Shadow Rising
Author: Yasmine Galenorn
Date: 2000-01-01 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Urban Fantasy; Paranormal; Fantasy; Romance; Vampires; Paranormal Romance; Fae; Magic; Witches; Demons
Description: We’re the D’Artigo sisters: savvy half-human, half-Fae ex-operatives for the Otherworld Intelligence Agency. My sister Camille is a wicked-good witch with three sexy husbands. My sister Delilah is a two-faced werecat and Death Maiden. And me? I’m Menolly, a jian-tu turned vampire in love with a wildly hot werepuma. Unfortunately, life is about to get very, very nasty… Nerissa and I can’t decide on what we want to do for our promise ceremony and we’re bickering like an old married couple. My sisters and I head to Otherworld for a meeting with Queen Asteria. Once there, we discover that Shadow W
Publisher: Berkley

Titles by Yasmine Galenorn

THE OTHERWORLD SERIES

Witchling

Changeling

Darkling

Dragon Wytch

Night Huntress

Demon Mistress

Bone Magic

Harvest Hunting

Blood Wyne

Courting Darkness

Shaded Vision

Shadow Rising

Haunted Moon

THE INDIGO COURT SERIES

Night Myst

Night Veil

Night Seeker

Night Vision

ANTHOLOGIES

Inked

Never After

Hexed

SPECIALS

Ice Shards

Etched in Silver

The Shadow of Mist

Berkley Prime Crime titles by Yasmine Galenorn

Ghost of a Chance

Legend of the Jade Dragon

Murder Under a Mystic Moon

A Harvest of Bones

One Hex of a Wedding

* * *

Yasmine Galenorn writing as India Ink

Scent to Her Grave

A Blush with Death

Glossed and Found

The Shadow of Mist

An Otherworld Novella

Yasmine Galenorn

J

Jove Books, New York

THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

Published by the Penguin Group

Penguin Group (USA) LLC

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

USA • Canada • UK • Ireland • Australia • New Zealand • India • South Africa • China
penguin.com

A Penguin Random House Company

THE SHADOW OF MIST

A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author

“The Shadow of Mist” previously appeared in Never After, published by The Berkley Publishing Group.

Copyright © 2009 by Yasmine Galenorn.

Vanished copyright © 2013 by Yasmine Galenorn.

Excerpt from Autumn Whispers copyright © 2013 by Yasmine Galenorn.

Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

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For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) LLC,

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

ISBN: 978-1-101-60537-0

PUBLISHING HISTORY

Jove Special / September 2013

Cover design and photo illustration: Emily Albert.

Cover images: “Sparkling water” © Ryan McVay / Thinkstock; “Seals relaxing” © Thinkstock; “Celtic cross” © Thinkstock.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Contents

Also by Yasmine Galenorn

Title Page

Copyright

Letter to my readers

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

VANISHED

Playlist for THE SHADOW OF MIST

Special Excerpt from AUTUMN WHISPERS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

To My Readers,

Thank you so much for buying The Shadow of Mist, and I hope you enjoy the novella. I love being able to tell the stories of secondary characters, and novellas are a good way to do so. Since some of you may have bought The Shadow of Mist when it first appeared in the Never After anthology, I decided to include a surprise with the e-novella, to give you a little extra. So many of my readers have asked for more about Maggie, the baby calico gargoyle who won the hearts of the D’Artigo sisters, that I wrote Vanished, a story all her own.

So I hope you enjoy both Siobhan the selkie’s story, and Maggie’s story. And in a few days, on September 24, 2013, you’ll be able to pick up Autumn Whispers, book fourteen of the Otherworld series. You can read the first two chapters included at the end of this special e-novella.

Enjoy!

The Painted Panther

Yasmine

1

I stared out over the water as the call of the waves sang to me. They raced in my blood, enticing me to shed my humanity and dive deep, to return to the Mother’s core. The Ocean Mother’s presence was strong here, and she was a part of me now, a part of my life like she’d never been on the distant shores of my old home. I’d lived long enough on the western coast of Washington State to realize that my old life was slowly receding into the past for good.

Oh, I was a lot older than the one hundred and one years that had passed since I first set foot on Ellis Island, claiming the United States as my new home, but my past was retreating, and I wasn’t sorry to see the memories fade, like aging photographs. Over the intervening years, life had shifted and changed drastically, and so had I. But now . . . now I felt ready to settle in as my true self. To fully adopt this land as my home, this life as my fate.

And even more, I was ready to step out of the closet and tell my neighbors, my employer, and the world who I really was. For the first time in my life since I fled under the cover of night to the waiting boat, I was ready to step out and say, I’m Siobhan Morgan, and I’m a selkie, a wereseal if you will. I’m part of the Supe Community and I’m not going to hide anymore.

Life in this country had treated me well. Oh, there had been setbacks and downfalls, but now . . . I patted the rounded curve of my belly, which up until the last few months had always been flat and toned. Now there was life within me, and I had everything I ever wanted.

“Little daughter,” I whispered to the presence within. “I’ve waited a long, long time for you. I just wish I could bring you into a world that wasn’t so hostile and angry.”

As if in reply, a faint kick from a tiny foot answered back. Or was it a flipper? Mitch and I would have to talk to the midwife before long to get clear on everything that would happen to me—and the child—during the birthing. I knew I would have her in the water, with the mothers of the Pod surrounding me. But beyond that, I wasn’t sure. Mitch and I had tried for so long to get pregnant, our hopes dashed time and again. And now, it was really happening, thanks to the elfin med ics that my friends—the D’Artigo sisters—had hooked me up with.

As I blinked against the gray clouds that were threatening a downpour during the autumn afternoon, my cell phone rang. I flipped it open, expecting to hear Mitch’s voice—he was the only one who knew where I was right now—but to my surprise, a deeper voice answered.

“Siobhan? Siobhan Morgan?”

Crap. I let out a cry and dropped the phone, staring at the glowing screen. Should I pick it up again? Could I be wrong? Could it be someone else? Praying I’d made a mistake, I cautiously retrieved the phone from the ground and slowly raised it to my ear.

“Who’s speaking, please?”

“You know damned well who I am. Don’t play dumb.” His accent had faded, as had my own, but it was the same rough tone I’d run away from all those years ago.

“Terry? Is that you?”

“Yeah, it’s Terrance. And before you hang up—because I know you’re thinking about it—let me leave you with this thought: I’ve been tracking you down, girl. For a hundred years, I’ve searched for you. And now that I’ve found you, I’m going to make sure you live up to your end of the bargain.”

I caught my breath. It couldn’t be him. Not after a hundred years. I’d crossed the ocean to get away from him, and then crossed the continent. I’d run so far, so fast, leaving everything behind, that I could barely remember the days before I landed in New York.

What the hell was I going to do?

“It wasn’t my bargain, Terry. I didn’t make the arrangements, and I didn’t agree to them. In fact, if you’ll recall, I wanted you prosecuted by the Tribunal. But so much for justice. I claim my freedom. I claim injury by what you did to me that night. So you might as well turn around and go back home to Cobh, because I’ll never set foot on her shores again.”

“Babe, I left Ireland to find you, and I swore I’d make it happen, no matter how long it took. I’ve been home a few times, but I’ve spent most of the years combing this land. And now I know where you are. You can dance around the issue all you like, but the facts are simple. Even though you ran away and signed up with another Pod, your parents struck a contract with my parents, and you’re honor bound to fulfill it. Siobhan Morgan, you’re going to marry me. You belong to me, and I’m coming to get you. So resign yourself to your fate, because you’ll not get away from me this time. I’ll track you down no matter where you go.”

With that, the line went dead. I pressed my knuckles to my lips. I’d spent the past century moving from place to place, lying about who I was, darting glances over my shoulder to make sure Terry hadn’t followed me.

After twenty-five years, I felt a glimmer of hope.

After fifty years, I began to believe I’d managed to escape and went back to using my own name.

And after ninety, I relaxed, and that was when I met Mitch and fell in love. For most of the intervening years, technology had been in its youth, and until recently, tracking down someone who didn’t want to be found had been a whole lot harder. Until the Internet, I thought. That must be how he found me.

I flipped the phone shut and shoved it in my pocket as a drizzle began to splash to the ground, trickling down my cheeks like tears. The taste of acid rain burnt my tongue as I caught one of the fat drops and swallowed it. Water used to be pure. Water used to be sacred. Now, even in the depths of the oceans, it was tainted. But still, the Ocean Mother persevered. She rolled in waves across the face of the world. She sang to my blood and reminded me of what I was.

The sky lit up with a dizzying flash of lightning and I shook my head, clearing my thoughts as I dashed for the car. A roll of thunder rumbled overhead as I sat there, clutching the steering wheel, wondering what to do.

Mitch would know, if I could bring myself to tell him. And now that we were pregnant, surely the Pod elders would come around and help us out. But somewhere deep in my heart, I knew that I’d lied. I’d lied to all of them. Would that change how they felt about me? Whatever happened, I’d never willingly give myself over to Terry. I’d die first. In fact, at one time, I’d tried and failed.

“Siobhan Morgan, you won’t be defying your father.” Mother shoved me back into my chair. She looked harried and tense, and I had the feeling she hadn’t expected me to protest. “Terrance Fell is your betrothed and you will marry him. Your father and I gave our word. You’re honor bound to uphold our promise.”

I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the back of the rocking chair. The walls were in need of patching, and the roof leaked, and my mother was trying desperately to sweep the floor but the dirt and sand were thick.

We’d moved into the house six years before, when Father first brought the family out of the Orkney Islands, where we were starving, to the streets of Queenstown in Ireland. The dirt here smelled nasty, unlike the clean tang of the dirt in our old home. The house was always dusty, and too close to too many humans. I longed for the sound of rolling waves cresting on the coast of the islands, but here we had food, and my brothers and father could find work. We lived on the outskirts of the city, near the cove, keeping to ourselves as most of the roane did.

That was what our people were called here—the roane, rather than selkies, but I stubbornly held on to the name I’d grown up with. Selkie was comforting and familiar; roane was strange and confusing. As confusing as the ways of the city and the bustle of so many humans wandering through the streets. After six years, I’d adapted to living in their midst, but now I wished I’d never seen the streets of Queenstown.

“I won’t marry him! I won’t.” Angry, I tossed the dress I was stitching to the floor and balled my hands into fists. I’d never spoken to my mother like this, and part of me felt embarrassed and ashamed, but there was too much at stake to go along quietly.

“Pick up that dress. It’s your wedding gown—at least for the human ceremony.” Rhiannon rested her hands on her hips and stared at me. “Siobhan, you can’t betray us. Terrance is the prince of his people. He’ll assure that our family will never go without. He’s rich, he’s well placed in both human and roane society, and he has promised that you’ll never want for anything.”

I pressed my lips together and snatched up the dress. The linen crinkled in my hand and I wanted to slash it to ribbons rather than wear it for the man who had raped me. Father knew, and Mother. That was why Terrance had offered to marry me. He wouldn’t have to face the Pod Tribunal then.

But I’d know. I’d always know that my husband had forced me and then bought me for the promise of riches. The thought of his touch made my skin crawl and I let out a sharp cry.

“We aren’t roane. We’re selkie. He’s not one of us.” The fact that my parents knew what he’d done hadn’t swayed them. I’d already pleaded for them to take him before the Tribunal, but they were frightened by the power he held in Queenstown and among the roane. They tried to justify it, but I knew they didn’t want to rock the boat. I was the sacrificial lamb, offered on a silver platter to keep the peace and make the prince of the roane happy.

“You’re right—Terrance isn’t one of us, and that’s a good thing for the Pod,” my mother said. “You know the elders are calling for new blood. We’re dying, Siobhan. You can’t mate with our men. Inbreeding is killing our people. That’s why . . .”

She paused, then after a moment added, “That’s why I joined your father’s Pod. To bring new blood into the mix. No, it’s set. You’ll marry Terrance and become a princess, and bear his children for the good of our family and the Pod.”

I didn’t say anything. What could I say except to lash out at her again?

My mother paused, gazing at me out of the corner of her eye. Her voice was soft, almost gentle, as she added, “I know how you feel, my dear. I was brought into your father’s Pod in much the same way. He carried me off from my family and I couldn’t resist him, and so it was that I became Rhiannon of the Northern Orkney Pod. Your father married me and brought me to his people—my people, now—and we’ve grown to love each other over the years. The fact that Terrance agreed to align his Pod with the Cobh Selkie Pod is enough to wash away all his other sins, my daughter. We desperately need the new blood.”

I stared at her for a moment. Were all the women of our Pod simply prizes for men? “Are we like the Finfolk, then? Do women count for nothing? Should I just roll over and let any man have his way with me if you say it’s good for our people?”

“Hush. Don’t say such things. It’s not like that.” The pained look on my mother’s face made me feel good. I’d hit a tender spot. I wanted to twist the knife, but finally just shook my head.

“Then you don’t care that he raped me. And the Tribunal closes its eyes. My own parents are content to ignore what he did in order to put food on the table and to bring new blood to the Pod?”

Rhiannon let out a long sigh. “We all make sacrifices, Siobhan. We all give up our freedom for the betterment of our families. Your family is the Pod. Your duty is to do whatever it takes to ensure the continuation of our people. Now dust off your dress and get back to your sewing.”

“That’s it, then?”

She shrugged to indicate the argument was over. “We’re going out tonight to the waters, and you need to finish the dress before day after tomorrow. You’re getting married, Siobhan. To a prince. He’s rich, and will give you children and standing. And he’s joining our people. Take joy in the thought of what you can do for others, and be glad he finds you attractive.”

As I settled down in the rocking chair, dress in hand, my thoughts raced ahead. I had two days. Just two days in which to ensure that Terrance would never touch me again. Two days in which to change a thousand years of tradition. Or . . . perhaps . . . maybe I didn’t need to change tradition. Maybe what I needed was to change myself—to put myself out of his reach.

Mulling over this new idea, I went back to my sewing, but with every stitch, I felt like I was tightening the noose on my future.

That night, standing on the edge of the harbor, I stared out over the darkened waters. Most of my family had already slipped back into their skins and returned to the sea. Selkies hid their skins when taking human form, and each of us had a safety cache in which to store them. Now I carried mine with me as the others had, in a satchel slung low on my hip.

I watched the water, mesmerized by the lapping of the waves. Then, slowly, I edged my way toward the breakers. I glanced around. Nobody near, no one to watch. I could safely change and slip out to sea, sleekly skimming through the currents. Maybe I should just keep going. Head into open ocean and see where it took me.

Chances were I’d end up shark food or caught by fishermen, but would that be worse than a life wedded to Terrance? Than bearing his hands on me night after night?

I tried to imagine what it would be like to find myself in the grips of a shark. Fast. It would be over soon, though I’d be alone. Could I do it? Face dying by myself? I could live without my Pod, become a rogue—that I knew I was capable of. But a painful and bloody death alone in the night sea? The thought was more than I could bear.

No, I couldn’t do it. I’d always be wondering when and where the end would come, because selkies on their own didn’t last long. And if the Finfolk got hold of me, it would be worse.

As I stood there, ankle-deep in the water, another thought crept into my mind. There was one option I’d overlooked. I could end it now. Walk into the sea in human form. Drowning was easy—just let the breath go and close my eyes as I drifted in the arms of the Ocean Mother. Everything would be over . . . all the worry, all the fear of disappointing everyone.

Marrying Terrance was out of the question, and my parents had effectively handed me over to him. Life alone at sea was too dangerous. I couldn’t stay in the city—Terrance would find me. I couldn’t go home to the Orkneys—he’d follow me there, too.

Dazed and feeling betrayed, I slowly began to wade into the water, the skirts of my dress floating on the surface as the chill hit me to the core. Even in June, the water was cold. As I breathlessly made my way in up to my knees, my toes curled around the silt and I reveled in the feel of the soft, wet sand.

A loud, resounding noise startled me out of my thoughts and I jerked my gaze across the cove. An ocean liner was pulling into port, returning from America, no doubt, where thousands of emigrants were flocking in hopes of better days and a life that might promise something other than poverty and starvation. Fresh starts and new beginnings. That’s what they hope for.

For a moment, I dismissed the gigantic hull of a boat from my mind, but then . . . I looked at it again. Queenstown—or Cobh, as it had been known for centuries before some idiot human had renamed it after the queen—was an integral port to the world. And now, as I gazed at the ship, an idea began to form. What if I was on that boat when it sailed? The liner would leave soon—they were sailing quickly, to meet the demand. What if I booked passage on the Umbria and simply vanished into a new life?

My stomach quivered. I’d be leaving my family, leaving my home for a distant shore to . . . What future did I have in America? Any future you want to make. The thought echoed as I turned the idea over in my mind. I couldn’t really do this. Could I?

But if I didn’t . . . Terrance’s face loomed large in my thoughts again and I began to shake. I couldn’t let him touch me again.

“I want you,” he’d said, reaching out to stroke my cheek.

I darted away from him. Something about him made my skin crawl. I’d shaken off his hand when he tried to hold mine, but his fingers on my face felt so much more invasive. I’d gone on the walk with him only because my father insisted that I get out of the house. Get some fresh air, he’d said.

“Terry, I don’t feel that way about you.” I tried to lighten my words in order to take away the sting, but no matter how I said it, it was a rejection. “I’m stubborn, my family says. I honestly don’t know what I want but I’m not really looking for marriage right now.”

Not exactly the truth, but close enough. I was looking for love, but only with the right person. I was looking for a man who made my heart beat faster, who made my pulse race and my breath catch in my throat because I wanted him more than I wanted anybody or anything else.

Terry snorted. “You don’t have to feel the same way.” As he moved closer, I danced to the other side, wading through the knee-deep grass that ran along the side of the cliff overlooking the harbor.

“Look—the ships are coming into port.” I tried to change the subject, calculating the distance between us as I darted out of his reach. There was something in his eyes that made me want to run home and lock the door behind me. He was ruthless, a man who would do whatever it took to get what he wanted.

“You don’t have to love me. I don’t care. I want you, Siobhan Morgan, and you’re a fool if you refuse me. I can give you everything. I can give you riches and security. I can make you a princess. And I can protect your family. All you have to do is obey me. That’s all I ask in return.”

I kept my mouth shut. My family was coming off a rough spot. Six years ago, we’d been forced to leave our home in the Orkneys because there wasn’t enough to eat—even the sea had turned fickle on us. We’d come to Queenstown and found a house. My brothers had found work on the docks and my mother took in washing. My father mostly drank. We kept to ourselves and managed to survive. But life was still hard, and my mother’s back was always sore.

I tried to imagine accepting his offer. What he could do for our family . . . But another look in his eyes squelched any thought I had of saying yes. My heart was pounding out a warning. Terry wasn’t safe. He reminded me of the Finfolk, a deadly and treacherous man.

“No, thank you.” I let out a long sigh. “But I appreciate the offer.” Not good to make one of the Pod royalty angry.

He let out a sharp laugh and jumped forward, grabbing my wrist.

“Then we’re into the chase,” he said, his face red. I could feel the waves of excitement rolling off him and I stumbled, trying to get away. But Terry was heavier and taller than I, and before I could break his grasp, he knocked me to the ground and landed on top of me. As he pushed up my skirts, his hands fumbling along my thighs, his eyes gleamed.

“I’m glad you said no,” he whispered. “I like a challenge.”

I began to scream, but he clapped his hand over my mouth and gave me a wicked grin. “Now, now, you wouldn’t want that sweet little brother of yours to go missing . . . to become shark food, would you?”

As his meaning echoed in my thoughts, I closed my eyes and thought of the sea. She was always there, and she would cleanse me and heal me when he was done. But Terry didn’t want me to miss out on the fun, and as he drove himself into me, I let out a little cry and realized that no matter how many times I bathed, I’d never get the feel of him off me.

I parked in front of our house and raced up the stairs. The two-story cottage was modest, but it belonged to Mitch and me, and it was home. As I closed the door behind me, all I could think about was barring the past. I flipped the lock and started to call out for Mitch, but then stopped. He was off on a job. Mitch was a contractor and renovated old houses for a company of property flippers. And one other thing had occurred to me on the way home.

I’d never told Mitch the truth about my past. At first, I was afraid that if the Puget Sound Harbor Seal Pod discovered that I’d been engaged to Terry, they might make me return home and face the consequences. Then, after Mitch and I found out about our daughter, it seemed a moot point.

I forced myself into the kitchen where I put the kettle on and grabbed the chamomile tea, fumbling to get the bags out of the box. I had to calm down, to think clearly. As I slid into a chair at the table, waiting for the kettle to whistle, I pulled out my cell phone. Terrance’s number came up as blocked.

So, point number one: I had no idea where he was, but he knew where I was. At least, he knew my phone number.

Point number two: He wanted me back, which meant I wasn’t safe. And another little matter to consider: What would he do when he found out I was pregnant with another man’s child? But even as I asked myself the question, I knew the answer. Terrance would take out his anger by forcing me to miscarry. I knew him. He was the prince of his people. And when dealing with royalty, especially in the Supe Community, bloodlines were everything. He wouldn’t want another man’s child crowding out his own.

I glanced at the clock as I moved to pour my tea. I couldn’t tell Mitch, not until I knew how I was going to handle this. He’d freak out. He’d have to know at some point, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized he’d go off half-cocked and get himself hurt.

And I didn’t dare go to the Pod for help—not yet. Most likely they’d protect me, but I’d been a problem for them over the years because I couldn’t conceive and Mitch was in love with me. They’d tried to break us up so he could move on to another woman who could bear his children. We were together only by the grace of my unborn daughter.

No, there was only one place I could turn. Camille, Delilah, and Menolly D’Artigo were the only women I knew who wouldn’t hesitate to set Terrance straight. Taking a deep breath, I punched in their number and counted the rings until they picked up.

2

As the steel gray Lexus pulled to a stop in front of the house, with a Jeep Wrangler right behind it, I sucked in a deep breath. Camille and Delilah were here. I glanced back at the phone. Mitch was supposed to call. He was due home late and he always called to let me know how long he would be. His crew had gotten wrapped up in the restoration of an original fireplace and they wanted to finish it before the week was over. Which meant that he wouldn’t walk in on our conversation.

