Feathers and Fire Series Box Set 1 Page 4

  I hadn’t called her tonight because of her medical skills, but because she was my only real friend. And she had been closest to us. Her skills hadn’t even crossed my mind, to be honest. I had intended to get Roland to a hospital no matter what he said.

  But Claire had taken one look at Roland, and all of her usual meekness had evaporated. She had helped me tug him from the storage unit into the backseat of her tiny Jetta, and then climbed right in beside him, immediately going to work as she ordered me to drive.

  I had been in too much shock to argue, but I was pretty sure she had saved his life.

  I placed a palm on her thigh and squeezed in silent gratitude, not trusting myself to speak. She let out a pained breath at seeing me like this. Claire had the biggest heart I had ever seen. Simply put, she was the bestest.

  Even though she didn’t know what this was all about, she could sense the emotions ripping through me, and she had found me at the end of my rope in the storage unit, struggling against my stupid, stupid nightmare and that incessant howling. But the howls had ceased the moment Claire had arrived, as if giving up. But wolves only gave up when beaten soundly.

  Then again, they hadn’t attacked me in the twenty minutes I crouched there in the dark storage unit, even though they were so close I could practically feel them prowling around in the darkness dozens of feet away. Why hadn’t they attacked? Had they just been trying to scare me? With the stench of so much blood, they should have been all over me. But they had just howled, relentlessly.

  Almost like an alarm. A call.

  To their Alpha, perhaps? But he hadn’t shown, so maybe they had just given up.

  Trouble was, I just didn’t know. Without Roland to help, I was out of my depth.

  I was simply grateful that Claire hadn’t found me sobbing uncontrollably in the corner, overcome by the relentless repetition of my nightmare, brought on by my fear and the similar sensory details of the storage unit to my dream.

  I patted her thigh. “He’s a tough old root,” I whispered, not wanting to wake him. “He’ll likely wake up bitching about merely needing a quick nap. Or demanding some prayer time.”

  A queasy look crossed Claire’s features. “You really shouldn’t joke about that. It’s very important to him…” she shivered, eyes darting to his chest. It was now covered by a sheet, but I still grew distant thinking about it. Who would have imagined to find that?

  He had seemed almost dead, pale from blood loss, and when we had stripped him out of his wet clothes, we had seen his chest.

  Gooseflesh pebbled over my arms at the memory. His chest had been… carved. That was the only way to say it. Etched with runes, symbols, numbered Bible verse references, quotes of scripture, and odd symbols I had never seen before, but suspected had something to do with the church. But why would the church carve him up? And why would he let them?

  It had been a few hours, and I had been unable to sleep, even knowing we had maybe a few hours until sunrise. The rain had continued through the night, but even that hadn’t been enough to make me drowsy. Because my friend was hurt. The one person who I thought couldn’t be hurt.

  I had made coffee earlier, and Claire had refilled it twice without me taking a sip. I felt Claire place a blanket over me, and didn’t protest. I was cold, what with my damp clothes. My eyelids grew heavy, but I needed to stay awake for Roland. In case he needed me.

  I saw Claire watching Roland like a hawk out of the corner of my eye. She had feared to move him, saying he was too weak, and that any movement might break open the stitches, causing him to bleed out. As he was, he would survive, but he had a long road to recovery. Unless… what had she said? Oh, right. Infection. Something about mud…

  I felt sluggish, and my blinks grew slower.

  Infection… not with lycanthropy — the werewolf gene, because he was immune… Something else…

  I stopped blinking, resting my eyes for a few seconds. Coffee… I should drink my…

  Claire is such a good friend… Remember when we used to…

  And with that unfinished thought, I fell asleep.

  Chapter 7

  Claire and I rode down the street, laughing as the wind tugged our hair back. This was the last year we would be stuck on bikes, ready to drive next year. If we passed our tests, of course.

  We were best friends, and soon, we would have our freedom. Earlier in the day, we had ridden past our childhood treehouse, laughing as we remembered the silly blood oath we had taken, slicing our palms and shaking hands to prove our undying friendship. But we were almost grown up now, ready to get cars of our very own, and today was soon to become just another memory, like the treehouse.

