“I don’t care if it’s called the Dancing Clowns,” Bowman growled. “Why were you able to find the sword, and why were you able to get here, when Kenzie couldn’t?”
“I don’t know,” Brigid said. “I started to explain that the runes called to me.” She gestured to the sword, her hands tied with a thin piece of clean leather—Bowman didn’t want to know why Cristian had been carrying tethers around with him.
The sword in Pierce’s hands was quiet now, simply the Sword of the Guardian as it always was.
“She might be telling the truth,” Pierce said, sheathing the sword and slinging it on his back. “I’ve carried this thing around for thirty years, and I still don’t understand all it can do.”
“She speaks the truth,” Cristian said. “I can scent lies, and she has not made any so far.”
“Then where is Kenzie?” Bowman demanded.
“I do not know,” Brigid answered, unhappy. “Why not use the sword and try to part the mists again to find her?”
“That might not work,” a new voice said.
Bowman swung around to see two men striding toward them. He recognized both, but Cristian and Pierce came alert, and Jamie and Cade stepped behind the newcomers, blocking their way out of the clearing.
The speaker was a tall man with a wiry runner’s build, black hair, and eyes like pits of night. Brigid stiffened as she saw him, her nostrils flaring. She took a step closer to Cristian.
The other man was a Shifter. He was big, almost as big as Cade, but he was all Lupine. He had flame tatts down his muscular arms, buzzed black hair, and hard gray eyes that looked upon the world and dared anyone in it to mess with him.
“She is right that the sword called to a Fae,” the dark-eyed man continued. “It knew danger, and it sought one who could wield it against a powerful, magical enemy. It might not be able to go beyond the mists again now that she is here, not there.”
The Lupine, Graham McNeil, growled. “He’s been spouting shit like that all the way across the country. Just my luck I get holed up with a crazy Fae in the cargo hold of a tiny plane. I hate airplanes.”
“I am dokk alfar,” the dark-eyed man corrected him. “Not Fae.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Graham said, making a dismissive shrug.
“I’m Stuart Reid,” the dark-eyed man said to the others. “Eric told us you had a problem with the worlds in the mists.”
“Whatever the hell that means,” Graham rumbled.
Bowman was as impatient as Graham. “My problem is that some asshole has taken my mate and cub and hidden them behind these mists. What I want you for is to help me get them out.”
“And kick some evil human ass,” Graham said. He grinned, his harsh face softening. “That’s where I come in. I get the fun part.”
The Fae woman said, “If you let me loose, I can help in the, as you say, ass kicking. Find me a weapon to wield, and I am as good a warrior as any of you. This Turner has stolen my life and my work, has taken me from my children and my sisters. He must die.”
Graham gave her a look of grudging respect. “I like her. Huh. Never thought I’d say that about a Fae.”
Cristian studied Brigid as though examining a new species of insect. “She is intriguing. If I decide we can trust her, she might be useful.”
Brigid shot him a withering glance. “How kind. I would say, as my daughter does, bite me, but I fear that you, wolf, actually would.”
“Hmm,” Cristian said seriously. “You never know what I might do.”
Brigid turned a wary eye on Reid. “This one, he is . . .” She spoke a word that sounded like a lawn mower crushing metal.
“She means I’m an iron master,” Reid said. He raised his hand, showing them a straight piece of rebar he’d held by his side. “The dokk alfar have always been able to wield iron, I more than most. And so the hoch alfar fear us.”
“It is not fear,” Brigid returned, though Bowman heard the lie. “It is disgust.”
“I see the Fae are at each other’s throats again,” Gil said, stepping out of Turner’s house. “Typical . . . Ah . . . Whoops.”
He started to hurriedly retreat, but Graham leapt forward and grabbed him by the back of his neck, hauling him off the steps and around to face them.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Graham shouted into his face. “Misty’s been worried sick about you. She’s driving me effing crazy.”
Bowman abandoned Cristian and the Fae woman to move to Graham in sudden swiftness. “You know Gil?”
