by Petra Landon
“I know why ElMorad is notorious — he took out powerful Chosen that fell afoul of First Ones law. But what does his Magick Façade signify?” Hawk asked curiously. The Facades tended to be in the Ancient tongue, which few Shifters were familiar with.
“The enforcer” Simeonov responded, just as Atsá murmured. “The Moor.”
For once, Tasia found herself agreeing with Stefan Simeonov over Atsá. ElMorad had enforced the Elders’ decisions, meting out punishments to immensely powerful Chosen hard to pin down. This reflected in the Façade he’d chosen. However, to her great surprise, Roman offered a different explanation.
“Simeonov and Atsá are both correct” the Ancient explained, to the astonishment of many in the room. “When he first began to enforce the Elders’ judgements, ElMorad was unusual for a First One — though he was eminently qualified, he did not adopt a Magick Façade. But soon, word of his feats spread far and wide. In the absence of a Facade, the Chosen assigned him an informal one — the assassin. Rumors say that he did not appreciate the moniker and chose to adopt a Façade. He called himself ‘the Moor’ — ElMorad. But historically, there has been no word in our language for an enforcer. And as his reputation grew, the term Moor became synonymous with enforcement because of ElMorad.”
Nandini, always reluctant to engage with Roman, could not hold in her curiosity for once. “Why Moor?”
“His way of celebrating his heritage, I suppose. His father could trace his ancestry to the Moors while his mother was Andalusian.”
As they processed the ramifications of ElMorad on their investigation, Maartje piped up. “Whatever ElMorad’s intentions, it is clear he’s not working with the Lombardis. And given Monseigneur’s alliance with Lady Bethesda, it means that he is not on board with her either.”
“That is very good news for us, Maartje. Going up against ElMorad is a far different proposition than taking down Lady Bethesda” Roman attested. “There’s another bit of interesting news to share. The Rune Mage admitted to the Setik that she met Bianchi at the Venice Nest. This is the first confirmation of First Ones’ indirect engagement with Lady Bethesda, via Monseigneur.”
The Alpha had correctly predicted the link between Rafaelo Bianchi and the Rune Mage, Tasia mused. Monseigneur was emerging as the nexus of multiple threads in their investigation. Though much of it was tenuous and ambiguous, this could not be a coincidence. The realization unnerved Tasia. The digging into Lady Bethesda had pointed the investigation towards her father. And now, it was in danger of being dragged in a direction that would put other secrets in potential jeopardy.
“The connection to the Lombardis is not much of a surprise, given that we know of two Guardians and an Ancient who went to work for Monseigneur” Jason remarked.
“Agreed, LaRue” the Alpha said. “But this presents an opportunity for us. While the Ancients refuse to investigate Lady Bethesda’s crimes post Chicago, they might be willing to look at Monseigneur’s current activities.”
“The resort has lodged a formal complaint with the Setik authorities” Roman added, unable to keep the excitement from his voice. “It’s a straightforward matter. The Rune Mage is a Setik, as are the First Ones of the lodge.”
“How do we turn this to our advantage, Roman?” Duncan asked.
“It will be decided by the North American charter of the Setik. I’ll try to convince TorElnor to dig deeper into Monseigneur and the Venice Nest” Roman said determinedly. “This is why I requested a stopover in Vancouver.”
“The flight will make a pitstop at Vancouver for Durovic, before San Francisco” the Alpha acknowledged, even though it would make them backtrack a little.
Jason looked hopeful. “A critical look at the Lombardis might uncover something. Perhaps, even the ties to Lady Bethesda.”
“That would bring the Ancients into the fight” Atsá amended pensively.
“In any case, it is time to put some heat on Monseigneur” Raoul said. “His fingerprints have been showing up all over our investigation. And any attention on Monseigneur will help convince other leeches that he’s jeopardizing them all by his actions and alliances.”
The wind whipped at her as she ran, pelting through the valley. In the distance, the mountains rose majestically. She loved this stretch. On nights like this, the moon shone brightly, its light unencumbered. For her, starved of the moon’s bounty, this was a blessing she would never again take for granted. She picked up speed, her body fluid and supple as she tore through the vast plains.
