Shifter's Storm Page 5

  “Yes, and my foot.” said the woman’s voice with a touch of asperity.

  “Sorry. Want me to try the charm? Or I can radio and have help here in thirty minutes.”

  The woman’s voice started, “I don’t–”

  “Charm,” interrupted the male voice. “The leopard can’t help if she can’t see. We must run.”

  “Yes, all right.” Exhaustion roughened the woman’s tone.

  Chantal pulled the flashlight from its holster on her belt. “Cover your eyes. Flash coming in three, two, one…” She focused her intent on the wyvern magic, then pressed and held three innocent-looking buttons on her standard-issue flashlight.

  A ghostly net appeared in a sphere shape, then collapsed in a searing flash of light and heat. Two voices cried out in pain.

  A naked woman and man appeared, lying on the ground. He cradled her in his arms. Their matted and tangled dark, silver-streaked hair wasn’t long enough to hide a multitude of scrapes and cuts that leaked blood. They’d also expelled the unpleasant-smelling contents of their stomachs onto the ground underneath them.

  “So bright,” said the man, still squinting. His color was looking sallower by the second.

  The woman’s head shook. “Oh, Thea, the smells are even worse!”

  Chantal crouched. “I’ve got a field kit and some healing spells, but–”

  An unearthly keening sound interrupted, like the sound of a bomb whistle.

  The woman rose to her hands and knees, whimpering, and started to crawl. The man climbed unsteadily to his feet, then bent to help the woman stand. They staggered together east, away from the fairy fountain.

  A crashing thump shook the ground hard enough to knock Chantal off balance and send the man to his knees.

  The woman pulled the man to his feet. “Get up, Raya. I will not let you be sold!”

  Chantal’s focus sharpened. Her own mother had been sold as a baby factory to a corrupt pride. The North American shifter community was still untangling the mess left from the destruction of an illegal underground auction operation in California. Chantal had an immediate, visceral dislike for anyone who enslaved and sold shifters like pets.

  More thumps, coming closer.

  The man and woman pushed into the scraggly bushes.

  Chantal pulled a few flashbangs from her belt and stepped out from under the tree.

  A huge head rose above the top of a rise to the north, soon joined by more of the creature. It looked like a giant, evil version of a garden gnome. Its head turned a three-quarter rotation, then tilted down to look toward her location. The movement sounded like stones grinding in a rock tumbler. A dust shower of sparkling crystals flew out from the neck.

  Another giant figure joined it, this one the nightmare version of a classical satyr, but with a demon’s sharp teeth showing through the beard, claws for fingers, and sharp crystal spikes protruding from the goat-half’s hooves.

  Both appeared to made of cloudy gray quartz, with blocky, rectangular crystals at their joints and around their necks. Uneven blotches of color suggested they’d once been brightly painted. Gusts of powerful fairy magic buffeted her etheric senses.

  The quartz satyr squatted, then sprang into the air to land fifty feet down the ridge. The impact shook the ground.

  The gnome figure stomped down the hill toward Chantal and the acacia tree. Its booted feet tore and flattened the undergrowth as it stomped toward her.

  She sidestepped quickly, away from the tree and into the bushes, exchanging the useless flashbangs for her satellite radio.

  “Kitty One to Base. I’ve got two people hurt. Two twenty-foot animated statues just appeared out of nowhere. I’m about fifteen minutes down the two-wheel track from Road 200. Whole area is thick with fairy magic. I’ll try to get the injured to safety and hide. Don’t come alone.”

  No time to wait for the answer. The base receiver would record the message for later playback if Leticia wasn’t there.

  Reholstering the radio and circling quickly toward where she’d last seen the injured couple, she considered options. The road was too visible. The fairy pool was out of the question.

  Best bet would be the mired truck. Metal and modern technology sometimes interfered with fairy magic.

  A louder crash shook the ground. The satyr was now only thirty feet from her.

  She dove for a bush, twisting at the last second to avoid a cactus. Rolling onto her back, she aimed a magical energy bolt at its neck.

