Maikoda: Power of the Moon (Blue Moon Trilogy Book 2) (11 page)

              But the time came when the protectors began to lose their way. Instead of fighting the common enemies of our people, they quarreled among themselves. Mai-coh was devastated. He vowed to remove their strength, but as a mortal god, his powers were greatly diminished. All he could accomplish was a complete elimination of their powers every 19 years during a New Year’s Eve Blue Moon. It left him severely and permanently weakened but even that was not enough. They learned to use modern weapons and fight with other means during this time of feebleness. 

              The Were Council was established to protect and govern those with the blood. Each Were was born with something special; a gift to help them. Some had increased senses beyond other Weres, some had the gift of premonition and vision, while others could somehow discern one’s greatest desires or fears. 

              The Council was to guide the gifted and help the weak, but they too became corrupted. Some on the Council used their powers for evil and in doing so, started the war. But there will be one who will be able to stop the war. There will be one who will be able to free Mai-coh and send him back to the realm of the gods. The Hania. The Spirit Warrior. 

              One born of his blood every millennium will be the only one strong enough to release him from his mortal body. But the Hania cannot do it alone. She will need the strength of her sisters in blood to free her father and accept her fate. She will only have one chance to do so. Failure will result in Mai-coh being stuck in the mortal realm for another millennium. Until another Hania is born and accepts her fate.

              A chosen few among us, those not of Mai-coh’s blood are charged with protecting him and the Hania. It is our duty to ensure that she survives long enough to fulfill her destiny. The bracelet you hold in your hand was given to the mother of all Weres and must be infused with the spirits of the Hania and worn. A blade must be created from the orbs that contain the essence of her sisters. Only with the blade and the bracelet can she complete her journey. My time as Protector has come to an end. It is your time my son, your duty to find the Hania and protect her with your life, forsaking all others, the way your ancestors have done.

              Brett closed the book. His hands shook as he stuffed the small volume into his jacket pocket. Where was the bracelet? Had his father hidden that as well? He opened the box again and shook it. It was empty. Perhaps that was why is father had come back. To hide the bracelet, to keep it safe. 

              How was Layla connected to the Hania? She was Mai-coh’s daughter. Was she the mythical Spirit Warrior? Would she have to kill her own father? If she wasn’t the Hania, how would they find her? Was she one of the fated sisters to give her essence to the Hania? And the orbs? The bracelet? 

              There were too many loose ends that Brett needed to figure out before he could leave. He had to find the bracelet, understand Layla’s connection and discover the identity of the Hania before he went home.  Layla would understand.

*

              Layla looked at the news article. Another woman had been killed. The FBI were now investigating and although the article did not say it, she knew they thought it was a serial killer. If only they knew. It was a serial killer, all right, one that would keep on killing until it got to her. Why Kuruk was still at it? He had delivered his message. She got the point. Did he still want her to be fearful of him? What would that accomplish? It would only make her hide and harder to find. It was a waste of time for him.

              Just like the others, the latest victim’s throat was slashed and she had the unmistakable auburn hair and hazel eyes. Even her features were more in line with Layla’s than the others. She stopped and gasped; the woman was from Alaska. The dead woman was an Alaskan native and had come to Tampa for college. 

              Completely opening the paper, she read on; the woman was from Anchorage and had lived in Florida for almost two years. It had to be more than a coincidence; it had to be a message. Kuruk wanted to tell her something. Did he know about her family in Alaska? Was he trying to tell her where to go? But why would he help her? Was he after something in Alaska that only she could find?

              Grabbing her laptop, she used a search engine to research the various tribes in Alaska, in particular, Anchorage. She wanted to make sure she had some idea of where her father might be and looked up various Alaskan tribes and their territories. Even though she had no idea what she would find, she had a feeling she would know when she found it. 

              Apparently, according to the research online, there were still plenty of Alaskan natives living in Anchorage and that they were fiercely proud of their heritage and the distinction between themselves and mainland American Indians. That gave Layla pause. Suppose her father did not want to see her? Suppose he did not believe her? 