The constant agony of silver burning through her blood had receded slowly, though the memory of it had not yet faded. Physically, it was getting easier to put the past behind her. With every passing day, she found her strength and stamina returning. The freedom to run through the vast plains and revel in it, whenever her heart wished, had been a major factor. The wildness of the early days was a thing of the past. The beast, always just under her skin since the witch’s work, had fallen silent. Yet, the emotional scars continued to sear her. Sometimes, the very thought of four walls, or anything else caging her in, had her heart threatening to burst out of her ribcage. She despaired that perhaps this wild country was the only civilization she could abide now. What good was a Shifter incapable of living in a Pack? With a clearer head, she could assess the situation coldly and without prejudice. She’d flirted with danger, almost bleeding over into territory no Wyr should ever cross. And one day, she’d have to face the music for it.
On the occasional nights the clouds obscured the moon, uneasiness and restlessness plagued her, leaving her jittery and anxious. The moonlight had become so essential to her that even a night without it brought back flashes of the blue-eyed witch and the dilapidated barn. At times, the bitterness and fury inside her threatened to overwhelm her. The memories might fade with time, but the scars scorched into her soul would have no solace. She, who’d never before backed down from a challenge, wondered occasionally if she could ever triumph over this.
Her pace accelerated as she flew, desperate to outrun her dark musings. But running from memories, that pursued her like the hounds of hell, was no easy feat. She must find the will and fortitude to rebuild anew from the ashes. This time, she’d make sure that she was invulnerable to anything that life could throw at her. No one would be allowed to hold the reins of her fate ever again. She was broken. To survive, she must become the mistress of her own destiny. Therein lay her last and only hope.
Tasia came awake, bolting forward in her seat. The belt, that strapped her in, held her from toppling over.
Hawk stirred beside her. “Okay, Tas?” he asked.
She took a deep breath, trying to banish the feeling of going under. “Yes.”
But nothing was okay. The dream had disturbed her, to leave her heart racing. Yet, the disquiet in her was hard to explain. That had not been a nightmare. She was an expert on those. But there was something hauntingly familiar in the burning emotions she sensed, as she sprinted through the wilderness under a gleaming moon. The desperation for the moonlight, the determination to conquer her demons, the anxiety at the mere thought of leaving the wilderness or being part of a Pack, even the obsessive resolve to be in control of her destiny, had her heart thumping with a nameless fear. It was madness, Tasia told herself. What she imagined was too fantastic to be true.
Across from her, Nandini slumped in her chair, the seat beside her empty. She turned to Hawk, determined to shove her foreboding away.
“Where are we?” Tasia asked him. The lights from the window made it evident that they were parked somewhere.
“Vancouver” he said. “Waiting to refuel. Then, onto San Francisco. We should arrive by dawn.”
While Tasia attempted to reconcile her wild suspicions, outside on the tarmac, Roman had a last word with the Alpha, as Duncan, Sienna, Atsá and Jason stretched their legs.
“ElMorad will not be easy” Roman reiterated.
“I know” the Alpha ceded. “Do what you can.”
Roman sighed. �
�I just hope he hasn’t gone to ground. If he knows Monseigneur is hot on his heels, he might.”
Raoul understood the Ancient’s concerns. But he hoped that between Durovic and Faoladh’s investigators, they might succeed in tracing the Archmage who could point them to the whereabouts of the third daughter.
“Do you have a description for the investigators?” he asked. Even a cursory description would suffice. Without any details, it would be nearly impossible to track the Archmage in Belize.
Roman shook his head regretfully. “Not for ElMorad. The resort was reluctant on the subject. I’ll try and get us something the investigators can use.”
“What about the girl?” Raoul pressed.
Sienna turned away from the others, to drift towards the duo. She’d paid little attention to Roman and the Alpha’s conversation until her sister cropped up in it. Sienna wanted confirmation that the stranger in her latest visions was her sibling.
“I have a description of her” Roman confirmed. He glanced at the Wizard as she joined them. “It’s from the lodge, Sienna. Not my contacts. I’ve been unsuccessful there.”
