The Urban Fantasy Anthology Part 27

"Which direction?" said Tom over the sound of the engine.

His presence shouldn't have made her feel better-werewolves couldn't swim at all-but it did. She pointed with the hand that held the gum. "Not far now," she warned him.

"There's a private dock about ahalf mile up the coast. Looks like it's been here awhile," he told me. "There's a boat-The Tern, the bird."

It felt right. "I think that must be it."

There were other boats on the water, she could hear them. "What time is it?"

"About ten in the morning. We're pa.s.sing the boat right now."

Molly's traces, left on the gum, pulled toward its source, tugging Moira's hand toward the back of the boat. "That's it."

"There's a park with docks about a mile back," he said and the boat tilted to the side. "We'll go tie up there and come back on foot."

But when he'd tied the boat up, he changed his mind. "Why don't you stay here and let me check this out?"

Moira rubbed her hands together. It bothered her to have her magic doing something it wasn't supposed to be and she'd let it throw her off her game: time to collect herself. She gave him a sultry smile. "Poor blind girl," she said. "Must be kept out of danger, do you think?" She turned a hand palm up and heard the whoosh of flame as it caught fire. "You'll need me when you find Molly-you may be a werewolf, but she's a witch who looks like a pretty young thing." She snuffed the flame and dusted off her hands. "Besides, she's afraid of me. She'll tell me where your brother is."

She didn't let him know how grateful she was for the help he gave her exiting the boat. When this night was over he'd go back to his life and she to hers. If she wanted to keep him-she knew that he wouldn't want to be kept by her. She was a witch and ugly with scars of the past.

Besides, if her dreams were right, she wouldn't survive to see nightfall.

She threaded through the dense underbrush as if she could see every hanging branch, one hand on his back and her other held out in front of her. He wondered if she was using magic to see.

She wasn't using him. Her hand in the middle of his back was warm and light, but his flannel s.h.i.+rt was between it and skin. Probably she was reading his body language and using her upraised hand as an insurance policy against low-hanging branches.

They followed a half-overgrown path that had been trod out a hundred feet or so from the coast, which was obscured by ferns and underbrush. He kept his ears tuned so if they started heading away from the ocean he'd know it.

The Tern had been moored in a small natural harbor on a battered dock next to the remains of a boathouse. A private property rather than the public dock he'd used.

They'd traveled north and were somewhere not too far from Everett by his reckoning. He wasn't terribly surprised when their path ended in a brand-new eight-foot chain-link fence. Someone had a goldmine on their hands and they were waiting to sell it to some developer when the price was right. Until then they'd try to keep out the riffraff.

He helped Moira over the fence, mostly a matter of whispering a few directions until she found the top of it. He waited until she was over and then vaulted over himself.

The path that they'd been following continued on, though not nearly as well-traveled as it had been before the fence. A quarter-mile of blackberry brambles ended abruptly in thigh-deep, damp gra.s.slands that might once have been a lawn. He stopped before they left the cover of the bushes, sinking down to rest on his heels.

"There's a burnt-out house here," he told Moira who had ducked down when he did. "It must have burned down a couple of years ago because I don't smell it."

"Hidden," she commented.

"Someone's had tents up here," he told her. "And I see the remnants of a camp fire."

"Can you see the boat from here?"

"No, but there's a path I think should lead down to the water. I think this is the place."

She pulled her hand away from his arm. "Can you go check it out without being seen?"

"It would be easier if I do it as a wolf," Tom admitted. "But I don't dare. We might have to make a quick getaway and it'll be a while before I can s.h.i.+ft back to human." He hoped Jon would be healthy enough to pilot in an emergency-but he didn't like to make plans that depended upon an unknown. Moira wasn't going to be piloting a boat anywhere.

"Wait," she told him. She murmured a few words and then put her cold fingers against his throat. A sudden shock, like a static charge on steroids, hit him and when it was over her fingers were hot on his pulse. "You aren't invisible, but it'll make people want to overlook you."

He pulled out his HK and checked the magazine before sliding it back in. The big gun fit his hand like a glove. He believed in using weapons, guns or fangs, whatever got the job done.

"It won't take me long."

"If you don't go you'll never get back," she told him and gave him a gentle push. "I can take care of myself."

It didn't sit right with him, leaving her alone in the territory of his enemies, but common sense said he'd have a better chance of roaming unseen. And no one tackled a witch lightly-not even other witches.

Spell or no, he slid through the wet overgrown trees like a shadow, crouching to minimize his silhouette and avoiding anything likely to crunch. One thing living in Seattle did was minimize the number of things that could crunch under your foot-all the leaves were wet and moldy without a noise to be had.

The boat was there, bobbing gently in the water. Empty. He closed his eyes and let the morning air tell him all it could.

His brother had been in the boat. There had been others, too-Tom memorized their scent. If anything happened to Jon he'd track them down and kill them, one by one. Once he had them, he let his nose lead him to Jon.