Graham stared at Bowman. “Gil?” Graham’s face flushed with anger, and he shook Gil by the back of the neck. “His name’s not Gil. It’s Ben. Ben Williams. He’s some kind of species—a gnome, he calls it—that got kicked out of Faerie a thousand years ago. He’s magical, he’s a total shithead, and Misty says he helped her save my life.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Bowman studied Gil in great distrust. He’d known something was off about him, even before Kenzie’s discovery that he wasn’t really Gil Ramirez, police officer.
“Your name’s not Ben either, is it?” Bowman asked, amazed at how steady his voice was. “Who are you?”
Gil abruptly stood taller and shook Graham’s hold off with ease. His appearance didn’t change, but his nice-guy helpfulness faded, and something old looked out of his eyes. He had a strength that had nothing to do with physical prowess; it was the strength of a boulder that had endured centuries of wind and rain.
“What happened to your prison tatts?” Graham growled at him. “You look the same, but not exactly the same.”
“As I explained to Misty,” Gil said in a firm voice, “I have learned to alter my appearance and blend in with the human world over the centuries. In Las Vegas, I was an ex-con. Here, I am a police officer when I need to be, or the beloved hired hand who became the bed-and-breakfast ghost in Fayboro.”
“And what is a gnome?” Cristian asked. “I have not heard of this outside human children’s stories.”
“It is what my race called itself,” Gil answered. “We’ve also been called goblins. The Fae killed and banished us long ago, exiling us to this world, where most of us didn’t survive. We hate Fae as much as Shifters do.” His gaze went to Brigid. “I see that you caught one. What does she know?”
Bowman leaned to him, barely containing his rage. “Don’t fuck with me, whoever you are. Kenzie was following you when she vanished, and you were with Ryan when he went. If any of this is your fault, you’re dead. I don’t care if you’re a thousand years old; you won’t live to see a thousand and one.”
Gil met his gaze without fear. “I swear to you, I did nothing. I tried to stop them both being taken, but I failed. The gates won’t work for me, as I said—the Fae saw to it that they work for none of my people. I can sense them when they appear, but not use them.”
Bowman looked at Reid. “And you say the sword won’t open the way again, not for me?”
Reid shook his head. “You can try, of course. I might be wrong.”
The Fae woman broke in. “But Kenzie has been taken away somewhere by this man called Turner. She is no longer in the mists. I searched for her, and did not find her.”
Cristian nodded. “She is correct, I think. Pierce has told me that Turner has made for himself a network of people to help him—such as the man who drove the truck with the beast, and the man who shot at us and the unfortunate Serena. He could have taken Kenzie and Ryan away anywhere.”
“Then why didn’t we see Turner come out with them here?” Bowman asked. “The Fae woman emerged in these woods.”
Gil broke in. “As I explained before, the pockets have more than one entrance, and if one knows how to manipulate them, each entrance can go to several different pockets, which can in turn have many exits. Pockets are sort of like an interconnected hive, with passages and rooms going every which way. This is why Kenzie went in near Fayboro, when she was chasing me, and yet Turner could come out here, near his house—or wherever he likes.
Someone with a talisman who has learned to navigate the pockets can travel anywhere, though it’s highly dangerous. There are worlds out there far more deadly than Faerie or this one.”
Bowman turned to his trackers and Pierce. “All right, then tell me where he might have taken her and Ryan. You were tasked to find out all about Turner. What do you know?”
“If they’re out in this world, he’d have taken her one of four places,” Cade said without hesitation. “His lab at the university. His apartment in Asheville, but that’s pretty public. This trailer, where he obviously isn’t.” He waved a large hand toward the torn-up trailer. “And a house in South Carolina, which used to be his mother’s. His mother has passed, but he still keeps it.”
“The university,” Cristian said with conviction.
“How do you know that?” Graham asked.
