Feathers and Fire Series Box Set 2

by Shayne Silvers

  Arthur had been a SHIT for a year now. With the increased vampire presence, maybe he’d been promoted.

  And Father David was there. The man who had first found me as a child. I wanted to speak with him, anyway, ask him some questions about the day he’d found me. When he’d heard a demon outside the church, clawing to get her hands on the child.

  That demon had been me. I didn’t quite understand how that was possible—that I had somehow gone back in time to revisit that fateful night on my journey through the Doors—let alone that I had only succeeded in making Father David think I was a demon intent upon killing the child.

  All I had wanted to do was to give the child a little love. To tell her that everything would end up alright. That that little child would one day find herself running down an alley from a coven of vampires with the world’s first murderer at her side, and that everything would be peachy.

  I scowled at the dark thought. Regardless, Abundant Angel seemed like a good place to go. Anthony’s crucifix necklace would prove to Fabrizio that it was really me and that I wasn’t some shapeshifter playing games. It would prove that I wasn’t an enemy.

  Because if Roland’s original threat was to be believed, Fabrizio was most likely his number one enemy. If anyone had answers to what had happened in my city, Fabrizio would.

  I told Cain my idea.

  He took one look at me and snorted. “You look like a drowned rat and you’re drenched in blood. No way anyone at the church is going to let you in. In the middle of the night, I might add. And especially not if they’re at war with Roland and his vampires. Having the world’s first murderer at your side probably won’t help your chances either. You need to make yourself presentable, sis.”

  I found myself smiling at the last sentence. Sis. Because Cain had adopted me as his family, his sister. I had done the same—not in any mystical, magical, supernatural ritual or anything. But in our hearts.

  Which was the only way that really mattered, in my opinion. Screw blood. Real family was made, not inherited.

  For Cain—the man who had murdered his first sibling, Abel—adopting me as his sister was a big freaking leap of faith, an extension of trust neither of us had known he would ever be able to make.

  It was the primary reason Cain had even survived our journey through the Doors. His test had been to prove that he loved something more than himself—that he was willing to open up his heart and offer up his life to protect someone he saw as a sister. Absolving him of his past crime.

  Blood or not, we were brother and sister. And with each step Cain took, I could sense that deep well of pride that it gave him—like an added reservoir of power. Not a magical power, but a power of the soul. An inner, personal strength he hadn’t had for quite some time.

  That someone in this crazy world loved him. Hadn’t given up on him. Hadn’t condemned him for his past.

  “Right,” I agreed with a sigh. “Let’s stick to the original plan. Head back to my place. Get cleaned up. Hit up the church after sunrise when the vampires are napping.”

  Cain changed direction slightly, knowing where I lived, but his face looked troubled. “If the vampires nap during the day…”

  I frowned at him. “Of course they do.”

  Cain shot me a look. “One of the vampires Richard and I fought was strong. If Richard hadn’t stepped in to help me…well, I’ll just say that Phix might not have been the only one heading back to Solomon’s Temple,” he admitted meaningfully. I frowned in disbelief. Cain was a killing machine—one of the scariest men I had ever met. He was absolutely merciless in the art of combat.

  He was a one-man symphony in the orchestra of delicious death. A Maestro.

  For him to say one of the vampires was strong…

  “Oh.”

  He nodded soberly. “No way to tell how old he was, but he took a licking and kept on ticking. Some of the old vampires can tolerate sunlight to an extent. Luckily, Richard found an opening and managed to tear his head off. But it didn’t look easy.” He paused, letting out a grunt. “Richard took a beating, too.”

  That stopped me short. Richard took a beating. The guy was a mountain of power. As Last Breath—his white lion form—he was a literal specter of death, able to kill indiscriminately like a wraith in fog, but even as a man, he was a veritable titan of destruction. And I hadn’t even noticed he was injured. Last Breath was so horrifying that even the monsters spoke of him like the boogeyman.

