Feathers and Fire Series Box Set 2

by Shayne Silvers

  “Get ready to run right behind me. I’m going to smoke this son of a bitch,” I swore out loud. I took a deep, calming breath. Then I let a slow smile creep over my face as I met Cain’s eyes. “And for the record, I have so much self-esteem that I sweat vapor…and it’s about to open that fucking Door,” I snarled, pointing at Last Breath in a direct challenge.

  Then I was running, my smile stretching wider as Cain coughed up a laugh, suddenly catching the word-play of my statement.

  My hands hung down at my sides as I ran, hissing as each drop of rain made contact with my Silver claws, forming my own little clouds of vapor as I rushed Last Breath. I leapt at him, fully intending to tackle him through the Door, impaled on my claws.

  He lunged into the air to meet me, his paws extended to reveal massive, curled silver claws. And for a single moment, I got a clear view of him.

  I stared into those glacier blue-eyes of the white lion and I laughed.

  My claws struck his throat, shearing some of his white mane.

  His claws raked across my cheeks.

  Cain’s weight hitting my back shoved us both through the Door.

  We were all screaming in one fashion or another as the Door slammed shut behind us.

  Chapter 28

  I struck a lawn of fresh-cut grass and tumbled head over heels, Cain’s weight grinding me into the grass with each flip, both of us still screaming as my claws ravaged the earth. I lurched to my feet, claws out, snarling as I searched for Last Breath’s corpse.

  I was about to skin the damned cat and make a new scarf.

  All I heard was a mocking purr, slowly fading away.

  A beautiful, warm sun shone down on us, and my clothes were not remotely wet. I blinked rapidly, squinting at the bright, pleasant day. Birds chirped from nearby trees, and a faint murmur of song could be heard in the breeze—like the soothing hum of a child.

  I couldn’t remember why I was here. Why Cain was here. Just a rage that made my arms shake. Rage at Last Breath. I had stabbed him in the throat with my claws, and I remembered the lion’s own silver claws raking my cheeks.

  Silver claws…

  Cain stepped into view, staring at me nervously as if fearing to see severe wounds. But he blinked rapidly, wiping at his eyes as if he didn’t believe what he was seeing.

  He reached out a hand and plucked something from my cheek. I felt him pull a long strand of something that had stuck to my skin. He held out a strand of silver foil. I reached up and found two more that I pulled off. They went down my cheeks and even over my eyes.

  Right where Last Breath had scored a hit with his claws.

  I stared at Cain, not understanding.

  “His claws didn’t harm you. They just…left silver streaks on your cheeks…” he said, almost to himself. I glanced down at my hands to see more of the silver foil on my palms and shirt, but these were silver drops. My tears. Cain noticed them, too, and looked on the verge of losing his Biblical shit.

  “It’s my thing,” I told him, shrugging. “Well, the tears anyway. I’m not sure about Last Breath’s attack. Those should have ripped my face off…” I thought about his silver claws, and my own silver claws, frowning.

  Were we…the same somehow?

  “He is a lion,” I heard myself explaining, trying to make some sense of it all. “And he has silver claws like me…”

  Cain was nodding but didn’t look particularly pleased about the news. “I saw. But what does it mean? And why are we at the Vatican?”

  I flinched, looking past his shoulder at the familiar buildings behind him. I looked left and right, and then spun in a slow circle. He was right. We were in Vatican City where I had first met Fabrizio and the other Shepherds. Where I had met the Conclave. But…when were we here this time? Was this also some past event? Like the church had been?

  I didn’t see anyone walking around us, no nuns, or Shepherds. No one. But the place didn’t necessarily feel empty or anything. Not sinister, just an unusually low-key day at the Vatican.

  Cain placed his hands on his hips, glaring at me. “We need to talk about your apparent demonic P.M.S. loss of control of back there,” he said, pointing at the now-empty space where we had fallen through the Door.

