympathetic look, trying not to break down in tears. I rubbed at my arms again, using the motion to distract me from my anxiety, trying to jumpstart my brain to come up with a solution that could save them.

  The first witness, the younger, handsome one, was called to the stand. “My name is Alberto Esposito. I was on my way home from work…” he shot suddenly guilty eyes to the seven officials staring down at him. “L-lighting a smoke in the alley. I heard voices and laughing. It sounded like women, so I approached.” He looked suddenly guilty again, as if fearing God was about to smite him for considering picking up girls in an alley. The Conclave members didn’t give him an inch, which made me smile faintly. “Anyway, as I n-neared the corner the laughter stopped and I heard something crash into a dumpster.”

  I realized I was leaning forward, trying to catch a lie. Maybe he really was a witness.

  “I turned the corner and saw one woman trying to get up off the ground and another woman slam into a wall and not get up. An old man was glaring down at her as if he had shoved her. I was about to intervene when the first woman jumped to her feet, there was a scuffle, and they both fell to the ground.” He lifted his eyes in shame. “I… I ran after that, calling the police.”

  The bastard was lying, or had seen something he couldn’t understand – Freaks – and had filled in the gaps with something that made sense.

  The Conclave deliberated on this in murmured silence, letting the witness squirm for a few moments before dismissing him back to his seat, thanking him for his time. He shot the girls a discreet look of disgust before slinking away from the podium. He even moved like a pathetic weakling. I hated him.

  I almost fell over at their dismissal of the witness, literally holding myself to the chair, shaking in outrage. What the hell kind of a performance was that? No questions? No evidence? No analysis? Just a Regular reciting his description of a supernatural murder, when he wasn’t even aware of the supernatural world? For all he knew, for all anyone knew, he had witnessed a battle of lightning and his brain had short-circuited, shuffling the events into a neat little box that he could comprehend.

  This was the whole point of a courtroom. To have cross examination. Evidence to corroborate eye witness accounts. Otherwise, any witness could say whatever they wanted and get someone punished for a crime that may have never happened.

  This wasn’t he said she said. This was real life, and the Conclave was treating it like a tabloid magazine speaking the gospel.

  Means. Motive. Opportunity. Those were the three cornerstones of an investigation. So far, they only had opportunity. They knew Constantine’s throat was slashed, but they hadn’t found a weapon, simply figuring anyone with claws would do in a pinch. I was seeing red, but knowing that Windsor would toss me out on my ear, and that the Regular witnesses were still present, I didn’t speak. I just sat there, fuming.

  For the millionth time, I wondered where Roland was and if he had found and murdered the assassins. If not, these two were about to die, and I might just die beside them, because I couldn’t imagine a world where I didn’t stand up in their defense.

  Don’t get me wrong. If they were guilty, I would have been the first to hop on the execution train, but I had seen the video from Haven. Now, I hadn’t taken that as gospel either. I had come to the Vatican looking for proof to counteract the video I had seen, expecting the Conclave to have at least something incriminating.

  But I had found nothing.

  Even without knowledge of the video, I would feel the same way right now. Because the Conclave had their collective thumbs up their asses and were trying to quickly brush a murder under the rug, sacrificing two basically-adolescent werewolves to do it.

  I scratched my arms again as I replayed the events of the attack last night. Roland had vamped out, or at least started to. Maybe he had found the assassins after. Crispin and Fabrizio had obviously failed to catch him. Or I would have heard something by now. Maybe right now he had the evidence to clear their names, but since he had vamped he couldn’t risk making his way onto the property. Maybe he had found the real killer, drunk his blood in one vigilantic gulp, and was in the middle of a violent transformation.

  Even if he managed to enter the Conclave right this moment to clear their names, he would only be condemning himself. I knew he didn’t care about that and would do it in a heartbeat. That’s just the way he was. But he wasn’t here.

  It sure put me in an impossible situation. If I had to choose who to save, would it be Roland or the wolves? I realized my answer, and had a hard time looking at the wolves after that. But I still made myself do it, lending them as much mental support as I could through my gaze.

  I realized they had already called the second witness
to the stand, and he was halfway through his story. I scratched my arms again, annoyed. Were my wounds infected? Or just irritated by the gauze? I dismissed the thought, staring down the baker. He had been taking out the trash behind his bakery, a few doors down from the altercation and had seen the whole thing. He couldn’t describe it as specifically, but he had seen a lot of bodies moving. One of the girls had sliced Constantine’s throat before both fell to the ground. No one mentioned a fourth person.

  I frowned as I found myself rubbing my arms again. I lifted back my sleeve, searching for a rash. Blood was seeping through the gauze, but I froze as I noticed something else.

  My arm hair was standing up on end. I blinked, the sounds of the courtroom fading in my ears. I realized something was causing the sensation of pebbling flesh, as if my body was trying to give me a warning. Then I recognized what it was and my heart shuddered in both excitement and fear. There was a humming power in the room. I casually glanced back, sweeping the room, fearing to find Roland, because I recognized Haven’s amulet was near. Very near.

  I wondered again why no one else seemed to notice it.

  But Roland wasn’t here. I was the only one in the audience. So why was I sensing the amulet? I followed the faint whisper of power and realized I was staring at the first witness.

  I frowned in confusion. Was Roland hiding behind him somehow? The witness turned to look at the wolves with a disgusted look. I saw a flash of gold under his shirt, the chain of a necklace.

  Time seemed to slow as I stared. I didn’t know how, but he was wearing Roland’s amulet. My heart stuttered to a stop. That meant… he had taken it. Roland had followed the assassins back to their lair and come face to face with more than just two of the dirty scarf killers. This witness was one of the assassins. Or worked with them.