              She didn’t believe herself sometimes. She couldn’t expect a perfect stranger to believe her. And what about her dreams? Did she really believe she was some mythical warrior sent to free her father? What did that mean? Would she have to kill? Was her father even this Mai-coh character?

              An online local newspaper seemed promising and she paused to take a more in-depth look. Most of the articles featured local tribesmen and women. She read through the archives which spanned from complaints about the low record number of fish, hunting bears without the proper license, a trampling death by moose and a possible new species of bear. A hybrid between a grizzly and a polar bear. One article caught her attention for a few minutes; remains of animals were being found in the woods, indicating an unknown predator that people had to watch out for. 

              Scrolling through webpage after webpage, she kept reading; returning again and again to the homepage and the archives. The back and forth on the computer made her sleepy and on more than one occasion she had to stand to stretch her legs and open her eyes. It was impossible to stay awake and even as she acknowledged it, her eyes closed; before she knew it, she was asleep.

             
A man watched her. He was different, not like the wolves. He had dark hair and bright green eyes. He somehow reminded her of Brett and she smiled as he grinned down at her. “You look just like your father.” His voice was hushed as he spoke to her, a whisper on the breeze. “We will keep you safe, but you must find them.” 

              “Time is running out,” urgency filled his voice. “If you fail, we will have to wait another millennium for a new one to be born. By then, it may be too late. You have to find them. Look for the moon. It will help you find them. He will protect you, but you have to trust him. He will keep you safe. Do not trust what the eyes tell you; sometimes lies are all we see.”

              Suddenly the man moved with a gust of wind. “Trust him. He will help you.  He will protect you.” She shivered as suddenly she was alone and the darkness closed in around her. 

“We will help you.” A voice whispered. “Come to us.  It is because of you that we exist.”

Who are you?” she asked, bewildered.

“You know who we are. We will help you.”

*

              Layla awoke with a start. She sat on her bed, her laptop in her lap, fingers still on the keys. Wiping the sleep from her eyes, she stared at the computer screen in front of her. The webpage was open to a site on Native Alaskan tribes. She had fallen asleep while trying to find information about her family based on what little she knew; her father, Micah, was from Alaska and he were probably involved with the local Native Alaskan tribes, but that was it. 

              The dream replayed in her head and she closed her eyes to focus. The man with the dark hair and bright green eyes similar to Brett’s. His warning, telling her not to trust her eyes, whatever the hell that meant. She squeezed her eyes shut and groaned in pain as other images flashed into her head. Two women. Hania. A wolf baying at the moon. A woman dying in childbirth. A man’s voice, “listen to the dreams. We will help you.”

              What the hell was happening to her? Was she finally starting to crack? She rubbed her temple with the heel of her palm. Where did all that other stuff come from? Were they the dreams she couldn’t remember? Why now? Why was she remembering the dreams now? It had to mean something. She had learned a long time ago that there was no such thing as coincidence.

              It didn’t matter if she was going crazy or not, she was not getting anywhere with her other searches, so perhaps listening to her crazy side would get her closer than where she was at the moment, she thought as she pulled the computer securely into her lap 

              Eyes closed, she recalled her dream. Two women held out the moon-like orbs to her. What did the man say? Look for the moon? Perhaps, she was going about this the wrong way. She went back to the newspaper homepage and searched for 'moon'. Not surprising, a host of articles popped up. Most dealt with fishing and breeding seasons. She kept reading, amazed at the sheer volume of articles about hunting seasons and the lunar cycle.

              Then she saw it. She just knew. An article about the Moon sisters. Pamuya and Taini Moon. Alutiiq sisters who lived in Anchorage near Chugach National Park. They were the founders of the Maikoda festival. The sisters had made the festival bigger and bigger each year since its inception twenty years ago. This year, invites had been sent to all of the mainland reservations, even in Florida, for participation in the events. 

              It was expected that the festival would bring thousands of visitors to Anchorage and to the State park as it had in the past. The sisters had promised that this year would be the biggest so far as cultural performances and sessions were being held with Native tribes as far south as the Caribbean. 

              She scrolled through the article. The sisters were native Alaskans and were also married to local natives. Pamuya was a teacher on the reservation and Taini was a dancer and storyteller. They were both on the Council of Native Alaskans Affairs and were in charge of the festival they created as a means of attracting tourists to town. 