  I wilted guiltily, the memory coming back to me in bits and pieces. I had felt so raw, so emotional, almost primal. I hadn’t taken a logical, rational step until the end. Just reaction, wanting to give that baby—me—the weapons she would need to defend herself.

  But my form of support had been as a raging demon, likely only adding to the fears and terrors that would sit with that baby for decades, until she learned to overcome her fears, when a Demon named Johnathan would come knocking on her door.

  I locked eyes with Cain and, sensing no one was around, I sat back down in the grass.

  He studied me warily, a disappointed look on his face let me know he wasn’t won over by my act and that we were still going to talk about it. Then he sat down beside me, waiting.

  “I don’t know what came over me. I just reacted. Knowing what I know now, how much fear and loss I had as a child, what I had to grow up with on my conscience. I just wanted to give that baby a role model, a kiss of encouragement. A hug from a stranger that, even if she couldn’t ever remember that moment specifically, she might remember someone squeezing her with so much love that she could never forget it. Even in the darkest of days to come, that someone loved her.”

  Cain shook his head slowly at the insanity of it all. But I also saw compassion in his eyes. “This place is…cruel,” he finally said. He waited a few moments before continuing. “But we have to keep our heads straight, Callie. I think it’s all part of the test. To push us, to break us, to find out what matters most to us.”

  I nodded in understanding. “I know.”

  “You also made Father David’s story come true. You were the Demon he heard outside the church…” he said in a very soft tone.

  I shuddered with disgust. “But what does that mean? Is this place real? Some memory shard? Some twisted hallucination?”

  Cain thought about it for a long time, finally shaking his head. “I don’t know. But I do know that this seems to be some extravagant way to test our desires, our fears, our very selves,” he said, enunciating the last word. “And we have to remember that. Each Door is a lesson, a choice, and the obelisk said there were prizes and prices for each one. We have to keep our goal intact.”

  I nodded in silence, gathering my thoughts. What was our goal? What was my goal? Had it changed? Why was I really here? For the treasure of Solomon’s Temple? Because I’d been invited to play a game? Because I was related to Solomon? Was I here for answers or riches? Power or knowledge?

  For others…

  Or myself?

  Cain was watching me thoughtfully. Seeing me finally focus on him, he let out a faint smile. “You fucked that pussycat up, by the way,” he said. I fought the grin struggling to break through, but finally relented.

  Cain burst out laughing, slapping his knees adamantly. “You are one crazy bitch, Callie. Crazy as hell,” he wheezed, wiping tears from his eyes. “Do you have any idea what you looked like on those church steps? It was terrifying, and I don’t scare easily. I’ve been respectfully concerned about others before, sure, but actually bone-deep scared?” he chuckled, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t have opened those doors if Abel himself had come back from the grave to beg me,” he whispered after a few moments. He grew silent as if the admission had only just been realized. Then he grunted. “Yeah, not even then,” he finally reaffirmed.

  “I’m not quite sure how to take that,” I said, frowning.

  “Oh, since you are on my side, it’s a big damned compliment,” he said, holding out his hands with a don’t shoot gesture, grinning wide.

  “Okay. I can be the boogeybitch if it makes you sleep better at night. What are sisters for?”

  He smiled—but in a way I wasn’t sure I had seen him smile before. A soul-deep acknowledgment of my meani
ng, not just a topical agreement to my words. “Sister from another Mister,” he said in a serious tone.

  “So, your Sis needs to dial back the crazy—”

  “Easy there, Sis. No need to be hasty. We might just need some of that crazy soon, but it could use a tight leash,” Cain corrected.

  I nodded, rolling my eyes. “Fine. Calculated crazy. Got it.” I scanned the Vatican grounds, searching for a Door, but I didn’t see one. “What are we doing here? If this quest was designed to make us react, we need to approach it with clear goals. The point of all this is to reach a final destination, not wallow in our passions—our fears, loves, victories, or losses. We need a compass.”

  Cain nodded. “The first Door took us to the church the night the Doors first appeared. The night your own story all began. But why that moment? Was it because there was something you needed to see, or did it just want to mess with your head?”