I smoothed my dress and looked around the house. We hadn’t even had our official housewarming, and I’d hoped to put off entertaining guests until after the Pod priestess came to bless our new home, but this was too important. Besides, the girls would never bring anything evil with them—at least not wittingly. They were fighting a group of demons trying to break through the portals to take over both Earth and Otherworld, and I was content to sit back and let them handle it.

The doorbell rang and I let them in, motioning to the living room.

“I don’t know how much time I have before Mitch gets home,” I said. “He’s going to be late, but I want to take care of this before he gets here, if you don’t mind.” I rubbed my arms, feeling chilly even though I’d turned up the heat.

“What’s shaking, babe?” Camille, the oldest, looked like a raven-haired cross between a member of the Society for Creative Anachronism and an S and M bar’s madame. A real vixen. Delilah, a six-one lean, athletic, golden blond werecat, followed her in. Their sister Menolly couldn’t make it, though. She was a vampire and wasn’t up before sunset.

“How do I begin?” I turned to them, biting my lip. How was I going to stand here and tell my good friends that I’d lied to them from the beginning, even though the lie was for self-protection. Deciding that it would be like pulling teeth—better to just yank it than try to wriggle it out—I sucked in a deep breath, and then everything spilled out in a rush.

Delilah stared at me, a dumbfounded look on her face. She slowly leaned forward, her motorcycle boots heavy on the floor as she rested her elbows on the denim covering her knees. “You mean you weren’t sent over to the United States because of inbreeding?”

“Not really.” I shook my head. “I ran away. I spent the entire trip terrified that someone had slipped on board behind me and would drag me over the side and back home. But nothing happened. By the time I got to Ellis Island, I realized that I’d actually done it. I escaped.”

“And your parents were going to marry you off to a rapist? How sick can you get? Although . . .” Camille glanced at Delilah and snorted, “It sure sounds like some of the families back in Otherworld. We’ve got no use for people like that. You were brave to run away.”

“Brave? Maybe. But not wise enough to cover my tracks once I set out for the West Coast. Hell, some of the states were still barely coming to grips with being states. The cities here were rough-and-tumble, unlike the cities back east. I didn’t think anybody would ever be able to find me and as the years wore on, I grew careless.” I jumped up and paced, too nervous to sit. “But now Terrance has found me and I’m terrified.”

“Try to remember everything he said on the phone. I take it you don’t have his number?”

I shook my head. “He has call block.”

“Great. Okay, so we go from there.” Camille motioned to Delilah, who pulled out her laptop and fired it up so she could take notes. “We need to know everything about Terrance. About you running away, and the Pod you ran from. You wouldn’t happen to have any pictures of him, would you?”

“No, but if he looks the same as he did back then, I can describe him. I look close to what I looked like back then, so there’s no reason he shouldn’t as well. Though I do dye my hair because I like this color, and I wear makeup now. That was a big no no back then.”

“Okay, ready. Give me a description of what he looked like the last time you saw him,” Delilah said, her fingers poised over the keys.

I closed my eyes and thought back to the last time I’d seen Terry. It had been the day before our wedding, and he’d been angry. Very angry.

“What do you mean, you want to move back the wedding date?” Terry’s eyes flickered, his black hair gleaming under the early-morning sun. The mist was burning off the cove and it looked like we were in for a nice day.

“I thought we could hold off. At least until the solstice. I’d like to be married on a holiday,” I said, striving for some reasonable explanation. My goal: Put him off long enough to gather the money I needed for the boat ticket.

“Not going to happen,” he said. “Tomorrow we marry, and then you’re mine. All mine. Your family will move out of that shack, and you’ll move into my house. Into my bed,” he added, leering.

A goose walked over my grave and I shivered, wrapping my arms around my shoulders. “Terry, it’s just another couple of weeks. Why are you so angry? You’re going to get what you want, so why deny me this? Consider it a wedding present.” I forced myself to look compliant and lowered my eyes so he couldn’t read what I was really thinking.

But he reached out and placed his finger under my chin, tipping my head up to look me square in the face.

“I don’t believe you,” he said softly, leaning close. “I don’t believe you for a second. I know how you feel about me and what you think of marrying me. What you don’t seem to understand is that your feelings don’t matter. I want you and I’m going to have you. You’ll adjust, and in the meantime, I’ll make sure you enjoy yourself. Trust me,” he whispered, his lips bare inches from mine. “You’ll love every moment of every night.”

I pulled away, trying to keep my balance, but he was a tall man and broad-shouldered, with a narrow waist. As was the nature of the roane, his hair was jet-black, wavy and curling around his ears. A scar was the one blemish he had—a jagged cut on his throat that had come from when a shark had caught him by the neck. His kinsmen had swum in to save him, one of them losing his life in the process. But Terry had survived and healed up, with just the scar to remind him. Seal or human, it remained in both his forms.

I drank in the sight of him, wanting to remember his face when I was long gone and this was all like a bad dream. Terrance would be my reminder that evil sometimes wore a very pleasant body.

“Fine. We wed tomorrow,” I said and pulled away. “Now leave me be. I have to start my preparations for the handfasting.”

As I walked away, I forced myself to focus on the fact that I’d never have to look at him again. Never have to talk to him, listen to him, endure his touch. But to escape, I’d have to steal the money. I’d hoped to put off the wedding until I could sell a few things to earn my passage fare, but there wasn’t time.

By the time I reached our house, everyone was gone. Like a common thief, I raided the secret stashes where my parents and brothers kept their money, ending up with a handful of change above and beyond the cost of my ticket.

I packed two satchels. The journey would be lean and cold until I found a home and a job, so most of what I took were clothes, food, and a few toiletries. I stopped, though, when I came to my mother’s photo box. The pictures were expensive, but my mother had managed to afford a photograph of the entire family, and she had three copies of it. I pressed the photograph to my lips, kissing it gently, then slid the picture inside my satchel, in between two small books to keep it flat and unharmed.

After that, I tucked a small vial of sand from the Orkney’s shores into my handbag, along with my seal skin. I’d brought the sand with me to Queenstown, and I’d take it with me to America.

As soon as I was finished packing, I scribbled a hasty farewell.

Dear Ma and Da,

I cannot go through with the marriage. I simply can’t marry Terrance. I know you don’t understand. I know you feel I let down the Pod and I expect you’ll hate me for it. Please, don’t bother looking for me, and don’t let Terrance look for me either. You won’t find me. Consider me dead if you like. I resign my ties to the Pod. I shall miss you all. As for Terrance, he can rot in the blackest depths of the sea and I would rejoice. Give my brothers lots of love.

—Siobhan

I hurried toward the port and an hour later, ticket in hand, I was bustling up the gangplank. The Umbria was about to set sail and I’d secured one of the last seats. It would be an uncomfortable crossing, but in less than three weeks I’d walk off the boat, into a new life.

As the ship’s horn sounded and we slowly pulled away from shore, I resolutely walked to the front of the boat. With images of my family flickering through my mind, I kept my eyes on the open water as we headed out to sea.

I looked at Camille. Her eyes were filled with sorrow and I realized that they understood. They knew why I’d lied to them. Why I’d hid behind a layer of half-truths and veiled deceptions. But still . . . I had to ask.

“Can you forgive me for lying to you?”

Delilah slowly hit the Save button on her file of notes. Then she called up Google and did a search on his name to see if we could find any pictures on the Web, but there were none. Pressing her lips together, she held out her hand and drew me down to sit in the chair between her and her sister.

“We understand. And Menolly . . . she’ll probably understand best of all,” she said softly. “The question is, what do we do now? Does he have the right to demand you head home with him? Is there any way he could make it stick? By human rights he can’t do a damned thing to you—but the Supe Community might see it otherwise. They couldn’t force you to go, but they could stand by and do nothing while he took you. Or make life miserable if you refused.”

“I don’t know,” I said softly. “The Pod is old-fashioned. We may be the Weres who cling to tradition most. Many of the selkie and roane still don’t interact with humans as much as other shifters do, and to be honest, we aren’t even like most other Weres. We aren’t ruled by the moon—not our shifting, at least.”

Camille let out a long sigh. “The Pod could also make life a bitch for your baby, and for Mitch. Speaking of, you said you haven’t told Mitch about this yet? Big mistake. You can’t leave him out of this or he’ll resent you for it.”

I shook my head. “I’m not sure what the hell to do. We’re supposed to get married as soon as the baby’s born. Now I wonder, will he leave me? Will he side with the Pod?”

“You’re borrowing trouble. Siobhan, I know you think solving this means just getting Terrance out of the way before anybody finds out about him, but what if he moves before we can nail him? What if he calls Mitch at work or shows up at the door?”

I knew she was right, but I couldn’t even begin to think about how I was going to tell Mitch I’d fabricated a large part of my past. Sweetie, I lied to you about almost everything from my past, but it’s no big deal . . . “No. If we find Terry first—”

Delilah dove in. “That’s a big if. You have to realize that if Terrance knows your cell phone number, he’s got to have done his homework. He’s been stalking you for over a hundred years, and stalkers don’t usually care about the feelings of their victim’s loved ones.”

She motioned for me to stand and—not knowing what else to do—I stood. Delilah put her arm around my shoulder and I stared up at the towering Amazon of a woman. When I first met her, she was gentle, a kitten at heart, but I could tell she’d hardened over the past year or so. Camille, too. They looked tired, weary even when they were laughing.

“Here,” she said, easing me in front of the mirror in the hallway. “Look at yourself. Look at your tummy. You have a child inside there—one you came by only after a long, hard time. Are you going to put her in danger? Are you going to chance your daughter’s survival because you’re afraid your fiancé will be angry at you?”

As I stared at my reflection, I let out a long sigh. She was right. They both were, and I had to face facts. “I’ll tell Mitch tonight when he gets home.”

“Good. Meanwhile, we’ll nose around and see what we can find. We need to know everything you can remember about Terrance’s tastes, hobbies—anything that might help us get a lead on him.”

As we returned to the kitchen, I realized that this problem wasn’t going to disappear just because I was in denial. I sank into my seat and began to tell them everything I could remember.

“Terry liked to fish, of course—all our men were fishermen, and most of the roane, too. After all, who knows the sea better than a selkie or roane or one of the Finfolk?”

I poured tea—caffeinated for Camille, herbal for Delilah and me—and set out a plate of shortbread. I made the best shortbread in the city; of that I was sure. Coworkers were always begging me to bring a batch to parties.

“What’s the difference between the Finfolk and the selkies or roane?” Camille asked. “Back in Otherworld, selkies are considered part of the Weres rather than the Fae. But Finfolk?”

“Selkies and roane are odd among the Weres, in that we have our seal suits. We don’t fully shift over like you, for example.” I pointed at Delilah. “You, now, even your clothes make the shift in the form of a collar. The selkies don’t have that one hundred percent transformation rate. And we don’t shift on cue from the moon.”

“I always wondered why.”

“I have no idea,” I said. “I’ve never known a water creature to shift fully over—at least, not a water animal, not one ruled by anything other than the Ocean Mother herself. But the Finfolk . . . they fully transform, but they also never take full animal form. They’re part fish, part humanoid in their natural state.”

“Wait—are they also called the Meré?” Camille perked up. “If so, then I understand what you’re saying.”

“Could be. Mermen, mermaids? They can take human form for only a short time compared to selkies—a few days in between returning to the sea. But they’re . . .”

“Mean.” Camille grimaced. “Mean, nasty, and up to no good. In Otherworld, the Meré are considered Fae, but they aren’t welcome near most towns. In fact, most of our port cities have guards to watch out for them because the men are . . . well . . . a lot like Terrance. You’re right—there is a resemblance there. I wonder if he has mixed blood. Roane Meré?” She gave me a look that told me she really didn’t want to hear a yes.

“That would explain a lot,” I said, holding my stomach. “And if that’s the case, if he even has a tiny sprinkling of Meré in his blood, then he’ll rip out my child and sacrifice it without hesitation. The Meré are possessive, and once they decide something—or someone—is theirs, they do everything possible to keep it that way. A child from another man would make a Meré wild with jealousy. My baby would be a sitting duck.”

“Do you think there’s a chance? Even a faint one?” Delilah looked up, alert. “If so, we’d better get you some protection.”

I stared at the table. Could he have Finfolk blood in his veins? It couldn’t be much or he’d have to be in the water more than I remembered. But then, I hadn’t known him very long. We’d gone for a walk, he’d raped me, then offered to marry me to even the score. It had taken less than a month for my parents to settle with him on the wedding payment. In all that time, I’d seen him for only a few hours here and there. Just long enough to know I wanted to kill him, but not long enough to know whether he spent a lot of time cruising the waves.

“I don’t know, but it’s possible.” I looked up. “At this point, I’m willing to believe anything.”

“Why don’t you show me your computer?” Delilah said.

I led her into the living room where we kept the desk with the computer on it. “Here it is—but why?”

“Because I want to check for spyware, for Trojans, for worms, for anything he might have sent you. There are so many ways to hack into someone’s computer that it’s scary. And if he’s after all the information on you he can find . . .” She left the thought unfinished but I saw what she was getting at.

I curled up on the sofa, not wanting to know how far Terry had insinuated himself into my life without me realizing it. As I sat there, watching Delilah tap away at the keys, the reality of what was happening began to hit home. Terrance was really back in my life.

I glanced at the clock. Mitch should be home soon and I’d have to tell him what happened. “Can you guys stick around and help me explain?” I looked at Camille, as I picked at the hangnail on my thumb. “I know you’re busy but I just . . .”

“You’re afraid,” she said. “Not of Mitch, but of what he might say?”

I nodded. “I lied to him. Not fully, but I sure didn’t tell him everything. And I know he’ll understand but what if . . . what if . . .”

“What if he doesn’t?”

Again, I nodded. “What if he decides to leave me? To leave his child?”

“That’s not going to happen,” Delilah said. “Mitch is—Hello, what do we have here? Siobhan, has your computer been running a little slow lately?”

I frowned, thinking back. Mitch mainly used it to play World of Warcraft with his buddies, but I checked my e mail, did a little online shopping, kept my diary on it.

“Yeah, it has. For about a month. Mitch said maybe we need to defrag it but I’m not sure what that means. I can use Outlook and I can write in my journal and surf the Web but I don’t know much else about how a computer runs.”

“E-mail? Do you get a lot of spam mail?” She frowned, tapping away at the keys.

“Gods, yes. I delete probably fifty a day.”

“You should get Gmail. It has to work better than what you’re using right now. You say you do a lot of online shopping? What about online banking?” Delilah looked worried now, the black crescent scythe tattoo on her forehead flashing silver.

“Yeah, why?” I sat up. “What’s wrong?”

“I think . . .” she started to say, then paused and moved the mouse a few more times. “I think you’ve been hacked. There are a few processes going on in your task manager that I don’t recognize and they look suspicious to me.”

“Oh great gods, do you think Terrance is responsible?”

She shrugged. “Could be. I’m not positive that I’m right, though. I’d like to call Tim Winthrop over to take a look. He’d be able to tell better than me. Do you mind?”

Tim was a good friend of the D’Artigos. He was a female impersonator, though I heard he was giving it up, and he’d recently married his long term partner, Jason Binds. Mitch and I’d been invited to the wedding.

“Sure, go ahead.”

As Delilah flipped open her cell phone, I glanced at the clock again. Mitch should have called by now. I turned around, kneeling on the sofa to stare out the window at the rain thundering against the pavement.

Something was wrong. I could feel it in my bones. I had a sudden, intense urge to head out to the Sound, to slip on my skin and dive deep in the water, seeking shelter in the depths of the inlet. Every time I felt threatened, that was the first thing that came to mind—hide, run to the Ocean Mother’s bosom, and let her hold me tight.

“Tim will be over in about half an hour,” Delilah said, breaking my thoughts. “He’s bringing all his diagnostic gear with him. If anybody can figure out what’s going on with your computer, he can.”

Camille picked up the tea tray and carried it into the kitchen. “I’ll make us some more tea,” she said.

“Thank you. Everything feels so surreal. I can’t believe this is happening—” I was cut off by the phone ringing. Mitch! It had to be him. I grabbed the handset and punched the Talk button. “Hello? Mitch?”

The voice on the other end was one I didn’t recognize. A woman, she sounded professional, and yet there was something about her voice that scared me. “Am I speaking to Siobhan Morgan?”

“Yes . . . Who’s calling?” Suspicion suddenly hit me in the gut. What if she was working with Terry; what if—

“My name is Amanda Bernard and I’m a nurse with InterLake Hospital. I’m calling about a Mr. Mitchell Childs. Do you know him?”

Hospital? Mitch? Oh hell.

“He’s my fiancé. We live together. What’s wrong? Is he okay?” Panic replaced suspicion and I stiffened, trying not to cry. The hormones from being pregnant sure weren’t helping me to remain calm.

“Mr. Childs has been injured. We need you to come in and give us information on his medical background. He seems to be part of the Supernatural Community. We have an Otherworld healer on hand—an elfin doctor—but we can use any background information you can give us. He needs treatment now.”

“He’s a selkie. Tell the doctor that. I’ll be there as fast as I can.” Choking back tears, I added, “Is he . . . Is the injury serious? What can you tell me?”

Her voice was soft as she said, “You should be prepared. He’s been extensively injured. I won’t mince words, Ms. Morgan. He’s in serious condition, though we aren’t sure as to just what extent. He’s unconscious at the moment. We found your name in his wallet as his emergency contact.”

I hung up, a searing heat racing through me. The man I was in love with was lying in the hospital and I had the horrible feeling that it hadn’t been an accident. I turned mutely to Camille and Delilah.

Camille turned off the stove. “I’ll take you to the hospital. Delilah, you stay here and wait for Tim.” She held up my jacket and I silently let her tuck me into it; then she gathered up my purse and pushed me gently out the door.

“Where is he?”

“InterLake Hospital,” I said, trying to find my voice.

She slid me into the passenger seat of her Lexus and I fumbled for the seat belt as she jumped in the driver’s seat. “Breathe, Siobhan. He’s alive, and he’s under medical care. I want you to get my cell phone out of my purse and look for Chase Johnson’s number under my contact list. Tell him you’re with me, and who you are, and ask him to bring Sharah and meet us at the hospital.”

I followed directions, mouthing the words, hearing Chase’s concerned voice on the other end, and then hung up. Camille didn’t say anything else; she just focused on navigating through the heavy rain while I stared out the window, remembering the first time I realized I had fallen in love with Mitch Childs.

3

It was 1998, and I’d integrated myself into the Puget Sound Harbor Seal Pod. They’d accepted me as a member, with my slightly altered résumé, and I once again sank into the comfort of belonging to a tribe. It had been eighty-one years since I’d had a group to call my own, and over those intervening years, I’d worked my way down one coastline and up the other, alone and lonely.

I’d adapted as my new land grew and evolved. I’d been everything from a maid during my first few years, to a candy-and-cigarette girl at a nightclub during the war, to an admin assistant at a law firm during the sixties, to a yoga teacher during the eighties.

But I’d never applied for any job that would place me too much in the public view, and while I returned to my real name after a while, I’d managed to navigate the underground labyrinth of changing licenses and social security numbers. I flew under the radar because, like all Fae and Weres, I aged more slowly than humans. It wasn’t wise to let yourself be high profile. People would start with whispers; then came the rumors. Hair dye could take care of the hair, but until recently, Botox and plastic surgery weren’t viable options to explain away the smooth skin and clear eyes.

Once I found the Pod, I’d decided to stick around the Seattle area, and I applied for a job with the state. I made the decision to finally go the route of using wigs and carefully applied makeup to age myself enough to be believable until retirement, at which point I’d have a good thirty years before having to reinvent myself again.

And then, I met Mitch. Mitchell Childs, who was a sturdy, muscled selkie with blue eyes and wavy chestnut hair. He was part of the Puget Sound Harbor Seal Pod, though not highly placed. And with one look in his eyes, I was lost. Within a week, we had tumbled into a whirlwind affair.

“Siobhan,” he said, wrapping his arms around me the first time we stood alone together by the side of the inlet, staring out into the moonlit night. “I’ve been waiting for you. I didn’t know who you would be, or where you would come from, but I’ve been waiting my whole life for someone like you.”

He kissed me, his soft lips pressing gently against mine, his arms pulling me into the heart of his embrace, and in the flow of his kiss the world stopped and I knew life would never be the same. I would never be the same. This was the love I’d been looking for. This was my magic man, my love from the sea, the one who could sweep me off my feet and carry me away and I’d never, ever protest.

No man had touched me since Terrance. I’d made sure of that. And there had been no one before Terrance. Terrified but unable to turn away, I’d invited Mitch into my world, let him woo me and bed me and love me. But I’d kept my secrets. My past remained sealed, behind closed doors I’d locked so tight that I thought nothing could rip them open again.

A few years later, when the portals from Otherworld opened, Supes, Fae, and vampires flooded the world, coming out of the closet in droves, and I began to think that Mitch and I could have a life together, out in the open, and that I wouldn’t have to shed my persona with my skin.

Until now.

And now everything threatened to be swept away by the same malignant force that had snuffed out my life in Ireland. The Pod could revoke my membership if they wanted; they could send me away. And Mitch—would he turn his back on me and the child we’d fought so hard to conceive?

And now—now Mitch might die.

With tears pouring down my cheeks, images of the past flipped through my mind like a deck of cards in the wind. I couldn’t lose him. And I wouldn’t let Terrance win.

Grimly, I turned to Camille, whose gaze was fastened on the road. “Whatever it takes, I want Terrance out of the picture. I know he’s involved in this. I know he hurt Mitch. And if I’m right, I want him dead and buried so deep he’ll never climb out of the grave to see the world again. Will you help me?”

She flickered a glance my way, then back to the road. “You know what you’re asking, right?”

I bit my lip. I wasn’t like Camille or her sisters. My life wasn’t steeped in danger every day, and I wasn’t a fighter like they were. I was just Siobhan Morgan, data entry operator for the state. But I was also selkie—a daughter of the Ocean Mother—and someone I loved was in danger. Time to step up to the plate.

