If he’d had human lips, he would have smiled. The paths laid centuries upon centuries ago were joining, becoming entwined, with this daughter serving as both catalyst for change and knot binding the threads of the weave together.
As it was becoming in the shadowlands, so would it become in this world of the living, with Weres mingling freely, irrespective of type.
It had to be so.
What good was an army constantly at risk of being at war with itself?
The irony of it wasn’t lost on Torquel. The outcasts these Weres shunned so thoroughly already mixed freely in brothels and hidden cities.
Koren’s progress toward the elders was halted by the Jaguar female Melina. Torquel took flight at the sight of her, landing on a low branch close to where they stood.
Melina pulled her hand from her pocket. Opened it to reveal the Wainwright token. “She uses witchcraft on Aryck. This is why he’s become enthralled with a human. I took it from her pocket while she was bathing.”
Koren took the blackened pentacle from Melina’s palm. “Where is the healer now?”
“I don’t know.”
“Find her. Keep an eye on her without her being aware of you.”
He closed his fist around the token. “Don’t speak to anyone else about this.”
Melina gave a solemn nod but as she turned away to do as the alpha ordered, a satisfied smile emerged.
She bears watching, Torquel thought, but followed Koren to the shaman’s house, becoming a small breeze passing through the doorway as Nahuatl ushered the alpha inside. Then a mouse whose black fur blended perfectly with the dark shadow of descending dusk.
Without prelude Koren passed the token to Nahuatl. “The human healer carries this.”
Nahuatl showed no surprise at the sight of it. “Phaedra found it when she washed Rebekka’s clothing. She brought it to me then. It is nothing. A sign of alliance, no more.”
“An alliance with witches. They are our enemies.”
“Some of them. Not the ones who gave the healer this token. Or at least they are not our enemies at the moment. You have been out among humans. Their world is painted in shades of gray, not the black and white of ours.”
“You approached the ancestors after Phaedra brought you the token?”
“Yes.”
When the shaman didn’t say more, Koren turned his back as if hiding the shame of what he said next. “She’s bewitched Aryck. I assumed responsibility for her protection while she’s in our lands and ordered him to stay away from her before he ends up outcast because of her. He believes the ancestors want her among us, as his mate. He intends to speak to you about it.”
Nahuatl stepped forward and placed a hand on Koren’s shoulder. “When he comes, I will tell him the ancestors have already spoken to me on this matter. If she survives an outcast’s trial, then the pack can claim her as one of their own.”
Koren turned to face the shaman. “Do you think she will survive it?”
Nahuatl shrugged. “I know only that years ago one of the ancestors showed me the witches’ token and told me the day would come when a human arrived in Jaguar lands bearing it. And should the pack wish it, the human could be tested for worthiness and made one of us.”
Koren’s hand clenched and unclenched. “In this moment it seems like our way of life is under assault. The humans invade Coyote lands. Disease struck the Elk and they carried it to the Wolves. Aryck argues for an alliance among the Weres and the Wolf enforcer favors it as well.”
“This is news.” Nahuatl indicated chairs covered in bison fur. “Let me hear it in detail and with your permission share it with the Lion shaman. We are to meet later at the edge of the shadowlands. The pride’s grand matriarch wishes to speak with Rebekka. If you allow it, the Lion outcast and several others will come here tomorrow and take her back with them if she’s willing.”
“I’ll tell those on patrol to meet the Lions and escort them to camp.”
Good, Torquel thought, abandoning the mouse form in a swirl of air.
Outside the shaman’s cabin he became an owl lifting in flight, leaving the Jaguar camp in search of the grim evidence left behind in Caphriel’s game.
Caphriel’s Pawn
I’VE gone too far to stop now, Radek thought. Not that he wanted to, not when the dreams of the previous night had been filled with images of inglorious failure and servitude, of Weres overrunning the human world and subjugating mankind.
Time was nearly out. He didn’t know how he knew it, but he did. It felt as though some internal clock had suddenly sped up, making his pulse race and intensifying the urge to look over his shoulder.
He was hyperaware of Gregor’s eyes boring into his back. Watching, taking note. Not to carry information back to Viktor or the Ivanov patriarch, but to increase his leverage so Radek would forever be footing the bill for his sexual perversions.
Ultimately he’d have to do something about Gregor, but not now. Not now.
Radek stirred the super-virus into the bucket of feed. With no evidence of dead elk, wolves, or hyenas, he’d split the encampment’s herd of meat goats, taken those he intended to use as a weapon against the Weres, and had them placed in a separate, enclosed building.
Gregor had become necessary, at least for the moment. Someone needed to take care of the goats. They were rank creatures and he certainly couldn’t be expected to muck out their paddock area or see to their water and all their feeding requirements. Someone needed to guard them so they didn’t end up in the human food supply.
A shudder went through Radek as he slipped the empty liquor flask he’d smuggled the virus into the building with into his pants pocket. Sudden sweat made his shirt cling to his sides. According to the documentation he’d found with the canisters, of the three super-viruses, this one was the most volatile, the most likely to mutate. It was a trade-off the scientists accepted, greater risk offset with the benefit of being able to kill a wide range of Weres having a cat form.
Cats were survivors. They were consummate predators. According to the data chip accompanying the canister, of all the Were groups, the scientists considered jaguar, leopard, and cougar shapeshifters the most likely to be able to survive prolonged human warfare on this continent and rise to power.
Radek picked up the bucket of feed. He’d already made a show of taking measurements of the goats when he arrived earlier, then of pouring in some of the fictional growth formula kept in a bottle near the feed.
The make-believe recipe supposedly came from the safe uncovered by the workers. His stated desire to test it served well enough as an excuse for taking charge of the goats and having Gregor assigned to them.
Radek turned around and took the several steps required to reach the paddock fence. The goats crowded forward, already anticipating the feast his presence had come to represent. He lifted the bucket and poured its contents into troughs made from metal barrels.
Three more days, he thought, holding his breath to keep from inhaling the acrid stink of goat piss as the herd consumed his offerings. In three more days they’d all be ripe, virulent, and ready to be struck down like piñatas at a party.
Releasing them wouldn’t be a problem. He’d make up some excuse, perhaps something along the lines of them needing to graze naturally as part of their accelerated growth regime. And while the herd was out of sight of the encampment, they’d escape.
The last of the feed disappeared, leaving the metal barrels licked clean. Radek looked up and saw Gregor, eyes narrowed and hard, his hand rubbing the bulge at the front of his pants in a not-so-subtle reminder he hadn’t yet been paid for disposing of the whore.
Radek suppressed a smile. Yes, he could easily see how the animals would manage to escape, how the story would be spun—of noble Gregor growing concerned and leaving them unattended while he searched for the prostitute who’d gotten lost after accompanying him in his capacity as goat herder.