Shadow's Blade, page 21
“Sorry to bother you. I need to know what time you want to be moving in the morning.”
“Early,” I said. “I think we’re safer on the road, as long as we keep our distance from the interstates. And I prefer to stay in a different place each night. That okay with you?”
“It’s fine, but give me a time. It sometimes takes a little while to get the kids moving.”
“Let’s be on the road by eight.”
She nodded, and turned away. “Sounds good,” she said over her shoulder. “Good night.”
A scream woke me from a sound sleep. I’d left my Glock on the night table beside the bed, and in seconds I was at the door with my jeans on and the weapon in hand. But I paused there, listening. Thinking about it, I realized that what I’d heard hadn’t been a cry of fear. It had conveyed pain. Agony even. I thought it came from Gracie’s room, but all was silent now, and I began to wonder if I’d dreamed it.
A door closed on the other side of the wall, and an instant later a second sound spiked through the cheap plaster, sharp and yet muffled in a way. Someone was trying to stifle a shriek.
I yanked open the door and felt it riding the wind, as distinctive as the smell of burning leaves on an autumn night: magic.
I whispered a warding spell and stepped softly toward Gracie’s door, gripping my Glock with both hands. I hadn’t covered half the distance, when the door to the room opened and a small figure dashed out. I pointed the weapon at the ground, cursing my racing heart, and the twitch that had nearly made me pull the trigger.
“Jay!” Emmy ran to me and threw her arms around my waist.
“What’s going on, Emmy?”
“It’s Mommy. I think she’s sick again. You need to come right away,” She released me and grabbed for my hand. Her hand brushed the pistol and she stopped, stared at it and then at me. “You don’t need that.”
Right. I unchambered the round and tucked the weapon into the back of my jeans. Emmy led me to their room, pausing on the threshold to put a finger to her lips and point at the nearer of the two beds. Remarkably, Zach was still sleeping.
I nodded and followed her inside, feeling another riffle of magic as I did, this one different from the first. More muffled cries emanated from the bathroom, the door to which was shut.
“See?” Emmy said, sounding frightened. I didn’t know the kid well, but I had the sense that she didn’t scare easily. “She’s sick.”
I crossed to the door, knocked once. “Gracie?”
“Go away.” Her voice was rough, strained, the way it might if she’d been sick to her stomach. But a magic induced tummy ache? I wasn’t buying it.
“You say she’s been sick before?” I asked Emmy. “Recently? In the last day or two?”
“She gets sick a lot. But it’s been a while since the last time.”
“A while . . .” I repeated.
Emmy shrugged. “A bunch of weeks.”
Another moan made her grab hold of me again.
A bunch of weeks.
Sweat tickled the back of my neck. “All right.” I patted Emmy’s back, but then gripped her shoulders and made her step away. “You stay out here, all right?”
I rapped on the door again. “I’m coming in.”
“No, you’re not,” Gracie said, in that same taut voice.
I tried the knob, but it was locked, which I’d expected. I cast a spell. The door, the latch, and a hot blade cutting through it. The metal chimed softly. I pushed the door open just enough so that I could slip inside and closed it again.
“Damn you! Get out of here.”
She looked like hell, her face shining with sweat, her hair plastered to her forehead and the back of her neck, her skin so pale that the rings under her eyes were as dark as bruises.
But she wasn’t gripping the toilet as she might have had she been ill. Instead, she knelt in the bathtub, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She wore a nightshirt that said “World’s Best Mom.” The collar and shoulders were damp and clung to her skin. I could see that she was shaking and even as she glared up at me, her eyes huge and dark in the dim yellowed light of the bathroom, she convulsed and gritted her teeth against another shriek.
I winced, took a single step toward her, but was stopped in mid-stride by the realization that there had been another sound as well: the snap of bone.
“Holy shit,” I said in a whisper. “You’re a were.”
She was on all fours now, her head hanging low. “Yes.”
