A hand touched Aryck’s shoulder. He looked up into Phaedra’s age-lined face and saw compassion there.
“Leave,” she said. “Don’t come here anymore or torment yourself. There is nothing any of us could have done to prevent this. I played in those ruins as a child; so did you, so did your father, and his, and the ones before, all the way back to the claiming of this land for the Jaguars. It is in the hands of the ancestors now.”
Aryck rose from his crouch. As he did so, his father’s voice sounded in his mind. The council of elders gathers in the circle. Tell Phaedra we meet, then join us.
Seven old men and five old women sat on seats made from the branches of the trees in the sacred place where the Jaguar dead were placed. They were the oldest members of the pack, seemingly ancient and feeble in body but with minds that were an immense library of Were history.
They had no authority. But an alpha would be foolish not to ask for their opinion on important matters, and heed it unless there was a compelling reason to do otherwise.
Aryck took up his position next to his father. Phaedra sat on the ground beside one of the elders.
Nahuatl stood with his back to a small fire. It crackled in the center of the circle, signaling a meeting of importance. He was dressed in the light loincloth he favored but he carried a staff made of Jaguar bone and skull, signifying his position and that he would speak as a representative of the ancestors.
Beyond him, members of the pack gathered, called there by curiosity instead of the alpha. Melina appeared, shifting easily from jaguar to human form and placing herself so Aryck couldn’t avoid seeing her naked breasts and the tuft of pubic hair arrowing down to draw attention to her vulva.
Several males jostled into position next to her, touching their bare skin to hers. Aryck turned his head to look at his father, wondering at the purpose for being called here.
Koren addressed the elders, saying, “Nahuatl came to me with a vision sent by the ancestors. They have shown him a face and given him the name of a woman capable of healing our cubs.”
Outside the circle, murmurs met his announcement. Like a fever, hope sped through those gathered. Inside the circle, the elders remained stoic, waiting as Aryck did, knowing there was more to the vision.
“She is human,” Koren said. “Gifted.”
Hope became edged with fear and distrust. Whispers held anger and hate but were silenced with a glance from Koren.
“And the cost to us if we bring this human into our midst?” one of the elders asked, his voice querulous.
Nahuatl tapped his staff on the ground, drawing every eye to him. “The ancestors have bid me to say this: The decision must be made quickly, and it is the enforcer who must be sent for her. They also issue a warning. If she does not agree to providing aid, then Aryck will die before returning to Jaguar lands.”
Those gathered in the circle weighed what was said, to what lengths they should go to save the cubs, but for Aryck the decision was easy. “I will go for the healer.”
Murmurs met his declaration, but none of the elders objected. Koren placed his hand on Aryck’s shoulder. “It will be done then, and the cubs healed because of it. Melina will accompany you.”
REBEKKA emerged from the thorn-lined path and onto a broken, cracked sidewalk a block away from the Wainwright house and on a different street. Hidden beneath her shirt, the dream catcher-like amulet was warm against her skin.
She reached up and touched it, grateful for its presence. The cold blossoming in her chest hadn’t reappeared when she passed beyond the wards protecting the witches.
Fear gnawed at her stomach at the thought of returning to the brothel. Denial continued to scream through her with the witch’s claim she was fathered by a demon.
She wouldn’t believe it. Couldn’t without seeking answers from her mother.
A glance at the sky confirmed it was too late to cross the Barrens. Even if she had the courage to enter the wasteland of burned and collapsed buildings by herself, she’d never reach the Fellowship settlement where her mother lived before nightfall.
She couldn’t return to the brothel, not until she knew she wouldn’t draw disease there. And she didn’t dare go to her homesteaded house in the area set aside for the gifted while she was being hunted.
Rebekka glanced at the sky again. If she hurried she could make it to Levi’s lair in the woods.
It could be secured at night. And at least she wouldn’t put anyone else at risk there.
She began running, part of her recognizing the danger of it, how moving quickly would draw more attention to herself. But the intense desire to escape the nightmare that had begun with the demon Abijah’s appearance, and grown worse with dreams and memories of the urchin, rode her.
Where it was possible she remained in shadow, using vegetation and the piled debris that had once been houses to shield her from the street and the places reclaimed by humans.
Sticker bushes tore at her clothing, scratching at bare skin. Still, she hurried. Driven, hoping to outrun her thoughts and fears.
Over the pounding of her heart she heard the rumble of an engine drawing closer. It could be anyone, she told herself. In Oakland the rich and powerful often sought out the gifted.
They bought the services and products of those they required to live apart, just as easily and openly as they entered the red zone, arriving in chauffer-driven cars to indulge in their chosen vices.
She forced herself to slow long enough to look around, and cursed herself for a fool when she saw the darting movement of a street child taking cover, this one older than the one she’d seen watching the Wainwright house.
Renewed fear spiked through her, bringing with it a surge of adrenaline. For enough coin to pay for a meal or buy shelter for the night, the boy would point her out to anyone hunting her then turn away, uncaring what his actions meant for her.
Rebekka pressed a hand to her side. Ran again, lungs and muscles burning with the effort.
She reached the place where the gifted section bordered that of the non-gifted instead of the red zone. Despite what the witches said, she couldn’t discount the possibility it was the vice lords who had benefited from the maze who now hunted her.
Piles of stone and rusted metal hidden by curling, tangled vines made it treacherous to stray too far from livestock paths used by those who took their animals to graze during the day. She did it anyway. Taking cover when the sound of an engine drew closer like a hungry mechanical bloodhound on her trail.
The street boy came into view, panting. She became aware of her own harsh breathing and pulled her shirt away from her body, pressed the material to her mouth in an effort to mute any sound that might give her away.
Moments later a sleek silver car drew alongside the boy. The backseat window rolled down, and Rebekka stifled a gasp when she saw the man’s profile. The port-wine stain on the left side of his face made him unforgettable. He was one of the men who’d attacked near the brothel, the only one to escape.
He turned his head, following the direction the boy pointed. She huddled deeper into her hiding place as two additional boys joined the first. One of them was the boy outside the Wainwright house. It made her sure he was the one she’d seen the night before.
The boys held out their hands for payment. The man glanced at the sky and cursed as he dropped coins into their hands before rolling up the window.
They fanned out as the car drove away. Rebekka remained hidden, not daring to make any movement at all, not daring even to close her eyes.
The car disappeared from sight but the sound of it lingered. Each moment slowed to feel like a hundred of them. When the car reappeared it kept going, heading in the direction she’d come from. The boys gathered a short time later and did the same.