  A large, rounded section of hot-pink crystal went flying, bouncing off a tree and landing near her hips. The satyr didn’t seem to notice as it stepped closer. The sharp spikes on its hooves had fresh green stains.

  The gnome’s booted feet stomped forward. The high-pitched keening began again. Communication, maybe?

  Her nose detected the watery scent of the couple. She saw the man a moment later, but it was too late.

  The gnome scraped away a tree like it was a weed, then reached down with its other clawed hand to scoop him up. A moment later, the satyr did the same to the woman, who screamed in pain when the claws tightened on her ribs.

  Chantal froze, not daring to move. The satyr towered over her and her thin cover of shrubbery. One slide of a spiked hoof, and she’d be shifter shish-kabob.

  Fairy magic glowed from striations of purple that resembled veins. Visible cracks radiated from all its joints.

  She blinked in wonder when she noticed the satyr was anatomically correct with the legendary endowment of that species. Did statues have sex?

  Her inner leopard hissed at her to quit thinking stupid human thoughts and pay attention.

  Fairy magic flared, followed by the unmistakable blossoming of demesne magic.

  “Leopard!” shouted the man. “Tell the Cypriot capricorns that Rayapkhal and Yipkash are not dead! Look for buyers who–”

  The rest of his words were swallowed by the deafening wind of a fairy portal opening. Twenty feet from Chantal’s hiding place, the air shimmered, then stabilized. The morning sun over Vieques cast a wide spotlight onto a dark world of thick trees, lit dimly by small floating globes.

  The portal stretched taller and wider, creeping to within a body’s length from her.

  The garden gnome thunder-stomped through the opening. The round, pink crystal at its neck flared bright with raw fairy magic.

  Right above her, the satyr’s head rotated three hundred and sixty degrees. A shower of tiny crystals coated her as it turned.

  The satyr stepped one hoof through the opening, then paused. More fairy magic bathed it up and down. The woman cried out in pain.

  Intuition and impulse hit Chantal at the same time. She grabbed the round pink crystal that had almost hit her, then tucked and rolled with it through the portal, under the satyr’s hoof spikes.

  Fairy magic scoured every inch of her. The pink crystal rapidly became too hot to handle and seared her hands and upper chest. She hung on to it with grim determination.

  Gritting her teeth, she raised her magic shield. The portal defense magic—that’s what it had to be—stopped needling her nerves. Ahead of her, human screams shifted into bleating goat sounds. She scrambled to her feet and ran for the thick forest.

  This was either the luckiest or stupidest thing she’d ever done. But how could she live with herself if it was another auction?

  The pink crystal continued to glow, but cooled off enough for her to stuff it down her shirt, resting on the camisole. She welcomed the noticeably cooler air of the demesne. The portal shut with another pop of rushing air.

  As she moved as quickly and quietly as possible into the shadows of larger trees, the profound lack of scents disturbed her. Faint whiffs of what could be pine, but that was it. Not even her own sweat. Maybe the portal defense magic evaporated it.

  The etheric vibration of the portal subsided. Stomps and clomp sounds headed away from her to the left, so she turned that direction.

  A strong temptation to shift to full leopard form pushed her, b
ut she doubted she could magically shift the pink crystal with her clothes, and it was too big to carry in her leopard’s mouth. She’d be a fool to lose the crystal, and her parents didn’t raise fools.

  But they were going to be mad. She’d promised them that just this once, she’d try to stay out of trouble instead of jumping into it.

  She vowed to make it up to them. If she survived.

  5

  Dauro sprawled on the cool floor of the castle’s great hall, forelimbs outstretched. He should be outside, finding out what happened when two of the castle’s statues opened a portal to chase the escaped capricorns. Instead, he was stuck inside, commanded to appear before the new owners.

  He’d expected punishment for making all that noise, but they hadn’t said a thing. Instead, they were conducting more magical experiments.

  The two fairies stood behind a long, narrow table with random stones, charms, and magical instruments scattered across it. They’d also bedecked themselves with chains and rings of gold. Dauro recognized some of them from Nessireth’s various collections.