              This was what she was looking for. She printed out the article and went about trying to find an address and a phone number for them. Should she call them and introduce herself? Or should she simply go to Alaska and let them be the judge of her authenticity? What if she was wrong and made the trip all the way to Alaska for no reason. She chewed her lip. It was them, she could feel it in her gut.

              She continued typing, moving from one webpage to another. The Alaskan yellow pages, the roster at the Council of Native Alaskan Affairs, the University of Alaska – Anchorage campus directory. Suddenly, her hands stopped and she stared at her computer screen. Taini Moon – Lee. Owner of Moondancer Studios. Co-founder of the Maikoda festival. The page showed an older version of Layla with darker hair and rounder features. This was her sister. It was uncanny how much she resembled the other woman. The woman who held the key to helping her figure out what was going on. 
              Scrolling down to the bottom of the webpage, she found the ‘Contact Us’ link with a contact number. She quickly grabbed a pen and paper and wrote down the digits, her hands trembling. She had a contact number for her sister.  Should she call? She spied the credit card with her ID next to her keys on the dresser.  In the past, she would not have even thought about a trip like this; she couldn’t afford it.  Thanks to Martin, she now had the cash to make the decision that was in her heart.

              She was going to Alaska.             

~*~

Chapter 5

             
Just wanted to let you know I was thinking about you. Ray. 

              The note was attached to an ornate bouquet of flowers artfully arranged. Damn. This was worse than she’d thought. She ignored the receptionist and put the note in her desk drawer. The bouquet would stay right here; she didn’t even entertain the idea of taking it home with her.  Ray’s scent was all over the display and Martin would certainly pick up on it in seconds.  Then there was the issue of having a bouquet that was not from her boyfriend. It wasn’t worth the risk.

              In a few hours, she would be headed to Orlando. It had been tricky to arrange, but she agreed to meet Ray after lunch and they would drive the two hours to Orlando for dinner and a movie and then drive back. She refused to think of what could happen if either of them became too tired to drive. The word ‘hotel’ reverberated in her head and her heart immediately started to pound. No. They were simply two friends going to a movie and to get something to eat. That was it. It was not a date. 

              So far, the man who she really wanted to be on a date with had yet to have a conversation with her. His lone call had been sent to her voicemail and it was because he had to extend his stay in an effort to find something he couldn’t discuss over the phone. That was it. Her return calls had not been answered and she had not heard from him since. It was sad, but she had spent more time in the past few days talking to Ray than to the man who held her heart. 

              Perhaps that was why she was feeling this way towards her newest mentee. Maybe it was because she was lonely and he expressed interest. Either way, when she was around Ray she could not stop thinking about him, but at home, her mind was constantly on Brett. She was schizophrenic. That was it. One personality was into Ray and the other, Brett.

              She sat down behind her desk and checked her calendar. Empty. No students to mentor today meant she had a few hours to kill. Which actually meant she was bored stupid. No wonder she was thinking about men all the time, it was a distraction.

              At least in the Administration office, there was always something to do and right now, she was on leave until after Thanksgiving break, then she would have to go back to work or risk losing her financial aid—again. Perhaps, this was what she needed. Yes, she was bored, but this office was much more relaxed and that might give her the opportunity to get some schoolwork done.

              The pencil she held tapped against the desk as she made a mental note to ask if the mentoring program would count towards her work study. Things would be so much easier. She absently smelled the flowers; the combination of jasmine, lilies and irises flooded her senses.  Suddenly she paused, her body tense and sniffed the bouquet again as the hair on her neck rose. Hidden underneath the sweetness of the flowers was another scent; the unmistakable smell of a Were. 

              Uneasy, she looked around, scanning her office. Nothing had been touched, which could mean the Were had never been in this room, but they had been close. Scent trails crisscrossed the hallway outside; it was subtle and barely noticeable but it was there. Whoever it was had been nearby recently. She cursed softly under her breath. It had to have been the delivery person. Did they know who she was? The thought to monitor the office never occurred to her because he didn’t think Suzette or Kuruk would risk doing anything around so many humans.

