Shadow Rites

“Yes. That was a patently fake smile.”

“True. But I’m alive. A little wobbly, but alive.”

Bruiser’s eyes narrowed, little creases at the corners. “We’ll talk when I get back.”

And that sounded worrisome, more of the “Why didn’t you shift?” questions. Stuff I didn’t know the answers to. I said, “Yeah. Good,” and nodded, my hair moving on my shoulders, drawing Bruiser’s eyes.

I could see he wanted to say something about the funky braids, but he said instead, “Update.”

Eli stepped beside me and told Bruiser everything that had happened. Then he quoted Bruiser back. “Your turn. Update.”

The cell phone he was holding turned to the world around him. The last of the daylight cast long shadows in a swamp scene. Stagnant water coated with green slime was everywhere. Huge trees pushed out of the water, cypress knees poking through the scum, the strange upward-turned root knobs stabilizing the trees. In the small clearing, the ground rose out of the water, muddy and pitted deeply with footsteps. In the center of the ground were two wooden doors, flush with the earth. Around the doors were arcane symbols drawn inside a witch circle. In the distance gators roared, the primal sound of reptile combat.

Bruiser held out a hand. In it was a length of crumpled, oft-folded foil and the brooch that he had found in the alley, the scarab and the peacocks, pixelated with digital failure. “This is where the brooch led. We can walk across the witch circle and nothing happens, but the feel of hidden magics is quite strong, and there must be a trap inside the doors cued to their opening.

“By the scent there is a vampire inside the door, in the ground. We will open the doors tonight and discover what we may. I’ll have more to say after sunset.” The communications went dark. From beside me, Eli said, “So much for date night, babe.”

* * *

“The Truebloods will be here tomorrow morning,” Eli said as he parked down the street from the house.

Technically and legally it was my house, as I had won it from a vamp in service to her, but we all lived and worked there, so it in reality it was our house. I’d come to New Orleans with a motorbike and the clothes on my back. Now I had a house, full-time work, a business with partners, and a man in my life. I had roots. I belonged. Everything was new and strange.

And because of the new things and people and lifestyle, my bestest pal in the world, and my godchildren, and Mol’s husband, were coming to stay with me. I could offer shelter to her and hers. Also very, very strange.

“I’ll be ready,” I said. “For now, I’ll be out back.”

“No meditation or shifting until you eat. Pancakes with butter and syrup and half a gallon of electrolytes. Except for the new hairstyle, you look like crap.”

“I love you too.”

“I know. Come on.” He opened his door and stepped out into the autumn heat and humidity. “Alex has breakfast started.”

I followed much more slowly into a warm rain that felt like a tepid shower—the typical rain of the Deep South this time of year. Slow drops splatted onto my head and shoulders as I stepped to the sidewalk. “We’re going to eat more food the Kid cooked? He maxed out with the broccoli and cheese. You want us both to die?”

Eli slanted his game face my way for an instant, his eyes moving left and right behind his sunglasses, checking out the street. “I gave him a lesson last Saturday. That was his cooking. No one died.”

“Fine,” I said, reluctance in the word. “I could eat.” It was a lie, I wasn’t hungry at all, but I also knew my body needed calories and lots of them to get me back up to speed. I needed to shift into my Beast form to heal completely, and no way was Eli going to let me go without a meal or three and restorative fluids. As long as it wasn’t blue Gatorade, I thought I could keep it down.

* * *

It was a pretty good breakfast, though it was hours after normal people ate pancakes. Tied into the security system at HQ, Alex had seen all the footage in real time and had followed along with the replays, but he had to be filled in with the details, which Eli did while we ate, his words clipped and staccato. I mostly stayed silent and let them talk.

The syrup was delish, from Eli’s private stash of one hundred percent maple, and the sugar rush was immediate and heady, tempting my appetite. The pancakes were fine, though the texture wasn’t quite as light as Eli’s. It could have been the humidity and the rain that made them a little doughy, but they were filling and easy on my stomach, better than I had expected, and I didn’t feel like hurling with every bite.

Deceptively casual, his face almost pleasant, Eli said, “Let’s spar, before you meditate and shift.”

“Why?” I heard the suspicion in my voice. It was easier for my partner to win a sparring match when I was down and out.

“To see how well the suckhead blood healed you. You’ve had trouble in the past, changing into Beast to heal, and you didn’t change this time when you got stabbed. And when you shift, you can get stuck in puma form when we need you in human form. Beast also wasn’t able to help you with significant speed or strength, and while you’re strong enough on your own, as a skinwalker, Beast gives you an edge. Correct?”

My partner had been paying attention. Close and detailed attention. Reluctantly I nodded. “She tried. The power drained out of my hand into the floor.” I held up my left hand, the one where the spell had ignited. “Spelled.”