“What does she look like?” she prompted him.
“Medium height, slim, olive skin. Her most distinctive feature is long bright red tresses.”
Sienna heaved a silent sigh. And missed the Alpha’s penetrating glance at her.
“This will certainly help the investigators with their inquiries in the Belizean village” Raoul said.
Denver, Colorado
The lady of the house invited the Vampire to be seated.
“What news, Rafaelo?” she prompted.
“The Alpha met with Faoladh and his investigators in Corfu, My Lady” he said. “My sources say there were no other meetings on the island.”
“You’re sure about this?” she pressed him.
“Yes, My Lady” the Vampire responded confidently. “The entourage with him was for Belize. The only official business in Corfu involved Faoladh’s investigators who flew in from Italy.”
She did not show it, but the lady was relieved. Perhaps, the secrets meant to stay buried would do so for a little longer. But the Wyrs poking around Corfu was not a good sign. Faoladh was not heeding her warning — he kept digging into matters not his concern.
“The Alpha would like to meet with you, My Lady” Bianchi announced.
The lady was surprised. She had not expected the Alpha to request a meeting, not with Faoladh reluctant to join hands with her. As she chewed on it, something else in his statement struck her.
“Where did your paths cross, Rafaelo?” she asked.
“In Belize” the Vampire said.
Bianchi was rattled. And since it was unusual for him to be so, he didn’t know where to turn. The Mage had not made the rendezvous they’d agreed on. More worryingly, she remained incommunicado. He suspected that she’d been caught while attempting to enter the lodge. If she was in custody, the Mage would not hesitate to drag him into it. Rafaelo was confident that he could sidestep any questions that arose from the Mage’s confession. He had a lifetime of squirming away from such situations under his belt and was uncommonly brilliant at protecting his hide. But while being asked to answer for this did not worry him, the Mage’s capture alarmed him greatly. There was only one Chosen Rafaelo Bianchi feared in this world. He dreaded Monseigneur’s reaction, once news of the Mage reached the Vampire. If she blabbed about her ties to him, the First Ones might come knocking on Monseigneur’s door. Under those circumstances, his Master, never the forgiving kind, would not accept any excuses from Bianchi. After some reflection, Rafaelo had determined that the only way to save himself from Monseigneur’s wrath was to throw fuel into the fire and furiously muddy the waters. Hopefully, that would buy him some time to come up with a solution for his problem.
The lady looked curious. “Why was the Alpha in Belize?” she questioned him.
The Vampire met her eyes. “A girl went missing at The Games. The Alpha is interested in the disappearance.”
Her eyes narrowed at him. “What girl?”
As he’d suspected, she knew nothing about the runaway bride. The Lady was well connected in some circles, but Monseigneur’s influence was far more widespread. The Master had made sure to keep her in the dark about this.
“She was with the Lombardi party, My Lady” Bianchi said softly.
She shot up from her chair; for once, impetuous and uncaring of appearances. “Lombardi” she repeated. “Monseigneur took a girl to The Games?”
“His intended.”
This time, there was no hiding her reaction. Her eyes fixated on him. “What are you saying, Rafaelo?”
He stood up to face her. “I thought you knew, My Lady.”
The Vampire met her gaze without flinching. She knew that when it came to Monseigneur, there was no ambiguity about where his loyalties lay.
Bianchi hoped fervently that she would confront Monseigneur about this. It would buy him a little time, to sort out the disaster the Rune Mage had set into motion.
“The Shifters are back in San Francisco” he announced. “I am barred from the city. But I’ll keep tabs on them. If they travel again …” he allowed his voice to trail away.
She nodded absent-mindedly, preoccupied with processing the bombshell the Vampire had dropped. What was happening, she wondered wildly? How could Monseigneur lose the girl? She’d have to work harder now to fulfill the conditions for The Prophecy. Three daughters must be brought together, as laid down by the Oracle. And she had lost all three. As rage simmered in her, she put the blame squarely on Faoladh. She’d given him more time to come to his senses than he deserved, she reflected wrathfully. It was time to show him what she was made of.