              She ran to the receptionist. “Hey, do you know who delivered the flowers?”

              The girl stared at her curiously. “No.  Is something wrong?”

              Layla shook her head; her breathing labored as she thought about the possible reasons for the scent trails and glanced into the receptionist’s dark brown eyes. “No, I just thought it may have been a friend.”  She smiled. “I can simply call the company.” 

              Her mind troubled, she walked back to the office and took a deep breath. Martin needed to be made aware of this latest development, she paused, but then she would have to mention the flowers and that explanation would inevitably lead to Ray.  If Brett happened to be there then he would know something was up.  It would also mean calling it off with Ray and she wasn’t sure she wanted to do that. 

              Not that it made any difference. By now the Were was probably long gone. In a weird twisted way, it made sense that this could have happened. Both Weres were actively tracking her and could have easily scented her here. She would just have to be more careful, although the Weres would not dare to attack her on campus. Too many eyes and too many cameras. 

              After the fiasco with her old boss last month, security was everywhere and that meant cameras and cops. Kuruk would have to be an idiot to mess with her on campus and he was not a fool. No, this had definitely been a scouting trip. That meant she would not be here after hours or by herself. She was not going to get set up this time.

*

              Ray pulled up and Layla groaned. Figures, she thought. He rode a bike. A fast-looking, oh-my-god-I’m-gonna-die bike. This was going to be a first. She had never been on a motorcycle before but she had a feeling it was not going to be a ride she would enjoy. Brett’s car would be so much better than a damn bike. On the other hand, she would get to press her body up against Ray’s to hold on and who knew where that might lead. She caught herself and grimaced. This was not what this date—outing—was about; they were supposed to be friends having fun.

              He rested his foot at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the main building as he balanced the bike. The stone steps offered the perfect area to mount. She walked towards him hesitantly and he arched an eyebrow.

              “Never done this before?” he asked, continuing to balance one leg against the steps.

              “No,” she shook her head ruefully. “And honestly, I am terrified.”

              He laughed and tugged at her hand. “It’s not that bad, promise. Just lean with me, hold on tight and you will be fine.” 

              “Wear this.”  He handed her a helmet and leaned towards her, his eyes intently on hers.  “I promise I won’t let you go.”

              Blushing slightly at his charm, she smiled and grabbed his hand, allowing him to seat her onto the bike. The rumbling of the machine beneath her made her nervous. It was bigger than she had thought and she squeezed her knees against the leather and chrome before she wrapped her arms around Ray’s stomach. 

              “Hey, not too tight.”  He patted her arm. “You’ll be fine.” He revved the engine and took off. 

              Layla opened her mouth to answer him and gasped as the bike jerked away. She was sure she’d left her stomach somewhere on the front steps of Gulfport College. 

*

              Brett brushed aside the cobwebs that threatened to engulf him and walked the length of the store again, his hands dusty from touching the jackets of books probably last touched during the war of 1812. He moved back to the front of the store, which was a cross between a tourist trap and a new age mecca haven. Trinkets lined every shelf and he doubted they were as real and authentic as the signs claimed. 

              The weathered woman tending the register, whose dark hair was liberally sprinkled with gray, reminded him of a grandmother. Not because she was old. Hell, Martin was old as time but Brett didn’t see him as a grandfather. There was something about her that was more matronly, more motherly than he would have thought.

              His mind flickered briefly to his grandparents. He had never met either pair; both sets of grandparents had died before he was born. The most he’d seen were pictures and even those were too weathered and expressionless for him to really understand the people who had raised his parents. Yet somehow he felt she would be the kind of grandmother he would’ve loved.

             
Paula Cohen
.  The name was written in the journal as a contact. He had been surprised to find the woman still alive and at the same address listed. It was a little disconcerting, especially when she had taken one look at him and told him to wait until the store closed. It was as if she already knew what he wanted and he hadn’t said a word. 

              Instead, he had browsed the little shop in the heart of downtown St. Augustine. It was doing brisk business, the doors wide open to welcome the constant stream of visitors and buyers. He glanced at his watch and sat on a little bench across from the register. It was near closing time. Even Paula glanced at the clock hanging above the door and then at him. Her lips twisted into a semblance of a smile. 

