Chapter 20

Theone night I go to sleep with Az in the room is followed by the one morning Iwake up alone. She isn’t in bed or perched on the furniture. Whoever taught herstealth did a hell of a job. Given her upbringing, it was like learned out ofnecessity.

Aftersilencing the alarm by smashing it with a paw, I Shift where I sit. It takes mycaffeine-deprived mind a good three minutes to make the transition from fourlegs to two. On the bright side, the wound in my side is nearly completelyhealed.

Thesecond floor hallway is quiet. All of the doors are closed. Good. After theattack, my people need to rest and recuperate. No one likes a wounded, grouchyShifter. They bear a startling resemblance to hand grenades or landmines.

Idon’t have to search long to find Az. The back door in the kitchen is open andshe’s seated on the threshold. The gray Tevancrystal she liberated from Kooky Claire’s apartment is balanced on her baretoes and her palms are flat against the door jamb.

“Stopstaring at me,” she greets, the slightest bit out of breath.

Ilean forward to get a better look at her face. A fine sheen of sweat coats herforehead and the hair at the base of her high ponytail is damp. She’s notdressed for a run, and I hope to hell she didn’t leave the house. Some rulesdon’t have any slack.

“Whatare you doing, Az?”

“Fuelingup the Tevan crystal with all the energy I took from you last night. The wardsaround the house need a little .”

“Ithought it transferring energy was as easy as breathing.”

“Itis. Mostly. When I’m not distracted.”

Sheheaves a sigh and rolls the crystal off her toes. I grab it off the porch whileshe slowly rises to her feet. Below the hem of her paisley skirt, her kneesshake. Holding the crystal in one hand, I wrap an arm around her waist to keepher from collapsing to the floor.

“Youtransferred too much to the crystal. Hurting yourself doesn’t do anyone anygood.”

“Wardsactually needed a lot of ,” shemutters. “Stupid not-Shifters. All that magic they displace is bad for thewards. Won’t crack ‘em, of course, but it makes the magic unstable.”

Whichbrings up something I meant to ask after the attack. “If the not-Shifters aremade of magic, can you drain them to the point that they are harmless?”

“Sure,”she says. “It’d probably be easier than draining a real Shifter because themagic is forced and not natural. Wouldn’t be as fast as draining a witchbecause the reserves will be deeper, but it’s totally doable.”

Good.I don’t want that to be our only line of defense against the not-Shifters, butit can work as a last-ditch defense or a way for Az to defend herself. I like having a secret weapon.

Sheraises her head to frown at me. “Once. I can do it once, Ricky.”

Understandingcrashes over me like a ton of bricks. “Because the colossal amount of magicwill drive you insane.”

“Fartherthan I’ve ever been before.” The ends of her frown curl up into a wry smile. “Evenwith a growly, furry guiding light, I may not be able to find my way back.”

Okay.I know how to solve this problem. “Then you don’t drain one. Ever. Don’t putyourself at risk like that. Ever.”

“Ihave no intention of making a promise I can’t keep. To protect the pack I woulddo it.”

Bythe set of her jaw, I can tell this is an argument I have no shot of winning. Atleast not before a cup of coffee. Fine. I have time to make her see reason andensure she’s never in a situation that requires such a sacrifice.

“C’mon,Az. Let’s put that crystal up and then see about breakfast. It’s safe to saythere’ll be no running today.”

“Darn,”she manages to say with a straight face, “and I was so looking forward to thetorture session.”

Underher vigilant gaze, I bury the crystal near the right rear cornerstone of theward boundary. The house’s backyard is fully enclosed by a high stone fence. Theprivacy is excellent for days like today when a few members are in animal form.They can run outside without scaring the neighbors.

Onthe trek back to the house, Az steers us to the old, octagonal gazebo near theshed. I’ve been meaning to tear down the gazebo for years, but it’s alwaysfallen off my priority list. The roof has more holes than substance. The flooris littered with leaves and twigs, and vines have started curling around theposts.

Sheuses her hand to wipe dirt and debris off the double chaise lounge in thecenter of the gazebo. I am tempted to leave her out here with the bugs andpotential threat of roof collapse. Before I can turn around, she smiles at meand I somehow find myself sprawled on the cushion next to her. I’m starting towonder if she isn’t capable of magic after all.

