Page 39 of Snag
I start to elaborate, to prompt Presh to focus on what feels different when reading her brother’s essence, but the descriptive words that want to tumble out — that Rought feels like the sun dancing across my skin on a chilly, windy day, like being cuddled next to a bonfire and gazing up at the endless universe spread across the starlit sky but knowing I’m not alone — won’t be at all helpful for Presh’s assessment.
Still, Presh says, “Starlight …” questioningly. She opens one eye, peeking at me over her shoulder. “Or maybe the … cosmos? Rought feels a little like the intersection point. I’m not … I don’t know how to explain it.”
“He does,” I say. “And the exact words aren’t important because it’s a feeling. Dozens of shapeshifters left residual trails up and down these streets. They will havesome commonalities, but they’re all fundamentally unique.”
“Especially the berserkers,” DeVille mutters.
“Exactly,” I say. “But there’s nothing darkly tainted about the shifters’ essence. Nothing malignant. Nothing that makes you want to clench your teeth, or that runs cold down your back. And the dire mage’s power will feel different than the berserkers as well. Though now that I think about it, whatever spell Chains used last night had a lot in common with the corrupted energy the berserkers give off.”
Presh frowns. “So I’m looking for corrupted energy?”
“No,” I say, “because you probably won’t know it, not until faced with the actual source. You’re looking for a tenor that’s not the shifters. Or mine. Though I won’t have left any trail. I can’t be tracked like that.”
Grinder and Rought share a glance.
Then Grinder clears his throat. “Not to be that guy, but any of us would be able to smell a dire mage from blocks away.”
I offer him a knowing smile. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But the mage has been out and about in Newport this morning while you were cleaning and fixing windows.”
Grinder glances at Rought again, sharp and questioningly. Pepper and Piston share a similar glance, and I catch a hint of essence shifting between them. The shifter siblings are telepathic. That, paired with their unusual eye color, and with them being mixed-clan shifters in a pack that occupies territory along a coastline, narrows down their species sharply. Both are exceedingly rare marine shifters. Well, rare in that they’re choosing to dwell on land. Likely dolphins.
Rought grimaces. “Seems the dire mage is highly skilledin obfuscation spells. We’ve only picked her up when she’s wanted to be seen.”
Grinder scratches his beard. “But … the possession …” He clears his throat, glancing at Presh and DeVille with concern.
“Yes,” I say, not making the elder shifter elaborate. “Either this dire mage has an unusual skill set, or she’s —”
“Too skilled,” Rought mutters.
“Or …” I continue, slightly more pointedly, “we’re dealing with multiple mages.”
“Motherfucker,” Grinder snarls. “They don’t usually work together, do they?”
“They don’t usually live long enough,” Rought says. “After going dark.”
“Neither do berserkers,” I say mildly. “Usually.”
Silence falls between us. Grinder pulls out his phone and starts texting. Likely checking in with the rest of the Outcast lieutenants— or warning them all, including Pinky.
“Okay,” Presh says determinedly, though her voice remains a much-needed sweetness. “I’m looking for … feeling for energy that doesn’t match the shifters.”
I smile at her. Bellamy’s path is easy to distinguish from the vibrant, natural energy of the shifters. For me, at least. The dire mage’s residual is smudged — oily and weirdly cloying — all around us, as if she’s been walking these streets recently. “I’ll give you a hint, shall I?”
“Toward the beach,” she says, with just a hint of a question threaded through the declaration. “Again?”
“Yes. But to the south this time.”
I step up beside Presh, not touching her but near enough. She starts off down the block, keeping to the cleared sidewalk. Rought, Grinder, and DeVille arraythemselves behind us, near enough to grab us or dart in front of us if needed. Piston and Pepper start their motorcycles, then begin to navigate an outer perimeter, circling a block ahead, then back around.
Together, we go dire mage hunting.
Though I find myself wondering if there’s an ice-cream place nearby. Actually, the grocery store should have —
“Zaya?” Presh twines her fingers through mine. Her voice is gentle, as it was in the motel room when I was barely functioning. Or rather, functioning just enough to get the young awry to safety.
“I’m with you, Precious. Always.”
“I know. Thank you for letting me come with you.”