  We were on our way back from the pool, and had decided to swing by the gas station to grab slushies. We had spent an hour riding around aimlessly, and were now in a darker section of town, but I knew we were close to our neighborhood, we just needed to find the right turn.

  “This doesn’t look right, Callie,” Claire mumbled, ever the worry-wart.

  “We’re fine. We have to be close,” I said, scanning the street signs. I saw a trio of older boys standing just outside a lamppost, because dusk had fallen a while ago, and we both knew we were going to get yelled at for breaking curfew. “Hey, look. We could ask them.”

  Claire began to protest, but I pedaled faster, ignoring her. We had to be close. These guys would—

  When I was about fifty feet away, they all looked up at me in unison, smoking their cigarettes, and I suddenly felt a voice inside me urging me not to talk to them, but to instead turn around. I pulled my brakes, coasting to a stop, trying to look casual. The boys watched, smiling.

  But it wasn’t a pleasant smile, and I suddenly realized that they looked older than I had thought, and Claire and I were still in our swimsuits with a t-shirt and shorts over the top. That wasn’t any different from wearing underwear beneath my clothes, but for some reason, tonight, right here, right now, it did feel different. Very different.

  I gave them a polite wave as I began to turn around. Claire looked absolutely terrified as she sat on her bike a few paces away, encouraging me with her eyes to get the hell out of here.

  The boys… no, men, began to call out to us. Claire and I began to pedal faster, and those voices grew increasingly persistent, almost angry. And we no longer pretended to be casual, instead pumping for all we were worth as we fled. They were on foot, after all, and we had bikes.

  But somehow, they were on us in moments, chasing us into a dark alley.

  One of them was suddenly directly beside me, grasping my handlebars, and I flew forward into a dumpster, my shorts tearing at the sudden motion. My head rang, and I tasted blood on my lips from where my face had hit the metal, but before I could climb to my feet I was yanked up by my arm, and a long, wet tongue licked the blood off my face.

  Horrified and disgusted, I tried to jump back, only to realize he was too strong. I heard Claire screaming from a dozen feet away, and something washed over me.

  I lost my mind in my panic, and lashed out with… something I couldn’t explain.

  A wave of fire erupted around the hand holding my arm, and I had a single moment to notice that his teeth were entirely too long before he was engulfed in flame. The boys holding Claire shouted out in alarm, and were soon running away.

  Claire stood in a shadow beside a dumpster, sobbing, eyes glowing in the moonlight as she stared down at the burning boy at my feet, listening with dazed eyes as he whimpered in agony. Claire’s shirt and bikini top were entirely gone, exposing her plump breasts to the cool night air, and despite her obsession with decency, she didn’t seem to notice, just continued to stare down at my feet as the boy slowly ceased moving.

  I heard a metallic sound, like a knife grinding against stone, like when my father sharpened his pocket knife or filet knife for fishing. A sharp whisper. We both whirled at the sound to see the two boys now at the end of the alley collapsing to their knees without a noise of protest.

  A clo
aked man stood before them with a long pipe in his hands that caught the moonlight. He stared at us, although I couldn’t see his face.

  Then I noticed a flash of crimson on the silver pipe, and realized that it wasn’t a pipe at all. Judging by the color, it was a sword. The boys at his feet finally toppled down on their faces, and dust motes rose in the air. He idly kicked them with a boot, sheathed his sword, and slowly approached, holding his hands above his head to show they were nowhere near his weapon.

  I heard a small sound beside me and looked down to see the fire had gone out, and only a pile of ash filled the pile of burnt clothing at my feet.

  Where the boy had been.

  The world tilted, and I began to fall, but strong arms suddenly caught me, and despite my delirium, I lashed out again, trying to copy what I had done with the boy, remembering the last strong hand that had gripped my forearm and the tongue that had touched my face.

  The fire flared to existence, but disappeared almost instantly, the hand not releasing me, and instead, seeming to steady me on my feet. Once settled, it released, and I felt the man step back, turning to take off his cloak and blindly hand it to Claire who still stood motionless. Except for the involuntary shaking of her shoulders. The motion snapped her out of it, abruptly aware of her nudity, and she snatched at the coat.