“I know what I’m asking. Whatever you tell me to do, I’ll do it. I love Mitch, and I’m not going to let Terry ruin my life with him, or our baby’s life. I don’t know much about fighting, Camille, but you tell me to jump and I’ll jump.”

She sighed. “Well, then, I promise you this: We’ll do everything possible to find him and put him out of commission. And Siobhan, make no mistake—if we go looking for him and find him, we’ll have to kill him. Because men like him, be they FBH—full-blooded human—or Fae . . . or Were . . . they don’t give up. He’s stalked you for a hundred years over thousands of miles. He’s not going to quit. Especially not now that he’s found you.”

“I know,” I said. “I know.”

The nurse led Camille and me to Mitch’s bedside. I’d call the Pod leader and Mitch’s parents as soon as I found out what was going on, but right now, I wanted to see if he was conscious, if he could remember anything. But he lay there, silent and unmoving, his body wrapped in bandages and his eyes closed in a deep sleep.

“What’s wrong?” I rushed to his side, wanting to bundle him in my arms and kiss him on the forehead, to wake him with the taste of my lips on his. But this was no fairy tale, and Mitch wasn’t Sleeping Beauty. No, he was severely injured and only the doctors could lead him out of danger.

“One leg is broken in three places; the other has a fracture. His left arm was shattered and we don’t know if he’ll ever be able to regain use of it. We think he has internal injuries to his spleen and his kidneys. His entire abdominal area is severely bruised. We’ll have to do exploratory surgery, and we’re going to have to open up his arm, too, in order to repair the shattered bone.”

The doctor looked at me. “Miss, I know you’re his fiancée, but we need his parents here, too, if they’re around.”

“I’ll call them right away,” I murmured, staring at my love. “Why is he unconscious?”

“As to the coma, we don’t know. He should be awake, but he’s not, and his EKG shows some abnormal activity, but of what nature, we’re not entirely sure. That’s why we’ve postponed his surgery. Since the head medic of the Faerie-Human Crime Scene Investigation team is coming to look him over, we decided to wait for her opinion before we do anything more. We have him stabilized for now, so he should be okay until she gets here.”

I let out a long sigh. “What happened? Do you know how he was injured?”

The doctor pressed his lips together. “Since Detective Johnson is on his way, I suggest you wait and talk to him. But, and this is just a preliminary conclusion, it looks as though Mr. Childs was assaulted.” He turned away to talk softly to the nurse.

I took a quick step toward Camille, who draped her arm around my shoulder and gave me a little squeeze. “This is bad, I know it’s bad, but he’s alive. You have to hold on to that. Sharah’s on the way and she’s a brilliant healer.”

I let out a little whimper, but knew Camille was right. I also knew that one of her own lovers—Trillian—was still missing on a secret mission. She was facing some of the same fears that I was.

“Thank you for being here,” I whispered.

Just then, Chase strode in, followed by Sharah, the elfin medic who had helped me conceive. I gave them a strained smile and Sharah patted my arm as she slipped past, her attention focused on Mitch.

Camille motioned for me to follow her. She glanced at Chase. “We’ll be in the cafeteria waiting for you.”

He nodded. “See you in about ten. I just want to talk to the doctor first.”

On our way to the dining hall, Camille said, “Chase is good at what he does. If he can help us, he will.”

I stared at the sandwiches lining the à la carte buffet, finally choosing a tuna on sourdough. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast except for a few cookies, and even though I didn’t have any desire for food, I knew it would help me cope with what was going on. I added a Jell-O salad cup to my tray and watched as Camille piled hers high with a meatball sub, a Caesar salad, and a couple of brownies.

“If I tried to eat that much food at once, I’d throw up.” I handed the teller a ten and she gave me back my change.

“All Otherworld Fae have high metabolism,” Camille said. “We’d starve if we ate like the women over Earthside. I think something happened during the Great Divide to our people. Even though my sisters and I are half human, we take after our father in this regard. The downside is, our food bills are a bitch.”

She flashed me a smile and I actually laughed. The release felt good, though the minute I heard myself, I sobered again.

Camille steered me to a table by the wall, out of earshot of the main room. As we settled in to our food, eating silently, the pale green of the hospital walls began to get to me. It was depressing and drab. No wonder people who were stuck in here didn’t get well very fast. It should be a warm beige, or a cheery yellow—something to perk up the spirits and infuse energy into the sterile hallways and rooms.

We were just finishing when Chase came in. He hurried up to our table after stopping to get a cup of coffee and a Danish. As Camille pulled the chair out for him, he slid into it and wearily began stirring sugar into his milk laden coffee.

Camille leaned forward. “Did you find out anything?”

Chase frowned, looking at me. “Yeah, a little. But I need to ask you, Siobhan, what’s going on? Apparently Mitch was holding on to consciousness when he was brought in, enough to tell the doctor that he had to get home to you—that you were in danger. Care to elaborate on any secrets I should know?”

I bit my lip, not wanting to bring the cops in on this, but it appeared there was no other choice. With Camille’s help, I ran down everything that had happened, and why. When we finished, Chase was shaking his head.

“So this Terrance guy, he raped you and then your parents were going to marry you off to him?”

I nodded. “It’s the way, in some of the Pods. While rules are different among the varying Were tribes, the selkies are old—very old—and don’t adapt well to social change. You say that Mitch told the healer I’m in danger?”

Chase nodded. “He was raving, so the doc wasn’t sure at first what he was talking about but apparently he kept insisting that you and the baby were in danger. The doctor asked him who did this and all he would say was one of the web fingered caught him. Any clue as to what that means?”

I caught my breath. “Web-fingered? Are you sure?”

“Yeah. The doctor said it caught him off guard. He has no idea what Mitch was talking about.”

I pressed my fingers to my temple, trying to forestall the looming headache. “Oh Great Mother, I need some tea. Camille?”

She nodded and slipped out of her seat. As she headed over to the beverage counter, I said, “Web-fingered is another name for the Finfolk. Camille and her sisters know them as the Meré. They’re evil. We were thinking Terrance might have some Finfolk blood in him. It sounds as though Mitch recognized it.”

“Then it’s a good bet he’s the one we’re looking for. He really messed up your fiancé, Siobhan; I’ll say that for him. And by FBH laws, I can run him down and catch him, but I have to warn you—according to treaties, the Supe Community can demand we extradite him for trial, since he attacked a Supe rather than a human. But we can at least try to catch him.”

Chase flipped open his notepad. “Will you work with a police sketch artist to create a drawing of him?”

I stared at him. Extradition? I’d been afraid of that, and now the last thing I wanted was for Chase to find Terrance. If the Puget Sound Harbor Seal Pod demanded extradition, there was a chance that Terrance would be set free on the grounds that he had prior claim to me. And a chance—even if it turned out to be slim—was too dangerous. No, it was best if Camille and her sisters could help me find him before the FH-CSI. That way, there would be an end to this. But I didn’t want to alienate the detective, so I murmured my cooperation.

When Camille returned with my tea, we promised we’d head over to the FH-CSI headquarters after we checked in on Mitch again, and after I called his parents. Chase slipped out of his seat and left, giving me a gentle nod as he went. I stirred my raspberry tea, letting the scent waft up to comfort me, wondering how the hell it had come to this, and how come now, when I had so much to lose?

Sharah verified what the doctor had told us about Mitch’s injuries, adding that his coma was his body’s way of shutting down to begin the healing process. She didn’t sense any loss of function in his brain, and his silver cord was intact so he was fine—just sleeping so deeply we couldn’t reach him at this point.

I called Mitch’s parents and the Pod elders, and gave them the news, leaving my cell number as Camille and I headed out to talk to the sketch artist. It seemed odd, pretending to care when I fully intended to give the man a vague description. I debated whether to tell Camille that I planned to throw the sketch, but she might feel obligated to tell Chase, and he’d get angry and cause a big scene I really didn’t need right now.

Instead, I asked her to call Delilah while I went in and talked to the artist. “Can you find out what Delilah and Tim have discovered about my hacked computer?”

“You’re sure you don’t need me for moral support?” She gazed at me and I had the uncomfortable feeling she could see through me like Saran Wrap.

“No . . . no, I’m fine. Thanks, though, for everything.”

I went through the motions, giving vague answers that sounded legitimate enough to fly under the radar, and in the end, the generic-looking face on the page could have been any number of men walking through the mall. I forced a worried smile and said, “That’s him, all right.” The sketch artist was happy, Chase was happy, and I was relieved.

Camille was waiting for me when I came out. We headed out to her Lexus. She motioned for me to be quiet until we were safely inside the car, then said, “You were hacked, all right. Delilah thinks somebody’s combed through all your files. Tim said there’s a doozy of a Trojan that snuck through. You must have clicked on an attachment in some e-mail you got, and it executed a program that created a direct path into your files. There’s a good chance that someone—and I think we can bet on it being Terrance—managed to download a copy of every single document and image you have on your computer.”

“Then everything there . . . Terrance has snooped through everything we have on there? My journal, our pictures . . .” My stomach lurched and I couldn’t tell if it was the baby, the food, or my own feeling of being violated yet again. Mitch and I had some compromising shots of us tucked away, taken with our digital camera so we wouldn’t run the risk of someone else seeing them.

“Damn it, Terry’s done it again. He’s invaded my life and broken my boundaries.” The thought that Terrance had seen those pictures, that he had all my ID information, that he had access to our financial information and everything else that Mitch and I stored on our computer, made me want to scream.

Camille grimaced. “Babe, I hate to say this, but he probably has your passwords, too—apparently there was keystroke logger spyware bundled into the package, and so everything you typed onto the computer was logged onto a host machine. The upside is that Tim thinks he might be able to trace it, because that kind of spyware leaves a footprint. There should be a trail leading back to the IP address that the information was sent to.”

“This is just getting worse and worse.” I leaned my head against the seat, wanting to cry. “Can they trace the IP address to where he lives, by any chance?”

She shrugged. “That I don’t know, but it gives us a place to start. And remember—maybe the techno mages of the elves can help. They might be able to magically track him if we can’t do it via the Internet.”

“They can do that?” I pressed my hand to my head, trying to stave off the looming headache. Too much had happened today and I was worried about Mitch, and felt like I was coming down with the flu.

“I don’t know, but it’s worth a shot. Now come on; let’s go home and see what Tim and Delilah have to say.” She started the car and eased out of the parking spot.

“I don’t want to go home. I want to stay with Mitch.”

She shook her head. “You’re pregnant. You’re going home and we’ll talk to Tim, and then you’re going to take a nap. You need your rest.”

I didn’t bother arguing. Camille and her sisters were stubborn and I knew better than to try to change her mind. I stared out the window, wondering what the hell was happening. Had I done something to anger the gods? Had the Ocean Mother turned against me?

“Damn it,” Camille muttered, a few minutes after she’d pulled onto I-5, northbound.

“What’s wrong?” As I glanced over at her, she bit her lip and glanced in the rearview mirror.

“I’m not sure, but . . . I think we’re being followed.” She switched lanes and then sped up, passing by a line of cars before smoothly moving back into our original lane again.

After a few minutes, she shook her head. “And there they are again—don’t turn around, because whoever it is has a good view of us, but there’s a silver Saab to our left, one car behind us. Whoever they are, they’ve been on our tail since shortly after we pulled out of the hospital. They’ve got tinted windows, so it’s hard to see who’s behind the wheel.”

“Aren’t tinted windows illegal?” I eased a glance through the rearview mirror to catch only a glimpse of the Saab. The windows were dark, too dark to see through, at least from this angle.

“Not if they fall within a certain percentage range. I had to find out for Menolly—she wanted the windows of her Jag tinted, so we had to check on the laws. They’re plenty expensive, though.” She darted a glance over her shoulder, then flicked on the turn signal and moved into the right lane. “Let’s see if they follow us over—Yeah, here they come. Whoever they are, they’re keeping pace with us, but staying one lane over.”

She nodded toward the sign ahead. “We’re making an unscheduled departure from the freeway,” she said as she veered onto the exit ramp.

My heart began to race as we quickly paced around the winding ramp, ending up on James Street. We came to a light and had to stop, and Camille fretted as we watched the line of cars go by from the other direction. She glanced in the rearview mirror and sucked in a deep breath.

“He’s there, behind us, about four cars back. I was hoping we’d lose him but somehow he managed to change lanes fast enough to make the exit.” She eyed the area. “We’re near Seattle University, but I don’t think that’s going to help us. It’s too late for most classes, and I don’t want to take a chance on driving into an area that isn’t in full view of the public. Any suggestions would be helpful.”

I frantically stared out the window, my thoughts racing, trying to remember if there was anybody I knew who lived or worked in the area. And then, a name clicked to mind. I snapped my fingers. “Get onto Twelfth and head toward East Pike. Marion has a café over there and they stay open late. They’re always packed because it’s a big Supe hangout.”

Camille quickly turned onto Twelfth as soon as the light turned green. “Who’s Marion?”

“She’s a member of the Northwest Seattle Coyote Clan. They’re urban coyote shifters who mainly stay in the cities. A lot of the coyote Weres have taken to doing that, along with a number of the dog and cat Weres. Lagomorphs, too.”

We had to adapt to modern life, I thought. It was either that, or die out. The wilderness was shrinking and while some of the bear, wolf, and big cat tribes still kept to the sparsely populated states and wilderness areas, most of the smaller Weres had slowly begun to familiarize themselves with urban living.

As we cruised down Twelfth, trying not to let the tailing Saab spook us, I patted my belly, attempting to soothe my overworked nerves. My thoughts drifted back to Mitch and how badly he’d been injured. Somebody had roughed him up something awful. Terrance had to have a couple of goons with him to cause that much damage because Mitch could hold his own in a fight. It was bad enough to have to worry about Terrance, but to be forced to worry about any buddies he might be hanging with . . . The thought scared the shit out of me.

Camille turned onto East Pike and I pointed up ahead. “See, there on the right. The Supe-Urban Café. There’s parking to the side, right after you pass the restaurant, so pull in there and let’s get ready to run in.”

I unbuckled my seat belt and grabbed both our purses as Camille swung into the side parking lot. The minute she pulled to a stop and turned off the ignition, we hit the doors. As we raced for the restaurant, she locked the car with her electronic key. We managed to slip inside just as the silver Saab slowly paced by. I lingered long enough to see it pull into the parking lot.

“They’re still on our tail. Head to the back. Marion spends a lot of time in the kitchen.” I handed Camille her purse and led her through the maze of tables. Business was brisk; most of the tables were filled with people, eating, drinking coffee, talking, reading. It was really more of a hangout than a restaurant and Marion told me she was making enough to put her oldest through college.

As we came to the swinging doors that led to the restrooms and the office, I pushed through and found myself face-to face with Marion herself. She was lean, gaunt but not anorexic, and she had that hungry look in her eyes that all coyote Weres seemed to have. They never looked like they’d had enough to eat, and very seldom seemed fully happy, though most that I knew were quite content and led fulfilling lives. It was just something in their nature that led them to look like street children staring through a candy store window.

“Siobhan, I haven’t seen you in—” She stopped, staring at me, her nose twitching. “You’re afraid. What’s made you so afraid in my restaurant?”

Camille interjected herself between the door and my back. “We’re being followed by someone who’s looking to harm Siobhan. Do you have a place we can hide?” Most Supe establishments had panic rooms of one sort or another.

Marion glanced from Camille to me, then back to Camille again. She quickly turned and motioned for us to follow her. We headed into her office, where she closed the door behind her, then swiftly pulled a bookshelf away from the wall. It was hinged, though we couldn’t see the hinges from the way it was attached, and a dimly lit passage showed from behind it.

“This leads to a tunnel that comes out a few blocks away in Westmeyer Park. You can either wait here for me, or you can head down there and I’ll have one of my men meet you there. You can pick up your car later—who was driving?” Marion handed me a flashlight from her desk.

Camille raised her hand. “That would be me. I’ve got a steel gray Lexus out there.” She turned to me. “Siobhan, we can call Chase. He’ll bring his men and come down here and if they possibly can, they’ll nab him. Because you and I both know that has to be Terrance.”

I bit my lip, thinking. We could wait here, let Chase catch him. And then Chase would turn him over to the Supe Community council and he’d have a damned good chance of getting away with this crap. Of course, if he’d been the one to attack Mitch—and I was positive it was him—then maybe we could do something, but with Mitch in a coma, there was no way to prove his attacker had been Terrance.

On the other hand, if I really wanted him gone, it meant taking care of him without anybody else finding out. I shook my head.

“No. We play it the way we were thinking about. Marion, thanks for the offer, but we’ll call our friends on the way and have them meet us. It’s enough that you’re giving us the chance to escape. I’ll explain everything later.” I ducked into the tunnel and blew a kiss at the Were. “Anything I can do for you, let me know.”

She laughed. “Just name your firstborn after me,” she said, shutting the door behind us.

As the sounds of the bar were muffled by the thick bookshelf, I let out a long sigh and flicked the switch on the flashlight. The light beat a steady beam down the corridor and I breathed a little easier.

“We’ve got a bit of a walk in front of us,” I said, glancing down at my pumps ruefully.

Camille held out her foot. She was wearing stilettos. “Don’t even talk to me about painful footwear,” she said, smiling. “Come on, let’s get moving. I wonder if I can get cell reception down here. If not, we’ll have to wait till we come out into the open to call for a ride.”

As we started through the musty tunnel, fresh air piped in from somewhere above. How many people had used this getaway? And for what? Whom had they been fleeing from? But try as I might, I couldn’t get my mind off Terrance. He’d decided to make his move before I had time to plan. His call had just been a terror tactic, and it had worked. And I knew him well enough to know that he’d stop at nothing to get me back.

4

The tunnel seemed to go on forever, but in reality we were walking for only about fifteen minutes. Camille’s cell phone didn’t work in the underground passage, and neither did mine, so we walked in silence, pushing forward with Camille behind me, keeping an eye over her shoulder. After five minutes, I let out a long breath. After ten, I began to relax. Maybe we’d gotten away after all. I sure hoped Terrance didn’t tear up Camille’s car, though, in his anger that he hadn’t been able to catch us.

Fifteen minutes and we were at the end of the passage, facing a series of steps that led us up to a door with a one-way lock on it. Locked from the inside, we could get out, but once we did and the door swung shut, we wouldn’t be able to duck back in.

“Don’t let the door close,” I whispered. “Not until we know it’s safe.” I cautiously pushed it open a crack and peeked out. I was looking into what appeared to be a women’s restroom. There was no one in sight. I pushed the door open and stepped out. Camille followed me.

“Wait here,” she said, leaving me to hold the door as she raced over to the outer door leading . . . well, wherever it led.

I glanced around the room. Four stalls, dull green, two sinks with faucets. And these were old-fashioned faucets—no run your hands under the sink and make the water come out technology here. A paper towel dispenser and a spartan-looking mirror hung on the wall. Track lighting illuminated the room with fluorescent lights. Windows lined the upper wall, letting in some natural light. Yeah, this was a utilitarian bathroom, all right.

Camille dashed back. “It’s okay. We’re in the women’s restroom for Westmeyer Park. You get back in the tunnel and keep the door open a crack. I’m going to step outside and call Delilah to come pick us up.”

I nodded, waiting as she disappeared out the front. A couple minutes later, she was back. “She’s on her way. She left Tim at your apartment. He’s still fooling around with your computer.”

I let out a long sigh. “That’s fine.” I was tired; my back was killing me from walking in pumps—ever since I’d become pregnant I’d longed for flats, and all I wanted was to sit down somewhere and cry.

Camille noticed and wrapped her arm around me. “Oh, Siobhan, everything will be all right. You wait and see.” She cocked her head. “I think I hear a car. Come on, it must be Delilah. The parking lot is just a few feet away from here.”

I reluctantly let the tunnel door swing shut. The dark passage might be creepy but it had provided us a haven, and right now I needed shelter from the storms raging in my life.

As Camille opened the outer door, she let out a startled cry. “Run! Siobhan, run!”

Someone slammed the door open, sending Camille flying against the wall. She screamed as she hit the concrete and slumped to the ground, where she shook her head, dazed.

I whirled back to the tunnel but too late—the door was closed and there was no getting in. With no other exits in the restroom, I ran toward a stall, thinking to lock myself in and maybe buy a few seconds.

The swift scent of ozone filled the air as Camille shouted and a blast ricocheted against the walls. Freezing, I paused; then a man swore and, again, Camille shrieked.

“Siobhan, you might as well give it up. You’re coming with me.”

That voice, I knew.

“Terrance?” I turned, knowing that no matter what I did, it would be too little, too late.

Three men stood there: Terrance, along with two other men I recognized instantly by their scent as being full blooded Finfolk.

Terrance motioned to them. “Keith, grab the Faerie bitch. Lon, keep watch.”

The one named Keith grabbed Camille up in a bear hug, clapping a hand over her mouth as she struggled. The other took up guard on the door.

I stared at Terrance as he slowly walked toward me. It had been a long time since I’d looked into those cold, blue eyes.

“Just leave us alone. I’m not going with you. You can’t force me to go with you.” I backed up toward the wall, petrified. The look on his face was maleficent, his lips curled into a snarl.

“Oh, you’re coming with me, and as soon as we get rid of the whelp bastard you’ve got locked up in that oven, I’ll get you with my own child and that will seal the deal.” His eyes glimmered and he chuckled softly. “I’ve followed you for too long, over too many miles, to even think of letting you go now.”

“No, don’t hurt my baby. Please don’t hurt my baby.” I crossed my hands over my stomach. But then, fear turned to anger. This was my child, Mitch’s child, and if Terrance tried to hurt it, I’d rip him to shreds. “Get out of here or I swear, Terrance, I’ll kill you.”

He laughed again. “Right, you go on thinking that. No, my dear, you’re coming with me and so is your friend. I know plenty of people who’d pay a pretty penny to give her a ride.”

“You’re part Finfolk, aren’t you? You’ve got Meré blood in you!”

