by Petra Landon
As the inner turmoil and confusion reflected on her expressive face, Raoul changed the subject.
“You must be looking forward to Belize” he remarked. “A respite from the Lair, if nothing else.”
Still pondering weightier matters, she answered absently. “The Lair’s not so bad.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Since when, witchling? Do tell.”
Brought back down to earth, Tasia roused herself to joust with him. “Since I figured out what makes the Shifters tick.”
His lips twitched, but he valiantly swallowed back the retort on his lips.
“You have a passport?” he asked her.
Tasia, who understood what he was really asking, sobered. “It’s my last recourse — flee if things get too hot to handle. My father meant it as my get-out-of-jail card.”
The gold eyes studied her. “Never been used?”
She shook her head. “Clean as a whistle.”
“It might be a wasted trip though” Tasia pointed out candidly. “If The Games are held at the same venue every year, there could be too much magic residue for me to isolate one.”
Though its popularity had waned in recent years, The Games had once been the primary arena for Chosen to test and show off their powers to an audience of their peers.
“Even if the residue is from a Magick Durovic refers to as Deadly?” he asked.
Raoul paused briefly, as the answer struck him. “There could be other Deadlies over the years at The Games” he muttered, suspecting that it was a likely prospect. When you were very powerful and your use of magic was restricted, an event like The Games was a magnet — it provided a controlled environment where a Chosen could unleash himself.
“In any case, I want a look around the place” he assured her. “To get an idea of how someone guarded by the leeches could disappear without a trace. No mean feat that. If you pick up a trail, it’ll give us an edge. But not a wasted trip, by any means.”
“I’ll give it a shot.”
He reflected on her warning about the intermingling of powers. “I know you sense how much magic is inherent in a Chosen. But can you classify what kind of power he possesses?” Raoul asked.
Tasia mused on his question. “Blutsaugers are not hard, even though their magic is different from other Chosen. Or maybe they’re so easy to identify precisely because the hue of their power is so distinctive. With the Shifters, I had trouble early on. But after the months at the Lair, I can now distinguish Shifter auras from other Chosen. Wizards have always been easy for me but exotic First Ones and Magicks with mixed heritage are often a challenge to classify. Sometimes, all I can gauge is how powerful a Chosen is.”
Tasia met his eyes. “I couldn’t before, but now that I know, I see the Wizard in you. It’s hidden within your aura, but shows up every now and then, interspersed with your Wyr hue. Before I was aware of your heritage, I’d have classified you as a Wyr with an unusual aura.”
Indifferent about his Spell Caster powers, Raoul let the comment pass, to focus on what intrigued him. “If you do catch the scent of a Mage, you can’t be sure that it is him — merely that someone very powerful deployed magic at the site?”
Tasia smiled, despite herself. “Catch the scent? I’m not a Shifter.”
“I would never mistake you for a Shifter, witchling” he retorted.
Tasia sighed. “If an Archmage worked enough magic to topple a building, I’ll sense it. Let’s hope other Mages have not been using the site as their magical playground, so I can distinguish him from the rest.”
He seemed to understand her, pushing away from the wall to signal that the break was over.
“What do you make of the Archmage?” she asked him, driven by curiosity. Had the Mage’s goal been to help Sienna’s half-sister or hinder her, Tasia speculated. And what was his connection to the events and their investigation? In her experience, First Ones, especially Mages with power, tended to be blasé about the fates of those they considered lesser beings.
He grimaced. “I need a Deadly entangled in the investigation like I want a hundred Bianchis running through my city stirring up trouble behind my back.”
Tasia took a deep breath, watching him silently as he strode away to the end of the hall.
You already have a Deadly involved in your investigation. Only, you don’t know it.
There commenced another intense, arduous and onerous interlude for Tasia. A half hour later, after they were finished, he gave her the news.
“A date’s been set for Anderson’s trial” he announced.
Her eyes tangled with his, heavy with memories of a dark night where things had changed for the Chosen and between them.
“It’s a few weeks away” the Alpha explained. “The Council plans to broadcast the trial to a few vetted venues around the world. Faoladh has asked if I want the Lair to be one.”