Thebroken lattice fence on one side of the gazebo does little to obscure the reds,pinks, and purples of the rising sun. The silence between us is comfortable. Welcome.It takes the sting out of realizing I’m in quicksand when it comes to Az. Icould easily fall back asleep, but something about the soft warmth pressedagainst my side keeps me awake.

“It’sbeautiful out here,” Az says, finally tearing her eyes off the sunrise. Sherolls onto her side so that her head rests right over my heart. Cuddled againstmy side, she’s as comforting as any blanket.

“Yeah.Mark’s hobby is gardening. He can tell you about every plant here.” I glancearound the gazebo. It’s not as bad as I originally thought. “We’ll see what Ikehas to say about either fixing up this place or building a new one.”

Thetemporary peace is as beautiful as the sky above. There are no witches ornot-Shifters trying to kill us. No pack members demanding time and attention. Nospecters of the past waiting to jump out of the shadows. It’s the eye of thestorm, I know, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it.

ThatI get to share the moment with Az doesn’t feel wrong. She’s taken the role of“maybe-friend” and transformed it into something I don’t dare define. She’sbullheaded and irritating and a danger magnet, but she fits. She may very well bring about the end ofeverything I know and love, but we’re barreling past the point of no return.

“Ilike sleeping outside. The last time it was for fun and not punishment, I wasten. I spent five months with a clan of in Maine ”

AnotherM state. I am not entirely sure I want to hear this story. She talks about herpast as if she’s reading a news report or a cue card, but each horrific talecomes with mental images it takes me hours to shake. She’s the one who lived through theexperience, yet I’m the one who has the nightmares. I suppose, in some twistedway, that’s fair.

“Doesn’tsound pleasant.”

Shechuckles. Her fingers tangle with mine. “The are word weavers. They practice the oldestmagic known to man. They live like gypsies. At night, everyone gathers aroundthe fire and the Elder tells a story.”

“Sounds nice.” I suppose. When I was ten, I didn’thave the patience to sit around while some old guy told fairytales. Then again,given her history, it would be a pleasant respite.

“My favorite story is about the creation of theworld. Traio and Trevin, twins, made the world but they fought a lot. They tookturns one-upping each other in terms of living creatures. The only ones theyagreed on were the humans. They multiplied fast and had a surprising capacityfor knowledge, but the humans were weak. Fragile as paper dolls.”

I can’t hold back a laugh. Yeah, that just aboutcovers normal humans. As fragile, empty-headed, and one-dimensional as paperdolls. She lifts her head to glare. Smoothing a hand down her back soothes herruffled feathers.

“Anyway. Traio and Trevin turned the earth into abattlefield. After centuries of fighting and flooding the world with thecraziest of creatures, they reached a compromise. They would each create onefinal being – someone who would eventually control the humans and therefore therest of the world.”

She stops. Closes her eyes. Stays silent so long Ifear she’s fallen asleep on me. “Trevin created the Mages. Gave them theability to control the magic that filled the air. With unlimited magic at theirdisposal, he reasoned, they would be unstoppable. Traio created Shifters. She made them of themagic and energy. Wove it into every cell of their bodies. With such strengthand unending life support, she reasoned, they would be indestructible.”

“So Mages and Shifters are destined to be at war.” It’sa fancy way of saying what I’ve figured all along.

“Can I finish?” she huffs.

“Sure, go ahead. Tell me the moral of this story.”

“Trevin didn’t want his Mages to be sympathetic tothe humans or to the creatures his sister created. He wanted hardened soldiers.So he turned their hearts to stone.” Az presses her lips to my chest. Eventhrough the layers of fabric between us, the heat of the kiss is like fire inmy veins. “Traio knew the power of compassion. She wanted her Shifters to fightfor the humans out of love and not out of duty. She replaced their hearts witha ball of fire encased in glass.”

Wait. What? Okay, I get that Mages have hearts ofstone. It explains a lot, actually. But a ball of fire encased in glass? What’sthe point of that shit?

“The more your heart breaks, the more it burns.” Shekisses my chest again. “Every heartache makes you fight harder.”

“Yousure heard some fucked up bedtime stories, Princess.” It’s a deflection. I knowit. She knows it. That she doesn’t call me on it means she gets the gold starfor the day. It is way too early in the morning for heavy thinking.

“I’mjust saying that this bastard seriously screwed up by attacking the pack. Hejust made you more determined to stop him. Anyway, do you think you could makeFrench toast for breakfast? It’s been ages since I had any.”