As he walked me back against the wall, one step at a time, he reached out and caught my chin in his hands. He stroked my cheek with one finger, hooking it lightly over my lower lip. “You finally see me clearly, my beautiful selkie princess. Now, it’s time to come home with me.” The way he said the word princess stopped me short. It wasn’t an endearment. No, there was something else behind his words.

“Princess?”

“Well, I’ll be damned. Your mother never told you, did she?” Terrance laughed roughly. “Ah well, I don’t blame her. Your father’s folk were a rough lot—coarse and stinking up the sea. Your mother probably thought she was doing you a favor, but the truth will out, won’t it?”

“What truth?” I’d been lying so long that I half believed my own stories, but now he was claiming that my mother had lied to me?

“Your blood gives you a direct lineage to nobility on her side of the family. You’re in line for the throne within the Isle of Man Selkie Pod. Since you ran away from your father’s people and turned your back on them, you have the option to return home and claim your heritage and right of kinship.”

He couldn’t be right. My mother, a princess? And now me, in line for the throne?

“Wait—my mother! Isn’t she the one who should rise to power if there’s a change in rulership? If you harm her—”

He twisted my arm just enough to hurt. “Pipe down. Your mother’s fine. But she knowingly turned her back on her own Pod and pledged herself to your father’s people. She can’t return home now.”

“I’m pledged to the Puget Sound Harbor Seal Pod—”

“Ah, but you have the choice to return to your mother’s people because she never told you about them. Which you will do. Then, when I marry you, I’ll have one of the most powerful groups of selkies under my control, via your own sweet self. You, my dear, are my ticket to ruling the waves. After that, it’s a short step to the Finfolk taking over your people, just like we did the Cobh roane. My father married into the Pod. He was half Finfolk, and now we control them. We’ll reign terror over the seas. At last, do you understand why I chased you for a hundred years? There’s more at stake than just a pretty pussy. My people wait for me back home. And your people wait in fear that I’ll find you. They’ve finally figured out just who my family is.”

“You’re crazy,” I said. “I’m no princess—”

“But you are, in your own right. Even if you never married me, you’ve got the blood of queens flowing through your body. Your father had no idea of just who he captured when he went seeking a mate.”

I let out a small cry, thinking about my mother and what she’d told me. So she hadn’t been lying. Father had stolen her away from her own people. No wonder he had no reservations about handing me over to Terrance; rape and pillage were all too familiar to his people.

“Oh yes,” Terrance said softly. “I know all about your mother and how your father found her, raped her, and took her to wife. And the kicker is: She never told your father she’s royalty. Probably didn’t want the old man to use her like I’m planning to use you. Accept it, little selkie. Women in our world are a commodity. We men can buy you and sell you at the turn of a whim. And you, my dear, are a valuable treasure.”

And then he nodded over his shoulder at Camille. “If you don’t come voluntarily, she’s dead. I don’t care how much my men might fancy her. She’s expendable, and you’re not. So it’s up to you. Come with me without fighting, or I slit her throat.”

He pulled out a thick-bladed knife with serrated edges. I cringed. He’d make it hurt. I knew him. He wouldn’t kill her quickly; he’d make me watch and she’d die in a wash of blood and water.

“No,” I whispered. “Don’t. Don’t hurt her. I’ll come with you.” I’d figure a way to escape, but for now, I couldn’t let him kill one of my closest friends. One of the women who’d gone out of her way to help me.

“That’s better.” Terrance stuck the blade back in the sheath attached to his belt. He snorted. “Amazing how soft you are. If it had been me, I’d say go ahead and do her. No matter. All the better for me.”

“That, Terrance, is the difference between us,” I said softly. “You’d let a friend die to save yourself. I understand the nature of loyalty.”

I shuddered as he dragged me along by the wrist. His lackeys held tight to Camille, keeping her mouth covered. The one energy blast had been enough to warn them she wielded magic, and they weren’t taking any chances.

And then we were headed out the door, into the rain that had once again picked up, sweeping in off the inlet.

Terrance’s men shoved Camille into the back of a short RV that was waiting in the parking lot, then crawled in to gag her and tie her up. My stomach clenched. The Finfolk would have a field day with her, and Terrance wouldn’t lift a hand to stop them. They’d use her, then play water games with her, letting her nearly drown over and over again until they grew tired with the sport and finished her off. Finfolk fed off of fear, and their sadistic natures weren’t satisfied for long.

As Terrance shoved me toward the RV, I heard a shout and jerked around as Delilah jumped out of her Jeep. I opened my mouth and let out a sharp scream, but Terrance sent his hand whistling against my cheek, and the blow stunned me into silence. He pulled me over to the open door and tossed me in to the men. I stumbled, wrapping my arms around my stomach to protect my baby. The one called Keith hauled me inside and I had one fleeting glimpse of Delilah shouting something as she raced our way before the door slammed shut.

Terrance climbed into the driver’s seat up front.

“Should we tie this one up, boss?” Lon stared at me, looking all too excited by the prospect.

“Nah,” Terrance said. “She can’t use magic, and she knows what I’ll do to her friend if she tries anything. Just keep an eye on her.”

And then, with the squeal of brakes and tires, we were zooming past Delilah. I could see her through the front windshield. In fact, Terrance took aim at her and I let out a sharp cry, but then she dove to the left at the last minute and he ignored her, plowing out of the parking lot.

Camille struggled, trying to sit up. Lon unceremoniously smacked her a good one and she fell back. He laughed as she lay prone and reached up her skirts. I let him have it right across the nose with my nails, which were nice, tough gels—hard and sharp-edged.

“Bitch!” he said, but he didn’t touch me and I realized that unless Terrance gave them the go ahead, they weren’t going to mess with me. I scooted beside Camille, keeping her behind me.

“Leave her alone.” I glared at Lon. He glanced over his shoulder at Terrance, who was focused on driving.

“Stupid cu—”

“Shut up back there!” Terrance didn’t even turn back to see what the commotion was. “I’m trying to shake that golden haired bitch who’s on our tail.”

Delilah! It had to be Delilah! The fact that she was following us gave me courage. I glanced down at Camille, who looked up in my eyes. She softly turned so that her back was facing me. I saw that they’d tied her hands behind her and realized that if I scooted closer, I might be able to work the knots free while they weren’t looking. And that meant lulling them into the belief that I was cooperating. But I couldn’t be too obvious about it.

I gazed at Lon. “I won’t be a bother if you just leave us alone during the ride. Please? I’m just so tired . . . my baby . . .” I let my voice drift off and widened my eyes. Make a bully feel powerful and sometimes he’ll be generous.

I was in luck. He stared at me for a moment; then a smirk settled across his face. “Yeah, sure, whatever. We’ll have time enough with her soon. I wonder what she’ll bring on the market.”

Trying not to grimace, I checked out our surroundings. The RV had been retrofitted. It sure wasn’t a luxury hangout; that was for sure. A table and bench seats, a cupboard unit, the bathroom, and a couple of other seats filled the interior, but most of the space had been gutted to make room for . . . well . . . for what, I didn’t know, but there were bloodstains on the floor and I had the feeling this home on wheels had been the scene of one too many accidents.

Camille was lying close to the table. I leaned over her, resting my head against the wall of the RV.

“I’m just going to rest for a moment,” I said.

Lon shrugged and went back to whispering with Keith. As soon as he was focused on his conversation, I slid my right hand down to Camille’s ropes. I couldn’t risk using both my hands—they’d notice—but if I worked slowly, inch by inch, I could loosen the knots. Selkies were good with knot work—in fact, Celtic knot work was a specialty of ours, and during the seventies I’d been a big player in the macramé craze.

I ran my fingers over the knots. Simple. Practical. Knotted for speed, not for long term bondage. I worried the biggest knot, using my thumb to brace it while I used the nails on my index and middle fingers to dig at it. The gels were strong and after a moment or so, the knot loosened a little. After a little more picking, it was loose enough for me to get my fingers through and pry open.

Camille did her best to match my movements and ease the rope so I could catch hold of the slack. After a moment, I had the free end in my grasp and a couple of minutes later, I’d untied the knot. Camille gently worked her wrists until the binding cord fell away. I scooted forward enough to cover her so they couldn’t see what we’d done. She lay very still and I knew she was planning her next move. I closed my eyes to a slit, so it would look as though I was resting, but I could still see anybody coming up on us.

After a while, the RV made a sharp curve to the right and I tensed. Even through the walls, I could smell the water. We were near the inlet, with the cloying scents of brine and seaweed decay.

I sucked in a deep breath and whispered low, hoping the men couldn’t hear me, “We’re near the water.”

Camille nodded. “Bide your time. Wait until we stop.”

I touched her arm gently, to let her know I’d heard her, and went back to gathering my strength. I wasn’t sure what to do, but I’d take my cue from Camille. She was the one with experience in situations like this.

Another minute or two and we began to slow down. I raised my head and turned toward the front. Terrance was focused on pulling into what looked like it might be a parking lot, though I wasn’t close enough to the windshield to see. Lon and Keith finished their talk. Keith, hunched over to avoid hitting his head on the roof, made his way up front where he slid into the passenger seat.

“Get the waterweed ready,” Terrance said, and Keith grunted and returned to the back, where he foraged in the cupboard and came out with a jar full of cloudy liquid.

I cringed. The Finfolk were skilled at making potions that would allow an air breather to live underwater, at least for a time, so they could have their fun with them. As the potion began to wear off, they’d start their drowning games until they grew bored and let their victim drown for real.

When I still lived in the Orkneys, I’d known a couple of human women who had escaped from the Finfolk—a miracle in itself—and managed to make it back to land and escape before the Meré dragged them under one last and final time. But they’d been tortured so badly that they never fully recovered their senses.

I tensed as Keith headed our way with the vial of waterweed potion. The RV came to a stop and I realized we had to do something soon, because any moment now, they’d realize Camille had gotten free from the ropes.

I sucked in a deep breath. Camille tensed.

As Keith knelt down, I quickly backed away to give Camille room. She rolled over, arms up with fingers locked in a claw condition. In one smooth motion, she sprang into a sitting position and raked her long nails down his face, drawing blood.

Keith screamed and dropped the vial to the floor, where it smashed as he shoved himself away from her attack.

Camille leapt to her feet and I followed suit as Lon came lunging forward. She threw herself headlong at him, taking him down as she caught his legs with her foot and yanked, throwing him off balance. I frantically glanced around and saw the broken vial. Grabbing it up by the neck where it was still intact, I slashed it across his face. Blood spurted in a fountain and I stared in horror as he writhed, screaming and trying to cover his face.

Camille gave me a terse look, nodded, then raised her arms over her head. She clasped her hands into a solid fist, and brought them down hard, right across his nose. Crack. Flesh impacted on flesh and my stomach churned as I stared at the terrifying passion that filled her face. I was about to drop the bottle, to turn away and vomit, but she darted a glance at me.

“Don’t you dare, Siobhan! I need your help!”

Her voice was so forceful that it startled me out of my horror—and just in time. Keith was coming around again, this time armed with a nasty-looking dagger.

We didn’t stick around. Camille slammed open the door, grabbed my hand, and yanked me out into a parking lot near the Sound. The water was being whipped into a fury by the wind that had sprung up, and dusk had fallen. I could barely see the waves but I could hear them, and they called to my blood.

As soon as we landed on the ground, Terrance came around the RV, a leering smile on his face.

Camille shoved me behind her and began muttering what sounded like an incantation. I hastily put more distance between us—her spells were powerful, but sometimes they backfired and the results were seldom pretty. Terrance backed up as her voice rose, his eyes widening.

At that moment, Keith landed beside me and grabbed me, the dagger at my throat. “Stop now or the selkie gets it.”

Camille whirled around, a smirk curling the tips of her lips. “I don’t think so. Terrance would kill you if you harmed her.” And then, without another word, she swung on Terrance and let loose a bolt of energy that lit up the gloom. Terrance shrieked and dove for cover, and in that moment, Keith let go of me and lunged for Camille, slashing at her with his blade. He caught her arm. I heard her groan and smelled blood.

At that moment, Delilah’s Jeep screeched into the lot, followed by a Jaguar. Menolly was up! I almost burst into tears. The vampire could make mincemeat of our attackers all by her lonesome. As I stumbled toward Camille, Keith let go of her and began to back away.

I looked back to see not only Menolly, but also Smoky—Camille’s six-foot-four, almost-albino dragon lover and husband—emerge from the car. His hair hung to his ankles, and now it swirled around him like a hundred hissing snakes. Oh shit. Terrance and his buddies really were dead men now.

I started to run toward Delilah when Terrance suddenly lunged forward and caught me around the waist. He forced something in my mouth—a sponge of some sort—and began dragging me to the railing. I struggled but he was a lot stronger than I, and even though Menolly raced toward us at breakneck speed, he was able to haul me over the railing before she got there.

I tried to scream, but the sponge began to melt and I tasted waterweed. Oh hell—he was taking me into the water as a human. I could swim, but without my seal suit, I’d be totally at his mercy. I struggled harder, scraping my shins on the wooden railing, but within seconds we were falling over the edge.

As I stared into the glassy depths rising to meet us, I realized that I was on my own for now. If I was going to survive, it would be up to me. And then we hit the water and sank beneath the waves.

5

We hit hard, jarring every bone in my body, and the world went silent; the only thing I could hear were bubbles as we sank in the turbulent water. As Terrance dragged me under, I struggled. He was starting to shift and he let go of me as the throes of transformation racked his body. Some shifters went through a lot of pain when changing; others barely felt a thing. Finfolk suffered; selkies didn’t.

I kicked away from him, propelling myself through the water. While I was a good swimmer, though much better in seal form, once he’d managed to shift over, I’d be no match for him.

Finfolk were strong, ungodly so, and their powerful tails acted akin to a propeller on a motorboat. They couldn’t go as fast as a boat, but they could move and dart through the sea with barely a blink.

I tried not to look back as I forced my way toward the surface, chilled to the bone by the icy water. I could breathe, thanks to the waterweed sponge. But that didn’t mean it would help me survive the depths unless I miraculously found my seal coat, or unless the Finfolk water witches gave me the protection they usually offered their victims. Toys were no fun if they died early.

Whatever the case, I expected Terrance had something planned, which meant there were probably other Finfolk in the area. Not good for the Pod, and not good for human swimmers. Too many accidental drownings occurred due to their interference.

The water boiled as Terrance thrashed, the currents pressing against me as I broke the surface and screamed for help. Waterweed didn’t prevent an air-breather from breathing above water, the one saving grace for me right now.

But as soon as I’d shouted, a splash beside me told me I was in trouble. Terrance popped up next to me, transformed and feral, like some primal cross between fish and man. His skin was pale silver like that of a trout’s, and a scaled tail joined what had been his legs. He had genitals, though, and all his other features remained intact except his hair was darker and his eyes were luminous. Gills slatted the side of his neck and I screamed as he reached for my wrist.

“Come on, baby,” he said.

“Leave her alone!” Menolly’s voice echoed from above and I gazed up to see Delilah, frantically flashing a light to find me. Oh hell—I knew Delilah could swim, but she was terrified of water. And Menolly would sink like a stone—vampires couldn’t float.

And then, I saw Smoky, teetering on the edge of the railing with Camille by his side. As they leapt over the edge, Terrance made another grab for me and this time wrapped his arm around my waist. With a sudden rush, he yanked me below the surface and we were off, into the depths.

From somewhere behind us, I could feel the splash as Camille and Smoky landed in the water. But would they be able to keep up with Terrance? This was his world. And without my seal suit, I was as alien to it as were they. I scrambled to think of any advantage I had; then it occurred to me that I knew the inlet better than Terrance. I’d lived here for several decades and he’d just arrived. If I could get away from him long enough, I could use that knowledge to hide.

We wove through the dark water, silent and swift, Terrance holding me against him with one arm while steering with the other. His tail acted like a rudder, shifting our direction, sending us deeper and deeper with its powerful motion. The cold began to seep into my bones, and I felt myself going numb. It wouldn’t be long before I passed out.

The water was like a black veil, everything that was familiar to me, everything that I associated with riding the waves gone, stripped away by my human form. I could feel my baby stirring, and wondered if she could feel the arms of the Ocean Mother embracing us. She would be a selkie, born in the ocean, and she would return to it time and again. She would revere it and worship it and love it, but only if I managed to survive.

Terrance suddenly halted and I vaguely saw another shape near us. Another of the Finfolk. The woman reached out and stroked my hair, then raked her nails down the side of my face, not enough to make me bleed but enough to hurt. As she did so, I could feel an energy surrounding me and then—within seconds—the numbing chill fell away and I was warm and comfortable. She was a sea witch, then, and dangerous. I let out a faint shudder and Terrance pulled me closer and started off again.

He let out a series of chirps and clucks. I knew enough of his language to recognize the meaning. Apparently we were heading toward open water, and he said something to his companion about a boat. So that was how they were stealing me away. Via boat. At least I wouldn’t be riding the waves across the ocean. In human form, I wouldn’t survive it.

We glided through the glassy depths, turning slightly as Terrance’s silent, powerful fin steered us northward. I tried to remember my geography. Were there locks? Were there places where we’d be forced to get out of the water and transform?

Finfolk possessed exceptional strength and Terrance would be able to swim for a long time before needing to rest. My bet was that we wouldn’t stop until we reached Whidbey Island, which would be the perfect place for him to have a boat waiting if he wanted to sail out through the Strait of Juan de Fuca.

But could he really mean to cross the Pacific? If so, he’d better have one hell of a boat.

I tried to work out how far we’d come, but my sense of timing was off. Time shifted in the water—as if the clock slowed to a crawl.

And then I glanced up. The shadow of something low flying and big was skimming along the surface. What the hell? Before I could blink, there was a huge displacement of water as a large white form dove deep, coming up to grab Terrance and me in one gigantic claw. As we were swept up out of the water, I gasped. A dragon. Smoky! And astride his back, thoroughly soaked and clinging to him for dear life, sat Camille, looking dazed and cold in her dripping chiffon and leather.

Terrance began to flail and Smoky eased open his claws long enough for the Meré to slip through and fall hard into the water. I held tight to the talons gripping me by the waist, praying that my baby was all right.

With wings steadily gliding on the chill breeze, we were over land within minutes, back over the park from where Terrance had kidnapped me. As we landed, Delilah and Menolly ran over to us, pulling Camille off Smoky’s back and wrapping her in a blanket, and wrapping me in another. I stared at them, horrified, trying to comprehend everything that had happened.

“She’s in shock,” Delilah said, and her voice seemed to be coming from a long, long way away, from down a long, dark tunnel.

“You’re right. We need to get her to the FH-CSI and have her checked out.” Menolly gazed at me, her eyes burning bright and brilliant, red as fire, red as blood. She leaned forward and I couldn’t look away.

“Sleep,” she whispered.

And I did.

I woke to the smell of tea and toast, and pushed myself up on my elbows. I was in my house, and soft whispers filtered in from the other room. The clock told me it was near eight, and a glance at the window told me the night had passed and we were into morning.

As I slipped out from beneath the quilt, I saw that I was dressed in a loose gown—a soft robe that Mitch had bought me when I started getting too big for my pajamas. My slippers were by the foot of my bed, and I slid them on, then hurried into the bathroom to pee. As I headed toward the kitchen, the voices grew louder.

Camille was at the table, looking dry and fresh, and Delilah was beside her, along with Smoky. Iris, the house sprite who lived with them, brought over a plate of bacon, eggs, and toast. She set it in front of me, then patted my shoulder as I slid into a chair.

“Has the hospital called? Is Mitch still . . . ?” My voice faltered. I couldn’t say the words. I couldn’t ask if he was still alive because I was afraid of the answer.

Iris nodded, her cheeks rosy from standing over the range. No doubt she’d used my step stool to reach the stovetop. “Yes, he’s still alive. They performed the exploratory surgery yesterday. Good news—the medic says they won’t have to remove the spleen after all. It was damaged, but should recover. His kidneys are bruised but will also recover.”

“What about his arm? It was shattered.”

“They went in early this morning. He should be out of surgery in an hour. He’s going to need time to heal up, though. He’ll be in the hospital for a while—a couple weeks at least.”

I pressed my hands to my lips. Two surgeries in two days. Two too many. “Terrance is going to pay for this.”

“By the way, we took you to the FH-CSI medical unit last night. You and your baby are fine, so no worries there.” Camille leaned over my shoulder and gave me a hug. “We decided not to wake you out of the trance that Menolly put you in. You were in shock and desperately needed rest. Sharah says the baby is fine, and she countered the waterweed in your system. It really shouldn’t be used by pregnant women, but she doesn’t think any damage was done.”

I blinked back tears. “Thank you,” I whispered, not wanting to think about the past twenty-four hours. “What about Terrance?”

“He and his men are still out there,” Smoky said from the head of the table. “I had to drop him for fear he might hurt you.”

“Is it true? Camille told us that Terrance claims you’re heir to a throne?” Delilah asked.

I shrugged. “I suppose so. I don’t think Terrance would have bothered chasing me through all these years and over all those miles without some ulterior motive like that. He’s always been a control freak, grasping for power. And I’m the key to that power.”

A sudden chill washed over me. “If we don’t find him, I’ll never be able to stop looking over my shoulder. My daughter will be in danger; Mitch will be in danger, because Terrance will never, ever stop. He’ll come back, again and again, until I kill him or he kills me. I won’t let him take me back as the key to enslave my mother’s people.”

The eggs and toast were threatening to pay a return visit, but Camille brushed my hair back and gently ran her hand over my forehead, and my nausea began to subside. Her skin was cool against the heat flaring on my face.

“Everything will be okay.” She gently rubbed my neck, easing the knots that had built up. “We’re here to help. We won’t let him hurt you.”

I glanced up in time to see Delilah frown at her.

“I won’t hold you to that. I won’t hold anybody to a promise like that. But I thank you. For being here. For putting yourselves on the line. So . . .” I sucked in a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Time to pull myself out of the mire and face reality. “What do we—I—do next?”

