Page 17 of Shift of Destiny
She let her hands drop and opened her eyes. The flashes seemed calmer, but their random pattern made her twitch, wanting to turn and look away, or to the side. Resolutely, she focused on the nearest object in front of her, the ornate but empty picture frame that had startled her the first time she’d walked through the workroom.
Cautiously, she reached out and touched it. A hazy image began to form and solidified into a watercolor painting. The subject was still a fantasy winter scene of hunting wolves on the trail of a human figure in red and blue, but this time, the wolves were more plentiful and closer to their prey. Three winter-cloaked, crossbow-carrying hunters on galloping horses approached from the left. On the right, a huge, rough statue of a man cast a long shadow, with some sort of big, pale cat creature slinking around the side. A brass plate along the bottom of the picture frame proclaimed the picture’s title to be “Choices.” She let go of the picture frame, and the image faded, along with the title.
To the left, a black-lacquered box seemed to glow, once she focused her attention on it. It didn’t invite her touch like the picture frame had. It felt like it was waiting for someone else, not her.
Several thumps overhead reminded her that she was supposed to be finding the lights out back, not sightseeing in Mr. Maxen’s workshop. She shifted her focused gaze up to the back wall and located the switches she’d seen before. She made it several steps down the aisle of low shelves before the flashes started to bother her again. She focused on a candlestick with a candle made of fire that cast a warm glow. She kept her eyes on it for several more steps, then deliberately focused on the next item, a flat, stiletto knife that was about to fall off the shelf. When she pushed it back to safety, the knife seemed to fade a bit. When she grasped its hilt, the whole knife slowly faded from view, leaving only hints of the edges. The ultimate concealed weapon.
By the time she made it to the back wall and the loading dock, the flashes had become less distracting. They were still there, but no longer made her flinch. They seemed more localized, too, as if she could almost figure out which objects were flashing. Maybe they were the magical equivalent of those motion-activated Halloween displays in stores that startled passing shoppers with a cheap sound effect.
When she finally reached the bank of unlabeled switches, she tried them one by one and found three that didn’t change any of the lights in the workroom. Unfortunately, whoever created the workroom had removed all of the house’s back windows, so she couldn’t tell if she was turning on the outside lights or not.
Chance had already turned off the alarm system to let Shepherd in, so it probably wouldn’t hurt to raise the loading dock door long enough to check. She opened the slider bar locks on either side, then lifted.
No other lights illuminated the backyard beyond the threshold. She went back to the switches and flipped all three candidate switches, then stepped outside onto the loading dock. The back of the house and the driveway were now gratifyingly well lit. She looked up to the open windows above, but didn’t see either Chance or Shepherd.
As she turned to go back in, she saw a glint of something on the ground, a few feet beyond the edge of the concrete. Someone had dropped a rectangular, pocket-sized mirror. She picked it up to take it inside. The back was old, oxidized brass with faint hints of old designs, long since worn away. The surface of the mirror was tinted gold, but her reflected face looked normal enough. She put it in the back pocket of her jeans, since T-shirt designers stupidly chose not to give women chest pockets.
She jerked with sudden pain as something stung the back of her arm. “Yeow!” She lifted her arm to look, and saw little yellow feathers sticking out of her. Before she could move, something stung her thigh, and now it, too, sprouted yellow features. Tranquilizer darts.
Witzer’s hunters had found her.
She turned to run back inside, but slipped on the loose gravel and tripped on the edge of the concrete. She landed bruisingly hard on her hands and knees, but scrambled forward. Her arm and thigh already felt cold and numb.
“Grab her!” The hissed words came from the left.
She heard running footsteps. She opened her mouth to scream, only to have a large, rough hand clamp over her face and shove her onto her back. Something crunched under her and stabbed her butt. Her head thumped on the concrete, and she saw stars. She raised her knees and kicked out as hard as she could, connecting with ribs.
“Fuck!” growled a man’s voice. She bit the hand that covered her mouth, causing him to swear again. He made a fist and punched her cheek and nose. Pain exploded in her face and her vision dimmed. The dark-bearded man above her bared his teeth like a predator.
“Get her to the van and come back for me,” another man’s voice ordered. “I’ll take out anyone who comes looking for her.”
The feral man smiled cruelly and drew his fist back to hit her again. She whimpered and tried to turn her head aside, but his knee was on her braid.
“Stop that,” ordered the other man. “We need her alive. He’ll kill us if she’s hurt.”
The bearded man shot a thin-lipped, frustrated glare at his unseen accomplice, then whipped out a large handkerchief from his pocket and tied it tightly around her head, forcing it into her mouth to gag her.
He threw her over his shoulder and strode off toward the alley. The pressure on her diaphragm made it hard to breathe, and her sore nose bumped his back. The pain in her head made it hard to think. She felt blood dripping from her nose. She couldn’t call for Shepherd or Chance, or they’d get shot.
The blood from her nose threatened to block her breathing. She snorted as forcefully as she could, spitefully glad she sprayed blood and snot all down the back of his leather vest.
“Stay still, bitch, or I’ll give you another love tap,” growled her captor.
“Can’t… breathe….” she managed between jarring steps that forced his shoulder into her stomach. She may as well have been talking to the white fence they were walking next to.
A crazy thought burbled up to her increasingly foggy consciousness. If Shepherd and Chance were shifters, and if the fantasy novels got at least that part right, they’d be able to track her if she left a scent trail. She didn’t have any breadcrumbs, but she had blood.
Her kidnapper slowed, and she heard the sound of a panel-van door sliding open. Using her good arm, she reached up and pinched her nose. It hurt like fire, but got her fingers good and bloody.
“Hurry up,” ordered a muffled male voice from inside the van. “The timetable is moved up, and they’re all coming tonight. We’re only a couple of hours ahead of the main force. They already set up the temporary helipad.”
As the bearded man shifted his weight, she stretched out her arm to grab the top of one of the white fence’s pickets, leaving a dark smear on it before she was wrenched forward, splinters needling into her palm. Her head hit the top of the van as he threw her onto the forward bench seat.
“Oops,” he said sarcastically.
Asshole.If she could ever afford to pay back her swear fund, she wouldn’t have to work for a year.
“Oh my God, Richie, is she dead?” asked a muffled male voice. She slitted her eyes open to see a man wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a full winter facemask. He looked like a convenience store robber on vacation.