He found blood where Jon had sc.r.a.ped against a tree, crushed plants where his brother had tried to get away and rolled around in the mud with another man. Or maybe he'd just been laying a trail for Tom. Jon knew Tom would come for him-that's what family did.

The path the kidnappers took paralleled the waterfront for a while and then headed inland, but not for the burnt-out house. Someone had found a better hide-out. Nearly hidden under a shelter of trees, a small barn nestled snugly amidst broken pieces of corral fencing. Its silvered sides bore only a hint of red paint, but the aluminum roof, though covered with moss, was undamaged.

And his brother was there. He couldn't quite hear what Jon was saying, but he recognized his voice...and the slurring rapid rhythm of his schizophrenicmimicry. If Jon was acting, he was all right. The relief of that settled in his spine and steadied his nerves.

All he needed to do was get his witch...movement caught his attention and he dropped to the ground and froze, hidden by wet gra.s.s and weeds.

Moira wasn't surprised when they found her-ten in the morning isn't a good time to hide. It was one of the young ones-she could tell by the surprised squeal and the rapid thud of footsteps as he ran for help.

Of course if she'd really been trying to hide, she might have managed it. But it had occurred to her, sometime after Tom left, that if she wanted to find Samhain-the easiest thing might be to let them find her. So she set about attracting their attention.

If they found her, it would unnerve them. They knew she worked alone. Her arrival here would puzzle them, but they wouldn't look for anyone else-leaving Tom as her secret weapon.

Magic calls to magic, unless the witch takes pains to hide it, so any of them should have been able to feel the flames that danced over her hands. It had taken them longer than she expected. While she waited for the boy to return, she found a sharp-edged rock and put it in her pocket. She folded her legs and let the coolness of the damp earth flow through her.

She didn't hear him come, but she knew by his silence who the young covenist had run to.

"h.e.l.lo, Father," she told him, rising to her feet. "We have much to talk about."

She didn't look like a captive, Tom thought, watching Moira walk to the barn as if she'd been there before, though she might have been following the sullen-looking, half-grown boy who stalked through the gra.s.s ahead of her. A tall man followed them both, his hungry eyes on Moira's back.

His wolf recognized another dominant male with a snarl, while Tom thought that the man was too young to have a grown daughter. But there was no one else this could be than Lin Keller-that predator was not a man who followed anyone or allowed anyone around him who might challenge him. He'd seen an Alpha or two like that.

Tom watched them until they disappeared into the barn.

It hurt to imagine she might have betrayed him-as if there were some bond between them, though he hadn't known her a full day. Part of him would not believe it. He remembered her indignation when she thought he believed she was part of Samhain and it comforted him.

It didn't matter, couldn't matter. Not yet. Saving Jon mattered and the rest would wait. His witch was captured or had betrayed him. Either way it was time to let the wolf free.

The Change hurt, but experience meant he made no sound as his bones rearranged themselves and his muscles stretched and slithered to adjust to his new shape. It took fifteen minutes of agony before he rose on four paws, a snarl fixed on his muzzle-ready to kill someone. Anyone.

Instead he stalked like a ghost to the barn where his witch waited. He rejected the door they'd used, but prowled around the side where four stall doors awaited. Two of them were broken with missing boards, one of the openings was big enough for him to slide through.

The interior of the barn was dark and the stall's half-walls blocked his view of the main section where his quarry waited. Jon was still going strong, a wild ranting conversation with no one about the Old Testament, complete with quotes. Tom knew a lot of them himself.

"Killing things again, Father?" said Moira's cool disapproving voice, cutting through Jon's soliloquy.

And suddenly Tom could breathe again. They'd found her somehow, Samhain's Coven had, but she wasn't one of them.

"So judgmental." Tom had expected something...bigger from the man's voice. His own Alpha, for instance, could have made a living as a televangelist with his raw fire-and-brimstone voice. This man sounded like an accountant.

"Kill her. You have to kill her before she destroys us-I have seen it." It was the girl from Jon's message, Molly.

"You couldn't see your way out of a paper bag, Molly," said Moira. "Not that you're wrong, of course."

There were other people in the barn, Tom could smell them, but they stayed quiet.

"You aren't going to kill me," said Kouros. "If you could have done that you'd have done it before now. Which brings me to my point, why are you here?"

"To stop you from killing this man," Moira told him.

"I've killed men before-and you haven't stopped me. What is so special about this one?"

Moira felt the burden of all those deaths upon her shoulders. He was right. She could have killed him before-before he'd killed anyone else.

"This one has a brother," she said.

She felt Tom's presence in the barn, but her look-past-me spell must have still been working because no one seemed to notice. And any witch with a modic.u.m of sensitivity to auras would have felt him. His brother was a faint trace to her left-which his constant stream of words made far more clear than her magic was able to.

Her father she could only follow from his voice.

There were other people in the structure-she hadn't quite decided what the cavernous building was: probably a barn, given the dirt floor and faint odor of cow-but she couldn't pinpoint them either. She knew where Molly was, though. And Molly was the important one, Kouros's right hand.

"Someone paid you to go up against me?" Her father's voice was faintly incredulous. "Against us?"