  “I think we need to decide what Last Breath is really doing here,” I said. Cain frowned, looking puzzled, so I elaborated. “He essentially led us to the second Door, and it’s fair to say he forced us through the first Door back home.”

  Cain considered that and gave a hesitant nod. “Maybe. If that’s true, is he helping guide us or is he misleading us?”

  I nodded seriously. “I’m pretty sure he’s not helping. He clawed my face.”

  “You stabbed him through the jugular, first. Maybe he’s dead.”

  I shook my head, recalling the purring sound I had heard upon landing in the grass. “I don’t think so. His claws didn’t hurt me, so maybe mine didn’t hurt him. We both used Silver claws.”

  Cain stared down at the silver foil in his palm, nodding warily. “Good point. If I was making a quest, a challenge to give people the option to find my secret stash of stuff, and I made a guardian to protect it…” Cain said, pointing out facts. I waited for more, but Cain finally muttered a curse. “I don’t know where I was going with that. Is Solomon trying to prevent us from getting there or is he helping us? Why have this challenge in the first place if he doesn’t want us finding it? And if he does want us to find it, why hassle us with Last Breath?”

  I let out a sigh, thinking. “I don’t know, but those are just symptoms. The main purpose is to see if we are worthy of his Temple, right? So, he has safeguards to cut the wheat from chaff. To sort out the bad apples…”

  Cain grunted. “Always apples with you. It’s like a constant kick to the groin, you know.”

  I smiled. “Sorry.” I had an idea. “Keep an eye out. I don’t want the Shepherds seeing us and deciding to attack before asking where our access lanyards are. I need time to think about this.”

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, thinking about everything all at once. I imagined a feather floating in my mind, one coated in silver, despite my initial attempt to make it black—as I was used to doing when I meditated. It had been doing that lately. I ignored the anomaly, not wanting to waste time forcing it back.

  I fed every thought, fear, concern, desire, and wish into the feather, watching as a wind seemed to make it ruffle as it slowly rotated in the center of a black field of nothingness. I focused on my breathing, dredging up anything else currently on my mind. My memory of the first Door we had gone through and participating in Father David’s story about the Demon outside the church.

  I thought about Samael. The Sons of Solomon. Archangel Michael. Roland and Henri. Boiling cauldrons of danger in Kansas City. Events I was only just beginning to hear about in Boston with Quinn MacKenna. Trouble in St. Louis with Mordred hellbent on destroying Nate Temple in his quest for Camelot. I thought about every single thing happening in my world.

  And everything that personally bothered me. My own lineage with Solomon. My parents. The Shepherds. Not knowing my purpose anymore, where I belonged, where I fit in. Why I woke up every single day and put on my boots. I knew I wanted to help people, that was pretty obvious.

  But how did I want to help people? Putting out fires was great and all, but what was my ultimate purpose? Without an overarching cause, I was always reacting.

  I was destroying rather than uniting. Destroying bad things, sure, but when the threat was gone, and it was time to pick up the pieces…

  I wasn’t doing anything with the people I had saved. I was just letting them continue on with their day, likely guiding them right back into some other monster’s mouth.

  I didn’t want to work for the church. Mainly because I didn’t want to be bound to a group of men I thought were flawed—not in their faith, but in their applications of it.

  I didn’t want to be a part of the Academy—the ruling body of wizards—but I had never had any interaction with them in the first place. What I had seen and heard from others was that they were no better than the Shepherds. They meant well but had deep seeds of corruption planted in their midst.

  I didn’t want to ally with the vampires or werewolves, although I was friends with quite a few of both.

  The bears were better, more noble, but I wasn’t really a part of them. I was a good friend but would never be part of their Cave. And maybe they didn’t want me to be anything more than a friend held at a close distance. Definitely not to use them as a tool to promote my own agenda.

  Whatever that was.

  I wanted good. Safety. Protection.

  But…I believed that some of the so-called monsters of the world weren’t that bad. They were actually kind of good.

