Page 22 of Heart of a Dire Wolf
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The Kotoyeesinay’s glade, the center of its strength, wasn’t what Nic expected.
He followed the purple-haired Pendragor and a golden elf named Guivre, who didn’t walk so much as glide, along a winding path through the incongruously dense growth that looked less and less like any forest he’d ever seen.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and tensed his shoulders to control his inner tiger and his own impatience. The older and ancient races thought of shifters as hot-headed, wayward children. Living up to that stereotype wouldn’t get him the help he needed to find Skyla and get her back.
The crowded trees thinned out and gave way to a lush, cool, garden-like meadow. A large round plastic table and a haphazard array of mismatched lawn chairs occupied the center.
He slowed to a stop when he saw a wyvern and a centaur step out of the trees. He’d never met either species in person. Tinsel, seated in a small, brightly painted wooden sleigh, floated in, but stayed in the shade. Despite the autumn chill, she’d changed into in a sleeveless dress, and still looked flushed and sweaty. To arctic-dwellers, anything above freezing was like being in a sauna. Her various magical sleighs made it possible for her to move around town in the unbearable heat.
More council members arrived, nineteen in all, because Nic counted and cataloged them by species to keep his mind occupied with something besides worry. Eight elves of varying sizes and tribes, two more fairies besides Pendragor and Tinsel, a wraith, three humans, and three more beings he couldn’t identify.
Pendragor caught Nic’s eye, then pointed to one of the empty chairs. Nic shook his head. He couldn’t curb his impatience that much. Pendragor shrugged and turned away.
Tinsel noticed Nic and gave a cheery wave. He’d never met a more genuinely upbeat person in his life. That she was a polar fairy, a tribe infamous for its dour and warlike nature, made her as unique as her astonishing bed and breakfast, styled to look like year-round Christmas. He hoped to see more of the town once he was reunited with Skyla.
Minutes slipped away while the council greeted one another, moved chairs, and chatted. He focused on his feet. He was regretting trimming his curly hair and shaving off his overgrown beard and mustache, which would have helped hide his irritation. This kind of thing was exactly why he’d left the caribou tribe. Their council could argue for days about whether to plant additional cranberry shrubs in the icy bogs, or the color of the snow. Significant decisions took years.
A primitive shiver went through him as a female approached him. Her skin was the color of bleached bone, and her hair a dull gray. Her solid black eyes seemed to drill into him, hungrily looking for his soul. He instinctively stepped back.
A look of infinite sorrow crossed her face. “I just wanted you to know you aren’t dying today.” He couldn’t tell if he’d hurt her feelings with his reaction, or she was disappointed that he’d live.
He swallowed and stepped closer again. “Good to know.” A phantom scent of decay made his inner tiger want to cover his nose with his paw. Nic curled his toes in his shoes and stood his ground, but he still couldn’t meet her eyes.
“My name is Auris. I can release the dead.”
Nic nodded respectfully. “Are you an oracle?”
She shook her head. “No, thank Hell.” She smiled, revealing gleaming white teeth. “Just cursed.” She pointed toward the knot of elves seated at the table. “They need you now.”
With that, she turned and drifted away, as if she was alone in the glade. Maybe she was. Even the meadow grasses shied away from her feet as she walked.
Nic walked to within ten feet of the table and stood. Pendragor crossed to face him, holding a slender wand. “Permission to cast a spell of memory projection for your portal trip?”
Pendragor had already talked Nic into it, to save a lot of question and answer time. Nic still didn’t like it, not after what the wizards had done to him with their control spell. He reluctantly nodded.
He felt nothing, but suddenly his memories were playing like a first-person computer game’s hologram above the table. Skyla at the wheel, accelerating into the portal. Lightning striking. A blinding blizzard swirling inside the car, like it had become a snow globe. More lightning. The car turning upside down and becoming transparent. Far below them, trees half hiding a tiny town.
Several members of the council gasped, but he couldn’t guess why.
In his memories, Skyla screamed. His head thumped the roof hard. Blackness, then a blaze of light and he landed on his butt on the side of the road to Kotoyeesinay. The solid white car and red sleigh followed.
Pendragor wasn’t watching the projection, he was frowning at Nic. “You have wizard talismans in you.” The words held a thread of accusation.
Nic nodded. “Three of them. They’re dead. Mauk drained them.”
Pendragor shook his head. “Not dead. They’re recharging by stealing energy each time you shift.” He pointed his wand toward Nic’s head, then each of his hips. “Five nasty spells each.”
Nic swore a vicious oath. “Can you kill them, or get them out of me?”
Pendragor tilted his head, bird-like. “Yes, but it’ll hurt.”
“I’ll deal. I never want those motherfuckers in my head again.”
A minute later, Nic had three new painful holes in him, and bloodstains on his only clean clothes. The rice-sized talismans floated together in the air, surrounded by what looked like a soap bubble.
“Send them to my workshop,” said a dark elf with iron-gray skin and silver hair. “I want to study them.”