Tasia comprehended why any such locations would be carefully scrutinized and supervised. Sensitive information about the Chosen would be disseminated during a trial. Probably, even the footage from the cage they had been held in. In a technologically advanced world, the Supreme Edict would be in jeopardy without the proper precautions.
“Not for me” she said promptly, no hesitation in her. Tasia didn’t want to see the clip or hear the arguments. What had unfolded in the cage was indelibly printed on her psyche. She would never forget it. He’d assured her that Anderson would face justice and that was good enough for her.
As they made their way to the door, Tasia was reminded of a matter closer to home. “Will you be at Duncan’s tonight?”
“I won’t hear the end of it if I miss it.” There was an unmistakable note of amusement in his voice. Sienna had made a rather impassioned case for the Alpha’s presence tonight.
He frowned, struck by her question. “Bergdahl’s a Guardian” he murmured with sudden comprehension.
Raoul stopped in his tracks, arrested by something impossible even a few weeks ago. Focused on the records, he’d forgotten about the witchling’s aversion to Guardians. For a moment, it stunned him. She was no longer the evasive and wary Spell Caster he struggled to communicate with. It hit him that the reason he’d dropped the ball on this was because he was confident that if the witchling had anything to say, she would bring the matter to his attention. They’d both come a long way from their tumultuous beginnings.
“I’d rather not hobnob with a Guardian” Tasia remarked dryly. Like everyone else, she was eager to read the Seer’s interpretation. But unlike the others, she wanted nothing to do with the Wizard who brought them the information.
“You don’t have to” he began. “I’ll …”
Tasia interrupted him. “It’s just one evening.” She shrugged. “After all, I handle the Lair, don’t I?”
And you.
The gold eyes gleamed with appreciation. “Touché, witchling.”
He reflected that this was why her antipathy towards Guardians had receded into the background for him. She was less guarded and more forthright about calling it as she saw it. Especially with him.
Having made her point, Tasia looked rueful. “I’d make an excuse, but it’s Sienna. I can’t say no to her. Sara is going and Caro’s invited too. It should be easy enough to avoid one Guardian.”
Tasia skirted the open-air patio to make her way towards the family room. Sienna waved at her from the patio. Five bodies were corralled in the intimate space — Sienna, Jason and their Guardian guest of honor, along with Atsá and Maartje. The presence of the Wyrs in the group amazed Tasia. Perhaps, the senior Shifters had taken it upon themselves to lay out the welcome mat, she mused. After all, the Guardian was here to aid their investigation, even if his assistance came at Sienna’s request. The two Were-Alphas were the only Pack representatives with the newly arrived Guardian. All the other Shifters had melted away after Sienna had made the introductions, leaving the Wizards to entertain their friend.
Duncan resided on the second floor of a cozy Victorian — one of th
e famous painted ladies of San Francisco, still as gorgeous and elegant as in their heyday. Though the stairs, passageway and corridors were narrow, the slanted high ceiling gave the space an open and unconstrained feel. Duncan’s home reflected his personality. It was unfussy with comfortable leather chairs, bright paintings by local artists and walls lined with books; it’s old-world charm a far cry from glass, steel and cutting-edge minimalistic modernity. The open patio, with the distant view of City Hall, had been brightened up with comfortable chairs and an array of plants lovingly tended, to create a welcoming oasis to read, hang out or contemplate the city skyline from. The dining area and the family room had been merged, to provide a seamless, long albeit narrow space. This is where Tasia found the others congregated.
She paused at the door to take in the scene. At the far end, by the rustic dining table, Duncan and Luis conversed with the Alpha, who had his back to the room. All three men held glasses in their hands. Closer to the doorway was a seating area with a cozy rug, a square center table and couches around it in an L shape. Tonight, the visitors had eschewed the couches for the rug. Sara and Caroline lounged diagonally across from each other, to carry on an animated conversation around the center table. Goblets of wine rested on the table before them. Hawk, also on the floor between them, leaned against the leg of the couch with a half-smile on his face, his rapt attention on the two ladies. Behind Sara, Nandini perched sideways on the couch, her face in profile, in conversation with Roman Durovic. A curtain of dark hair screened the Indian Ancient’s face while she listened to Roman, a wineglass of burgundy-colored liquid in her hand. For once, there seemed little animosity between the two First Ones. Midway, between the group by the dining table and the seated bunch on the rug, stood Stefan Simeonov and Elisabetta.