  The fact that he hadn’t used a funny nickname for Richard only backed up his claim.

  “What the hell kind of power did Le Bone throw at us?” I cursed, my mind running wild with fears, ideas, or any semblance of a logical explanation. “How long were we down?”

  Cain grimaced, wiping rain from his forehead. “I have no idea. One second you were standing there snarling at the church, and the next thing I saw was a flash of light. That was some Dracula-level shit, Callie. Seriously.” He met my eyes meaningfully, letting me know it wasn’t hyperbole. “I’ve never seen vampiric power like that, but it was definitely Le Bone. Maybe the new Master of Kansas City has been using that magic of his to beef up his army. You saw how many vampires were there. That church is a fortress, and Roland runs it.”

  I nodded grimly. The crimson eyes had been a dead giveaway, too.

  Roland…

  He now had his own army of killers and judging by their intended methods…Roland was not the man I had once trained with. The Shepherd who had once taught me magic. The man who had taught me the difference between right and wrong. Roland had become a monster. Even hiring monsters to do his dirty work was out of character for the once pious man. The Roland I knew would have hired dangerous men, sure, but never men without morals. They should have had very strict rules on how to treat women, at the very least.

  If the vampires had simply attacked with excessive violence, that would have been different. But they had done things to Phix that would have never been approved by Roland.

  Never.

  We used the dark alleys to make the rest of the trip to my apartment in silence. It wasn’t close, but it wasn’t too far. It was a stressful jog through the deceptively quiet alleys, constantly checking over our shoulders for signs of pursuit, glancing up at fire escapes for aerial assaults, and generally waiting for a gang of monsters to jump out at us from behind a trashcan with the intent to see our insides up close and personal.

  You know, a typical late-night jog.

  I almost wished for an attack. Anything to get me out of my own head and away from thoughts of Roland.

  It sure felt like Phix’s description of Egypt…

  Because each step I took was like wading through the unrelenting current of denial.

  Chapter 7

  I stared at my apartment door, grinding my teeth. First, I had felt surprise.

  Then understanding.

  And then my old neighbor, blind, incoherent rage.

  I didn’t have a key, but that wasn’t what had me ready to commit arson.

  The bright orange eviction notice sticker was enough to make my blood boil. It had been there for some time, because it said I had only one more day to vacate my apartment.

  Someone had helpfully written in permanent marker dead chicks pay no rent.

  Incredibly insightful, my neighbors.

  But none of it made any sense to me. The Vatican paid my rent. I had been gone for a year, but…Fabrizio knew about my trip through the Doors. Had Meatball even given up on my return after being missing for a year? I didn’t necessarily blame him, but to see that sticker on my door—the place I called home…

  It made me angry. Cain silently picked the lock with his bone dagger, simply jamming it into the slot for the keyhole and twisting it like a key. Surprisingly, it worked, and didn’t shatter his bone dagger. Then again, I was betting it wasn’t simply bone. It was the same knife he had used to kill his brother, Abel. And I’d seen him use it to stab several flavors of monster—all with thick, tough skin and bone. Th
e dagger hadn’t grown dull or ever snapped, and no hide had seemed impervious to its edge.

  It did, however, shatter my lock. I kicked the door in, scanning the interior warily just in case any vampires or other nefarious types had decided to lie in wait for twelve months to pull off the ultimate granddaddy of all surprise attacks—ever.

  I needn’t have bothered. I took a few steps past the threshold, alert for surprises, but I quickly noticed that dust lay heavy on everything. Not a ton, but enough to be easily noticeable. And when I say everything…

  I meant what hadn’t been stolen.

  I stood there, panting, as I scanned from left to right, able to only pick up on the absence of things—the empty space where things should have been. The place wasn’t damaged or destroyed, but more meticulously robbed. As if the thief had obsessive compulsive disorder. Everyday things like appliances, pots and pans still on the drying rack, a basket of laundry, some department store art and décor on the walls, and random knick-knacks were all in their usual places.