  The display cases in the hall now gaped open, some with broken doors. Nessireth used to bring him into the castle every year for a checkup and to brag about new acquisitions. Toward the end of her life, the inspections had come more frequently and she’d grown more garrulous, as if she’d wanted someone to talk to. Or maybe she’d forgotten he had a brain under all his fur.

  “Okay,” said Trixis. “Let’s try the change wand.”

  The taller fairy named Omorachi picked up a slender length of carved crystal and pointed it at him. He didn’t recognize it. Trixis read a passage from the book they’d been carrying the day before.

  Their previous experiments had fizzled or failed, but this time, Trixis’s last syllable set Dauro free.

  Mind-ripping pain coursed through him. Magic tore him apart, limb by limb, then remade him. Feet, knees, hands, stomach, lungs, head. His roar of agony became a human shout. Long ago, his shifts had taken less than a dozen heartbeats. This one felt like it took hours.

  He sagged on his hands and knees in a chilly puddle. The water from his fur must have drained off during the shift. The face reflecting back up at him was that of an unkempt stranger. He’d always looked different, with a short beard that native males didn’t have, but had his hair always been that thick and full of dark and silver coils?

  Omorachi wrinkled her nose and fanned the air in front of her face. “Ugh! Humans bloody well stink! No wonder Nessie kept ’em as animals.”

  “That,” declared Trixis, “was the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” She pointed at something to his right. “Cover your lumpy brown flesh before I throw up.”

  Dauro peered blearily up at them. He wasn’t used to looking up at anything, or seeing in full color. Every muscle and bone in his body hurt like hot knives.

  Trixis made a retching sound and pointed again.

  He turned to look. A faded red blanket draped over a threadbare padded green chair that was twenty feet away. Instead of trusting his uncertain balance, he awkwardly crawled to the chair. The rough-surfaced, milky-white quartz floor sliced into the tender skin on his hands and knees, leaving a trail of water and blood in his wake.

  Omorachi made a scoffing noise. “I saw a python eat a goblin once. Snake died of poison. Goblin ate its way out. That’s way worse.”

  “Hmph.” Trixis examined the wand in her hand, then put it back on the table. “At least this one works like it’s supposed to. It’ll bring a good price.”

  “So, foul-smelling creature,” said Omorachi loudly, “what’s your name?”

  Dauro wasn’t born on the vegetable truck yesterday. Names had power. He gave them his war leader title instead. “Sinchi.”

  Embarrassingly, his voice was rusty, and he drooled as he spoke the unfamiliar sounds of English. His tongue felt short and entirely the wrong shape. His numb lips didn’t help. Congestion clogged his nose and ears. The hall seemed darker than he remembered, and drafty.

  He rolled to sit on the floor, leaning against the chair, and pulled the thin blanket around his shoulders. It was a poor replacement for thick fur.

  Omorachi thumped the table in annoyance. “If Nessie was here, I’d slap her. Her precious ‘Book of Books’ is full of shite.” She waved toward the table. “Or more to the point, not full of it. Half this isn’t even listed, or if it is, it’s a lie.”

  Trixis took a sip of blue liquid from a clear crystal goblet. “Untrusting rubble, she was.” She held up the glass. “Look how long it took us to break into the fairy dew cellar, and we’re her flesh and stone.”

  “Stop drinking so much.” Omorachi’s expression turned sour. “Half of that is mine.”

  Trixis rolled her shoulders back. “I deserve more. I’m still growing.”

  “Lick hot lava,” Omorachi snarled. “I’m the one who figured out where Nessie hid the demesne and got us in.”

  Trixis defiantly drained the goblet, then slammed it to the table. “Yeah, well, I’m the one who found the sales broker for the collection.”

  “On the human internet,” Omorachi sneered. “You haven’t even met her. She could be a scammer.”

  “I talked to her. That’s enough. Our project isn’t going anywhere without money.”

  “Our project?” Omorachi screeched in outrage. “You’d still be pounding granite in your mother’s quarry if it weren’t for me.” Omorachi punched Trixis on the arm.

  Trixis punched back, but missed Omorachi’s arm and grazed her jaw.

  The next instant, they were punching, biting, and scratching each other.