              Suddenly, her face clouded. She looked toward the door and slowly backed away. Instantly, Brett was on his feet as two men walked into the little store. Menace rolled of them like hurricane driven waves and he knew what they were instantly. Werewolf. On guard, he looked around for a weapon, his eyes lighting on the various glass trinkets and rolled his shoulders as he realized he would have to take care of this problem the old fashioned way.

              Paula’s hands fluttered as she walked backwards away from the men, her eyes darting to and fro. The men walked towards her, their faces feral and lean and they ignored Brett, which gave him an advantage. He pushed the old woman behind him and glared at the two wolves.

              “This is none of your concern.” The one nearest to him growled. 

              He smiled. “The way I see it, two grown ass men ganging up on an old woman is my concern.”

              The werewolf snarled at him; traces of his wolf just underneath his skin. Even though he was still human, he was damn close to transforming. These two were wild, almost savage. 

              He stared at the wolf, testing him; his eyes locked in a war of wills. The wolf looked away almost instantly, his eyes refusing to meet Brett’s. 

              A tingle of fear rolled down Brett’s spine. It was not acquiescence that made the wolf look away, it was simply the way of the wolf; not making eye contact. Pack wolves deferred to the alpha by lowering their heads and tails and deflecting their eyes. These wolves refused to make eye contact at all. Which meant they had been in the wild too long. And an untamed wolf was a dangerous wolf.

              He straightened, slowly releasing the tension from his body, unwilling to let them see his apprehension.  Normally, two Weres no problem, but feral ones? He wasn’t so sure. They would fight to the death and they would fight dirty. And he would have to risk everything to protect Paula and the information she guarded.

              Widening his stance let the wolves know he meant business. One of the animals allowed his fangs to descend and grinned wickedly at Brett. He smiled. This was the intimidation part. If he had no knowledge of Werewolves, this was where he would be running out the door, screaming like a punk. 

              The two Weres looked at each other quickly as Brett stood his ground and their eyes narrowed. He flexed his hands as the Weres started to transform. 

              “We have come for the old woman. Stand aside!” 

              Brett shook his head. “Over my dead body.”

              The wolf smiled and Brett steeled himself. Suddenly the wolf lunged and Brett stepped lithely out of the way, twisting and turning as the wolf crashed into a table filled with glass pendants. He moved again as the other wolf swiped at him and delivered a punch to the wolf’s abdomen, sinking his fist deep and the wolf howled as he felt the full force of Brett’s blow. 

              Mission temporarily forgotten, the wolves focused on him and moved towards him as one. Brett rolled out of the way and grabbed the smallest one by the neck. He squeezed hard, cutting the wolf’s supply of oxygen and blood from his carotid artery. In moments, the wolf hung limp. He dropped the decommissioned werewolf and smiled at the other one, eyeing Paula as she slid behind the counter. 

              “Come on, big boy,” he taunted and waited as the wolf roared and attacked, his jaws snapping. Brett took a step forward; his hand curled into a fist and met the wolf halfway. He put the force of his body behind the blow and the wolf stopped cold, his jaw cracked as he fell to the floor and writhed in pain. 

              Brett smiled triumphantly. “That’s what you get for messing with an old woman.” He turned to Paula and stopped short, his eyes on the receiving end of the double barrel shotgun.

              “I don’t know what the hell you are, but you have two seconds to get the hell off my property.”

              He raised his hands slowly, his eyes locked with hers. “Paula.  I am James Black’s son. I mean you no harm.” The shotgun came closer and he moved backwards cautiously.

              “The James I knew couldn’t fight no werewolf barehanded, much less two!”

              Brett took a deep breath. If she knew about the Werewolves and his father’s role as a Protector, perhaps she knew about Mai-coh as well. “Yeah, but my father didn’t get bit by a werewolf.”

              “Bull!” She cocked the gun and his hands went higher. “If you had been bit by a Were, you would be dead!”

              “True,” he nodded. “I don’t have the gene, so I should be dead. But Mai-coh found me and gave me his blood. That saved my life.”