“Because he hasn’t played his end game yet,” Bowman said before Cristian could answer. “He wants to be the foremost expert on Shifters, and he wants his colleagues to see that he is. Kenzie is a means to that end—I don’t know how yet.” His fear boiled up to mix with his anger. “I’m going to the university.”
Cristian stepped in front of him. “Do you not think that he has taken Kenzie and Ryan in order to trap you? If you run to him, he will have his wish. You do not think he baited this trap well?”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m going in to get her and my cub. The rest of you are coming as my backup—I’m not stupid enough to go alone.”
“Bowman,” Cristian said sharply. “This is my niece’s and your son’s life you play with. Do you not believe that a contingent of Shifters arriving at a human university and killing a professor there will bring the wrath of the humans down on every Shifter in Shiftertown?”
Bowman shrugged, though his heart was pounding, and the whole of him needed to find Kenzie and his son. “We’ll be stealthy.”
“I’ll suck at the stealth part,” Graham said. “But if you need to take this guy down, you should let me do it. I’m not from around here. I can disappear with him and do him far, far away, to keep the blowback from you.”
Logical, and probably why Eric had sent Graham in the first place. Too bad Bowman wanted to taste Turner’s blood.
Graham must have sensed this, because he gave Bowman a look of understanding. “We’ll find her. And finish him.” He cleared his throat and looked suddenly uncomfortable. “Oh, yeah. Misty said to tell Kenzie and Ryan she sends her love. You know females like stuff like that.”
“I know,” Bowman said. Kenzie was generous with her love and her friendship, not hiding her passion for life and for others.
Graham was talking again. “Misty also said . . . She said to trust in the mate bond. That the mate bond will know what to do.”
Bowman stopped. Graham was watching him, and Bowman shook his head. “Misty knows Kenzie and I never . . .”
“Yeah, she does. But she doesn’t agree that you don’t have it.”
Graham looked as though he’d say something more, then he closed his mouth, his cheekbones reddening. If Bowman had been in any other state of mind, he’d be amused watching the warrior Lupine grow embarrassed.
“Misty also sent a big flower arrangement for you,” Graham finally said. “You know she still has the florist shop.” He growled. “You know what I felt like holding that on my lap all the way across the country and then riding in from the plane? Don’t worry, I left it at your house. Kenzie can enjoy it when she gets home.”
* * *
The university campus was quiet this early in the morning, between semesters. Classes didn’t start again, an electronic sign at its main entrance informed them, until mid-January.
Even so, there were enough people around to make Bowman’s expedition perilous. Groundskeepers and maintenance workers moved about the campus on foot and in electric carts, department secretaries hurrying in to open offices. A few students trickled into the just-opened library, and one academic walked to a brick building, a briefcase in hand, head down against the cold.
The Shifters didn’t resemble anything but Shifters, and one had a broadsword on his back.
Bowman had considered leaving Pierce behind—for about three seconds. Bowman knew he needed Pierce near, in case it became necessary for him to do his job as Guardian.
The Fae woman, Brigid, accompanied them, though she’d started to feel ill as soon as they’d left the woods. The Shifters had parked their motorcycles and trucks at the arena—the arena’s shored-up beams had iron in them, as did the waiting vehicles.
Gil had stepped forward and solved the problem. He gave Brigid a necklace with what looked like a coin hanging from it, which, he said, would protect her from the worst of the iron sickness. Brigid took the necklace distrustfully, but when she put it on, the greenish cast to her skin disappeared, and she breathed better.
Gil handed another necklace to Bowman. “This will help.”
“Help me what?” He was as suspicious as Brigid.
“Cut through any spells Turner has laid on to keep you from Kenzie. He knows a lot of Fae magic. Half the crap Cristian and I found in his trailer is about Fae spells and how to find the power, as a human, to work them. He’s figured out a lot—how to tap the ley lines; how to use sympathetic magic—blood, hair, the like—to control people. He’s dangerous. This is a fairly general spell, but it should help.”
Bowman would have preferred him to say, Here’s the perfect weapon that will take out Turner and free Kenzie without her and Ryan getting hurt, instead of It should help. But Bowman had learned to take what he could get.