  But anything of a more…personal nature was missing. Every single one of my weapons that usually hung on the wall, any of the picture frames with family and friends, and—I stormed into my room, breathing heavier as I absently catalogued more and more missing items, desperate to find a specific one left behind.

  But it was also gone—the stuffed unicorn and magical book Nate Temple had given me so long ago. The one I hadn’t even finished reading.

  I wanted to scream. I wanted to burn it all down. Someone had robbed me.

  Me. The White Rose. Who would dare rob me?

  Cain settled a comforting hand on my shoulder. “This wasn’t a robbery…” he said quietly.

  I snorted angrily. “I didn’t have anything worth stealing.”

  Cain studied me compassionately—rare for him—and then glanced back at the bedroom before he pointed at an empty picture frame. “They took anything that identified you. It would have been easier to take the frame with the picture.” He reached over and scooped it up, checking the back of the standing frame. Then he showed it to me. It was neatly clasped closed as if someone had just put a cherished picture inside it and set it up for display.

  Cain was right. Someone had entered my home to take anything that identified me and then very neatly set everything back up so that it didn’t look suspicious to the landlord.

  The question was why? I did a mental inventory of anything I might have had lying around last time I was here. Weapons. They weren’t anything magical, but they were strong, functioning blades, kept to a professional standard, but none were worth stealing. And why take my pictures? I shook my head, taking in a deep breath.

  It had either been a friend or an enemy, and I wasn’t sure which was worse. Because it signified finality. That they had no hope of my return.

  “I’m taking a shower,” I announced loudly. “If I come out and find the creep also stole my panties or towels, I’ll finish destroying Kansas City myself.”

  And I strode into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me. I heard Cain mumble something about coffee, but I ignored him. I leaned my forehead against the mirror, closing my eyes as I counted to one hundred, focusing on my meditation totem.

  It had always calmed me. Something Roland had taught me when first teaching me weapons—and ultimately, magic. A way to center one’s self to focus on the important things rather than be buried under the noise of everyday life.

  My constant meditation symbol hadn’t been so constant recently. It had started out as a single feather I placed on a plain background. I would imagine the gentle breeze blowing against it, ruffling it slightly. Each sensation, thought, and fear would be fed into that wind and ultimately against the feather until all was calm in my mind—just me and the feather.

  When I had gone through the Doors with Cain, though, that symbol had undergone a significant modification. It had struggled against me, fighting me until I finally submitted and relinquished the internal battle. Now, it was a white rose, a feather, and a pair of wings slowly sweeping back and forth over a black background as if hovering in place.

  Much more complicated than my original symbol.

  But at the same time, it felt more…genuine. A better definition of myself. Because I had changed quite a bit in my journey through the Doors. Initially, for the better. Towards the end, for the absolute worst—hungry only for power.

  Solomon and Last Breath had ultimately helped guide me back, forcing me to make a decision—to come back to myself for the chance to make a real difference in my world rather than pursue only Samael, a greater demon who seemed wholly intent upon battling me one-on-one.

  Coming back would give me the opportunity to fight not only him, but potentially the demon he worked for—and any number of other demons. It would also give me a purpose other than power and vengeance.

  It had been a very tough decision—because I had been cloaked with unimaginable, god-level power when they confronted me. I don’t know how they managed to get through to me—if it was a display of their ability to reason or if it was that inner desire for me to make an impact in this world. A meaningful, beneficial impact.

  Like I had failed to do in Kansas City.

  I released the symbol, opening my eyes as I leaned away from the mirror. I didn’t want to get too close to my thoughts at the moment. I wanted to get cleaned up and clear my head in a less Zen way.

  A bloody demon of a woman stared back at me. Thick gobs of crimson glistening on my long hair. It was normally thicker and wavier, but now it just looked greasy and bloody, plastered close to my scalp. My face was a mask of blood spatter, as were my clothes. I hoped none of it was mine from whatever Le Bone had done to me. I didn’t feel any pain, though.

