I pulled a glamour, making myself invisible to humans—who might freak at an amethyst woman with blue hair—and ran. As my bare feet met slush and snow, I wished desperately for my leather boots. Dark Elves generally don’t have a problem with cold, but having bare feet in polluted slush from melted snow was on the chilly side.
My air element helped push me faster than my already enhanced speed. I would have been a blur to humans if they could have seen me.
When I finally reached the unbirthday party sculptures, Angel was already there. She was walking the circumference of the sculpture counterclockwise, reciting the engraved nonsensical poem to open the door. “‘ ’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe.’” I had no idea what the poem was supposed to mean, but it would open the door beneath the toadstool.
Angel was a beautiful blond Doppler with corkscrew curls and was a squirrel in her animal form. She looked like a bubbly cheerleader but had graduated from Harvard and had been an intern with NASA.
“Have any other Trackers made it here?” I asked when I came to a full stop.
“Not that I know of.” Angel was now at the back of the sculpture, and the door beneath the toadstool began to open. She scanned me with her brilliant blue eyes. “You look amazingly healthy considering your clothing is bloody rags. Kind of like you’ve been engaged in some one-on-one with a leopard and he got in a few good licks.”
“We have to hurry.” I didn’t have time to go into anything but what we were here for. “If the information I was given is correct, they’ve already replaced the council members, and that leaves us with two tasks.”
“Find the real council members,” Angel said.
“And stop the charade going on now.” I glanced into the darkened park. “We’ll take care of this. Other Trackers will have to save the real council members.”
We started down the winding set of stone stairs. “How did the Metamorphs find out that the council meeting is really being held here and not at another location?” Angel asked.
“Long story.” Inside I groaned. The Metamorphs had tricked me by making me believe that was my Adam they’d had as their captive. I’d spilled it out of fear for him—but I’d also been sure I would have the opportunity to escape come sundown. And I would stop the Metamorphs.
The Paranorm Center was a throwback to the Otherworld most of us originated from, some centuries, if not thousands of years, ago. Everything reminded me of home in the belowground realm of the Dark Elves … so
Torches flared to life to light the way into the darkness as the door slid shut behind us. Dark Elves have incredible night vision and I didn’t have to watch my step as I took the twisting turns of the rock staircase, which went almost as deep into the earth as the Realm of the Drow was in Otherworld.
When we reached the bottom we were in the enormous main foyer, which had five separate archways. We paused and then each took a side of the archway that would lead us to the main area of Paranorm Center. The massive hallway was empty. Quiet. The council chamber doors were closed.
“Some sentries they are,” Angel said beneath her breath as we looked at the Dryads sleeping in their towering wooden columns. “Their sense of smell sucks or they would have identified the Metamorphs.”
“I’d bet my cat that the guards that are usually inside the council chambers are Metamorph replacements, too,” I said.
Angel rolled her eyes. “That’s no stretch. I’m not even sure you like that blue Persian.”
Very possible. Kali had shredded so many of my Victoria’s Secret panties that I’d probably take a turtle in trade for the snotty cat.
The council doors were thick and heavy enough to completely mute any sound or voice inside. “I think they might consider backup security after this.”
I was wishing for one of my dragon-clawed daggers when Angel said, “You could use this.” When I turned my gaze to her, she carefully tossed a wicked-looking eighteen-inch-long dagger to me so that I caught it by the hilt.
With a quick nod of thanks, I slipped around the archway, wielding Angel’s dagger in my right hand.
We didn’t have time to argue. “Who passed this way most recently?” I asked.
The Dryad narrowed her brow. “I do not answer to you, Tracker.”
“My apologies.” I wanted to scream with frustration. “All we can tell you is that Metamorphs have probably taken council members hostage and their doubles are inside the council chamber in their places.”
Dryad whispers echoed up and down the hallway at my words. The Dryads had no way of confirming this, because the Paranorm Council was
Who knew—the mystery of the chamber could be that it was actually a spa where council members all got foot massages and pedicures. No one could really say what went on behind those doors, and council members kept their meetings secret. All we heard out of them was an occasional ruling, a new law, or a modification of an existing paranorm law.
The Dryad nodded, the creak of wood accompanying her movements. Angel and I hurried to the enormous council chamber doors.
The council chamber doors swung open.
Six male and female council members turned their heads to look at us.
I sucked in my breath. Now would have been a really good time to have employed a little stealth.
No thanks to the Dryad who had opened the doors to the chambers without giving us a chance to assess the situation. Dryads have no tact and no sense of battle strategy.
From the corner of my eye I saw that Angel wasn’t there any longer. It was no surprise to see a blond squirrel’s bushy tail disappearing beneath the council’s draped semicircular table.
The strong odor of alyssum emanated from the room, which could only mean Metamorphs. How could the Dryads have missed it, even if they aren’t known for their keen scent of smell?
Light flickered from wall sconces throughout the room. The torchlight cast shadows across the dim room, giving an almost eerie feel to the place. It smelled faintly of smoke and crushed rose petals.
I gripped Angel’s dagger, and in a quick scan I saw two guards at the back of the room, and I saw that the Metamorphs had done well in replacing five of the six council members. If I hadn’t known they were replacements. I wouldn’t have known the difference.
Chief Council Member Leticia—the real Chief, not a Metamorph—looked both perplexed and upset at first glance, as if something wasn’t going right. Leticia, a Doppler, perched on a throne at the center of the crescent- shaped table, and she also represented all others of her race; the Drow and Light Elves had one delegate who served on the council for both of our races; a Siren had been voted in by the Fae to represent all fifteen-plus races of Fae; a Shifter was in attendance for all Shifters; a Werewolf was the envoy for all Weres; and a Vampire represented his kind.
In the mere moment it took me to process all of this, I saw that to the side of the council table, in a chair beside a witness stand, was a black-haired Witch dressed in a white sparkling beaded dress. The sophisticated- looking Witch had a pensive, almost confused expression. No doubt she was the real deal and had been appointed to represent all Witches in their appeal to be on the council … and this council meeting was not going according to normal standards.
And on the witness stand—
Smith.
The head Metamorph flashed me a look of complete shock; blood drained from his face. So this was how the Metamorphs were planning to get Smith on the council. He represented his entire race to gain admittance, while all of the council members had been replaced by Metamorphs with the exception of Leticia. He couldn’t lose.
But I was going to shut him down.
My rapid appraisal ended with my gaze meeting Chief Councillor Leticia’s.
“Tracker.” Leticia frowned from her center perch. “Leave at once. This session is not public.”