“The kids don’t know.”
She shook her head. “I’ve managed to hide it during the phasings. But a spell hit me earlier. I was asleep, so I don’t know where it came from. It started me changing. I’m trying to fight it, but I don’t know if I can.”
I was still trying to wrap my head around the fact that Gracie was both a weremyste and a were. I’d never heard of that before. At least now I understood her reaction in the truck when I said something about the rest of us not having talents like hers. The rest of us really didn’t. But I thrust those thoughts to the back of my mind. We’d have that conversation another time.
“Dark sorcerers have enlisted weres in their war with the magical community. They turn them in between the phasings and use them as soldiers, messengers, assassins. But I had thought they needed to establish some level of control with an initial spell. That’s how it’s worked before.” Unless, of course, the spell was cast by Saorla. She could do just about anything she wanted with magic. But for now I kept that to myself, too.
“Not anymore, it seems.”
Her back arched and even through the shirt I could see her flesh rippling. The crackle of shifting bone echoed in the room. “God!” she screamed, the word ripped from her chest.
“Mommy!” Emmy shouted through the door.
“It’s all right, sweetie!” she called, though the rasp of her voice wasn’t likely to reassure Emmy.
“Can you ward yourself?” I asked.
Gracie shook her head. “I don’t feel . . . the magic anymore.” She could barely speak for her panting. “I did. Before. But it’s started now. They don’t need . . . to use more magic.”
“So what can I do?”
“Get out.”
“Gracie—”
“The kids need you . . . more than I do.”
I shook my head, not wanting to believe that I could do nothing for her. “What are you? As a were, I mean.”
Her head snapped up, eyes closed, teeth bared. Teeth that looked a good deal bigger than they had over dinner. “Cat,” she managed to say.
Great. I assumed she didn’t mean the cuddly domestic variety.
“Get out,” she said again. “And make sure . . . I stay in.” She swallowed. “They want me. I feel it. I’m supposed to . . . to go somewhere. After. When the change is complete. Don’t let me.”
“I won’t.”
She collapsed to her elbows, gripping her head with both hands, which resembled paws more and more. Her fingers had shortened, thickened, and they were covered with a fine coat of tawny, mottled fur. By the time she raised her head again, her eyes has started to lighten toward amber, her face to flatten and take on feline characteristics.
“Don’t let me out,” she said, in a voice like sandpaper on rock.
“Maybe I can—”
“No. There’s—” She was cut off by another spasm and more grating of bone on bone. Her cry of pain skirled upward into a wild screech that was more cat than human. If I’d had to guess, I would have said she was becoming a bobcat, although that might have been wishful thinking. If she turned into a mountain lion, that bathroom door wasn’t going to hold her back.
I opened the door once more and backed out, taking care not to let Emmy catch sight of her mom.
The girl stood near the door, clutching a blanket with both hands, tears on her face, her eyes like dinner plates.
“Is she all right? What’s happening to her?”
“You were right, she’s not feeling well.”
“I felt the magic, Jay. When I was outside getting you. I felt it. Now tell me what’s happening to Mommy.”
The problem with preternaturally intelligent kids, is that they sound rational and mature beyond their years. But they’re still kids, dealing with the fears and innocence and vulnerability that comes with being eight years old. Emmy might have known that a spell had been directed at her mom. She might even have been able to process on some level the fact that her mother was a were, and spent three nights out of every moon cycle in the form of a wild cat. But the distance between understanding those things and knowing that her mom was transforming into a bobcat in the next room . . . ? Well, for this night at least, that was a bridge too far.
On the other hand, lying to her didn’t seem like a great option either, and so I chose to give her a version of the truth.
“You’re right. There’s magic involved, and what she’s going through is hard for her. But she can handle it, and I’m certain that she’s going to be okay once it’s over.”
“Does it hurt?” Emmy asked, sounding much more like a little girl.