  I stared at the man, now able to see his face. It was a tough face, like old wood, crinkles at his eyes now that he wasn’t wearing a hooded coat. He looked like a dockworker, or an old-school sailor. When he spoke, his voice was low, rough, and… kind.

  “You two are very lucky. Those men were dangerous.”

  I stared at him. He had used past tense. Were… He… he had killed them. And he had obviously seen the fire, and he carried a damned sword of all things, and he spoke to me as if they had merely been bullies, not intent on raping us. I must have said as much out loud, because he answered after shooting a thoughtful look at Claire, who had simply sat down in the alley, staring at the spot where the burning boy had been.

  “Rape would have been the kindest thing they did to you.” He glanced from Claire to me again. “We need to be away from here. Follow me.” He took one look at our bikes and frowned. They were mangled, bent frames, and one of the wheels was simply gone. “Might as well leave them here,” he muttered absently, unclipping the small pouch from the handlebars of my bike…

  Surely, I hadn’t done that to the bike. It looked like it had been run over by a truck.

  I pulled Claire to her feet, checking on her as the man took several steps closer to the alley mouth, warily studying the night, as if he expected a crowd to suddenly appear.

  Claire listened to me numbly, nodding at my words, even if her eyes never saw my face. She was in shock. I supported her weight, clenching the coat to cover her.

  Then I turned back to the man. “He… licked me. And he was fast. Too fast.”

  The man nodded, not turning to look at me. “Vampires,” he said absently. “I’ve been tracking them for days.”

  I blinked at him, and Claire began to sob softly. “Vampires aren’t real,” I mumbled.

  “Neither are wizards, girl.”

  Claire shivered, eyes coming into focus, staring right at me with a terrified intensity, body tensing under my support as if she wanted to flee. She had seen the fire. But I didn’t want to believe it. Couldn’t believe it. Wizard?

  “Exactly,” I said, bluffing weakly. “What’s your name? What did you do to them?”

  He was silent for a few moments, and then began to chuckle mirthlessly. “My name is Roland Haviar. And it looks like I may be in town longer than I originally planned… Kansas City,” he mused to himself, taking a deep breath. “Might be fun.”

  I gasped as something unseen suddenly wrapped around my waist, and the world went black, the moon eaten alive for a heartbeat. Then we were standing in my front yard. The pack from my bike rested at my feet, open, and a single piece of paper sat unfolded on the top. Eyes wild, I darted to grab it before the wind could take it.

  It was my report card, and my name and address was typed at the top, like usual. I had been hiding a B+ from my mom and dad, not wanting to show them yet.

  A voice came to me on the breeze. “We will talk soon, girl. Soon… Hold your tongue.”

  Then it was all I could do to drag a sobbing Claire into my house, tucking her neatly into my bed. I washed my face, careful to remove any traces of blood, and woke my father — who had fallen asleep on his recliner waiting for us — to tell him that Claire was spending the night. He had watched me, angry at first, but the look on my face must have made him nervous, because he didn’t ask a question. He just went to the kitchen, made himself a pot of coffee, and sat back in his recliner, staring out the front window.

  With a shotgun leaning against his recliner, as if daring anyone to step onto our lawn.

  Chapter 8

  I woke up with a sharp gasp, panting as I scanned the room, blinking wildly as the dream still gripped me. Then I saw Roland, and Claire. She had been folded up on the other end of the couch, but had woken at the sudden noise, eyes darting to Roland anxiously. She let out a breath, holding out a hand to me.

  “Easy, Callie.” She said, noticing the panic in my eyes. She glanced over my shoulder, squinting. “It’s only been an hour.” She frowned at me guiltily. “I must have fallen asleep, too. But only for ten minutes,” she added, blushing lightly.

  I nodded, spotting my coffee on the table. I reached for it, not caring that it was lukewarm, and downed it. Then I stood, walking over to Roland. He hadn’t stirred, and looked to be sleeping well. More color to his cheeks.

