black fire in my mind’s eye.” She paused. “Something is off about him.” She put a hand to her forehead, dug her fingernails in. “He doesn’t seem… quite real. Why? Why would—” She stopped, her wide eyes staring into mine, panic swimming so close to the surface that I grabbed both of her arms without thinking.
“What is it?”
“My vision flipped. I was trying to get a better view of the shaman and suddenly I was Seeing a man’s face. He’s dead.” Tears spilled from her eyes.
“Do you recognize him?”
She shook her head. Went still. “Someone… is trying to speak to me.” She ran her hands along the floor, staring off into the distance like she was blind.
“Cassandra!” She jerked her head toward me, frowning as her eyes refocused. “The man,” I reminded her. “Describe him.”
“Dirty-blond hair. His eyes are open. They’re dark blue. He’s still snarling, like he died fighting. There’s a scar, like a half-moon, running from the side of his left eye down almost to the corner of his mouth.”
She finished my sentence with me. “—of a wolf’s head.”
Vayl and I nodded at each other. We didn’t need our extra connection to discuss how the shock had blown holes in our concentration. How we wanted to kill something. Right. Now. Because the man in Cassandra’s vision had been one of ours. An agent named Ethan Mreck, who’d spent the past few years infiltrating one of the biggest threats to peace left in Europe. A band of wolves called the Valencian Weres.
As a werewolf himself, Ethan had moved in circles no one else could even visualize. Which was why his undercover work had brought our department so much valuable information. In fact, his intel had sparked our last mission, leading us to destroy Edward “The Raptor” Samos, the worst enemy to U.S. National Security since Adolf Hitler. We’d also severely crippled his girlfriend, the Scidairan coven leader, Floraidh Halsey. After those successes, we’d hoped Ethan could help us find a way to pull the plug on the Valencian Weres, who’d definitely be making a power play now that they smelled the chance to gain territory. But Ethan was dead.
I watched our psychic’s darting eyes, saw her mouth tighten, and knew she was trying to pin down wisps of images that wanted to be caught and categorized about as bad as a butterfly does. I tried to help. “The fact that you Saw Ethan here, in the warren—that means the gnomes have to be connected to the Weres he was investigating, don’t you think?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said helplessly. “All I can sense now is this terrible calamity, looming like the dust of ten thousand horesemen on the horizon.” She clasped her hands together, her fingers worrying among each other as she gazed up at us. “We have to succeed in this mission.” I shrugged. “We always do.” I frowned when she grabbed the sleeve of my jacket.
“No! You don’t understand! Doom is here, close to us, waiting for us to fail!” I raised my eyes to Vayl, who nodded carefully. “We hear you, Cassandra. We understand.” I hesitated. When she had nothing else to add I said, “We have to get moving now. You understand?” As she bowed her head Vayl nodded. “I agree, and even more quickly than we had anticipated.
Jasmine, can you get a more specific sense of the chamber’s layout?” I said, “Astral, look around the edge of the room. Stealth-mode, girl.” As obedient as any well-trained dog, my cat stalked around the crowd without once being noticed. Her vigilance paid off when I was able to report details like more tunnels leading out of the town square, probably toward residential areas.
Barrels full of waxy white flowers marked the shops and tunnel openings. The one arch they’d failed to decorate was located on the other side of the picnicking crowd. A single barred gateway, it was guarded by a gnome who looked a lot more interested in the band than his work.
“Go find out what’s behind that gate,” I told Astral as we edged toward the tunnel’s mouth. Everybody could hear the music now. Seeing—not so easy. Our path took a bend before it opened into the square, but when Vayl and I leaned forward far enough we got our first look at those who called themselves Ufran’s Chosen. All of them primmed and propered just in case he looked down from reading his evening paper and needed a moment to remind himself how much they respected him. Because somewhere along the way they’d decided he was big into smiting.
Vayl caught my attention. Raised his eyebrows. His unuttered question,
I nodded. Astral had found the family. The kids huddled on a bench under the single window of a tiny, candlelit cell, finishing off the crumbs of supper while Mom paced its length. Her black hair, liberally laced with platinum highlights, combined with a double-sided updo to make her resemble a pissed-off lynx. Especially when she slapped the wall with the palm of her hand every time she made her turn.
Seeing the rage on her face, I wondered for a second how they’d managed to cage her.
My guess? Her dress was partly to blame. It fit so tight I wasn’t sure how she walked more than three steps without falling. The other reasons sat behind her dressed in jeans, white T-shirts, and suspenders, legs swinging back and forth, heels thumping into the rock at their backs in time with their mother’s movements.
When I finished describing the scene, Vayl motioned us into a huddle. “Bergman,” he whispered, “I believe we are going to need a distraction. As we skirt the crowd, I want you to deduce the best means to cause one. And when I give you the signal, do it.”
Miles visibly gulped. But he didn’t drop down his old scaredy slide. He said, “What should I do afterward?”
“Get out. The rest of us will free the family. We will meet you at the car.” He gave Bergman his keys. “If we do not beat you there, make sure it is running.”
Bergman said, “Now I understand why Jasmine always backs in.” Vayl returned to the front of the line and we all followed him around the corner. Now we could be seen.
Theoretically. But the tingle at the back of my neck signaled his power boost. Not that he could actually cloak us. That would’ve been too sweet. But Vayl’s ability worked almost as well, turning the attention toward what it wanted to see anyway. The band. An attractive member of the opposite—or maybe the same—sex. Nobody even turned their heads as we sidled around the edge of the crowd, avoiding family groups and last-minute snackers lined up at the shops that surrounded the square.
Once Jack danced sideways, his nose pulling him toward some little rugrat’s tray of fried tentacles, but he responded well when I pulled him in closer and gave him my like-hell-you-will! glare.