“Terrance isn’t stupid. What’s the one way he could break your spirit, besides harming your daughter?” Smoky leaned across the table, and gently took my hand, his fingers light on my wrist. I stared at his hands. They were strong but unblemished, so far from the taloned claws they’d been the night before, and yet—and yet I could feel the nature of the dragon emanating from every pore.

“I say this not to frighten you,” he continued, “but because I understand opportunistic males. I understand those who grasp and yearn for something or someone they do not possess. I grew up around them. If we can identify your vulnerabilities, then we’ve identified the potential targets on whom your enemy will set his sights.”

I slowly raised my eyes to meet his. “You know what my one vulnerability is, besides my child. Mitch. Mitch is my life, my love. I fell in love with him the first moment I met him, and when we thought the Pod would separate us because I couldn’t bear a child, I was about to go mad with grief. He means the world to me. I chose him for my mate, and I can’t imagine giving him up without a fight.”

“Then we haul ass to the hospital,” Camille said as Smoky quietly nodded and let go of my hands. “Because you know damned well Terrance is going to be down there, looking to finish what he started. He’s not going to wait for us.”

As I hustled back to the bedroom to change and make a quick call to work to let them know that Mitch had been hurt and I wouldn’t be in, I stopped to pick up a picture on the nightstand.

Mitch and me, standing at the edge of the Pacific over in Ocean Shores. The dunes were shifting with the wind that day as the waves rolled in to crash along the beach. That was the day when everything fell into place. That was the day when I told him we could finally plan on being together forever.

Mitch was flying a kite, laughing as he ran. The kite—a chimera—had taken him four weeks to build and now the winds tossed it around like so much wrapping paper. But he was having fun, and I was videotaping him, waiting for just the right moment to tell him my news.

He came racing up to me, and dropped in the sand, slowly beginning to reel in the kite as the stiff breeze dropped and the sun began to warm up the chilled air. I opened the basket and spread out our picnic—thick tuna sandwiches, freshly sliced cucumbers, potato chips and pickles, and a cherry pie.

“What, no wine?” Mitch anchored the kite so it wouldn’t blow away. He leaned back in the sand, shading his eyes as he stared out at the ocean. “Shall we go swimming later?” He pointed to his pack. “I brought my suit; did you bring yours?”

I nodded softly and handed him a paper plate with one of the sandwiches on it. “Yes, as long as nobody sees us change. But eat first. And no, I didn’t bring any wine. I did bring sparkling cider. I just felt . . . I don’t feel like alcohol right now, you know?”

With a shrug, he accepted the plate and piled it high with chips and cucumbers. “Not a problem. But you brought cookies, right?”

The hopeful note in his voice made me laugh. Mitch was a sucker for anything with peanut butter. “Yes, I brought some fresh peanut butter cookies along with the pie. They’re in the cooler.”

We ate slowly, listening to the mournful call of the gulls as they swirled around our heads. Seabirds knew we weren’t human; they could sense our connection to the Ocean Mother and they flocked to our side, waiting for us to recognize them as allies, as compatriots. I’d never figured out the connection, but it didn’t matter. We liked the gulls and they liked us.

I pulled out a spare loaf of bread and began tearing it up, tossing the chunks to the birds, who immediately swarmed the crumbs, ignoring all sense of propriety.

Mitch laughed and sat up. “They sure like people.” “No, they like food,” I said, closing my eyes against the warmth of the sun as it played along my face, kissing me softly with its rays. “Mitch, I have some news—and I want you to really listen to me.”

He dropped the book he’d picked up and turned to me, wrapping his arms around his knees as he brought them to his chest. “What is it, love?”

I took a deep breath. This was it. Make or break time. “You know how the Pod keeps trying to break us up since I can’t get pregnant?”

“Oh gods,” he said, groaning. “Not again—what have they done now?”

With a soft smile, I said, “Nothing.”

“Then what?”

“They can’t touch us now. I’m pregnant. I found out yesterday—Sharah checked me out and—”

I couldn’t get another word out because Mitch tossed his plate away and leapt up, pulling me to my feet. He danced me around, covering my face with kisses. His lips were soft against my skin and I melted into his embrace, listening to his giddy laughter.

“My Siobhan, my love, is it true? You’re sure?” He pushed me away, to arm’s length, holding me by the shoulders and staring into my eyes. He looked afraid, as if I might suddenly tell him it was all a joke.

“I’d never lie about something like this, not even in jest. It’s true. I’m pregnant, and I’m going to have a little girl. I’m only a couple months along, but Sharah said the pregnancy has taken hold, and everything’s going along just fine.” I started to cry. “Now they can’t take you away from me. The Pod can’t tell you to leave me and take a new lover.”

He stopped then, and tipped my chin up to gaze at me. “Siobhan, I don’t care what the Pod says. Either way. I’d leave them before I’d give you up. I thought you knew that. You’re my soul mate, my love.”

Sniffling—whether it was the way he said it, or the hormones, I wasn’t sure—I nodded and wiped my nose on a paper towel. “I know . . . I know you said that but when push comes to shove . . .”

“When push comes to shove, I shove back. I’m thrilled you’re pregnant. I wanted this, too, but I want you most of all. And nothing would make me leave if you were truly infertile. Not the Pod, not my parents, not the Ocean Mother herself.”

And then he dropped to one knee and pulled out a velvet box from his pocket. “I was waiting to show you this—to see if we’d have to run away from the Pod first. But now there’s nothing they can do to stop me. Siobhan Morgan, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife and mate?”

As he opened the box, an emerald-cut aquamarine inset in platinum shimmered under the sun. Seafoam trapped in a crystal. I gasped as he slid it onto my finger. “Please, please say yes.”

“You know the answer to that already, Mitchell Childs. You know the answer.” And then, with no one else on the beach, he laid me down on the blanket and made love to me by the ocean’s side.

“Siobhan? Siobhan? Are you ready?”

I glanced up to find Camille standing at my door, hesitantly peeking in. I was dressed, but had been lost in the memory of that day. Mitch, my life and soul, who would have left his family and home for me. Mitch, who would have given up being a parent because he loved me so much. And now he was lying in a hospital bed, in danger because of a cruel and vicious man from my past.

“I’m ready,” I said, gathering my purse and keys. I checked to make sure the stove was off and slid on a warm jacket. “Let’s go find Terrance. I don’t want the sun to set again while he’s still alive.”

Camille gave me the thumbs up. “You’ve got it, babe. You’ve got it.”

6

We drove to the hospital in two cars. I went with Camille and Smoky in Camille’s Lexus, while Delilah and Iris went together in Delilah’s Jeep. I was wearing a pair of maternity jeans and a loose top, so at least I could move if I had to. I wasn’t at the waddling stage yet, but I was starting to show and my regular clothes were all a little too snug for comfort now.

As the buildings passed by in a blur, I sucked in a deep breath. Amazing what sorrow twenty-four hours could bring. Amazing what panic a phone call could presage. The thought of trying to hide in today’s world was terrifying. In 1907, I blended into the crowd and vanished. That luxury didn’t exist today. I had to stay close to the coastlines, which cut out a lot of hiding places.

The day was overcast as usual, but the sun was trying to break through and I regarded it with suspicion. Right now I wanted the cloud cover and the fog, anything to make me feel less exposed.

“So what, we just watch Mitch?” I finally asked.

“No, we slip a webcam in his room and the rest of us watch from another part of the hospital while you stay with him, making for two tempting targets in one place. Either we can set it up or Chase can, your choice.” Camille swerved to avoid the remnants of a tire on the road and smoothly shifted lanes to take the next exit, which would lead us to the hospital.

“Not Chase. He’d try to take Terrance into custody. And I don’t want Terrance in custody.” I glanced at the back of her head, and she looked at me through the rearview mirror. “We do this ourselves, if you’re still willing.”

Camille nodded. Another ten minutes and we pulled into the parking lot of the hospital.

She turned around in her seat. “Listen, Delilah is going to install the webcam, but she’ll be coming in dressed as a nurse. Terrance would probably recognize me, and there’s no way anybody could overlook Smoky, so we’re going to sneak in a different way.”

She didn’t say just how they were planning on doing so, and I had the feeling it was on a need to know basis.

I nodded. “What about me?”

“You go in, in plain sight. You head to Mitch’s room and you sit with him. If anybody else is in there—from the Pod or his parents—somehow, you encourage them to leave. Delilah will be in shortly but don’t act like you know her.”

Camille let out a long sigh. “Terrance will probably strike during the night, and probably soon, since he knows we’re onto him. We need the hospital to agree to let you stay with Mitch. Being his fiancée, that shouldn’t be too hard for you to arrange. Tell them that last night, you were too distraught over his injuries and your doctor made you stay home, but that you can’t stand being away from him tonight.”

I slipped out of the car and grabbed my purse. As I swung the door shut, I whispered a quick, “Thank you. For everything.”

They waved me off and I headed toward the hospital.

I didn’t have much trouble convincing the nurses and Mitch’s Otherworld doctor that I needed to stay with him. In fact, his doctor thought it would be a good idea.

“The surgery on his arm went just fine, but at this point, we still don’t know how much use he’ll recover. The bone was shattered and his arm is full of pins. To be honest, I haven’t the faintest idea of how that will affect him when he shifts into selkie form. For now, he needs your comfort and support.”

The elfin doctor flipped through Mitch’s chart as he walked us into the room, his footsteps making no noise on the sparkling linoleum. “He’s still very groggy from the pain medication and surgery, but he’ll know you’re here. He seemed disturbed last night, as if he was afraid of something.”

I frowned, glancing around. We were on the third floor, but that didn’t preclude Terrance using some supernatural way to climb up the outside wall. Most likely, though, Mitch was just afraid that Terry would hurt me. If he’d picked up on the fact that I was the Finfolk’s target, and he knew he couldn’t do anything about it, he would be terrified and feeling helpless. And a helpless man made for an angry man.

I hurried over to Mitch’s side. His arm and both legs were in casts—the kind where they could be removed to change the dressings and examine the injuries. Mitch blinked, looking up at me through glazed eyes. He was drugged, all right. I took his hand and leaned over to kiss his forehead.

“It’s okay,” I whispered. “Everything’s going to be all right. The D’Artigo sisters are helping us. Don’t worry, okay?” I kept my voice low, but forgot the doctor was from Otherworld.

“Is something wrong, Ms. Morgan? You having problems with someone?” Dr. Elanya set down the clipboard and turned to me.

“Why do you ask?”

“Because someone injured him. Mitch didn’t beat himself up. And if you know who did it, then you’d better speak to Detective Johnson so they can catch the lowlife before he hurts someone else.”

Even though he was wearing Earthside clothing and had the letters D and R planted before his name, he was still an elf. And elves always seemed bent on playing by the rules. I smiled weakly and eased my way into a chair.

“We think it may be an old boyfriend of mine, out for a little revenge. I’ve already talked to the authorities.” I shrugged.

Dr. Elanya looked at me and I knew he didn’t believe me, but there was no graceful way to call me a liar and get away with it.

“All right, then,” he said after a moment. “I’ll have the nurse bring you a blanket. You can use the bed next to him. I doubt we’ll have enough emergencies to need it. Besides, in your condition, you should get as much rest as you can.” And with that, he snapped the chart shut and left the room.

I followed him to make sure he was gone and then returned to Mitch’s side. “Honey, I have so much to tell you but I’m afraid you won’t remember it if I tell you right now. Just trust me. Please . . . You trust me, don’t you?” I strained, holding his uninjured hand, waiting for an answer.

Mitch’s brilliant baby blues stared up at me for a moment, questions warring in his gaze, but he finally nodded and squeezed my hand. He opened his mouth and struggled until a faint “I trust you” came out, followed by, “I love you.”

I wanted so badly to tell him what was going on, but in his condition, he needed to rest. So I kissed his lips and adjusted his covers and watched as he slid back into a drug-filledsleep.

As I lowered myself into the chair and picked up the remote control, wondering what to do with myself all day, the door opened and a tall, blond nurse bustled into the room, pushing a cart with a beautiful potted plant on it.

“Hey.” I started to stand but Delilah motioned me back into the chair. She shook her head and pressed a finger to her lips.

“Ms. Morgan, I’m just delivering this plant that one of Mitch’s friends sent. What a beautiful philodendron.” She glanced around, then motioned to the dresser that was opposite Mitch’s bed, beneath the TV mounted on the wall. “Why don’t we put it there? I think it would be just perfect.”

As I gathered my purse from off the dresser, I noticed a tiny camera nestled in the ceramic pot. It was aimed directly toward the door and from what I could tell, the view would include Mitch as well. I gazed at it for a moment, then stood back.

“You’re right; that’s the perfect spot.” I gave Delilah a quick nod to show her I’d seen it, and stepped back. “Thank you. I know Mitch will appreciate it when he wakes up.”

“If that’s all, then, I’ll be going. May I speak with you outside for a moment?” she asked. “It’s nothing important, but you need to sign a form if you’re going to stay here overnight.”

I followed her into the hall and she motioned me off to one side and pressed a small pager into my hand.

“Camille and Smoky are hanging out on the roof, and I’m going to be hiding in cat form down the hall. There’s a room nobody seems to use and I can sneak in there behind one of the old beds. Camille has a monitor linked to the webcam, and we both have pagers linked to yours. You press the alert button, we’ll come running.”

I examined the pager, then slid it into the side pocket of my top. “What about the webcam? Wireless?”

“Entirely. It’s all set up. Camille and Smoky are watching right now. You hang out here today, read, relax, maybe get in a nap in case Terrance makes his move tonight. You’ll want to be refreshed.” She glanced over her shoulder at a group of nurses who were passing by. They gave us an odd look, but left us alone.

“What if he doesn’t come tonight?” I both feared he would, and feared he wouldn’t. Either way would be a mess.

Delilah shrugged. “Then we deal with it tomorrow. But I think . . . I have a hunch that he’s around. I’m a cat; I can still smell that briny scent he had yesterday when we were fighting in the park. There was something about him—the smell of salt and seaweed and decay—and I can smell that now. Faint, but it’s here, in the hospital.”

“Can you track it?” If she could, maybe we’d be in luck.

But she shook her head. “No, it’s too weak. But it’s recent. Trust us on this one. Camille’s intuition’s pretty damned fine tuned, and I’ve got a nose that won’t quit.”

I nodded. “I do trust you. That’s why you’re here with me now and not Chase. As nice as the man is, he just wouldn’t understand.” I paused, then laid a hand on Delilah’s arm. “Thank you. Thank you for everything.”

She smiled. “Thank us after it’s over. Now go back in there and try not to worry.” As she turned and headed down the hall, I returned to Mitch’s room. All well and good to say, Don’t worry. Following her advice was an entirely different matter.

I opened my eyes to the sound of someone entering the room. For a moment, I wondered where the hell I was—this wasn’t my own bed—and then I remembered. Mitch. The hospital. Terrance.

I slowly took in my surroundings, keeping still to avoid warning the intruder that I was awake. And then, remembering what Delilah said, I inhaled a long, slow breath, trying to concentrate on weeding out the scents surrounding me.

I could smell the bleach they used to clean the bathroom, and the medications that Mitch had dripping through his IVs.

I could smell the attempts at sterility the hospital made, but they’d never realize just how far they fell short, for beneath the cleansers were the odors of illness and injury, of old vomit and stale urine.

Lowering myself another layer, I let the next level of scent waft over me, forcing myself to remain still as the door opened another inch.

And there it was. Brine. Seaweed. Mussels. The decay of the sea. Terrance was here.

It took every ounce of courage I had not to leap up, to scream for help. Instead, I forced myself to pretend to sleep while I stealthily reached for the pager that I’d stashed in my robe. But when I reached into the soft cotton pocket, the pager wasn’t there.

Shit! It must have fallen out while I was sleeping! What the hell was I going to do?

I fumbled around, trying to sense whether anybody was near me, and to find out where the damned pager had gone to. I prayed that I hadn’t knocked it off the bed while I was sleeping. Of course, there was the webcam, but I didn’t trust Camille and Delilah to get here before Terrance had a chance to kill Mitch. And he would. I knew he would.

As the door swung open all the way, soft footsteps slipped into the room, followed by a second pair. If it had been a nurse, she would have come in matter-of-fact. The night nurse had already woken me up once when she came to check on Mitch. And the lights stayed off this time, so it was a pretty good bet that whoever this was, was up to no good.

And then I felt the pager. Damn it! The thing was down by my left foot. If I scrunched down to get it, Terrance would notice. If I tried to move it up to my hands using my feet—again, he’d notice. What the hell was I going to do? The minute I gave myself away, he’d go after Mitch and then after me. There was only one thing I could think of—scare the hell out of him, then take off running and pray he’d follow me and leave Mitch alone.

I dreaded the onslaught of nurses we’d face—they’d immediately call Chase. But I had no choice. The question was, would it work? Could I startle him enough to give me time to punch the button on the pager and get out the door before he caught me? There was only one way to find out.

I sprang up as fast as I could—which wasn’t as fast as I’d hoped—let out one piercing shriek, and grabbed the pager. As I punched the red button, I expected to hear a commotion outside, but instead all I heard was Terrance letting out a blast of obscenities that would have made even Camille and Menolly blush.

“You want me so bad, you come and get me,” I shouted, running for the door.

Terrance—I could see him clearly now; he was with Lon—looked at Mitch, then back at me, then at Mitch again. As I thundered out the door, he growled and motioned to Lon.

“Get her. We’ll deal with him later. We can’t have her spreading the alarm.” He headed my way and I darted into the hall, looking around frantically for something to use as a weapon.

Then I noticed: There were no nurses at the nursing station. Where the hell—

“I’m going to make you wish to hell you’d never laid eyes on me,” Terrance said as the door swung shut behind him. “Make it easy on yourself and stop right now. Obey, and I’ll kill him neat and clean. If you make me chase you, I promise you the stupid seal will feel every single cut I put into his body, and you’ll be there watching. And I’ll make sure that before he dies, he knows exactly what I did to you back in Cobh, and what I’m going to do to you now. You and that whelp in your belly. You’ll bear a child, all right. Mine.”

I backed up against the wall, counting the seconds. Where were they? Where were Delilah and Camille and Smoky? They promised they’d be here!

Whimpering now as fear set in, I backed up against a cart full of meds. I glanced down and saw two syringes there—fully loaded with . . . whatever was in them. It looked like the night nurse had just left the cart sitting in the hall as she was making her rounds.

I slipped in front of the cart and slid my hands behind me, grabbing one of the syringes. It could have anything from vitamins to sleeping meds in it. The former would be only of shock value when I hit him with the needle. The latter might actually do some good.

I sidestepped my way to the wall beside the cart, and backed up against it, hiding the syringe behind me. “Terrance. Please rethink this. Don’t do this—it’s been a hundred years. For all you know, my mother’s people might have died out. Why bother? We live in a different age. Hell, if you want to rule so badly, head over to Otherworld. The world’s a lot harsher there, and a lot more welcoming to our kind.”

He arched one eyebrow. “If I wanted to go to Otherworld, I would. And your mother’s people are alive and thriving. Do you really think I’m that stupid? I have a network of informants scattered from here to Ireland. I’m a prince among my own people, remember? While it may not mean much to some selkies, the crown still counts for something with the Finfolk and the roane.”

I moaned gently as he lithely stepped in front of me. “Okay, bitch. It’s time to leave. Let’s go say good-bye to your boyfriend and then be on our way.”

As he reached for me, I panicked and brought the syringe around, stabbing hard and deep into his neck and pressing the plunger. He screamed and backhanded me, knocking me against the wall. Lon stared dumbly at me, then at his boss, obviously not knowing what to do.

At that moment, I heard a high-pitched warning cry and looked up to see Delilah, Camille, and Smoky hurtling down the hall. Smoky passed right by me and grabbed Terrance around the waist, squeezing with a mighty grunt. Terrance turned blue and fainted.

Lon wheeled around, intending to run, but I was feeling my oats now, and I stuck out my foot and tripped him. He went sprawling at Delilah’s feet, and she promptly gave him a kick so hard I could hear bones breaking. I shuddered as Camille took me by the hand and moved me to the side.

Smoky looked around. Still no one in sight. He frowned, then turned back to me. “What do you want me to do with him?”

I stared at the dragon. He was offering me what I wanted. What I needed. But could I ask someone else to kill for me?

If I let Terrance live, there was a chance the Pod would vote to let him go. There were still plenty of members there—mainly female—who resented the fact that my infertility problem had been cured and that Mitch was off the market now. Some selkies mated with whomever they wanted, but Mitch and I . . . he was my one and only. And I was his. I sucked in a deep breath, not knowing what to say.

As I knelt beside his prone form, trying to build up my nerve to do the job myself, he suddenly went into convulsions. I jumped back, not sure what was going on, and we watched as Terrance spasmed again, then fell silent.

Camille felt for a pulse. “He’s dead,” she said, standing up. She picked up the needle that I’d stabbed him with. “What’s this?”

“I don’t know—I was using it to try to buy time so I could get away. What does it say on the cart? It was in that tray right there.” I pointed to the tray.

She glanced at the label on the tray, then looked at me. “Insulin—meant for a Juanita Chalker. And a hefty dose, at that. Must have thrown him into a hypoglycemic shock and killed him.”

I stared at Terrance’s body. He was dead. I’d killed him. I glanced at Lon, who was staring at me, pale and wan.

“Call Chase,” I said. “I guess there’s no harm in telling him what happened now. Turn Lon over to him. Meanwhile, where are the nurses that work this floor?”

Lon groaned from the floor. “They’re locked up in the cleaning closet. Terrance and I forced them in there. He didn’t want any interference and figured we’d be long gone by the time they broke out.”

Smoky reached down and lifted Lon by his collar, letting the man dangle with his feet a good ten inches above the ground.

“You not only endangered the two selkies, but also the lives of every patient on this floor. I should just crisp you and eat you right here, but I think I’ll let the humans have their way with you. But mind you this—if you’re ever set free, and you ever come near this selkie and her mate again, I’ll find you and use your bones as toothpicks. Understand, little man?”