  “Did you have a bad dream? Not surprising,” Claire said, drinking her own coffee.

  I nodded. “The night we first met Roland,” I said, still staring down at Roland from the foot of his bed. It felt like I had slept for hours. I was still tired, but I had been in a deep sleep, feeling as if I had been suddenly jolted awake, and so I felt slightly delirious.

  “That’s when it all began. Your… training,” Claire said, knowing the story well.

  I nodded tiredly. “Yes.”

  Roland had returned the next day, and after a brief misunderstanding with my dad’s shotgun, had been invited inside to talk. Roland proceeded to tell us — Claire included, since she had seen everything the night before — that my talents were nothing to be afraid of, but that I would require training so as not to hurt myself or those around me. Although baffled, my parents had ultimately backed me up in my decision, and Roland had decided to stick around Kansas City for a while to train me. That had been almost ten years ago. He was like a second father to me. I had been afraid that Claire would run screaming, but she hadn’t, because she kicked too much ass to abandon me. Or she had a monumentally stupid blind spot when it came to friendships. I realized I was smiling at that thought. I really was a lucky girl.

  I turned to Claire. “Are you doing okay?”

  She just stared at me for a moment, before her face began to flush. “No, Callie. I’m not. What the hell is going on? I’m fucking terrified. I’ve never had to work on a real person before.” Tears began to fill her eyes, and I felt my heart breaking. “That could have been you, Callie. I don’t know what I would have done…” she trailed off, wiping her eyes with the blanket.

  “I know, Claire. I’m scared, too. All we can do now is hope for him to wake up soon. Figure this all out together, okay?” she nodded dejectedly, and I turned back to Roland, feeling my nightmare lurking in the depths of my mind, waiting to strike.

  It was just too much.

  I tried to decide what to do — call my dad, Father David, or just continue to sit there like a lump on a log, trying to stay awake — when I saw Roland’s eyes slowly open.

  He remained motionless, and if I hadn’t been staring at his face, I wouldn’t have even noticed a difference in his breathing. Because nothing else had changed. As if he had woken that way on purpose, silently scanning his surroundings in
case he was still in danger, before revealing his subterfuge.

  I pinched his leg — the good one — and he grunted. Claire jumped, dropping her cup as her hand shot to her mouth. She wasn’t good with surprises. Like I said, almost anything could startle her.

  Roland locked angry eyes on me, and then tried to get up. I flung out my hand, latching him down to the bed with a light rope of magic. “Stop. You’re hurt.” It felt good to take out some of my frustration on him. I wanted answers, and I would get them. Now.

  “I don’t have time for this,” he rumbled in a low tone. “Do you think I can’t break your magic?” he asked with a sneer.

  I shrugged. “You do that before we finish talking, and that won’t be the only thing finished.”

  He stared at me as if I had admitted to murdering kittens in my spare time. I just gave him a slow, double nod, unblinking. I wasn’t about to have him stubbornly get up, stand with almighty confidence, and then have his fucking leg fall off or him bleed out on my floor, making more work for me. Although my heart was racing with relief, and a million questions, I folded my arms, waiting with a cool gaze.

  He sighed in resignation. “Fine. Let’s talk. Then I’ll get up. Remove this.”

  I waited for a moment, studying him suspiciously. Then I let the magic go. One, because he could have bent me over his knee and paddled my ass if he wanted to — injured or not — and two, because if he said he would do something, he did it. Big on promises, Roland was.

  “We aren’t safe here.”

  I blinked at him. “Nowhere in the world is safe in your eyes.”

  He grunted in agreement. “Still, they beat us back to the storage unit. They have a piece of the artifact. Must have been the other wolf we saw. The one that escaped. He must have had his own key. I should have thought of that.” His look might or might not have been accusing. Or maybe that was just how I imagined it, because in my mind, it had been my fault. He would have handled both of them alone with no problem if it hadn’t been for me distracting him, forcing him into trying to be a focused warrior and a distracted teacher at the same time. But his words made sense. The other wolf wouldn’t have lasted long missing his jaw. He had come back to free his friend, so his friend could race back to the storage unit, and take…