  Overall, the Shepherds definitely didn’t share this opinion. Maybe that was my reason for not wanting to be a part of them. The fact that they had left Roland out to dry the moment they realized he was no longer able to be the poster boy of their cause.

  But I wasn’t important enough to start my own…what, a gang? An organization? Maybe a church or open up shop as a private detective. Callie’s Angels, I thought to myself, playing on the concept of Charlie’s Angels. I let the errant thought drift and fade away.

  The long and short of it was that I didn’t have the answer. And right now, I wasn’t necessarily looking for an answer. That wasn’t how meditation worked. It wasn’t a cosmic fortune cookie machine where you pop in twenty-five cents of focus, twist the dial, and receive the keys to the kingdom.

  No.

  Meditation was about viewing processes. You tossed in the parts and watched the gears of the machine of life begin to rotate, searching for meaning and purpose to the function. In that act, perhaps you could see a place where your unique gear could fit, improving the overall mechanism.

  Problem was, maybe I had the answers to life right in front of me.

  I just didn’t know what my gear looked like. What shape it was. What my self looked like.

  I was, figuratively speaking, a red-hot mess.

  Cosmically speaking, I was a Zen-hot mess.

  Would the real Slim Callie please stand up?

  But who was Callie Penrose?

  I pondered that very carefully—in an abstract manner. I imagined inserting myself as a cog into the mechanism of life in my mind’s eye. I shaped my cog like a Shepherd, watching the possible futures. Then I tried as a wizard. Then I tried as a Nephilim. Then I tried as a figure in Nate’s life, with no specific purpose of my own.

  That one made me growl in disappointment. That wasn’t going to happen. I would only meet Nate as an equal, never a pawn.

  I tried reshaping my cog many different ways.

  And I found no answers. Bits and pieces of each attempt were pleasant and worthwhile, but primarily worthwhile for others, not me. Not fully.

  I felt resistance—pressure at my internal frustration—so I released the construct, the machine vaporizing to nothing, leaving only the white rose on the black background.

  Wait…

  My heart began to race, realizing that a white rose was not the chosen imagined construct for myself. It was a black feather. No, a silver feather…

  My focus vibrated warningly, threatening to fall apart. I relaxed all strain and control, l
etting my subconscious do as it would. After a few flickers, a white rose slowly rematerialized before me. I studied it absently, careful not to look too closely at the new addition to my meditation.

  It meant something.

  What had changed? I was still the black feather, and still the silver feather. I could see them occasionally flickering into existence, superimposed over the white rose, as if all three belonged.

  Then I noticed the faint outline of feathered wings arcing out to either side of the rotating rose and feathers. I felt strain again and relaxed my mind, allowing myself to become a casual observer in the halls of my own mind.

  The image abruptly clarified.

  Wings hung on either side like they belonged to the center apparition. The rose and two feathers. The wings glistened with a bluish, white glow, sometimes seeming to be made of feathers and sometimes like dry ice and chips of floating stone.

  This was entirely strange. The whole point to meditation was to have one rock-solid focal point. But my focal point was shifting all over the place, changing, morphing, growing wings for crying out loud.

  It had to symbolize my own inner struggle—that I didn’t know myself. Which likely had to do with Dorian Gray’s ever helpful comment. About how everyone he spoke to was terrified of me. That he was even terrified of me. That they had taken to calling me the White Rose in fear.

  There were so many loose ends in my life.

  Heaven wanted me. Hell wanted me. The Shepherds wanted me.

  They also didn’t want me.

  My parents loved me. My parents abandoned me.

  I wanted to do good things. But I was willing to do bad things to attain those good things.

  I wanted to know more about my past. But I was terrified to learn anything more about my broken childhood. My broken family. But I was forming a new family of friends. Of brothers and sisters bound by more than blood.

  And some of them were monsters.

  I liked a guy—really, really liked a guy—who was, on the best of days, an incredibly dangerous person. He also wanted to do good things and had definitely done bad things in order to achieve the ends he sought. And…I probably would have done the same in his shoes.