Night Veil (Indigo Court #2)

Night Veil (Indigo Court #2) Page 16

She brightened as we entered the diner and motioned to an empty booth. I glanced at the counter. Werewolves from the Lupa Clan . . . crap. Why they ate here, I didn’t know—considering how much they detested the magic-born—but a few had become regulars and were in here every time we dropped by.

They snarled as Rhiannon and I walked by, and I ignored them. It was dangerous to engage the Lupas, and we did our best to pretend they didn’t exist. I slipped into the booth on one side, Rhiannon on the other. Anadey came by, pulling out her pad.

“You girls want hot coffee?”

Rhiannon shook her head. “No more for me today. Tea, though—strong, with milk.”

I glanced up at the older woman. She was pushing sixty, but in pretty good shape even though her bones creaked and her muscles hurt from the long hours she spent on her feet. Anadey crackled with magic. She was one of the shamanic witches who could work with all four elements—unusual, and they were usually loners.

“I want a hot mocha, please. Triple shot, with whipped cream and chocolate shavings, please.” I smiled at her and she laughed.

“Oh, Cicely, you and your chocolate shavings. Every time you order hot cocoa or mocha, you ask for them. Very well. You girls hungry? Do you need menus?” She automatically wrote allergic to fish on the order pad—as she did every time I came in. I gave her a grateful smile, and she shrugged.

“I think I know what I want—what about you, Rhia?”

Rhiannon nodded.

“We’re ready to order. I want your turkey plate—turkey, dressing as long as it’s not oyster based, cranberries, mashed potatoes, and green beans.”

“You want pumpkin pie for dessert or Yule log?”

I grinned, suddenly feeling happy. When times were dark, you had to take happiness where you found it, and right now it was in the form of a whipped-cream-stuffed chocolate cake with mint icing. “Yule log, please.”

She chuckled as she wrote it down. “Thought so. Rhiannon? What can I get for you?”

My cousin pondered the question. “Chicken soup, toasted cheese sandwich, pickle on the side, and for dessert, I want some of the Yule log, too.”

“Check. I’ll get this right in, girls. Rhiannon, do you want your soup now or with your sandwich?”

“With my sandwich, please.”

As Anadey headed for the back to put in our order and fix our drinks, I leaned against the back of the booth, watching the fall of snow outside the window. The past couple of weeks, it had seemed like New Forest was cut off from the world, silent in its shrouded wonder, alone in the universe. But all over the world, Myst’s people were beginning their war, making inroads, looking for prey. How many of the Vampiric Fae existed? How many were out there?

“What are you thinking about?” Rhiannon asked. “You look so pensive.”

“Myst and her people . . . how many do you think there are? How many small towns are feeling their encroachment, uncertain of what to do? How many people have they killed in their feeding?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I want to know. In some ways, I wish we were the only place they were attacking—then we could run away. But we can’t ever really run away, can we?”

“If I did, the vampires would come after me. Or Myst.” I glanced up as Anadey brought our drinks. “We have to destroy her, you know—”

A crash from the counter interrupted me. We all turned just in time to see one of the Lupa Clan members throw his plate toward the kitchen. He had a bottle of beer in hand and it looked like there were two empties on the counter.

“Fucking slut! Can’t you cook something worth eating?” His words were slurred, but that didn’t stop him from jumping up and heading around the counter toward the door to where Peyton was cooking. She’d stopped and was holding a cleaver in hand.

Anadey rushed after him. “Tim Wylde—you stop right there before I summon Ranger.”

He ignored her. Lucky, one of the older assistants who had seen more than his share of days but still looked rugged enough to rumble, blocked the door into the kitchen.

“You just get your ass back over to the other side of the counter, Lupa.” Lucky was one of the yummanii and he didn’t care whether a person was Were, magic-born, or vampire as long as he didn’t have to scrap with them. But let them cross the line and the older man was leathery tough.

“Get out of my way, human. You’re no match for me.” Tim smashed his bottle on the counter, holding up the broken edge.

Lucky eyed him with a speculative look. “I would advise against it, boy.”