They rendezvoused at a coffeehouse outside the university, a place that didn’t mind serving Shifters. The clientele was young, mostly students and newbie executives. They gave the Shifters curious glances, though Brigid stood out still more than the Shifters. She’d look otherworldly even without the tunic and breeches, with her pale hair, long braids, and black eyes. She gazed coolly back at the men who stared at her in wonder until they pretended great interest in their coffees.
Bowman sipped his brew in the parking lot, for once having no enjoyment of the rich, bitter liquid. They’d decided to keep the penetrating team for the university small—Bowman, Pierce, Graham, Reid. Gil, who Bowman wasn’t going to trust by a long way, would stay with Cade. Cade had orders to sit on him if he tried anything.
“I’m here to help,” Gil said, undaunted. “Believe me, I owe Kenzie.”
“Damn right you do.” Bowman snarled at him. “But you take orders from me, got it?”
Gil raised his hands. “All right. It’s your show.”
“We don’t even know if Turner’s at his office,” Pierce pointed out. “He could be at his house in South Carolina. The university is only a guess.”
“Simple enough to discover.” Cristian took out his cell phone and tapped numbers. “Hello, is that the Department of Anthropology?” he asked when a woman’s voice answered. His accent became thick. “I am a colleague of Professor Turner, an anthropologist from Romania. Is he in? May I speak to him?”
Bowman heard the woman on the other end. “He’s here, but he’s over in his lab. He doesn’t like to be disturbed there. I can leave a message with your number, or send you to his voice mail.”
“It is no matter.” Cristian managed to sound cheerful and bumbling, and somehow stooped and elderly, though he stood next to Bowman as taut and dangerous as a naked blade. “I take a chance. I call him again this afternoon, yes? Thank you, young lady. You have a nice day.”
He tapped the phone again and dropped it into his pocket. “He is there.”
“I heard,” Bowman said tightly.
Graham gave Cristian a look of reassessment. “You’re a devious bastard. Why haven’t I met you before?”
“Bowman does not let me attend the meetings of Shifter leaders,” Cristian said calmly. “He keeps me, as you say, in reserve.”
“And you just happened to know the guy’s phone number?” Graham asked.
&nb
sp; “Of course. When we began to research Professor Turner, I learned everything about him—where he lived, where he worked, and who he worked with, and I stored it here.” Cristian tapped the side of his head. “Better than a computer.”
Pierce tried to hide his snort and didn’t succeed. Cristian gave him a chilling look, and Pierce quickly drank coffee.
Jamie, Cade, and a few other trackers broke from the main party, Gil in tow, as they left the coffeehouse. They would keep watch, alert Bowman of any trouble, and be ready to assist when needed. Cade grumbled that he didn’t like it, but he acknowledged that secrecy, not a direct attack, was the answer here.
Cristian accompanied Bowman’s group with Brigid back to the campus, then he and Brigid walked away together. They’d been assigned the task of distracting campus security while the other Shifters and Reid slipped inside the building that housed Turner’s lab.
Cristian, with his salt-and-pepper hair and tall body, and Brigid, nearly as tall as he was, her white braids brushing the backs of her knees, were certainly distracting. They drew the gazes of not only the lone security man in his cart, but also every other person they strolled past.
Bowman signaled the others. They opened the unlocked door of the small building Cristian had told Bowman housed Turner’s lab and walked inside, one at a time. Following the directions Cristian had given them, they went down a flight of stairs and through another heavy door at the bottom.
The basement of this building was silent, dim, and empty, and made Bowman’s wolf growl in unease. The place, as Ryan would say, creeped him out.
The scent was wrong, a strange combination of dry, sterilized air and dust. The hall was long, the tile institutional white, the walls painted off-white and needing a touch-up. No pictures lined the corridor, though bulletin boards hung outside each door. These boards were filled with photos, photocopied articles with circled paragraphs, and small posters with sayings like You don’t have to be crazy to work here, but it helps.