Shenatters on about breakfast on the way to the house. I don’t care how much shelikes French toast. Since I’m the only one up, she’s going to get eggs and regulartoast. If she’s lucky, I’ll drink coffee before I make the eggs and they won’tturn to rubber.

“Whywere you distracted when you were filling up the crystal?” I ask once thecoffee machine has started making liquid perfection.

Shehops onto the counter and shrugs a shoulder. Yeah. Not a good sign. “I don’twant to talk about it.” She holds up a hand to stop me when I open my mouth. “Yet.I don’t want to talk about it yet. I need to work it through in my head first.”

“Willwhatever this is cause a problem for the pack?” I’m all for giving her time tomake things less confusing for those of us not well-versed in voidspeak. I amnot as comfortable with things that have the potential to hurt my people.

“No.Yes. Maybe.” She scrubs a hand across her face. “I don’t think you have anywitch contacts, and I don’t have access to the Council’s genealogical records. Hackingis not a good idea unless you want to find yourself on the receiving end of anold-school Inquisition. I could ask Uncle Evan, but that’ll mean another favorwe’ll – I’ll – owe him. I love him, I do, but I don’t want that hanging over myhead. And, there’s a good possibility he’ll just lie to me anyway.”

Thepan falls from my hand and lands on the stove with a clatter loud enough towake the dead. Or at least the entire house. We won’t have much time for aprivate conversation.

“Youruncle will lie to you.”

Shenods hesitantly. Guilt is splashed across her reddened cheeks. “This is why Iwanted to get my thoughts together. Stupid, Az. Just go and blurt everythingout like a big ol’ blabbermouth.” She smacks her forehead. “Sorry.”

“Yeah.Yeah. You’re sorry. Let’s get back to the part where you think your uncle –whom you have stated that you trust – will lie to you.”

She doesn’t want to answer. That much is clearby the way her fingers are twisted together and how her gaze are fixed on themicrowave. God, it’s too early for so much drama.

“Az.Answer the question.”

“Youdidn’t pose your request in the form of a question.”

Seriously?Sass? Before my first cup of coffee? After our little moment, or whatever itwas, in the gazebo? She’s going to give me a stroke, I just know it.

“Princess.”

Hereyes dart across my face before landing on the dropped pan. “You call me that,but I can’t tell if it’s a term of affection or if you think of me like a pet.”

I’venever really given it much thought, actually. It’s how I first started thinkingof her, and the name just stuck. “Neither, I guess. I mean, it was my firstimpression and then it just seemed to fit. You’re like a fairy tale princesssometimes – not quite in this reality and too good to be true. Pink and pretty.Nice to everyone. There should be freakin’ bluebirds circling your damn head. Youremind me of a Disney character.”

“I’mnot the damsel in distress waiting to be saved.”

“Neversaid you were, Az. Now that I know you better, I’d say you’re more like thetalkative, irritating, compassionate sidekick that drives the hero insane yetsomehow manages to help save the day.”

“That’snot a particularly flattering description. If it’s all the same to you, I’lljust pretend you’re calling me Princess Adora.” She rolls her eyes when I staredumbly at her. “She-Ra.”

“Now, see, I don’t get it. You had no clue whoMacGyver was but She-Ra you know.”

“It’sall about priorities, Rick.”

Foras often as she goes off on tangents, it’s no wonder she likes math. Fortunately,for me, I’m not easily diverted. “You’rethe Princess of Digression. And you’re not off the hook. What is the problemwith Shica?”

“Idon’t recognize the Olivet name. It’s not… if it’s a big name in the magicalcommunity then I must have been out of touch longer than I thought. Which Ihaven’t been.” Az shakes her head sharply. “Okay. The point. Forget about theOlivets. His mother was a Dubois. That name I recognize. It’s old. Like,Charlemagne old. And there are branches of it that don’t have the power thanthe main line holds. I get that. I do. But still, even an off-shoot of thefamily holds more power than the average warlock or witch. And it doesn’t makesense for Uncle Evan to not have mentioned it on his list.”

It’smy job to play devil’s advocate. “Maybe he just didn’t know about Olivet livingin Houston or about Olivet’s Dubois connection.”

Az’sarms drop to her sides. Her shoulders slump and her hair falls across her face.“That sort of stretches things beyond the point of belief. I want to trust him,but you see, Uncle Evan aDubois.”