Night Myst (6 page)

A quick call to LeAnn proved our fears.

“I can’t help you,” she said over the speakerphone. “I wish I could but I have my baby to think of. I’m sorry, but I’ve resigned from what there is left of the local Society. It’s over, Rhiannon. Your mother, along with Elise and the others, they’re probably dead. I suggest you get the hell out of Dodge while you can. By tomorrow, my family will be two hundred miles away, and safe.” She hung up without even saying good-bye.

“That’s it.” Rhiannon dropped onto the sofa. “Tyne is Marta’s grandson—he might help us but I don’t have any clue of where he is. And Rupert wasn’t at home when I called him. Oh man, I’m tired.”

“Let me make some tea for us.” I found my way around the kitchen, glad Leo was here to help. Rhiannon’s slip into trance freaked me out and whoever the hell the Indigo Court was, I didn’t want them mucking inside my cousin’s head.

When the tea finished steeping, I carried the tray to the living room and sat near the window, steaming cup in hand as I stared out at the woodland.

“What are you thinking?” Rhiannon sipped her tea, and some of the tension fell away from her face.

“I’m thinking I need to get my ass back out there to find Grieve.”

“I’m sorry, Cicely. This isn’t fair. You just got home this morning, you haven’t even had a chance to unpack.”

“Not a problem. I’m used to living out of my car. And when Krystal was alive, we were always on the run. This is nothing compared to nights when we were trying to get out of this city or that before the goons she hooked up with found us to collect on her drug debts.”

Memories of dark nights spent running through back alleys, trying to get to the freeway so we could hitch another ride to another city, flooded my mind. I’d learned early how to cage rides, and more than once Ulean had protected me from the rapists and serial killers who prowled the highways.

“I can’t begin to understand the life she put you through,” Rhiannon said. “Heather wanted to bring you back more than once, but every time she talked to Krystal, she’d get off the phone crying because your mother was such a basket case and wouldn’t let you come home. And by the time you did . . .”

“I felt obligated to go back to help my mother. She trained me well with guilt. I wanted to stay every time I came home for a visit. Hell, I know Heather did everything she could short of kidnapping me. But I’m here, now. That’s what counts.”

I set down my teacup and shrugged back into my jacket. “Call the lawyer and make an appointment for me later today, if possible. Tomorrow, if not. I’m going in search of Grieve. If I’m not back in an hour, come to the edge of the wood and call my name, but whatever you do, don’t step inside.”

Leo nodded. “Got it. And Cicely—be careful. Your cousin needs you.”

“You’re really going out there?” Rhiannon pushed herself to her feet.

“Yeah. I’ll be careful,” I said, zipping up my jacket.

“Do you have a pair of gloves I could wear? I didn’t count on snow.”

Rhiannon handed me a leather pair of gloves and a scarf. “Bundle up, it’s cold out there. And please, be careful. I don’t want to lose you, too.”

Before I headed outside, I ran upstairs and grabbed my switchblade. Highly illegal to carry but I didn’t give a damn. I’d learned early that protecting myself was worth getting ragged on by the police if they caught me. As I stepped out onto the porch, Rhiannon was on the phone, talking to the lawyer.

The snow had let up, the clouds parting just enough to show the moon rising, full and round in the afternoon sky. The air was ripe with the tang of ozone that presaged a hard winter storm.

I crossed the yard. When I was little, Rhiannon and I weren’t supposed to go into the ravine alone, but we always found a way to sneak off without being caught. I suspected my aunt always knew, but she never said anything.

The glade didn’t have an official name. Huge, it sprawled for a good twenty miles, winding its way through the foothills of the western Cascades that bordered the back end of New Forest, Washington.

Grieve had called the thicket the
Golden Wood
but I thought of it as spider heaven. In spring, summer, and fall, golden and white orb weavers hung thick in the copse, spinning their webs from tree branch to bush to giant fern, a thick lacy net for catching flies and mosquitoes and the occasional dragonfly.

I jammed my hands in the pockets of my jeans as I came to the edge of the lawn and glanced back at the house. Rhiannon was sitting in the living room at Heather’s desk as she spoke on the phone, illuminated by the light spilling out from the bay window. I stared at her through narrowed eyes. For some reason, the realization that I could see her so clearly from here made me nervous, as if I were a hunter, watching a doe through a rifle scope.