Lon nodded, his eyes wide, and I felt a rush of warmth in my heart for Camille’s big lug of a husband.

The sun was setting over the water as Mitch, in his wheelchair, and I stood at the edge of a grassy area just beyond the Daybreak Star Indian Culture Center in Discovery Park, staring out over the Shilshole Bay. Camille and Delilah were a little ways away, sitting on the grass. We were all bundled up. It wasn’t cold, but a chill definitely hung low in the air.

Mitch reached up with his uninjured arm to take my hand. I leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead. We still didn’t know what would happen when he tried to shift—the pins in his other arm were there for good and the elders of the Pod couldn’t give us an answer, either.

Luckily, marine Weres—unlike most other Weres—weren’t affected by the full moon. Why, we didn’t know, but we shifted when we wanted. Perhaps it was because the ocean was already aligned to the moon, with its effect on the ebb and flow of the tides. Or maybe we weren’t truly Weres, but some other type of shifter . . . But the upshot was, Mitch wouldn’t have to transform until he felt ready. I could feel his longing, though, to bathe himself in the Ocean Mother’s waters.

Camille brushed her hair out of her eyes and looked over at us. “So is everything okay?”

Mitch and I glanced at each other; then Mitch nodded. “Yeah . . . I understand why Siobhan kept her past a secret.”

“I wanted to forget the past,” I said. “I almost had myself convinced that all my lies were real, that what happened with Terrance had been a nightmare. But I guess you can never run away from your problems. Sometimes you have to face them head-on and defeat the demons that reach out of the dark to grab hold of you.”

“What happened to Terrance’s cronies?” Delilah stood up and sucked in a deep lungful of air, keeping a wary eye on the water. Even though the waves were a good distance from us, I could see her pull back. I wondered what it would be like to be so afraid of the water. For me, the ocean was an embracing mother, a refuge and sanctuary.

“Chase wrote it up as self-defense, and the Pod’s indicted Lon for attempted murder and kidnapping. They also caught the other one—Keith—and both of them are going before the Tribunal. I doubt they’ll make it out alive.”

“Good riddance,” Camille said. After a moment, she turned a dazzling smile our way. “So, did I hear talk of a trip to Scotland?”

“In a bit.” I tried to repress a smile, but it broke through anyway. “But first, we’re going to Ramsey, on the Isle of Man, where my mother will meet us. Her people still live there, and so I’ll be able to meet my relatives on her side. This is the first time I’ve spoken to her in over a hundred years. She thought I was dead all this time.”

Mitch laughed. “I still can’t believe I actually married a princess.”

“I’m not a princess, you doofus.” I grinned.

“Yes you are, or you will be, once they verify your birth with your mother.” He shrugged, then winced. “Ouch, remind me not to do that again.”

“I take it you’re reclaiming your rightful heritage?” Delilah clapped her hands. “It’s just like a Cinderella story!”

“Cinderella story, my ass,” I said, snorting. “Prince Charming can go suck rocks. I’ve met my true love and he’s a contractor.”

After a moment, my smile faded. “Seriously, I have no idea what will come of this. My mother can visit her homeland, but she can’t rejoin her people—it’s been too long and they’re pissed at her for keeping it a secret from me.”

“What about her parents? How do they feel?”

“My grandmother insists that I be entered into the rolls of the Pod, even though I was born into my father’s people. She says since my mother was abducted, I didn’t have a choice as to birthplace, and that I’ll be given dual status with both the Puget Sound Harbor Seal Pod—my Pod of choice—and the Isle of Man Selkies—my mother’s people. We’ll fly there about six weeks before our daughter is born. And she’ll be born into my grandmother’s people, and given dual status, too.”

“What if they want you to return home to rule someday?” Camille dusted off her dress as the clouds began to roll in.

I stared at the water as it broke along the shore. What would I do? Would I ever return to my mother’s people to accept the crown? I loved it here; I loved the freedom that being just Siobhan Morgan gave me.

Queen and princess—those titles required a certain loss of freedom. Did I want that? Would Mitch ever accept that?

“I have no idea. Our daughter can make up her mind when she comes of age—we won’t influence her either way. But for me . . . I think I’d like to stay here, if I can. But who knows what will happen?”

“What about Terrance’s people? Will they come after you for revenge?” Delilah asked.

I shook my head. “No, not if everything goes right. They think he died in an accident. That way the Cobh Selkie Pod and the Finfolk won’t take revenge on my mother’s people. But someday, if my grandmother calls me to help her, I may not have a choice.” I looked down at Mitch and he squeezed my hand. “Would you go with me if that happened? If I’m called to lead a war?”

“I told you before,” he said quietly. “I’ll follow you anywhere. You’re my mate, my love. If you rise to be a queen or a warrior princess, I’ll be at your side. You and our daughter come before anything or anybody . . . or any place.”

A sharp breeze picked up and I felt the tides of change whip in on it. The world wasn’t what it used to be. Times were changing. If I ever became queen of my people and one of our women was stolen away, we’d do everything in our power to rescue her—and with technology, we’d stand a good chance. No more marriages-by-capture for me or my kind.

The Supes and Fae of the world were adapting along with the humans, and our cultures had to adapt. It was imperative, if we expected to thrive.

A sharp kick against my stomach startled me and I laughed.

“She’s going to be a fighter, our Marion is,” I said, patting my belly.

“So you’re naming her after the café owner?”

I nodded. “She helped us in our time of need. I’m going to honor her request. Our Marion will grow up knowing that she’s a new breed of selkie—that the old ways are changing. She’ll be on the cutting edge of that change, and I hope, one day, she’ll leave her mark on the world.”

Mitch kissed my hand and I leaned down and locked his lips with my own, savoring the kiss, savoring his love, savoring my freedom. Yes, it was a good day, and while I knew that happily ever after never came easily, I thought we stood a pretty good chance of making it happen.

VANISHED

An Otherworld Short Story

There was a tang to the air that she couldn’t place. It whispered to Maggie, reminding her of the scent of her cream drink, and of the big orange balls the Mothers called “pumpkins” and the smell of the sweet treats that Little Mother took out of the hot box. Her stomach rumbled and her mouth watered as she thought of the sweet and savory flavors of her drink—the richness of the cream, the tang of cinnamon, the slightly musty taste of the sage blended with the sweetness of the sugar. Her belly was empty, but there was no one around to lift her up, to hug her and set out her bowl for her to drink from.

Disconcerted, the little calico gargoyle looked around, trying to figure out where the Mothers had gone to. She was the size of a toddler, with a wingspan that didn’t quite match her proportions, and her soft, downy fur was mottled with a tortie pattern—brown and orange, with hints of white and black sprinkled throughout. Her round eyes were a cross between those of an owl and a cat, and her ears hung out from her head, drooping and floppy. The little pointed tail curled around her legs as fear made her crouch lower in the jungle.

The grass tickled her nose. It was nearly chin high, and though Maggie usually loved playing with it—she’d pull it and chew on it and use it to tickle the Mothers—right now, the long blades were more of an annoyance than anything.

Irritated as it caught at her wings and impeded her progress, she pushed it out of her face, but the going was too rough and the thick grass caught at her wings and threw her off balance. Since she was nowhere near being able to fly yet, crawling seemed the easiest choice. Squatting down, she moved through the jungle on her hands and knees, trying to find her way back to her family.

A noise to her left made her stop. There were monsters in the world. That much she knew, and they often found their way to this place. Once or twice, they’d come rushing in the house and Little Mother had caught her up and carried her to safety.

A vague memory of being in a dark, frightening place with Milk Mother played through her mind. Echoes of screams nudged themselves out of the recesses of her thoughts, and she shuddered. Some of those screams had come from Milk Mother herself, and had coincided with sisters and brothers vanishing. The ever-present smell of blood had been overpowering, making it hard for Maggie to drink from her mother’s breast.

And then, one horrible day, a pair of nasty, stinking, taloned hands snatched her up and stuck her in a dark bag. She’d heard Milk Mother scream, and that frightened her. Maggie began to mooph loudly, as the blackness surrounded her and the bag jostled and shook. This creature meant her harm—she could smell the cruel stench of its anger. Thoughts of her missing brothers and sisters flashed through her head as she cried for Milk Mother.

Fear rocked her into a catatonic state, and she dozed, too tired to resist the pull of sleep. The next thing she knew, a pretty creature opened the bag and lifted her out, into her arms. Her voice was soft, and though Maggie didn’t understand the words, the emotion behind them was gentle. The creature had taken her home. There, Maggie got to know the Mothers. Camey had named her Maggie, and now she lived with love surrounding her.

Sometimes at night, though, her dreams drifted back to the dark place of her birth, and she’d fuss. But then Milk Mother would appear and wake her gently, standing next to the crib. Her touch was light, almost nonexistent, and she glowed with a light that shone from within her. Maggie understood, on an innate level, that Milk Mother had crossed into the darkness that had gobbled up her brothers and sisters. She tried to tell the Mothers, but they couldn’t understand her, and she couldn’t form the words yet that would explain the joy of seeing her Milk Mother again.

Maggie looked around as her stomach rumbled, and she yawned. She was hungry and tired and needed a cuddle, so she began to crawl forward, looking for the Mothers. Crawling was easier than walking, and she made good time.

As she pushed her way through the grass, a soft voice hissed at her and, startled, she turned. A mouse crouched behind a tall dandelion, staring at her. She knew this mouse—it was one of Dee-ya-ya’s friends, and any friend of the Mothers was a friend of Maggie’s.

“What you do here, young one, so alone? This is not good.” Misha blinked, her nose quivering. “Does Delilah know you’re out here?”

Maggie moophed softly. “Dee-ya-ya? Where?” She’d tried to chase Misha once and gotten scolded for it, so now, even though the soft toy looked so appealing, she restrained herself, not wanting anybody mad at her.

“You don’t know?” Misha glanced around, her tail flicking to the side. “You really are lost, little one, aren’t you?” With a sigh, she twitched her whiskers once more and said, “Stay here. Don’t move. I’ll be back.” And with that, she vanished into the undergrowth.

Sad—she didn’t like being alone, and Misha’s presence had made her feel more secure—Maggie scowled. The mouse had told her not to move, but she wasn’t one of the Mothers and therefore, the baby gargoyle didn’t feel the need to obey. With a hrmph, she began to crawl again, pushing her way through the grass.

As she steadily worked her way through the jungle of blades and dandelions and the occasional cornflower or wild bluebell, the air began to chill and the vague sense that something was wrong began to steal over her. Maggie frowned. Where was everybody? Had they just left her alone?

She screwed up her face as she sat back, her wings skimming the ground, and began to whimper. Maybe the Mothers were never going to come after her. Maybe she’d done something very bad and this was her punishment. Usually, when she was a bad girl, she had to sit in her playpen without a toy, or take an extra nap. Now, even the mouse had abandoned her.

But even worse than the realization that her family was nowhere around, was the sense that she was not alone. And Not Alone was not a good thing. Because there was something out there that made her afraid. The very feel of it was oppressive, and she shivered, crossing her arms and rubbing her hands against her shoulders. She didn’t know what to do next. Where was Camey? Or Menny? Or even the Little Mother, I’is?

I’is had not been as playful lately, and her tummy was growing. She wasn’t picking Maggie up as much as before, and she wasn’t playing as much as she used to. Maggie didn’t like that. Not at all. In fact, the feeling that somebody, somewhere, was demanding more of I’is’s attention, made her angry. Frustrated, she begun lashing out, slapping at whoever was holding her, wanting things to just go back to normal.

But now . . . now . . . she just wanted to be back home with her family.

A smell wafted out from the nearby grove of huckleberries, and her stomach lurched. The scent reminded her of the time with her Milk Mother, and the harsh light they’d lived in, and the dry heat and pungent fumes that had surrounded them constantly. As the grass shifted and parted, Maggie hiccupped, her tears drying as the fear took hold.

A blur of motion, and then—a creature, one of the Not Friends as Misha called them—loomed over her, grinning. But the grin wasn’t friendly, and his feral teeth gleamed as he laughed.

“Mooph . . . ” Maggie let out a little cry, then turned, trying to crawl away.

The creature said something in a harsh, guttural voice.

Maggie didn’t understand the words, but his intent was clear. She scrambled, trying to make her way back through the grass, but the goblin’s long arms reached down to snatch her up, roughly holding her around the waist. He turned her to face him, and leered, licking his lips.

Maggie screamed. She just wanted to go home. She’d be good, she’d be ever so good if the Mothers would come save her and take her home. She wouldn’t slap I’is, and she would eat her ground lamb and beef for dinner even though she wanted more of the cream drink instead! And she’d take her naps when she was supposed to.

As tears streamed out of her big, round eyes, another blur shimmered in the air beside them. The goblin yelped as Milk Mother appeared, growling at him.

With a grunt, he dropped Maggie and she fell into the grass with a jolt, but she wasn’t hurt, and immediately she started to crawl away.

Milk Mother couldn’t touch the creature. Maggie knew that much because Milk Mother’s touch on her own self was always so light it felt like her hands were going right through Maggie’s skin. But the little gargoyle didn’t feel quite so alone now. As she did her best to hurry, the goblin lunged at her again.

But this time, it was not Milk Mother who stopped him.

“Hey, dead meat. Catch!”

A shining blur flashed through the air, over Maggie’s head. Her eyes widened as blood began to pour down the goblin’s shirt, a dagger sticking out of his chest. He wavered, then stumbled back as another blur went bounding over Maggie to land in front of him.

“Dee-ya-ya!” Maggie clapped, relief flooding over her. Cat Mother had returned for her!

As Delilah began to beat the goblin senseless, another pair of hands scooped Maggie up, only these hands were familiar and smelled of warm flowers and spices from distant lands. Maggie snuggled against Camille, hugging her neck tightly.

“Camey!” Maggie buried her nose in Sparkle Mother’s hair.

Camille held her securely, whispering in her ear.

“We were so worried, little one. We couldn’t find you! Never, ever wander off like that again, baby.” Camille carried her back through the long grass, with Delilah following her.

Their words were still foreign to her—there was so much she couldn’t understand yet, and the world still seemed so confusing. But as she listened to them talk, Maggie sniffled, melting into Camille’s embrace.

Delilah chucked Maggie under the chin and Maggie giggled. “How did she get out? Did Iris say?”

“Little minx has figured out how to open the latch on her outdoor playpen. Hanna was watching her, but had to go check on the clothes and thought she’d be okay for just a few minutes. Apparently, not so much.” Camille’s voice was gentle.

Maggie’s tummy rumbled, but right now the only thing that mattered was that the Mothers had found her. They hadn’t abandoned her, after all.

“We’d better get Smoky to fix it this afternoon. Maybe the guys should just redesign the entire thing.” Delilah’s voice was like daffodils and the summer breeze. “Aw, she looks tuckered out. We’re lucky we got there before that goblin . . . I don’t even want to think about it.”

“Mooph,” Maggie said gently, her eyes still closed. The scent of the Mothers was comforting, and her fear was already fading.

“How did you know she was out?” Camille shifted Maggie to one side as she began to climb the porch steps.

“Misha found me and told me. I was climbing a tree and had almost gotten my tail caught in a bunch of pitch, when Misha called to me from down below. I scampered down and she told me she’d seen Maggie out in the yard, alone, and that she was headed into the patch of wild grass near the rogue portal. That’s when I shifted back and called for you.”

“The guards really need to keep a better watch on that portal. The wards went off inside just as I heard you calling.” Camille pushed open a door, and Maggie blinked.

They were back in the kitchen, where all sorts of good things happened, and I’is was there with her cream drink and a plate of ground lamb. Maggie preferred the drink, but she remembered her promise to Milk Mother and cheerfully gobbled the lamb before reaching for the bowl of cream and sugar and cinnamon and sage.

“She’s really hungry.” Iris smiled at her gently.

Maggie gave her a wide smile. Growing tummy or not, Maggie could sense that the Little Mother loved her.

“Give her all she wants to eat. Our gargoyle has had quite the adventure today.”

Maggie ate up her lamb, then slurped up two bowls of the cream drink. Yawning, she didn’t even protest as Hanna carried her into the crib and gently laid her down for a nap and then tiptoed out of the room.

Clutching her Yobie doll, Maggie blinked as Milk Mother once again stood over her, gently smiling down. The others couldn’t see Milk Mother, but she could, and as the older gargoyle leaned down to kiss Maggie’s head, Maggie closed her eyes and softly fell into sleep.

Playlist for The Shadow of Mist

I write to music a good share of the time, and so I always put my playlists in the back of each book so you can see which artists/songs I listened to during the writing. Here’s the playlist for The Shadow of Mist:

Al Stewart: “Life in Dark Water,” “Song on the Radio”

Alan Parsons: “Eye in the Sky,” “The Raven”

The Battlefield Band: “The Gallant Grahams”

Beck: “Think I’m in Love,” “Broken Train”

Cat Stevens: “Katmandu”

Clannad: “Banba Oir,” “I See Red,” “Newgrange”

Crosby, Stills & Nash: “Guinnevere”

Dead Can Dance: “Tell Me About the Forest,” “I Can See Clearly Now”

Donovan: “Sunshine Superman”

Enya: “Orinoco Flow,” “Cursum Perficio”

Gabrielle Roth: “Oceana,” “Dolphin,” “Rest Your Tears Here”

Gerry Rafferty: “Baker Street”

Gypsy: “Magick”

Heather Alexander: “Voices of the Sea,” “Animals All the Same”

Howard Shore: “The Steward of Gondor,” “Many Meetings”

Jethro Tull: “Jack-A-Lynn,” ”Dun Ringill,” “Old Ghosts,” “Overhang,” “Mountain Men,” “Rare and Precious Chain,” “Wounded, Old & Treacherous”

Led Zeppelin: “When the Levee Breaks”

Neil Young: “Cinnamon Girl”

Nirvana: “You Know You’re Right,” “Oh Me”

The Rolling Stones: “Miss You,” “Gimme Shelter”

Simple Minds: “Don’t You (Forget About Me)”

Steppenwolf: “Jupiter’s Child”

Suzanne Vega: “Calypso”

Keep reading for a special excerpt from

AUTUMN WHISPERS

An Otherworld Novel by Yasmine Galenorn, available September 24, 2013 from Jove Books

Chapter 1

I stood at the top of the ravine overlooking the waterfront below. Nestled on the front of Lake Sammamish, my destination was a sprawling behemoth of a house—like many in the greater Seattle metropolitan area, jokingly referred to as McMansions. Cookie-cutter design like its neighbors, the monster was a tribute to the high wages and high cost of living that came with this area.

Only tonight, all the money and success in the world wouldn’t help the owner of the palatial estate. Tonight, the man who owned this house was going to die—and he was going to die the final death.

Behind me, in a sheer flowing robe that mirrored the twilight sky, stood Greta, my mentor, the leader of the Death Maidens. Petite, with hair the color of burnished copper, Greta and I bore the same tattoos, only hers were far older and more brilliant.

Emblazoned on our foreheads were onyx crescents, hers burning with a vivid flame. Mine sparkled a glistening black most of the time. An intricate lacework of black and orange leaves wound up our forearms. Hers were vivid. Mine had started as a pale shadow but now were nearing a similar intensity.

Patiently standing a few steps behind me, Greta waited as I contemplated the house. I was dressed in a flowing robe similar to hers, though mine wasn’t sheer. I absently toyed with the tasseled belt girding my waist as I gauged the timing. This would be my fifth kill in the past month—or oblition, as it was called in Haseofon—and this time, I was on my own. Greta was merely supervising.

I’d been on a fast track the past eight weeks, spending a lot of time in Haseofon, the temple of the Death Maidens, learning to fight on the astral where we worked. And I’d been taking a high dose of the panteris phir, or Panther’s Fang, to gain better control over my shifting into the black panther side of myself.

I was surprised the latter had been working so well, considering how little control I still had over shifting into my Tabby self. Greta told me that since Panther was a gift from the Autumn Lord rather than something I was born with, my half-human heritage wasn’t a stumbling block to controlling the ability.

Now, I closed my eyes, listening for that internal sensor that would tell me the exact moment in which to move in. A pause . . . I lowered myself below my conscious thoughts, deep into my subconscious. And then I heard it.

Five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one . . . There it was, echoing in the corner of my mind. The gentle chiming of a clock as it counted down the last moments of Gerald Hanson’s life. The clock—or sensor—was my guide, urging me on, directing me when to move in, at what precise moment to grapple with Gerald’s soul and send it spinning into oblivion.

The only thing I knew about Gerald at this moment was that he was a lawyer, and his life was forfeit to keep the balance. Grandmother Coyote had called in a favor from the Autumn Lord, and Hi’ran had specifically directed that I be the one to take care of this. For whatever reason, I was to be the Death Maiden who attended his departure.

I glanced back at Greta. She remained impassive, waiting for my move, so I set out for the ravine and she followed me. We raced through the etheric winds as if we were meteors, shooting through the sky.

Movement on the astral still confused me, although I’d been here a number of times, but I was slowly getting used to it. And here it was that the Death Maidens paid their victims their last visits—on a tiny sliver of one of the astral planes reserved for our work and our work alone.

We were the last people our victims would ever see, the last faces they would know. Some, we escorted to glory and to great rewards for their courage and bravery. For others, we were the harbingers of doom, the final hand of judgment. And we could not be denied. We sent the latter into the churning pool of primal force, where their souls were cleansed, purged, and reborn as pure energy ready for use.

Gerald Hanson would be among the latter.

As the clock ticked down the last minutes of Gerald’s life, I walked through the walls of his house, followed by Greta, until I was standing beside him. He wouldn’t see me until it was too late.

Technically, I wasn’t the one who would kill him. Oh, to the outer world, it would appear that Gerald Hanson had died of a sudden, massive stroke. In reality, the Hags of Fate would cut his cord that they had spun since his birth and that severing blow would trigger the stroke. Whatever sins Gerald had committed, they were great enough to earn him a one-way ticket into oblivion. His soul was so tainted that it could not be allowed to continue on the eternal cycle.

