Slate rushed out of his dressing room, which was directly across the massive suite from mine, attired in his usual; a tailored suit and polished shoes. The dark gray of his jacket made his eyes shine a brighter shade of silver and the cut emphasized his broad shoulders and narrow waist. His mahogany hair swept back from the sharp angles of his brutally handsome face; angles that sharpened when his stare landed on Binx.
“We've got a problem,” Binx growled, hunching shoulders even thicker than Slate's. “You might want to take off your pretty clothes; they could get dirty.”
Slate shrugged out of his jacket and went back into his dressing room. He emerged seconds later in jeans and a black T-shirt. “What kind of problem?” he demanded.
The men headed out of the room and I followed, clicking over the bare portions of the crystal floor in heels that I probably should have traded for flats. But I wasn't thinking about it and now, I didn't want to get left behind.
“A catfight,” Binx growled as he pounded down the curving staircase. “A bunch of fucking Kaplans lost their damn minds and jumped some Báalams.”
I made a shocked sound but the men didn't spare me a glance. The Kaplan are Tiger-Shifters and the Báalam are Jaguars. They usually get along well enough... so long as the males stayed far away from each other's mates. When they did fight, they did so in single combat and it was something to behold. But a catfight—a battle between several feline shifters—was rare. In a zone where Gargoyles maintained the law, it's unheard of. Cats may be frisky but they're not stupid. Not like Loups.
We ran down the central staircase then out of the palace and down yet another set of winding stairs. At their base, to the left of the gardens that were still being planted, a Jeep waited for us; engine running. I jumped in the back. Slate got in front with Binx, who slid behind the wheel. In seconds, we were tearing toward the residential area of the Zone, cars jerking out of our way as we approached.
Binx made a screeching turn into a section of the Zone I hadn't been in before. The Oregon Zone is enormous, bigger than any of the cities on the surface above it, and even though I'd spent a lot of time there, I barely knew my way around. I could get from the arena to the shopping district and then to the palace, which was pretty much a straight shot. Beyond that, I hadn't ventured. There had been no reason to. Even the battle with Gargo had stayed in the main streets of the Zone.
Now, we were heading into one of the neighborhoods that branched off from the central zone, driving between structures that had been formed of stone; created by Gargoyle magic when the Zone had first been carved out of the earth. Which is pretty much all structures in the Zone. Except, in the main part of the Zone, the buildings been painted in muted tones to give a unified appearance while here, the homes were embellished to express individuality. Paint was brighter, gardens blossomed before the tall buildings, and the stone walls were accented by iron, wood, and plaster flourishes.
Balconies such as you might find in the French Quarter of New Orleans stood out starkly against butter-yellow backgrounds, moldings from Italy grandly crowned doorways and windows, vibrant tiles formed paths to Moroccan arches, and marble fountains bubbled serenely. I know that sounds like a jumbled mix of styles but these features were seen over long stretches. It quickly became apparent that the architectural elements served as unifying aspects just as much as the simplicity of the Zone's central streets did. Neighborhoods were defined by their ambiance and it extended to the people who walked their streets. Gorgons in vibrant headscarves strolled before Mediterranean abodes while Vanaras in garish tunics congregated on the sidewalks near homes with a distinctly Indian flare.
We left a Tengu neighborhood with a subdued Asian atmosphere and drove into a bolder region of geometric designs and bright colors. The gardens there had a lush feel to them, with palms and banana trees, helped along by misters that hung from the roofs. The humidity went up several notches, and I knew it was a necessary comfort for more than the plants. This had to be the Báalam's neighborhood. The Jaguar-Shifters originally settled in America, mainly the Southern region, because they preferred more moisture in the air.
A whining roar confirmed it; catfight ahead.
A crowd gathered in the street, blocking our way. Most of them were shifted into a were-form; something part animal. They drew back as our Jeep screeched to a halt, and I was able to spy some gargoyles standing beyond the onlookers. They were in their Gargoyle forms; thick-bodied, gray-skinned, horned, and winged. And not feather wings either but leathery ones tipped in deadly barbs. Usually, a few Gargoyles would have been enough to subdue any fight but these didn't appear to be making headway. In fact, they were milling around as if they had no idea what to do.
Slate strode through the crowd, his shoulders stretching and hands clenching into fists. Binx lumbered eagerly behind him—practically frothing at the mouth—and I took up the rear. We cleared the line of Gargoyles, several nodding to Slate in relief, and the scene was finally revealed to us.
“Sweet stones,” I whispered.
No one heard me; it wasn't possible over the cacophony.
Or cat-cophony, RS suggested and laughed.
Okay, no one could hear me except the entities living in my head. One of which possesses an annoying sense of humor.
Stay out of this, my love, Kyanite, the jewel I was magically aligned with and the non-annoying entity, advised; also speaking inside my mind.
No shit, Sherlock, RS, short for Rooster Spell, immediately shot back in my voice.
Yes, my voice. It's yet another annoying aspect of her personality, but I've gotten used to it.
The