Taking a deep breath, I shook off the feeling and approached the edge of the ravine, my boots squeaking on the powdery snow. The undergrowth thickened, rich with bracken and brambles, and maidenhair ferns stood half as tall as I. Every sound grew muffled as I stepped into the shelter of the towering firs. I let out a long breath, glancing around. Nothing jumped out at me, or caught me up, and I took another step, then another.

Dim light splashed through the trees, making for an eerie play of shadow puppets against the falling leaves and trunks. My boots scrunched along the trail as I scrambled my way down the overgrown path leading into the heart of the ravine. Pausing, I closed my eyes and
listened
.

At first all I could hear was the scuffle of small animals rustling through the brush and the call of birdsong that echoed in the frozen air. After a moment, I caught the cadence of wind and let my mind roam.

“Grieve?”
I whispered his name, sending it along the slipstream. It had been a while since I’d tried to harness the breeze this way. There wasn’t much call for it in the city, but here . . . here, everything came streaming back.

After a moment, I whispered his name again.
“Grieve, are you here? Are you really still here?”

Never hurry
. Grieve’s voice echoed in my memory.
Give it time. Don’t try so hard—I know it’s hard to be patient when you’re still so young, but you’ll need these skills, Cicely. You’ll need them as you grow up.

He’d known, I thought. He’d known that I was leaving soon, and he’d tried to prepare me.

Another pause. Then, slowly, the wind picked up, carrying the sounds of arguing headed my way. Before I could blink, two men stood beside me.

My heart thudded in my chest and I wanted to cry. It had been so long, so many years, and yet—here he was.
Grieve . . . it was Grieve
. And Chatter stood beside him. Both gorgeous and mesmerizing.

Olive-skinned, Grieve and Chatter had slanted eyes and their chins were sharp and narrow, as if the flesh had been stretched taut across their faces. Grieve had a thick head of platinum hair that curled down his back, while Chatter—slightly stockier—wore his hair in a raven-black ponytail. They were dressed in camo jeans.
Tight, form-fitting jeans and long dusters that looked oh so hot.

But something was different . . . While Chatter’s eyes still glistened pale blue, the blue of cornflowers, Grieve’s had changed. They’d grown dark—no white showed, and no pupils, just glistening ebony orbs. But unlike a vamp’s, scattered amid the inky blackness sparkled a field of glowing white stars.
Like the woman in Rhiannon’s vision.

“Grieve . . . what happened to you?” My whisper sliced through the silence, my heart thudding in my chest. As I took a step forward, Ulean hissed in my ear, stopping me.

I paused, tuning in to the energy and went reeling. Grieve had an edge to him that I didn’t remember, a palpable arrogance. Chatter—not so much. But Grieve felt wary, almost hostile.

I caught my breath, wanting to throw myself in his arms, but I restrained myself and gave them a gentle nod.
Play it light, keep it superficial at first.

“I’m back, boys. I’m home. To stay. Did you miss me?”

Chatter broke the silence first. He held out his arms, pulling me close.

“Dear Cicely. Of course we missed you. We heard word on the wind that you were home.” He smelled like sweet grass and raspberries and his hug ran through me like sheets fresh from the dryer on a cold night.

“But you shouldn’t be here. Not now. You need to leave the wood,” he whispered so low I had a feeling that even Grieve couldn’t hear him. “Before the dark comes, get out of here for your own safety.”

I stepped back, staring into his eyes. He looked frightened.

“Chatter—I missed you.” I turned to Grieve, hesitating before I said, “I missed you, too.”
Please, oh please, don’t reject me.

Grieve held back. He didn’t reach out like Chatter had. “You returned.” There was a hint of distrust in his voice and he looked angry. “I thought you were done with me. With New Forest. You said as much, last time.”

“I guess I deserve that,” I said, stung even though I knew he had every right to be angry. I scuffed the ground. “Are you so unhappy to see me?”

He took a step back and shook his head. “You must leave. You have to get out of this wood.
Now.
And stay away,
especially
during the night.” But as he watched my face, his eyes lit up and the tip of his tongue crept out to lick the corner of his lips.