“Don’t you boy me, human. You’re weak and sniveling, almost as bad as the magic-born.” Tim lunged for him with the bottle.

Dodging the attack, Lucky pulled out a short rod from beneath the counter. It sparkled. Silver. Lycanthropes hated silver as much as vampires. He swung it, connecting with Tim’s drunken face, and the Were screamed and went down on the floor, shifting even as he did so. The resulting wolf was huge, and as he came up, a murderous look filled his eyes.

I jumped forward and closed my eyes. Ulean, bring the wind—please.

Ulean slammed open the door with a strong gust of wind, and the snow drifted in as the currents of air sliced between the man and the wolf, knocking both off their feet. As man and wolf struggled for footing, I glanced over at Tim’s buddies, both of whom were starting to turn. If we didn’t stop this now, Anadey’s Diner would be the home of a bloodbath.

Just then, a burly man strode through the open door. He was Were—you could smell it coming off him, strong with glittering eyes, topaz ringed with black. The men at the counter immediately turned to him, and Tim rolled over on his back, showing his belly.

“Tim, Alder, Snell . . . get the hell back to the compound. Now.” For a moment, the man looked like he was about ready to take out everyone, and then he pulled up short and took out his wallet. His eyes never leaving Anadey’s, he fished out five twenties and tossed them on the counter. “For any damage my boys did, ma’am. I told them not to come here, but they insist you make the best burgers in town. I’ll suggest takeout from now on.” The words seemed to stick in his throat and his hands were shaking, but he finally turned away and swept out the door behind the three Lupas.

Anadey stared at the money on the counter, then finally flipped through the bills and slid them into the cash register. Lucky was already on his feet, looking ready to kill. He glanced around the diner to see if there were any other potential troublemakers, then put away the silver rod.

I stared at the departing figures making their way through the storm. “Who the hell was that?”

“Ben Sagata. The alpha of the Lupa Clan.” Rhiannon shook her head. “He rules them with an iron paw, I gather. Rumors are he’s vicious and cruel, but he tries to keep his people on the right side of the law. Most of the time.”

“Whatever the case, I would not want to meet him in a dark alley.” But then again, I’d already had a run-in with two of the Lupas my first night home, and one of them had been taken out by the Shadow Hunters. “I wonder how he knew . . .”

“You mean that there was trouble? Probably the clan connection. Most Were clans have a connecting thread that runs through them.”

I glanced over at Peyton, who had joined us. She tossed her apron to Lucky, who took her place behind the grill. “Do you?”

“Do I what?” With a long sigh, she wiped her forehead, leaving a small streak of grease. I picked up a napkin and gently reached up to brush it off.

“Do you have a connection with the werepumas of your father’s tribe?”

She shrugged. “Da ran off years ago. Left us alone. He never took Mother home to meet his family—I don’t know if they even knew he married her. The werepumas are strong with magic, but unlike the werewolves they don’t tend to approve of interracial marriage, and since my mother is one of the magic-born, there’s a chance they don’t even know I exist. I’ve never gone to them to find out. I think I’m afraid they’ll reject me.”

“Do you want to meet them, ever?” I was curious. I wanted to meet my father, perhaps because my relationship with my mother had been so rocky and my father had given me the gift of flight. Especially now, since I had learned that Myst had been my mother in my life before. I wanted some feeling of roots, and the only ones to provide that had been Heather and Rhiannon. And now, Myst had Heather. Whom would she strip away from me next?

“I don’t know . . . as I said, I’m afraid they may reject me. But someday . . . if I marry and have children and any of them turn up with strong Were blood, I suppose I should, for their sake.” She looked uncomfortable, so I backed off.

“We should head home.” I motioned to Rhiannon.

“But you didn’t get your lunches,” Peyton said.

“Can you wrap them up for us?” The thought of a cozy lunch out had been pretty much disrupted by the Lupa wolves, and the world felt harsh and too bright with the snow. I wanted to go home, light a fire in the fireplace, and try to find some time for peace and solitude. I needed to meditate, to clear my mind and search for some semblance of inner peace.