  When their scuffle bumped the table, the contents flew off and landed on the floor. Several pieces rolled toward him.

  He’d forgotten how much more sensitive to magic he was in his human form. The box with dull pebbles glued to it had a tiny glamor to make them look like precious gems. The oversized iron key had no magic. On the other hand, the slender knife with the dragon-scale hilt was bespelled Alfar metal designed to cut through anything. In his time, only leaders of big clans could afford such a deadly weapon.

  Quickly, before the fairies ended their scuffle, he wrapped his hand in the blanket and pushed the knife behind him under the chair. With luck, the fairies wouldn’t find it for a while.

  Magic thrummed through the floor. His human physical senses were even worse than he’d remembered, but four hundred years of living in fairy magic had honed his magical senses sharp.

  The castle’s unique magic was strong and complex. Nessireth often boasted she alone had figured out how to fuse fairy magic to living rock to give the castle autonomy to protect her and her collections. Now that he was sitting—huddling, to be honest—inside, he believed it. The castle’s power vibrated his bones.

  Demesne magic floated everywhere. It felt as torn and threadbare as the blanket around his shoulders. Whatever plan the squabbling fairies had for their inheritance, they’d best repair the demesne soon or lose it altogether.

  He wished Sunscar would let him know what was happening outside. Or maybe ignorance was better, so he couldn’t give it away if the fairies found Nessireth’s favorite truth-geas ring.

  Stretching out his legs, he wiggled his toes and flexed his feet. How odd to have so many short toes.

  He dimly remembered his first shift to his sloth, centuries ago, and how nothing felt right. Of course, part of that was because he’d expected to be an elephant seal like his parents, not a huge, furry, long-snouted, four-legged vegetarian with claws for digging up underwater plants. He hadn’t known what to call himself until Nessireth had bragged to a visitor that he was a unique and valuable Ice Age aquatic sloth. Megafauna, she’d called him.

  Valuable to collectors, maybe, but shifter clans hadn’t known what to do with him any more than his parents had. Becoming good at war made him useful but not loved, except by the other warriors.

  The fairies’ fight ended as abruptly as it started. They picked themselves
up off the floor and straightened their torn clothing as if nothing happened. Thanks to Kelvin’s borrowed memories, he now knew the shorter Trixis wore skinny jeans and a T-shirt, and taller Omorachi wore leggings under a short skirt and chain-covered vest.

  They righted the table, then picked up the book and the empty goblet.

  “Sinchi!” said Trixis, her nose in the air. “Pick up this mess you made.” She pointed toward the scattered items on the floor. Omorachi snickered and crossed her arms expectantly.

  Ordinarily, he’d have told them to eat death leaves, but not this time. He needed information more than he needed his dignity. Letting the blanket drop, he used the chair for support as he rose unsteadily to his feet.

  After two cautious steps, he decided that thinking about walking on two legs only made it worse, so he concentrated on wanting to touch the charms and find out what they did. Keeping his movements sloth-slow helped him master bending and straightening, but his limbs were barely speaking to each other. And to think he’d regularly outraced the fastest runners of his long-ago clan.

  Trixis and Omorachi hooted and hissed laughter every time he stumbled. Their inattentiveness helped him conceal a small, powerful pearl in his mouth. Now he just had to remember not to forget and reflexively swallow it.

  By the time he’d made a dozen trips to the table, he almost felt like his body was his own again, even if everything still ached.

  “Let’s take pictures of him now,” demanded Trixis. “I don’t want to have to smell him any longer than I have to.”

  “Fine.” Omorachi heaved an aggrieved sigh. “I’ll get my phone. Ask him about the others.” She spun and walked toward an arched doorway, her clawed toenails clicking on the stone.

  Trixis put her hands on her hips. “Where is the Draco aqua?”

  “The what?” His voice sounded smoother, but the words sounded weird. Maybe it was the English language Sunscar had given him, not at all like Spanish. Come to think of it, old Nessireth had boasted to everyone that the demesne acted as a universal translator. Which explained why he’d understood the fairies from the beginning. Very confusing, nonetheless.