Confused, I wasn’t sure what to think but my body answered for me, hunger welling up as I watched his thick, full lips curl into the hint of a smile. Just the look of him made me want to reach out and . . .
Touch me, take me, taste me, feel me, hold me.
My wolf let loose a low growl, hungry.

Grieve had implanted himself on my heart years ago, the roots taking strong hold. His rejection hurt, even though I knew I’d brought it on myself.

“If I’m so unwelcome, why are you worried about me?” I crossed my arms. “I can take care of myself, you know.”

“You’re the one who should be worried, Cicely,” Grieve said, his eyes narrowing. A hint of threat rode the wind and I eyed him cautiously. Oh yes, Grieve had changed drastically.

Never show fear if you’re not sure whether they’re friend or foe.
Lesson number twenty-nine from Uncle Brody, an old black man who lived in the first rooming house we’d stayed in after leaving the Veil House. I still thanked that old geezer. He gave me a running start—his cautions a guidebook to living the life into which my mother had dragged me.

“I’m not six years old anymore. Too old to be captured for a changeling.”

“Not the subject to joke about. Not now, not here.” Grieve slowly reached out for my hand. “You’ve fully grown up. You’re more beautiful than you were the last time you came to visit.” His gaze raked over me like hot coals.

“I’m home to stay, Grieve. Marta’s dead and I’m taking over her business.”

I froze, forcing myself to breathe normally as he took hold of my hand and brought it to his lips where, one by one, he brushed a kiss against each fingertip, soft silk against my skin. Slowly, he turned my arm so my palm was facing up, and lowered his lips to my wrist. I closed my eyes, sinking into his touch. I remembered that touch, those lips.

His feral smile was punctuated by dimples that were neither cute nor comforting. Sharp, brilliant white teeth shone against the dim light of the forest, and, as I watched, he grazed my skin with them, leaving a trail of thin, red marks from two tiny fangs I’d never noticed before.

My skin welted up and a flush raced from the wounds through my bloodstream. I was spinning, like when I had the flu or the one time I’d eaten tuna fish and ended up passing out from an allergic reaction.

As the spiraling heat flared through me, all I could think about was what it would feel like if he took hold with those teeth and never let go. Common sense warred with my body. I shook my head to clear my mind, and managed to throw off the glamour.

Chatter shook his head, looking browbeat. “Grieve
. . .
please . . . not her.” He stepped forward, stopping as Grieve motioned with his other hand. “Grieve,
she’s our Cicely
.”

“Hush. You talk too much, Chatter.” Grieve never took his gaze from my face. Afraid to make any sudden move, I kept silent as Grieve brought his hand to my mouth.

As he traced my lips, I slowly parted them, unable to resist as he slid a finger just barely inside. I slowly wrapped my tongue around it, tasting him gently.
Cloyingly sweet, like sugared dates.
He tasted different than I remembered. I tried to back away, but he grabbed my wrist and held fast, staring into my eyes.

Ulean brushed by me on the wind.
Don’t lose yourself to him. It’s not safe here. Snap out of it. Wake and beware.

The abrupt sting of her touch against my skin cleared my thoughts again. I forced myself to focus. “Grieve, let go of me.
Now
.”

His brow narrowed and a nasty look crossed his face, but he acquiesced. I slowly backed away, then hopped onto a deadfall where I brushed away the snow and squatted, my chin on my hands, elbows resting on my knees. I knew two things: Grieve had changed, and change or not, I still wanted him. I was ready to curl up inside his embrace for good.

When I felt steady enough, I said, “What the fuck’s going on, guys? What’s happening out here?”

The dark look fading, Grieve shook his head. “Go. Don’t stick around this town, Cicely.”

Chatter spoke up. “It’s bad, Cicely. We’ve lost so much over the past few years—”

“Shut up,” Grieve said, not even glancing at him. Chatter closed his mouth and bowed his head, looking contrite. I caught sight of a series of bruises on the back of his neck that looked like thumbprints.
Please tell me Grieve didn’t do that . . .
but I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t bear to think the marks were Grieve’s doing.