Then he did something, made some gesture. She wouldn't have known except for Molly's sigh of relief. So she didn't feel too badly when she tied Molly's essence, through the gum she still held, into her s.h.i.+eld.

When the coven's magic hit the s.h.i.+eld, it was Molly who took the damage. Who died. Molly, her little sister whose presence she could no longer feel.

Someone, a young man, screamed Molly's coven name-Mentha. And there was a flurry of movement where Moira had last sensed her.

Moira dropped the now-useless bit of gum on the ground.

"Oh you'll pay for that," breathed her father. "Pay in pain and power until there is nothing left of you."

Someone sent power her way, but it wasn't a concerted spell from the coven and it slid off her protections without harm. Unlike the fist that struck her in the face, driving her gla.s.ses into her nose and knocking her to the ground-her father's fist. She'd recognize the weight of it anywhere.

Unsure of where her enemies were, she stayed where she was, listening. But she didn't hear Tom, he was just suddenly there. And the circle of growing terror that spread around him-of all the emotions possible, it was fear that she could sense most often-told her he was in his lupine form. It must have been impressive.

"Your victim has a brother," she told her father again, knowing he'd hear the smugness in her tones. "And you've made him very angry."

The beast beside her roared. Someone screamed...even witches are afraid of monsters.

The coven broke. Children most of them, they broke and ran. Molly's death, followed by a beast out of their worst nightmares, was more than they could face, partially trained, deliberately crippled fodder for her father that they were.

Tom growled, the sound finding a silent echo in her own chest as if he were a ba.s.s drum. He moved, a swift silent predator, and someone who hadn't run died. Tom's brother, she noticed, had fallen entirely silent.

"A werewolf," breathed Kouros. "Oh, now there is a worthy kill." But she felt his terror and knew he'd attack Tom before he took care of her.

She reached out with her left hand, intending to spread her own defenses to the wolf-though that would leave them too thin to be very effective-but she hadn't counted on the odd effect he had on her magic. On her.

Her father's spell-a vile thing that would have induced terrible pain and permanently damaged Tom had it hit-connected just after she touched the wolf. And for a moment, maybe a whole breath, nothing happened.

Then she felt every hair under her hand stand to attention and Tom made an odd sound and power swept through her from him-all the magic Kouros had sent-and it filled her well to overflowing.

And she could see. For the first time since she'd been thirteen she could see.

She stood up, shedding broken pieces of sungla.s.ses to the ground. The wolf beside her was huge, chocolate-brown, and easily tall enough to leave her hand on his shoulder as she came to her feet. A silvery scar curled around his snarling muzzle. His eyes were yellow-brown and cold. A sweeping glance showed her two dead bodies, one burnt the other savaged; a very dirty, hairy man tied to a post with his hands behind his back, who could only be Tom's brother Jon.

And her father, looking much younger than she remembered him. No wonder he went for teens to populate his coven-he was stealing their youth as well as their magic. A coven should be a meeting of equals, not a feeding trough for a single greedy witch.

She looked at him and saw that he was afraid. He should be. The werewolf had frightened him, too, no matter how calm he'd sounded. He'd used all of his magic to power his spell-he'd left himself defenseless. And now he was afraid of her.

Just as she had dreamed. She pulled the stone out of her pocket-and it seemed to her that she had all the time in the world to use it-and cut her right hand open. Then she pointed it, her b.l.o.o.d.y hand of power at him.

"By the blood we share," she whispered and felt the magic gather. "Blood follows blood."

"You'll die, too," Kouros said frantically as if she didn't know.

Before she spoke the last word she lifted her other hand from Tom's soft fur that none of this magic should fall to him. And as soon as she did, she could no longer see. But she wouldn't be blind for long.

Tom started moving before her fingers left him, knocking into her with his hip and spoiling her aim. Her magic flooded through him, hitting him instead of the one she'd aimed all that power at. The wolf let it sizzle through his bones and returned it to her, clean.

Pleasant as that was, he didn't let it distract him from his goal. He was moving so fast that the man was still looking at Moira when the wolf landed on him.

Die, he thought as he buried his fangs in Kouros's throat, drinking his blood and his death in one delicious mouthful of flesh. This one had moved against the wolf's family, against the wolf's witch. Satisfaction made the meat even sweeter.

"Tom?" Moira sounded lost.

"Tom's fine," answered his brother's rusty voice, he'd talked himself hoa.r.s.e. "You just sit there until he calms down a little. You all right, lady?"

Tom lifted his head and looked at his witch. She was huddled on the ground looking small and lost, her scarred face bared for all the world to see. She looked fragile, but Tom knew better and Jon would learn.

As the dead man under his claws had learned. Kouros died knowing she would have killed him.

He had been willing to give her that kill-but not if it meant her death. So Tom had the double satisfaction of saving her and killing the man. He went back to his meal.

"Tom, stop that," Jon said. "Ick. I know you aren't hungry. Stop it now."

"Is Kouros dead?" His witch sounded shaken up.