She waved the Vampire away, dismissing him from her presence. There were plans to make and ambitions to achieve. Yet, Bianchi hesitated.
The lady glanced at him, impatient for the Vampire to leave. “What is it, Rafaelo?”
“You were acquainted with the Alpha’s Wizard connections, My Lady?”
“With his aunt” she confirmed.
“Any First Ones heritage?” the Vampire inquired.
She shook her head. “Not that I’m aware of.”
The Vampire bowed, always careful to observe the Clan niceties, before exiting the room. If the lady had not been jolted by Bianchi’s news about her daughter, she’d have dug deeper into the Vampire’s unusual query. But preoccupied by the stumbles in her carefully laid plans, she missed it.
Bianchi hurried away from the house, determined to chase down his suspicions. There was one more Chosen he could get the answers from. Someone more familiar with the history of the Pure Bloods and their difficult birth. The Sirens were an emotive issue for the Clan. He was one of the few people aware that it was even more so for the Venice Nest. If he could prove to Monseigneur that the Blood Mages had betrayed the pact, he might yet get through this without a stake through his heart.
In the supplemental Pack Room on the first floor, two people faced each other across the table.
“What was she like, Were-Alpha?” Sara asked her companion, making no attempt to hide her eagerness.
The Shifter’s expression softened imperceptively at the question. As he mused on the past, memories surged back to him of a different time in his life. One he had not yet forgotten. Warmed by the memories, he stared into space, a faraway look in his eyes.
Sara waited for him to return to the present. She’d had over a week to ponder what Luis had told her about the past. And she bubbled with questions for him. The Were-Alpha had been traveling and she was eager to hear his answers. Luis had made it clear that he was willing to talk about her mother. For that, Sara was immensely grateful.
“You remind me of her” he said quietly.
Sara was taken aback. “You said she was a quintessential Shifter” she countered. She didn’t have to say that she was nothing of the sort. Not to Luis, who’d been witness to her struggles in the Pack.
He smiled
at the retort. And Sara did a silent double take. If anyone had told her ten days ago that she’d closet herself with Luis Beltran to engage him, she’d have laughed in his face. When the Alpha’s party had returned home after nearly a week away from San Francisco, Sara had been overjoyed to see Hawk and Tasia. She’d missed them both. Yet, it was Luis she’d made a beeline for. Having had the time and solitude to process his confession, she was impatient to learn more about the mother she’d never had a chance to know.
“She was” Luis acknowledged. “But she also marched to her own drum. Regardless of what the world said, she remained true to herself. She wanted to study and she went for it, uncaring that this went against Shifter tradition.”
“You know all too well how much weight Shifters place on academic achievements. But your mother cared little for their opinions. When she was ready to come home again, that too was on her own terms. You are the same, Sara.”
At his words, Sara could not hide her astonishment.
“There are many kinds of Shifters” Luis remarked. “Who is to know what qualities make for a good Wyr? You refuse to sort out differences with violence. So what? A Pack is a collective. Every Shifter has a part to play in it. And a collective succeeds only when its members all contribute to it. The Alpha recognizes that. It is why he appreciates your contributions to the Pack. You are the conscience that reminds your Packmates to take a minute and consider alternate means, before resorting to what a Shifter’s natural instinct calls for.”
Sara leaned back, floored by his comments. She’d paid little attention to Luis Beltran before. There had been no reason to. For one, Sara tended to keep her interactions limited to her were-pack mates, when possible. Plus, he had never been a Were-Alpha who drew attention in the Pack. In the company of the venerable and esteemed Atsá, the canny and experienced Maartje, the flashy Stefan Simeonov and the sharp-tongued and ambitious Elisabetta De Luca, a Shifter like Luis Beltran tended to disappear into the background. Sara had often suspected that it suited Luis just fine to not be the cynosure of all eyes and attention. Yet, the soft-spoken Were-Alpha commanded respect in the Pack, and the Shifters were hesitant to cross him. But he was happier working behind the scenes. It struck Sara that reserved and mellow he might be, but Luis was also very observant.