A spurt of amusement threaded through Tasia — the room was an accurate reflection of the Chosen microcosm, with its internal dynamics and subtle groupings. The First Ones were isolated in a corner, a self-imposed exile from other Chosen — engrossed in their own affairs and somewhat oblivious to the undercurrents and issues that plagued the rest; absorbed by their own relatively minor differences, while inattentive to the significant ones with the other Magicks. In contrast, the Shifters, comfortable in this particular milieu, occupied the rest of the space in the room, spreading out generously with groupings hinting at their internal divisions. The Were-Alphas in the Alpha Protector’s inner circle huddled in a corner with him, signaling their detachment from mundane matters, while the younger and more sociable Shifters, with less baggage on their shoulders, congregated with their non-Wyr friend at the center of the room. Simeonov and Elisabetta, who did not fit in with either group of Shifters but had ties to both, huddled between them with one foot in each camp, as if to test the waters.
Tasia smiled to herself, content to watch the subtle dynamics at play until Hawk signaled to her from the floor by Caro. As always, Hawk was the first to note her presence in the periphery of their world, while she observed it from outside the privileged circle.
His face lit up with the smile he seemed to reserve for her. “Join us” he invited her.
Though he’d merely mouthed the words to her, Sara and Caro broke off their conversation to glance at the doorway. Caroline waved at Tasia, gesturing at her to join them, while Sara patted the floor beside her. Shaking off her fanciful musings, Tasia ventured forth to take the seat on the rug by Sara. Hawk raised his glass to her in a silent toast and Tasia smiled at him, greatly relieved by the absence of shadows from his eyes. In the past few weeks, she’d caught him directing troubled glances at her, as if he had an inkling of the dilemma that plagued her — a wrenching struggle between head and heart, whose conflicting desires she was unable to reconcile.
“The Guardian seems nice” Sara remarked to the group.
Tasia did not disagree with her friend. At first glance, Trevor Bergdahl was not unlike his old pal and colleague, Jason LaRue. Soft-spoken and articulate, he was unlike the stereotypical Guardian of yore that most Chosen were familiar with — arrogant, pompous and high in the instep when it came to what he considered his due. But Tasia, on her guard, had nevertheless made sure to give him a wide berth.
“The younger crop is not that different from you and me, Sara” Caro explained. “But the senior Guardians can be very old school.”
Sara, who had plenty of experience with such attitudes from the Shifters, made a face. “Know exactly what you mean.”
She cast a conspiratorial wink at Tasia, to drawl. “If Hawk ever gives you any old school attitudes, you set him straight, Caroline.”
“I’m an enlightened millennial” Hawk protested to his twin as Tasia laughed, her face suffused with affection for her friends.
“He doth protest but I had to nudge him, Sara” Caro proclaimed with a straight face. “Your brother had some very strange ideas when we met.”
Sara looked intrigued. “Share please, Caroline.”
The Wizard leaned forward conspiratorially. “For our second date, Hawk invited me to the Muir Woods to howl at the moon.”
Though she’d spoken softly, there were Shifters around them. As her words died away, an abrupt silence descended on the room. Sudden and pregnant, the silence was unmistakable. Caro grimaced, before carefully blanking her expression. She’d walked into the party tonight with a stern admonition to herself to watch her tongue. And though her words were not a solecism of any kind, they’d drawn the attention of the Shifters — not what she desired or sought when she was merely teasing Hawk.
Tasia directed a glance, brimful of sympathy and commiseration, at her friend. She knew that Caro, much as the Wizard tried to hide it, was sheepish at drawing the Shifters’ scrutiny. The remark had slipped out inadvertently in convivial company. She empathized with Caro’s chagrin. It had taken Tasia multiple run-ins before she’d learned to always mind her tongue within Shifter earshot.