I stood beside him, waiting. There was no one else in the house except a little dog who was asleep on the sofa. The beagle would be well-cared for. I’d call Chase after I finished to make certain. This case—along with whatever notifications were necessary—would fall under the jurisdiction of the Faerie-Human Crime Scene Investigation (FH-CSI) unit. The FH-CSI would be involved because Gerald Hanson wasn’t human. He was part werewolf—a fourth, if you wanted to quibble, but still enough to earn him a spot on the rolls of the Supe Community registers.

As the final seconds ticked down, I stepped forward, standing in front of him. A pause, then three . . . two . . . one . . . and Gerald clutched his chest, looking confused. I waited until he spasmed again, then went limp. As his body slumped on the sofa, his spirit rose to stand in front of me. At first, he looked confused, but then he saw me and jumped back.

“Where . . . who are you? What . . .?” He glanced back at his body and a slow look of understanding crossed his face. As he turned back to me, I moved in.

I grabbed his arm, and we vanished into a place where there existed only the swirl of mist and fog, as a thin silver crescent hung high overhead against the backdrop of stars. There was nothing familiar here, at least not to Gerald. There was nothing to comfort, nor to soothe fear or offer hope. Here, there was merely the whisper of vapor that flowed around us, and the cold shimmer of the stars. We stood there, between the worlds, and before he could speak I clutched both of his shoulders. His memories began to flow into my own, and I saw through his eyes.

Flash . . . A long hall stretched out in front of Gerald. On either side, stood rows of cells. Cages with iron bars. The hallway was dimly lit and smelled like urine and feces. The faint sound of whimpering echoed through the air, but the smile on Gerald’s face belied the blackness in his heart. As he started down the passage, a lovely Fae woman knelt in the center of one of the cells, her hands pressed over her face. As she heard Gerald’s footsteps, she looked up, a plea filling her luminous eyes, but he snorted, and moved on. The woman would fetch a pretty penny, and there were plenty more like her out there. And plenty of men waiting to buy them . . .

Flash . . . Gerald sat behind a desk—a large oak affair that dripped with money and prestige. He was fiddling with a brief, but as he looked out the window, his cell phone rang. A man’s voice on the other end of the line erupted in rough laughter.

“Number sixty-five needs a replacement. He broke his toy, again, and is willing to pay an extra fifty grand to find one who can take the wear and tear. You have one week.”

As Gerald pressed the End Call button, he stared out the window, a faint smile crossing his lips . . . he loved his work. He truly loved his work.

Flash . . . Two men climbed into the limo, taking the seat opposite Gerald. One of them looked sullen, the other, afraid. Gerald rolled up the privacy window, cutting off the driver, then offered them a drink. As the men accepted the glasses and sipped, he leaned forward, waiting.

After a moment, he spoke. “I told you to handle the entire family. You didn’t handle the entire family and now you’ve compromised our work.” His voice was steely.

The taller of the pair shifted uncomfortably. “We don’t do kids. I told you that in the beginning.”

“And I told you what was at stake. I had to send in someone to correct your mistake. That wasn’t a good way to conclude our business deal.”

The smaller man began to shake and dropped his drink as he collapsed. The other man looked at Gerald, frantically clutching his throat, but within seconds, he followed suit.

The limo stopped, and Gerald opened the window again to speak to the driver. “Take us to the Cove. We’ve got a delivery to make.” And with that, he settled back, opened a new bottle of bourbon, and carefully poured himself a glass as the car silently glided through the night.

I pulled myself out of his mind. The images were confusing, but the feeling behind them was a darkness driven by avarice. The desire for money, the desire for power. And the willingness to do anything to get it.

Repelled, I gazed into Gerald’s eyes. He was scum, worse than scum, and I’d seen enough to know he’d buy and sell people without a second thought.

Nervous, he looked over his shoulder. “Where am I? How do I wake up?”

Ah . . . so he still didn’t realize he was actually dead.

“You’re on a one-way trip, Gerald. Time to let it go, dude. Just consider me your angel of death.” Before he could do more than whimper, I laid my hands on him—holding him so firmly that he couldn’t get away.

He struggled, pleading, but his words fell useless. This was my mission, and whatever mercy or empathy I might possess vanished as my training kicked in. His spirit was no match for my strength.

“Fires of the void, come forth to do my bidding. Cleanse this soul and pass it through your center.” The rite was second nature now—the ritual engrained in the core of my being. Greta had taken me through the rites again and again, and this time, I was doing it on my own, without any help from her.

Gerald let out a sharp scream. “Please, don’t—I don’t understand.”

I let out a sigh. This was the part that confounded me. They never understood—the ones who had been horrendous and brutal. They never understood the nature of cause and effect—that actions brought consequences. How they couldn’t see this escaped me, but then again, if I had no conscience, perhaps I wouldn’t understand it either.

“Gerald Hanson, you sealed your destiny by your actions. The Hags of Fate have made their decree. The Harvestmen have agreed. Prepare to face the darkness of the abyss.”

I closed my eyes, summoning the karmic fire. A purple flame washed over us, raging through his soul, crackling through the mist and fog to electrify his energy. A wisp of ash flew up from his aura, and then another, and then—with a loud chatter of static, the flames raced through his spirit, reducing it to harmless dust. Another moment, and Gerald Hanson ceased to exist, forever obliterated. His soul had been consigned to the final death. Only a fine layer of ash remained poised for a second, then it, too, blew away into the night.

I watched the astral wind sweep away the remnants of everything Gerald had ever been, throughout all of his lives, all of his cycles. The only thing left was a harmless, benign energy. No trace remained of the person he’d been, no sign of the lives he’d lived. And then, with a final, silent whoosh, the lingering energy spiraled up and then returned to the central pool from which all things sprang.

As always, I felt oddly hollow, like a reed in the wind, bending but not breaking. Mournful, plaintive, but accepting of my place in this world.

I closed my eyes, willing Gerald’s memories to fade, although I knew I would never be able to forget them. Death Maidens never forgot any of their kills, Greta told me, even when they numbered into the thousands. Everyone we took out remained as part of our own memories. We were historians, of a sort.

While his thoughts didn’t make much sense to me at this point, I knew there was some reason the Autumn Lord had commanded me to be Gerald’s doom. I wasn’t sure what it was yet, but I had the uneasy feeling that, soon enough, I’d find out.

For now, I was stick-a-fork-in-me done. Turning my back on the ever-present mist and fog of this realm, I leaped back to where Greta waited. I hoped to hell we were done for the night.

* * *

Greta slipped her arm through mine as we journeyed back to Haseofon, the abode of the Death Maidens. She was so much shorter than me that it gave us a Mutt-and-Jeff look, but there, any resemblance ceased.

“You did very well. You’ve adapted quickly.” She smiled up at me and I felt a tinge of pride. “Next time, I won’t need to go with you. You’re graduating, Delilah, although I’ll always be here if you need me.”

“I’ve tried.” I pressed my lips together.

“You’ve done better than I hoped you would, and you’ve learned quickly. I’m proud of you.”

At first, I’d freaked out when I realized that I’d been conscripted into the Autumn Lord’s rule as one of his Death Maidens. But over the past couple of years my naïveté had slipped away little by little. Oh, I’d stubbornly clung to my eternal optimism, to the little girl/kitty cat who didn’t want to grow up. But when Shade, my fiancé, had come into the picture, things began to shift. Half shadow dragon, half Stradolan—shadow walker—Shade existed in the realms of spirits and ghosts. Through being with him, I’d finally grown used to the energy.

And over the past few months, I’d decided to embrace the woman I was becoming, rather than long for the woman I’d been.

Truth was: I felt proud to be pledged to the Autumn Lord. I was his only living Death Maiden, and I was destined to bear his child one day, through Shade as the proxy father. I could never again be the Delilah who first came over from Otherworld. And that was okay. I didn’t have to give up believing in people, I didn’t have to give up simple joys and happiness or Cheetos or my undying fan-girl love of Jerry Springer.

Instead, I fell into a comfortable balance.

“Are we done for the night?” I glanced at the cityscape that unfolded in front of us. Though we were traveling on the astral, we were close to my own world—the streets of Seattle. Both realms were superimposed on one another. I’d gotten used to that, too, and could see them both when I didn’t get too caught up in trying to figure out the logic of it.

Greta nodded. “Did you want to come back to Haseofon to visit Arial?”

I thought about it. It would be good to see my sister—my twin who had died at birth—but then I thought about Camille and Menolly. They were waiting for me to return. And the promise of a mug of hot milk and some chocolate chip cookies was enough to make my decision for me.

“Not tonight, but tell her I love her and I’ll see her soon.” I paused. “Greta, do you know why the Autumn Lord asked for me specifically? To annihilate Gerald?”

She shook her head. “No, I truly don’t. But he was very insistent. He said it had to be you, and he said that Grandmother Coyote had come to him personally to request it. The Harvestmen, they bow to the whims of the Hags of Fate. As does every creature.”

Pulling away, she reached up and stroked my face. “Your crescent—it burns with the fires of Haseofon tonight. You made your first totally assigned kill without any assistance. And so your crescent has shifted and now the Autumn Lord’s fires will forever burn brightly within it.”

I reached up to finger the tattoo. I couldn’t feel much change, but then again, I was used to wearing Hi’ran’s sigil on my forehead. But once again, a fierce sense of pride swept through me.

“Thank you, Greta. For your help and your friendship.”

She laughed, sounding like a schoolgirl rather than the ancient and fiercesome force that she was. And then, without another word, she vanished, and I willed myself home, and opened my eyes to find myself curled in my cat bed.

* * *

Blinking, I realized that I’d gone out of body while still in my tabby form. I yawned, arching my back up into Halloween-cat pose. I was in my favorite bed. Shaped like a tiger, with a striped tiger face and tail, the cushion was soft and warm. Iris had bought it for me.

From my vantage on the living room floor, I could see her sitting in the rocking chair, looking like an angry beached whale. Iris was two weeks overdue, pregnant with twins, and we were all tiptoeing around her. Roz was sitting next to her, trying to make her smile.

Camille was curled up on the sofa, next to Trillian, her alpha husband, and behind them, Smoky—yet another husband (out of three) leaned over their shoulders. They were poring intently through the pages of one of those huge coffee-table books, arousing my curiosity. But in cat form, I couldn’t read the title.

Vanzir was huddled over the controls to the Xbox, and other than that, the room was empty. Menolly was off at work, I knew that much, but didn’t have a clue as to where Morio, Hanna, Nerissa, Bruce, or my fiancé Shade was.

I crept out of my bed, stretched again, and flipped my tail high into the air. I loved the luxuriousness of being cat. My fur was long and silky, golden with faint stripes running through it, and when I shifted form, my clothes transformed into the blue collar around my neck. Iris had hung a bell on it, which annoyed the hell out of me and put an end to my bird chasing. Well, bird catching. I still chased. I couldn’t help it, it was my nature.

I stopped in front of the fire to lick one of my paws, then shook my head and stepped delicately away from the nearest chair, giving myself room to transform. As I shifted, paws lengthening into arms, back arching, shifting, changing, transforming back to my two-legged state, I became aware of an ache in my lower back where I’d been training hard during the week. And the bruises throbbed where I’d tripped over a log in the forest while out on a run with Shade. I took my natural form, slowly rising to my feet.

“Welcome back, Delilah.” Iris gave me a weary smile.

“Did you have a good nap, Kitten?” Camille asked, setting the book aside. Now I could see that it was a compendium of photographs from Finland, one that Iris had received as a wedding present back in February.

I yawned, then sat on one of the ottomans, pulling my legs up to wrap my arms around my shins. Leaning my chin on my knees, I frowned. “I didn’t exactly nap. Greta came for me.”

“That’s right—you mentioned she might be summoning you again.” Camille perked up. “That’s five times in the past two weeks. Did you get to see Arial?”

I shook my head. “No, I decided to come back here instead. Tonight, I was assigned a target on my own. Greta supervised, but this time it was all up to me.”

I glanced at her. If anybody understood, it would be Camille. She’d been through hell over the past year, and she’d been delving deeply into Death Magic with her other husband, Morio. She’d been playing in the dark a lot lately.

“On your own? How did it go?” Her violet eyes were flecked with silver and I realized they’d been that way a lot lately, the further she dipped into the magic, and into her training as a priestess of the Moon Mother.

“I did what I needed to. But there was something odd. I don’t understand yet, but I think you guys should know.” And so I told them how I’d been specifically assigned Gerald’s kill, and what I had seen when I looked into his mind.

“That’s disturbing, but I don’t see how it affects us, to be honest. We don’t know where all of this happened, or who the woman is, or even what the hell is going on.” She paused. “File it away for future reference. Meanwhile, Father called us through the Whispering Mirror. We’ve been summoned back to Otherworld tomorrow night for a war meeting. We leave here as soon as Menolly wakes up. And we’re to bring Chase with us. And Sharah.”

I frowned. “Why can’t they just tell us what they need to through the Whispering Mirror?”

“Because something’s up. I can always tell. Father gets those little pursed lines around his lips. No, we have to go and they want all five of us there. Shade said he’d come, and Trillian. The others will stay here to guard the house.” Camille frowned.

“We really have to do something about the security situation here.” It had become problematic, especially as our enemies grew more powerful.

“I agree. It’s fine to leave some of the guys at home but we need to be able to head out in full force, especially now that Iris is about ready to pop.” Even though Camille said it affectionately, Iris flashed her an irritated look.

“Girl, if I don’t give birth to this pair soon, I’ll be ballistic enough to rain terror over the entire city. I swear, these children are already plaguing me, still in the womb.” Iris rubbed her stomach, letting out an exasperated sigh. “I’m two weeks overdue and these young ones are kicking up a storm. If they don’t birth themselves soon, I’m going to forcibly evict them.”

I stifled a laugh. During Iris’s pregnancy, she had become a volatile bundle of hormones. Everybody was crossing fingers it would be over and done with soon, but I suspected Bruce suffered the most.

Their house was snug as a bug, a two-story, four-bedroom cottage with plenty of room for the children—and others—when they started to grow. The guys had put the finishing touches on during the late summer months, and it was a hop and a skip away from ours. Iris and Bruce were firmly ensconced within it, but several times a week, they—or sometimes just Iris when Bruce was preparing for a lecture the next day—would join us for the evening.

I kissed her on the forehead. “It won’t be much longer.”

“And just what do you know about babies? How many have you had?”

Oh, she was grumpy, all right. I backtracked, fast. “You’re right. I just hope for all our sakes that they make an appearance soon.”

That brought a smile to her lips, and she ducked her head.

“Bruce has taken to hiding in the study after dinner, so I know he’s feeling my temper, too.” She let out a long sigh. “It will be over soon. Then I’ll have two babies to raise and I’ll get irate about other things.” With a rueful smile, she leaned back in the rocker and closed her eyes.

I reached out and brushed the hair from her face. “Would you like me to brush your hair?” When I was in tabby form, I loved having my fur brushed. It was relaxing and I had the feeling, with the amount of hair our sprite had, she might just like it, too.

Iris gave me a quizzical look, then nodded. “Thank you. I’d like that.”

Camille fished through her purse and handed me a brush as I gently removed the numerous pins and clips holding Iris’s ankle-length golden hair in the coils that wrapped around her head.

“Sit, little mama.” I pointed to the ottoman. She settled herself, with a little help from Camille, and I sat in the chair behind her and softly began to brush the long strands. After a moment, Iris let out a long, slow breath and her shoulders slumped gratefully. I took my time, sleeking over the glimmering tresses, thinking about my own hair. It had been long once, down to the middle of my back.

Should I grow it out again? But I’d changed so much, and my new style—short and spiky—fit the new me. No, long hair would be reserved for when I was in tabby form, and my tail plumed out in a delightful puff. Content, I returned my focus to Iris, and gave her a little scalp and shoulder massage in addition to the brushing. After about fifteen minutes, I gathered her hair back in a ponytail, looping it up so that it wouldn’t trip her when she walked. She sighed, leaning back with a grateful smile and I hugged her.

“That felt marvelous. Thank you, Kitten. I really appreciate it.”

I took a moment to put in a quick call to Chase about Gerald’s dog. He wasn’t there, so I left a message. As I hung up, the doorbell rang.

Camille answered. When she returned, she had a strange look on her face. Behind her followed a cowled woman in a long gray cloak. My blood chilled. Grandmother Coyote. And this time, she had come to us.

The Hags of Fate wove destiny, and they unraveled it. They measured out the cords and they cut them. They balanced good with evil, evil with good, order with chaos, and chaos with order. And, along with the Elemental Lords and the Harvestmen, they were the only true Immortals. They had existed long before the world had begun, and they would exist long after it ended.

That she appeared elderly was an understatement. Grandmother Coyote was both ancient and timeless. Her face mirrored a topography of ridges and lines, wrinkles on wrinkles, and yet she was beyond the scope of time, emerging from the very void to which the Death Maidens sent souls to be renewed and reused. Age was a misnomer, having no bearing on Grandmother Coyote because she was one of the few true Immortals. Though she looked like an old woman, she was so far from human that there was no comparison.

Iris paused, a hint of fear in her eyes. “Grandmother Coyote—what brings you here?” The fear was palpable in her voice.

Grandmother Coyote knelt down to gaze into Iris’s eyes. “Be not afraid, young Talon-haltija. I am not here on your account. You have nothing to fear from me. Run now, to your home, and rest. The destinies of those who lie within your womb are only beginning, and you must have the strength and energy to run after them as they grow. There is greatness within you, and you, yourself, are as yet unrealized as to your place in the world. Be at peace.”

A look of relief washed over Iris’s face and she curtseyed, then glanced at Camille and mouthed “Later” before waddling out of the living room.

Camille motioned to a chair. “Won’t you sit down?”

Grandmother Coyote lowered herself into the chair, leaning her walking stick against the arm. “I will not bother myself with chatter.” A crinkle in her face substituted for a smile. “But I will accept a cup of tea. Camille, fetch me one.”

Camille curtseyed, then hurried to the kitchen. I heard her fumbling around with the china and realized she was as nervous as I was. Grandmother Coyote never paid social calls, so whatever brought her to us had to be serious.

“Where is my grandson—so to speak?”

“Morio’s off training,” Smoky said.

I remained silent. The Hags of Fate spoke on their own time, according to their own agendas. It would do us no good to ask why she was here and I knew it. Like all cats, I could be patient when needed.

Smoky also seemed alert, on his guard. Trillian stood near the door, waiting for instructions. Vanzir put down the game controller and pushed himself off the floor, dusting his hands on his pants as he leaned against the arm of the sofa and nodded to Grandmother Coyote.

As Camille brought the tea in, Trillian took the tray from her and set it on the coffee table. He poured, as we gathered around. Grandmother Coyote accepted the cup and sipped the steaming liquid. Then, with a deep breath, she inhaled the fragrance. Finally, she set the tea cup on a coaster on the table next to the chair and looked around the room, her gaze falling on Camille.

“You cannot get rid of Rodney, my girl, as much as you want to. He’s important. I know how much you hate him, but you have no choice. Unleash him at the right moment and he may save your life.”

Camille gulped. I knew how much she hated the freakazoid bone golem that thought of himself as the love child between Rodney Dangerfield and Howard Stern—we all did—but she said nothing, merely nodding.

Another moment, and Grandmother Coyote cocked her head, turning slowly to look at the others. “Clear out. I need to talk to Camille and Delilah. Alone.”

Oh joy. Just what we wanted to hear. “Are you sure they can’t stay? You know they’ll just find out later anyway.”

“Of course they will, and you will be the ones to tell them. But for now, men, retire to the kitchen and do not return till you are summoned. And do not answer the door. I need to talk to Delilah, especially.”

“Me?” Oh, lovely. Usually, when Grandmother Coyote had something to say, it was to Camille, but apparently she’d said all she had to say to my sister with the warning about Rodney. At least for the night.

“Yes, you.” She waited while the guys silently cleared out of the room. They knew better than to argue with one of the Hags of Fate.

When they were gone, she continued. “While this matter will concern all of you, Delilah, you are the one who stands at the fulcrum this time—you will be the key to unraveling what you need to know when it is time. A balance has been upset and must be righted.”

As she paused, a scratching sounded at the front door.

“What the fuck—” Camille moved toward the foyer but Grandmother Coyote stopped her.

“Halt. I brought visitors. They are here on my summons. You will meet them in a few moments.” She paused again, then yawned. Her teeth were steely, cold and metallic, sharp as blades, looking like they could gnash bone into shrapnel. And I had no doubt they could—and perhaps they had.

A chill ran down my spine. I had the feeling that my work with Greta tonight had something to do with what Grandmother Coyote was talking about.

“What do you need me for?”

Grandmother Coyote touched her nose. “This cannot be discussed without me introducing my comrades. But you are correct in your silent surmise. This matter relates to your training as a Death Maiden—I cannot tell you how, yet, but know that it does. Secondly, this matter involves daemonic energies in the city not connected with Shadow Wing.” At that, she nodded to the hallway. “Go now, let in my pets.”

Daemonic . . . that wasn’t good. But at least, daemons and demons didn’t get along so well and were rarely on the same side. Which meant this might not have to do with Shadow Wing, the Demon Lord we were fighting.

I moved to the door, wondering who was waiting outside. It could be a troll or a goblin or a centaur or—just about anything. Knowing Grandmother Coyote, anybody could be on the other side. My stomach lurching, I yanked open the door.

There, on the porch, like stone statues come to life, stood two gargoyles. And they didn’t look happy.

Chapter 2

I stared at the gargoyles. It had been a long, long time since I’d seen an adult gargoyle who wasn’t in stasis. Back in Otherworld, they roamed free, unless they’d been captured. Since certain governments and individuals enslaved them to use them as spies, the gargoyles tended to steer clear of cities.

Woodland gargoyles—like our little Maggie—were seldom captured for this purpose, both because of their coloration and because they took refuge in the forest, hiding from those who would enslave them. Maggie would never be able to freeze into statue form—her race didn’t have that ability.

But these gargoyles were of a different breed. Known as granticular gargoyles, they were able to enter stasis for centuries at a time, during which they would observe what was going on and feed that information to their masters. That they resented most of their slavers was well-known, but I had no clue how they felt about working for the Hags of Fate.