  With a sigh, I stripped down and turned on the shower, breathing in the thick steam with a sigh of relief. The water struck my head and shoulders with an almost sexual sensation. I shuddered, relishing it for a few moments as I let the water wash away the pints of blood. I waited until the runoff in the base of the shower was clear before soaping up and getting to work. As I went through the familiar motions, the analytical part of my brain kicked on, digesting the facts of the day so far.

  I spent longer in the shower than necessary. It had been twelve months, but thankfully, my legs didn’t look like I’d turned into a shifter or as if I was fishing for furries. Still, when a girl is about to go out on the town and murder and maim to her heart’s content, she needed to shave.

  Murder and mayhem always come after the shave, gentlemen.

  I toweled off and was putting on my robe as I opened the door to go see what was left of my wardrobe, hoping that the thief hadn’t robbed me of my favorite killing outfits.

  That’s when I noticed the pungent smell of recreational smoke.

  It’s also when a mountain of white fur tried to murder me.

  Chapter 8

  I ducked at the last moment and dove past the giant shifter polar bear, shouting out in both surprise and instinctive anger. I couldn’t even get a minute to get dressed?

  The bear roared loud enough for my untied robe to billow open, splattering me with shifter drool.

  “Claire!” I shouted in relief.

  But my best friend was having none of it. She swatted at my face with her big meaty paw, annihilating my bedroom television in an explosion of plastic and glass. I sprinted out of the bedroom, my robe catching on the handle and stopping me short. Valuing my immediate future over decency, I wiggled out of the robe and dove again right as Claire punched through the door frame, aiming for the back of my head. Wood splintered behind me, peppering my back as I shoved my hand into a potted plant to grab a rock I had placed there long ago.

  I spun and flung the rock right at the furious polar bear just as she was roaring again. The rock slammed into the back of her throat and abruptly changed her roar to a choking cough. Claire bear began gagging and hacking before finally spitting up the rock, and as she did, she instantly shifted into her hu
man form, naked as the day is long.

  Because I had thrown a moonstone at her—a rock that prevented shifters from shifting. I’d kept it in the flower pot, masked by a discreet spell so that it could only be used when removed—so that any of my shifter friends weren’t prevented from shifting if we were attacked while sitting on the couch watching The Notebook or a Kung Fu Theatre marathon for girls’ night.

  I’d never anticipated having to use the rock on my best friend to save my own life.

  “Claire! What the hell is wrong with you?” I demanded, quickly scanning the apartment to make sure there weren’t any other bears about to pummel me to death.

  Claire looked dazed at the sudden transformation back to her human form, shaking her head back and forth as she hunched low, trying to shift back to her bear form. But the moonstone was preventing her.

  I picked back up on the smoke smell again and glanced behind me to see a familiar face sitting in my recliner. Starlight—the shifter bear who seemed to be some kind of wise man or Shaman of the Kansas City Cave of Bears. He was powerful on a level I hadn’t ever been able to quantify, even though he was as tiny as a bear cub.

  Regardless, the most powerful bears I had ever seen gave him a very wide berth, and when he spoke, they listened to the little teddy bear with respect.

  I stared at him in disbelief, momentarily forgetting the angry Claire behind me.

  Bubble-bubble-bubble…

  Like the sound one makes when exhaling a breath underwater.

  Because he was currently taking a massive hit from a bong as long as his torso. It was cradled between his legs like he was fixing to climb it.

  The words Bear Necessity were etched into the glass in ornate script down the side.

  He wasn’t looking at me, too intent on his task. Claire hit me like a truck from behind, slamming me into—and through—my coffee table. I snarled as the glass sliced into my hands and I spun as I kicked out with both feet, launching Claire up and over me to slam into the wall, knocking one of my paintings down. She left a solid dent in the drywall but landed safely on the couch as I struggled to scramble free of the remnants of my table.