“Yes, it does. But your mom is strong and brave. And in the meantime, I’m going to stay right here with you, all right?”
She only hesitated for an instant before nodding.
I walked to the television and switched it on, bumping up the volume enough that it would mask some of the noise coming from the bathroom.
As soon as the TV was on, Zach woke up. He’d slept through his mother’s screams, but his ears seemed to be tuned to the little Sony speakers in that box. He climbed out of bed, blanket in one hand, zebra in the other, and a thumb in his mouth. I’m not sure I could have managed it all, but it didn’t seem to phase him at all. He sat down on the floor in front of the TV and his sister joined him there. I flipped through the few channels we had, trying to find something vaguely appropriate. One of the stations was showing an old Western in those saturated tones that Hollywood used when film first flipped from black and white to color, and I decided that was the best we were likely to do.
After about a minute, Zach got to his feet and started toward the bathroom.
“Whoa, kiddo,” I said, stopping him. “Um . . . your mom’s in there.”
“I have t’ pee.”
I could tell Emmy was watching me, but I kept my eyes on Zach. “How would you like to pee outside, in the middle of the night? The moon’s up. You’ll be able to see.”
A grin crept over his face, and I could tell he liked the idea. But then the smile faded, leaving him chewing his lip.
“I can come with you,” I said. “There’s nothing to be scared of.”
A high snarl from the bathroom, drew his gaze.
“Come on,” I said, holding out my hand.
“I can go barefoot?”
“Of course. It’s no fun if you don’t go barefoot.” If he stepped on a piece of glass, Gracie would kill me.
“Okay.”
I took him outside, let him take care of his business, and then led him back into the room. He settled back on to the floor. If I’d had wipes or hand sanitizer or something, I would have cleaned his hands, but I had nothing. When he put his thumb back in his mouth, I cringed.
I thought about checking on Gracie, but there wasn’t much I could do for her, and I don’t think she wanted me to see her in were form. So I sat on the floor next to Emmy. Zach got up, stepped over me, and sat on my other side, the blanket tucked under his arm.
Every once in a while, another growl or cry came from the bathroom, and each time Emmy glanced up at me. But she and her brother stayed with me; neither of them went anywhere near the bathroom door. They might not have known that their mom was a were, but I had the feeling they had been through nights like this before, during the phasings. Kids with two weremystes for parents must have learned early on to entertain and fend for themselves.
After a while, both of them dozed off. And sometime between the credits for the Western and the start of whatever came on next, so did I. The next thing I heard was the opening of the bathroom door.
I opened my eyes and reached for my Glock, more out of habit than any intention to shoot Gracie, whatever form she was in.
But she was human again, naked, holding the tatters of her nightshirt in front of her. She faltered at the sight of us on the floor and her eyes met mine for just an instant. I looked away. After a moment, I heard her start forward again. The whine of the zipper on her bag was followed by the rustle of clothes.
“I’m decent,” she said a minute or two later.
I faced her, watched as she bent to pick up Zach. She held him and kissed his forehead before laying him down in his bed. He didn’t wake. Emmy did, though.
“Mommy!” she said, her voice thin and sleepy.
“Hey, sweetie.”
“You’re all right. Jay said you would be.”
Gracie eyed me over the girl’s shoulder. “Well, he was right, wasn’t he?”
“What happened to you? Were you sick again, like you and Daddy are sometimes?”
“Something like that, yes.”
“It sounded different this time.”
“I know, sweetie. You need to sleep now.”
“I’m not tired.”
“Well, I am, and I bet Jay is too. So we’re all going to sleep. Understand?”
“All right,” Emmy said, sounding anything but willing.
I climbed to my feet. “I should go.”
“Wait for me outside,” Gracie said, her tone leaving no room for argument.
“Okay. Goodnight, Emmy.”
I stepped to the door, but Emmy held out her arms toward me. The corners of Gracie’s mouth twitched, though I couldn’t tell if she was suppressing a smile or a scowl. I took Emmy from her and kissed her cheek.