Large Cryptos, when they were full-grown they stood the size of a burro, with wings stretching out a good six to seven feet each side of their body. Like a dragon’s wings, they were strong, though flight was magically powered. But they weren’t ornamental—both dragons and gargoyles used them to steer and steady themselves in the air.

I stood back, allowing them room to enter. Folding their wings back, they maneuvered through the door, jockeying through the opening. They weren’t exactly bipedal, but walked like gorillas on their back feet while they balanced with their front knuckles. As they silently passed by me, one of them looked up, into my eyes, and I fell into the dark brown depths. There was age there, and wisdom, and a long hint of sadness that touched me to the core.

I reached out, lightly running my fingers over the muscular shoulder that resembled moving stone. The gargoyle’s gray skin was smooth, almost like velvet, but beneath the surface rippled flesh strong enough to break necks and bend bars and tear apart small trees. One of them gazed at me for just a moment, and let out a soft “hmm” before following his companion into the living room. A moment later, I joined them.

Grandmother Coyote stood waiting and the gargoyles moved to flank her sides. She draped a light hand on either back, and was speaking in a low, guttural tongue that I did not recognize. One of the gargoyles—the one I’d connected with—nodded to her.

She looked around the room. “What do you know about the granticular gargoyles?”

“Only what they taught us in school,” Camille said. She did not mention Maggie, our baby calico woodland gargoyle. We kept her our secret as best as we could. We had too many enemies to let news of her trickle out. And while Grandmother Coyote knew about Maggie, we weren’t sure what the granticular gargoyles would do if they realized we were keeping a baby at our house. Cryptos didn’t always get along with each other and we weren’t about to let anybody try to hurt her, or to take her away from us.

“Then you know the story that Y’Elestrial officials spoon-feed their subjects to keep the truth silent. Actually, it’s not just your home city-state’s doing. Only in Dahnsburg and some of the darker forests in Otherworld will you find the facts openly discussed. However, due to various treaties, King Uppala-Dahns has kept speculation to a minimum, even though it compromises the granticulars’ lives. Politics.” The word rolled off Grandmother Coyote’s tongue with a sneer.

“So what don’t we know?” I had the feeling we were about to find out something we didn’t want to know, but since that was par for the course in our lives, why should this time be any different?

“Over the eons, the governments over in Otherworld have embarked on a clandestine operation to systematically enslave the gargoyle race by suppressing the truth about their lineage and natures.” Grandmother Coyote’s eyes were dark and deep, shifting with flecks of the magic. When I looked at her long enough, I began to see through the age, through the body, into the immensity that lay beyond the surface.

She turned to the gargoyle on her left. “This is Mithra. He was born a prince in his world, until Lethesanar enslaved him.”

Lethesanar had been the queen of Y’Elestrial until her sister Tanaquar deposed her. She had been ethically devoid, an opium addict, a slave to her whims and emotions. Tanaquar was marginally better.

Camille curtseyed and I bowed to the gargoyle. We’d been raised to show respect to authority. Mithra looked surprised.

“You do not have to do that,” he said, and his voice—guttural in his own language—was surprisingly soft in ours. “You are under no obligation to recognize our heritage. When we were captured, we lost the keys to our kingdom, to use a human expression.”

“We choose to honor your birthright.” Camille frowned, looking confused.

I knew what she was thinking. We’d been taught that gargoyles didn’t have a strongly developed sense of intellect—that the Cryptos were, instead, like extremely smart animals who could talk. But Mithra’s cadence, his very nature, spoke of a high acumen.

Grandmother Coyote cleared her throat. “Everything you were taught—at least about the intelligence level of gargoyles—is a lie. It was devised to allow the governments to keep control over the race, and to use them for their own ends.”

I glanced at Mithra. He and his companion nodded. “But why hasn’t this come out before? Why are the lies perpetuated?”

“Think of all the intelligence that the gargoyle race has gathered for the various governments back in Otherworld over the years. And what you do not realize—not till now, that is—is that there are secret societies over here, Earthside, who also know this and who also make use of it. They’ve had contracts in place with OW emissaries to buy gargoyles for their own uses.”

“Why doesn’t your race rebel?” Camille turned to Mithra. “Why allow this to go on?”

Mithra let out what sounded like a long sigh, but it came in a flutter of wings, the sound of wind howling through a stone arch. “We are too few. All gargoyles—combined species—do not make up a tenth of Y’Elestrial’s population. We are rare. While we live long lives, as long as the Fae, we breed at a much slower rate. We are born ten males to every female, and a female may have one litter during her life, if she’s lucky. Unless she’s captive, used as a breeding machine.”

Maggie’s mother sprang to mind. She’d been held in the Subterranean Realms, as far as we knew, used to breed babies like our Maggie for demon food.

Gesturing to his friend, Mithra said, “This is my companion, Astralis. He and I were on a scouting mission for our father when we were captured. He is my brother, although I was the heir to the throne.”

I considered what he said. It made sense—when you belonged to a race whose existence hinged on a small number of females, and when the population of your race was limited, it didn’t make sense to wage war on your oppressors if you weren’t systematically being destroyed.

“So you do your best to evade your captors, and to preserve your race.” I met Mithra’s gaze again and he nodded.

“We cannot change the thinking of an entire world without proving the governments who instill that mind-set wrong. And that task is, I’m afraid, more than we have the ability to tackle. As it is, we do our best to keep the entrance to our city warded so strongly that no one may enter.” The look on his face spoke volumes.

“Has Y’Elestrial—or any other government—threatened to invade you before? To enslave all of your people?” Camille asked. While we knew the Court and Crown was corrupt, this was more than disconcerting. “I’m surprised it hasn’t happened already, given what you’re telling us.”

Astralis shook his head. “If they were to do so, our actual natures might come to attention and they would not be able to keep the status quo. So they capture us, here and there, promising to leave the females alone. In return, our father looks the other way when they harvest.”

Camille and I glanced at each other. This was hard to swallow, but given the nature of politics, I wasn’t surprised. Saddened, but no longer surprised. Yeah, the naïve little girl was gone.

“Mithra and Astralis were harvested by Lethesanar years ago and pressed into service. King Virgil, their father, protested but the Opium Eater threatened to kill off the queen if he spoke too loudly. Since there were other children in the litter, he relented.” Grandmother Coyote’s lip twitched. “I approached her sometime back with an offer she dared not refuse. I freed them from her tyranny, but asked them to stay for a few years working for me, because I sensed a disturbance and wanted someone to watch over the matter.”

“And now, Grandmother Coyote has freed us to return to our homeland after we tell you what we’ve discovered.” The stone-solid countenance on Mithra’s face softened and I thought I could detect a smile. “We have not seen our family, or our city, in over eight hundred years. We were first set to watch over Europe, then brought to this land a hundred years ago.”

“Lethesanar wanted eyes in the new world, and she wanted them over here in this city.” Astralis let out a soft huff. “We were her most reliable. If we didn’t fall in line, she threatened to wipe out the royal family. Now, she is gone, and we are free. Once we reach our city, neither of us will ever set foot outside the boundaries again.”

“Will you be able to reach home without a problem?” The thought that they might be caught on their way home set my stomach to churning, but I could see it happening, all too easily.

Grandmother Coyote eased my worries. “Never you concern yourself, young cat. I will make certain they return home without incident. Now, before I ask them to tell you what they have discovered, let me set the background of this tale for you.”

Grandmother Coyote motioned for us to make ourselves comfortable. As we settled into our seats, the gargoyles leaned back, squatting on their haunches like I’d seen Maggie do a hundred times. Their wings were delicately tucked back, folded to be out of the way, and when they stood still, they looked made of the same stone of the buildings over which they watched.

“Over one hundred years ago, a man named Michael Farantino arrived in Seattle. He came from Italy, and he was human. He was also rich. And he knew about Weres, vamps, and other creatures. He also knew how to contact demons and other creatures from the Sub-Realms. He did so for his own gain, selling his services to the highest bidder. There are many things humans can do to benefit Demonkin. Eventually, he built what is now one of the oldest buildings in Seattle. The Farantino Building. Once a brick walk-up, now it’s been modernized and turned into office space. I felt it needed watching over.”

“So I went to Lethesanar. Your former queen was deep in the throes of her addiction and not amenable to my visit, but as I said, she dared not refuse me.” Here, Grandmother Coyote smiled, sending chills down my spine. Her steel teeth gleamed and I couldn’t imagine anybody standing up to her. The Opium Eater must have been stoned out of her mind.

Apparently Grandmother Coyote thought so, too, for she laughed and shook her head. “She only protested for a little time. It did not take me long to convince her of the wisdom of bowing to my demands. I insisted she give me control over Mithra and Astralis. I chose them because I knew that eventually, they would need to return to their home in order for the balance in their city-state to return to normal. In the end, the Opium Eater had no choice. She did not like it, but her whims were not—and are not—my concern. By the by, remember, Lethesanar still lives. Never forget that—for she has a long memory for those who helped cross her.”

A sly smile crept across her face and I caught sight of the predator that lurked within her. Not predator . . . no. Instigator. Judge, jury, and executioner. Grandmother Coyote was not afraid of her power.

“I replaced two of the statues on the building with the brothers, and told them to keep watch, to note the changes in energy, and there they have stayed these past eighty years and more. Until two nights ago, when the balance began to shift even further, and it became necessary to act.” Here, she stopped.

Mithra cleared his throat. “My brother and I have done as requested. We’ve kept watch on the building and the comings and goings within. Over the years, there has been a steady increase of what we first thought of as demonic energy. It infused the aura of the structure, and during the past three years, that growth has been disturbing.”

Astralis nodded. “Two nights ago, the strength of that energy grew again—so much so that we contacted Grandmother Coyote. Something big is waking. Something that could rock the city and surrounding areas. The entire building was being infused with demonic energy. Or so we thought. But we were mistaken. When the shift occurred, we realized that rather than Demonkin, the building’s aura is infused with energy from the daemonic realms.”

Grandmother Coyote nodded. “I’d first thought they were possibly in cahoots with Shadow Wing, but apparently not.”

Daemons. She was right. Most of the daemons detested the Demon Lord’s attempt to rule them. In fact, we were in unwilling cahoots with Trytian, one of the leaders in the daemonic realm who was over here, Earthside, leading a resistance faction against him. We didn’t like him, or trust him. But like it or not, we needed his help, and the help of his kind.

* * *

When my sisters and I first were sent ES—Earthside—by the OIA—Otherworld Intelligence Agency, we knew we had been exiled to the backwoods. We had always done our best, but none of us was ever up for employee of the year, and Camille’s boss had a long-time vendetta against her. He was determined to run her out. Thanks to his grudges against her, we all became targets.

One of the reasons we weren’t so hot at our jobs was that we’re half-Fae, half-human, and because of our mixed lineage, our powers can be erratic. Meaning, we fuck up a lot.

Sephreh ob Tanu, our father—full OW Fae—was a member of the Guard Des’Estar for most of his life. Back around the middle of World War II, on an ES mission in Spain, he met Maria D’Artigo, who was as human as they come. Sephreh fell head over heels in love with her, and swept her home to Otherworld, where they married, had us kids, and lived happily ever after until Mother fell from a horse and broke her neck, which ended any idea of Cinderella stories for the three of us girls. She left our father a widower and the three of us motherless at an early age.

Camille, the oldest, took over and did her best to guide Menolly and me, even though she was scarcely old enough to run a household. It was she who first knew our mother had died, and I don’t think our father ever forgave her for playing the part of the messenger.

A Moon Witch and priestess, she’s married to three alpha men—a dragon shifter named Smoky, a youkai-kitsune named Morio, and Trillian, a Svartan—one of the dark and charming Fae. They make one hell of a powerful quartet. With raven black hair and violet eyes, Camille is hot. Curvy pinup woman hot. Busty, with hips, and thighs that could crush steel, she sports a wardrobe that would furnish half the fetish bars in Seattle and has an easy self-confidence that I’ve always envied. She is the owner of the Indigo Court Bookshop—which, like all of our “jobs,” was the cover the OIA gave her when we first came Earthside. She loves it, though, even though she doesn’t have much time to hang out there.

Menolly, the youngest, is the petite one. She barely tops five one and her hair color was—and still is—a mystery. Nobody in our family ever had the bright burnished copper she does. She wears it in cornrows beaded with ivory because the sound of the beads clinking together reminds her she exists. Vampires are silent creatures, and my sister is a bloodsucker.

Thirteen or so ES years ago, before we came over here, Menolly was on a mission. A jian-tu—or spy—she was scouting out a vampire’s nest. Unfortunately, she slipped from the ceiling and landed in the middle of the vampires, which landed her in a world of pain and hurt. Dredge tortured her, raped her, carved her up, then killed her and turned her. After that, he sent her home to destroy us.

Camille managed to put a stop to his plans and Menolly spent a year in rehab, learning how to adjust to her new life. Or un-life as it may be. But we got revenge. Almost two years ago, he showed up here and we took the sucker out for good. Now, Menolly’s married to a gorgeous werepuma named Nerissa, and she’s also consort to Roman, a vampire lord and son of Blood Wyne, the vampire queen. And she owns the Wayfarer, the city’s most happening bar. Or at least we think it is. Menolly’s come a long way.

And lastly, there’s me. I’m Delilah, the middle one. I’m a two-faced Were, with both tabby cat and black panther lurking inside. And, yes, I’m a Death Maiden. At six one, I’m athletic as hell, with short spiky blonde hair, and I’m engaged to a half dragon named Shade who has given me a new perspective on life. Every day I thank Bastus that Shade is in my life. And finally—finally, my sisters have quit treating me like a child. Probably because I don’t act like one anymore. I ostensibly run a private eye firm above the Indigo Court Bookshop, though I seldom have time to take on cases, and I am the first to admit, I’m not the best person to hire.

As I said, when we were sent over ES, we mostly wanted to work our way back into the good graces of the OIA. And we’ve done just that and more: Now we run the Earthside division.

Along the way, we ended up smack in the middle of Shadow Wing’s demonic war. Unfortunately, we are the ones standing first in line.

* * *

“And so we have a worrisome force waking.” Grandmother Coyote turned to me. “I requested you be given charge of cleansing Gerald Hanson’s soul for a reason, other than he’s part werewolf.”

I waited for it, somehow knowing what was coming. A glance at Camille’s expression told me she was fast-tracking the same as me. But neither of us said a word out loud. Best not to interrupt Grandmother Coyote mid train of thought.

“Gerald Hanson owned the Farantino Building, at least for some time. And while Michael is long dead, Gerald was his great-grandson. His mother was from outside the family, of course, and she was the daughter of a werewolf and a human, which gave Gerald a few extra abilities, but he never was at the beck and call of the moon. The building is no longer in his family’s possession, but they are still bound to it. And Gerald was connected to this last shift in energy. Whatever he was doing seriously upset the balance and it would have gotten worse, had he continued to live. Given all the disruption he’s caused, we decided to forever eliminate him. Contrary to what is commonly believed, the Hags of Fate are not omniscient. We know what we know, but the rest? A mystery.”

“So Gerald is—was—connected to the daemonic energy.” I frowned, thinking about what I’d seen in his mind. Some rough stuff, but it was hard to tell just how far it went. However, he’d upset the balance enough to get wiped out of existence, so whatever he’d done had been beyond bad.

“Yes, and I want you—and your sisters—to find out what’s going on and put a stop to it. The balance is rapidly sliding out of sync and Gerald’s oblition simply prolongs the inevitable. Whoever owns the Farantino Building has money and power, and movement on the web that threads through the universe indicates that he—and it is a he—will be making a play for more than the corner he has currently mucked out for himself.”

Her voice was hushed and sent a shiver up my spine.

“You mean he’s out for a power grab?”

“Yes, and whatever power he’s trying to awaken can provide this for him. Unless you halt whatever lies at the core of this energy, the powers controlling Seattle will eventually fall under the reign of this veiled enemy. I can see no more than this, but it must not be allowed to happen.” She stood, motioning to Mithra and Astralis. “Come. It is time to return you to your home.” And with that, they swept toward the door.

The phone rang, and I picked it up as Camille saw them out.

“Is Menolly there?” The man’s voice was vaguely familiar but I couldn’t place it.

“No, she’s at work. May I take a message?” I scanned the coffee table for a pad and pencil but there was none in sight.

After a pause and a whispered conversation on the other side of the line, the man was back. “Maybe you can help us. This is Tad, from Microsoft. You know, Menolly’s friend, from the VA.”

Vampires Anonymous . . . now I remembered the name. Tad, and his friend Albert, worked the night shift at Microsoft. They were vampires, and had both been turned around the same time. They managed to keep their jobs and their sanity thanks to Wade. Wade Stevens was the director of Vampires Anonymous, a self-help support group for newly minted vamps. Albert and Tad were geek boys and roomed together at the Shrouded Grove Suites, a new apartment complex specifically designed for bloodsuckers.

“What’s up?” I had no clue what he might want. If it was vampire-oriented, it seemed that he’d either talk to the people at the VA, or the Seattle Vampire Nexus, or he’d just go down to consult with Menolly directly.

“We have a problem and thought maybe the three of you could help us.” He sounded tongue-tied, but then again, Tad always sounded tongue-tied around women. The stereotypical geek boy.

I realized he was waiting for my response. A little irritated, I let out a sigh. “Go on.”

“Can Albert and I come over? We’re really worried about a friend of ours and wanted to know if you would look into it.” He sounded so puppy-dog sad that I couldn’t help myself.

“Meet us at the Wayfarer in twenty minutes. Menolly’s there, she’ll be able to join us.” I could use some time on the town, anyway. And Camille would go with me, if I promised to buy her a drink.

“Thanks, Delilah.” And with that, he hung up.

I turned around. “Get your coat, Camille. We have to head down to the bar. It’s probably nothing but . . . you never know.”

As we let the guys know we were headed for the bar, and that we’d fill them in on what Grandmother Coyote had told us when we got back, my thoughts lingered over what she had said. It occurred to me that while we were out, we could stop at Carter’s and see if he had any dirt on the Farantino Building. Carter, half demon, half Titan, was a records-keeper of sorts, and if anybody would have info on this building, he would. We dropped on him unannounced too many times but he took it like a trouper.

Camille slipped into her new coat, a gothic blazer, and held up her keys. “Take my Lexus?”

I nodded. “Since my Jeep’s in the shop, I think we have to.”

About a week ago, my Jeep had started making knocking noises and I dropped it off at Jason’s garage. I’d called today but it wasn’t quite ready.

I slipped on my leather jacket and stuck my dagger in the boot sheath. I’d started carrying it there so that it wouldn’t draw unwanted attention and so I’d always be ready. With as much shit as we got into, none of us felt comfortable going out unarmed. Ever since the Fae had started coming over to visit, the United States had relaxed its knife laws so we could openly carry long blades, but it still made some people uncomfortable, so I tried to be unobtrusive when I carried.

The sheath clipped neatly into the outer side of the motorcycle boots I’d picked up at the leather store. Shade had convinced me to try them, and I loved their sturdiness and badass look. They weren’t high heels, but at my height, I didn’t need the boost, and they would last through a number of ass-kickings. Lysanthra was a long knife but I had long legs, and so she tucked neatly into the sheath. My dagger was sentient and we were still developing a relationship.

Ready to go, we clattered down the porch steps into the rain-soaked night. Fat drops pelted down from the sky, where the crescent moon peeked out faintly from a crack in the boiling clouds. I shaded my face from the stinging droplets. The wind was whipping so hard that the rain was hitting us sideways, biting into any exposed skin. Camille winced and raced for her car with me right behind her. As she beeped the key to unlock the Lexus, I yanked open the passenger door and slid inside. She followed, seconds behind me, slamming the driver’s door and fumbling to insert the key in the lock.

While our Fae heritage gave us more resistance to the elements than if we were purely human, it wasn’t enough to take the edge off the night, and Camille hurried to turn on the ignition and start up the heater. The resulting air was cold, but it would warm up soon, and I pulled my jacket closed in front and zipped it up over the T-shirt I was wearing.

Camille waited for a moment to let the car warm up, then eased into the long driveway. Our house—a three-story Victorian—loomed like a Halloween house behind us, and the drive was long and wound through heavy trees and foliage on the way to the road.

We’d had the driveway paved during the summer—something we’d been reluctant to do, but it had become increasingly necessary. During the rainy season, we now had enough traffic coming and going that the road had become deeply rutted and after a few too many times getting stuck, we bit the bullet. Jonas, one of the Blue Road Tribe’s werebears, had come out and done the work for us. He owned a private contracting company and we were glad to be able to throw some business his way.

As Camille guided the car along the paved drive, the rain pounded down, a driving force beating a tattoo against the roof. She glanced at me.

“You should call Carter and let him know we’re on the way. But first we have to meet Tad and Albert. What do you think is going on?”

I shrugged. “Knowing them, it’s probably a nonemergency. I know they’re vamps but they still remind me of overgrown frat boys.”

She shook her head. “Not frat boys—they aren’t hip enough for that. Overgrown vidiots?”

Stifling a snicker, I tried not to laugh but I couldn’t help it. “Roz and Vanzir would be just like them, if they’d been human to begin with.”

Camille groaned. “No . . . Roz and Vanzir would be the frat boys who beat them up.” And with that, she focused on navigating the slick roads, while I put in a call to Carter to let him know we were dropping by later.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

New York Times bestselling author Yasmine Galenorn writes urban fantasy, mystery, and metaphysical nonfiction. A graduate of Evergreen State College, she majored in theater and creative writing. Yasmine has been in the Craft for more than thirty years and is a shamanic witch. She describes her life as a blend of teacups and tattoos, and lives in the Seattle area with her husband, Samwise, and their cats. Yasmine can be reached at her website at www.galenorn.com, via Twitter at twitter.com/yasminegalenorn, at facebook.com/AuthorYasmineGalenorn, and via her publisher. If you send her snail mail, please enclose a self-addressed stamped envelope if you want a reply.