Peyton nodded. “I’ll be over tomorrow to finish up on the shop front with you. I can’t come tonight because Mom needs me to help her with the housework.” Peyton was a good daughter, helping Anadey as much as she could.

“No problem, Geoffrey’s insisted on seeing me tonight. I’m not looking forward to it, tell you that much.” I let out a long sigh at the thought, wanting to chuck everything and go hide my head under the covers.

“Lannan summon you, too?”

“Gods, I hope not.” As Anadey brought us our meals, wrapped in recyclable containers in a paper sack, I handed her a twenty and motioned for her to keep the change.

“You look tired, my dear.” She gave me a quiet smile.

“I am tired.”

“You need to fly. Go home, meditate, and stretch your wings. Rhiannon—tomorrow, you come over for your lesson.” And with that, Anadey was off, serving the rest of her bustling diner, all signs of the fight with the Lupas extinguished.

I picked up the sack of food and turned to Rhiannon. “Let’s get moving.”

“The snow is piling up awfully fast.” She struggled to push the door open and one of the busboys came out after us with a snow shovel and shoveled our path to Favonis.

On the ride home, I stared at the bleak winter as the wind howled around the car. Ulean, is Myst growing in her power to harness the weather?

She is, my friend, she is. And if you don’t stop her, the winter will never end. She is the season, Cicely. She is the dark night of the year.

After lunch, Rhiannon went to lie down for a while and I retired to my room, determined to spend the afternoon in flight. I needed to transform so badly that my body ached, and my spirit felt trapped, locked up like a canary in a gilded cage.

I slipped out of my clothes, shivering as I opened the window and crouched on the sill, my pendant around my neck. Closing my eyes, I reached for that feeling of transformation, of the winds lifting me aloft. A swirl of snow caught my breasts, but I ignored it, focusing on a silver light that grew from somewhere deep within me. The light started as a narrow beam, a laser point, and grew, spreading like the blast from an atom bomb. As it spread out to encompass my toes and then my feet, the sensation worked its way up my body, spinning me around.

I tensed, gritting my teeth as I leaned forward, and then the ground whistled up to meet me as I let go and swandived out the window.

Within a blink, I was in owl form. The shift came easier each time.

I rose on the wind, Ulean shrieking with delight as she flowed along beside me, sparkling currents on the slipstream. The air slid past, ruffling my feathers as I dipped and turned, screeching in pure joy, my wings slowly flapping two or three times before I stretched them out to glide on the updraft.

The ground stretched below, a panorama of white, and the house and forest seemed at the same time so huge but so small as I circled overhead, reveling in the freedom flight brought me.

And then, there he was—the great horned owl—swooping in from the side to match my movements. We flew, synchronizing movements as he encouraged me to turn on the wing, to glide like a shadow over the yard.

You are out during the daylight—not usual, my friend.

He tipped, wing to ground, as he turned and I followed suit. I kept watch for you. It’s dangerous out here for young owls. I would not have you get hurt.

Who are you? Are you one of the Cambyra—the Uwilahsidhe?

There was a silence. And then: I will teach you to hunt now. You may never need this skill, but if you get stuck in your owl form, you should know how to take care of your needs.

Inside, I grimaced. I didn’t really relish eating a mouse or rat, but then something in my blood stirred and I followed him without protest as we headed over the yard. Not that I really expected much prey to be out—the snow had started to fall more thickly and the flakes were sticking to my wings.

As we glided over the backyard, the great horned owl suddenly made a slight motion with his head and turned sharply, homing in on a movement on the snow. Two rabbits were there, beautiful and white against the ground, hidden by the camouflage of their coats. I stared in horror as the owl began a hunting pass, but then my blood stirred and all I could see was a red haze and the hunger hit me.

I targeted the smaller of the rabbits, who suddenly looked skyward and then started to run, but we were faster and I flew low over the smaller of the pair, instinctively bringing my feet forward and extending my talons. With one swipe, I grabbed the screaming rabbit by the scruff of the neck and powered myself back into the air. Exhilarated, I rose and followed the owl as he flew to the great oak.