For a moment, no one said anything. Sara smiled at Caroline, trying to put her at ease. To Tasia’s surprise, Hawk was remarkably unperturbed. The Ancients were behind her, so she couldn’t tell if they picked up the undercurrents in the room. But Tasia noted that, at the far end of the room, Duncan appeared startled and Luis somewhat amused.
Across from them, Elisabetta and Simeonov turned their attention to the quartet on the rug. Noting their interest, Tasia cursed silently under her breath.
“Hawk, my man, you’ve much to learn when it comes to women” Stefan Simeonov drawled. Beside him, Elisabetta smiled, readying to enter the fray.
Caro looked confused by the barb, but Sara shot Tasia a look that screamed alarm. This could get ugly real soon. Though accustomed to such jabs from the Shifters, Sara was reluctant to expose Caroline to the sniping and politics within the Pack. Knowing how much her twin liked the Wizard, Sara wanted to keep Caroline far away from the ugliness for as long as possible. Tasia, who did not share Sara’s particular concerns, nevertheless hoped fervently that Hawk would not allow the Were-Alphas to goad him.
But for once, neither his twin nor his friend had cause for worry. Hawk rose to the occasion magnificently. Tasia’s presence at the Lair had wrought changes in Hawk. Before, he’d only ever been responsible for his twin. And even that endeavor had been tempered, after Duncan had asked Hawk to keep his distance. But Tasia, he felt both protective of and responsible for. The past months watching over her, while shepherding Tasia through the minefields in the Pack, had not been completely without any lessons for him.
Hawk ignored Simeonov to address Caro.
“I wasn’t asking you to give the moon her due, babe. The invitation was to watch me howl.” He gave her his devastating grin, seemingly unfazed.
At Hawk’s riposte, Tasia shared a relieved glance with Sara, whose expression mirrored her’s. Hawk, it was clear, would not be baited. At least, not easily.
In the corner, Duncan murmured something to his companions and Luis grinned in response. The Alpha still had his back to Tasia, but she suspected that he was amuse
d too.
Caro smiled at the Shifter, no constraint in her. “Whether I howl at the moon or watch you do it — it’s all the same to me, Hawk. Not my idea of a date.”
“Not me, babe. It’s my beast that would do the howling” Hawk retorted flirtatiously.
Tasia relaxed as Hawk bantered with his Wizard girlfriend. Like Sara, she had a stake in the blossoming relationship between Hawk and Caroline. But unlike Sara, she knew that Caro was made of sterner stuff and would not turn tail at a few barbs from Hawk’s packmates. It’s Hawk she worried about. Elisabetta was a master manipulator who always seemed to know which of Hawk’s buttons to push. And he tended to rise to the beautiful Were-Alpha’s bait very easily.
Taken aback, Caro stared at Hawk. She knew what a Shifter’s beast meant to him. “Your beast?”
“Yes, and he’s a handsome one. Just ask Tasia.”
From the corner of her eye, Tasia saw a tawny head whip around towards them. He moved so fast that it was a wonder he didn’t suffer whiplash, she mused wonderingly. Across from her, Simeonov’s eyes narrowed on Hawk, though Tasia didn’t note it. It was all she could do to not hold her head in her hands.
Jeeesus, Hawk. Don’t bait the Shifters like this. Not here.
But Hawk was not done yet.
“Has Tasia seen your beast, Hawk?” inquired Elisabetta dulcetly.
“Yup” he admitted, without missing a beat. “Both of them.”
As the two Were-Alphas readied to pounce on their prey, Tasia decided that she’d had enough. It was time to put an end to Hawk’s recklessness.
But Elisabetta chimed in, before Tasia could.
“Getting mighty cozy with the Spell Casters, stripling” she remarked, a note of unmistakable censure mingled with the other emotions in her voice.
This time, Hawk did not ignore her. He turned to face her, his face reflecting amusement. “You run your love life the way you see fit, Elisabetta.” His eyes flickered ever so gently to where the Alpha watched them with Duncan by his side. “Or lack thereof” he amended softly. “And I’ll run mine.”