“Goodnight, pumpkin.”
She wrinkled her nose and smiled. “Pumpkin?”
“Yeah, that’s what I call all my orange friends.”
She giggled. “I’m not orange!”
“Hmmmm. Maybe not. But you look like a pumpkin to me. Now go to sleep, okay?”
“Okay. ’Night.”
I left their room and walked halfway to mine before stopping and leaning against the motel wall. The desert air had cooled enough that I could see my breath, silver and insubstantial in the light of the moon. I still didn’t have a shirt on, but somehow, after the warmth of the room and the heat of the kids dozing against me, I didn’t mind the cold.
The moon’s pull was magnetic. It almost seemed like it was drawing the thoughts from my head, leaving me dazed and tired and yet oddly at peace. I had no reason to believe that this phasing, when it began, would be any better or worse than others I had endured, but tonight at least, the moon felt . . . different somehow.
Gracie joined me a few moments later, wearing just a t-shirt and jeans, barefoot like I was. I expected her to yell at me for entering the bathroom against her wishes, but she said nothing. She leaned against the building beside me and tipped her face toward the moon, her eyes closed.
“You all right?” I asked.
“I think so.”
“I would have thought you would ward your room. I’m glad you didn’t.”
“I did,” she said. “I just cast the warding in a way that let you in. And I’m glad, too.”
I hesitated, then said, “You should have told me that you’re a were as well as a weremyste.”
She opened her eyes and glowered at me. “I’m not sure I should have done anything as far as you’re concerned. I never asked for your help, remember?”
I gazed back at her, silent, waiting.
Eventually she looked away and blew out a breath. “Boy, you bring out the worst in me.”
“I don’t mean to.”
“Doesn’t seem to matter.” She eyed the moon again. “You’re right, I should have told you. Most likely that’s one of the reasons Fitzwater is after me. There aren’t many of us.”
“You’re the first I’ve met.”
“He probably thinks that Emmy will be the same.”
“I’m not sure it matters what he thinks.”
Her brow furrowed. “Meaning?”
“Fitzwater is an errand boy,” I said, thinking of Marlon Brando and Martin Sheen. “He’s dangerous and powerful and he scares the crap out of me. But he only does what Saorla tells him to. If someone wants you and Emmy it’s her.”
“Fine, she thinks Emmy will be like me. What difference does it make?”
“In the way you mean, it makes no difference at all,” I said. “But if we’re going to find some way to beat them, we have to understand exactly who we’re up against. And as dangerous as Fitzwater might be, Saorla’s ten times worse.”
She eyed me, nodded.
“Tell me about the spell.”
Gracie shrugged. “I was asleep when it hit me. But I could tell it was strong, and I knew as soon as I woke up what it was intended to do.”
“Was it directed only at you? Could you tell?”
She started to answer, but stopped herself. “Maybe not,” she finally said. “There was a . . . a vastness to the casting. I hadn’t thought of this before, but it was too big to have been just for me. It was like a huge magical net.”
“That sounds like Saorla. I wouldn’t be surprised if she turned every were within five hundred miles of here. She’s gathering them, hoping you’ll answer her call with the rest. And when you don’t, she’ll have them fan out across the desert to find us.”
“So what do we do?”
“We sleep. And then we keep moving.”
“All right.” But she didn’t say goodnight, or walk away from me. “The kids like you. They trust you.”
“Zach does. Emmy’s still making up her mind.”
Gracie dismissed this with a waved hand. “She’s slower to trust than he is. She’s like me that way. But she’s starting to accept you, I can tell.”
“Well, I’m glad. They’re good kids.”
She didn’t answer right away. “You could take them back to Neil. If you’re right, and Saorla is determined to make me part of her army, maybe I can go to her and at least give Neil time to get the kids away from here. I can even give her . . . the other thing she’s after.”
