Читать книгу Entangled Secrets - Pat Esden - Страница 15

Chapter 6

According to Isobel Lapin—an herbalist with an extensive knowledge of the arcane, having descended from both Isobel Gowdie and Compere Lapin—the spores of the fungi Calvatia caeus can be treated with Hyoscyamus niger to efficiently deliver and induce twilight sleep.

—Journal of Athena Marsh

Less than an hour later, Chandler pulled her Subaru into a parking space around the corner from Church Street. Gar was riding shotgun with his camo cap tugged low over his eyes. Devlin and Peregrine were in the back. She really hadn’t wanted to bring Peregrine with them, but Chloe and Em wouldn’t have made any progress with him around. Plus, Gar and Devlin thought having Peregrine come would be a good learning experience for him.

“This is the photo I took last Sunday.” Devlin held his phone over the seat so Gar could look. “It shows The Thinker in front of City Hall.”

Gar frowned. “I can’t believe you didn’t sense he was a shapeshifter.”

“At the time, I was busy trying to resist the Shade’s magic and leave a trail of photos online so Chloe could follow us.” His voice toughened. “The last thing I was paying attention to was the vibe of a seemingly innocuous street performer.”

Peregrine scooched across the seat toward the phone. “Let me see.”

Chandler gave him the evil eye. “Remember, young man, you need to behave and stay close to us. Tell us if you see The Thinker but do it quietly. He could be dangerous.”

Peregrine huffed. “The shapeshifter’s dangerous. The journalist’s dangerous. Everything fun is dangerous.”

“Peregrine,” she said warningly. “I’m not kidding.”

Devlin handed the phone to Peregrine. “Listen to your mom. We don’t know anything about this guy.”

Peregrine nibbled his lip, studying the photo. “He doesn’t look scary to me. He looks like a woman.”

Devlin snatched the phone back. He squinted at the screen. His forehead wrinkled. “You’re right. It could be a woman.”

“Not all women are skinny.” Peregrine tsked. “My mom isn’t. She’s strong, like a grizzly bear.”

Despite the admiration in her son’s voice, self-consciousness swept a prickle of discomfort through Chandler. She’d never been petite or as thin as a fashion model. And she’d gotten only more broad-shouldered and muscular from hauling around scrap metal and creating her sculptures, but she was hardly a grizzly bear. Still, there was another issue here. “Peregrine, just because a woman is small, it doesn’t mean she isn’t muscular. Strong comes in all shapes and sizes and isn’t just about being able to fight or lift a lot of weight.”

Gar chuckled. “You can say that again. Em’s no bigger than a flea and she’s as fierce as a T. rex.”

“If everyone’s ready we should get going,” Chandler said, pocketing her car keys. It was better to put an end to this conversation before Peregrine started his usual stream of questions and it morphed into an extended lesson about appearances, shapeshifting, and gender.

She got out and waited by the parking meter. The sidewalk teemed with people headed into restaurants and stores. Sunshine gleamed off the car windshields. Overhead, a plastic Fall Festival banner snapped as a breeze whipped down the street. It was a truly glorious Indian summer day. A welcome change after the cool weather they’d been having, including a round of slushy snow last week.

Peregrine wiggled his hand into her grip and whispered, “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll be careful.”

She squeezed his fingers. “Love you.”

“Love you more than chocolate chip cookies and ice cream,” he said.

She let go of his hand and slipped her fingers inside her sweater jacket to make sure her wand was still safely tucked into the waist of her wraparound pants. Hopefully it was an unnecessary precaution. The wand could magnify her energy tenfold, but the last thing the coven needed was to have one of them seen using magic in public, and worse yet in the presence of a Council investigator. Gar might not want to say anything that could hurt the coven. But the Council didn’t hold back when it came to interrogating employees. And an hour in one of the Council’s infamous interrogation cells was reputed to crack even the toughest resistance.

Gar caught her eye and nodded approvingly toward where her wand lay hidden. He patted his forearm, indicating that he was armed as well. Most likely with his dart gun and a supply of potion-tipped darts.

Her worry about Peregrine’s safety deepened. Clearly, Gar was also concerned that they might be walking into trouble.

Devlin stepped close to Gar. “Smell anything?”

Gar took off his cap and put it on backward. He lifted his head and sniffed, like a wolf scenting the air. “Hotdogs. French fries with cheese, poutine, my favorite… patchouli with an undertone of pot, not my favorite.”

“No loup-garou?”

“Not a trace.”

With Peregrine beside her, Chandler followed Devlin and Gar to the end of the block and out onto Church Street. The term “street” was a misnomer. Decades ago, the street had been closed to car traffic and transformed into a wide pedestrian space flanked with businesses and dotted with street vendors. Music from a flute and harp drifted in the air from somewhere up the street. Close by, laughter and the clank of dishes echoed from a sidewalk café.

Chandler drew up her magic, then released it slowly, letting it fan out as she searched for any trace of uncanny energy. She sensed a nearby pulse, but it emanated from a display of geodes in the window of a jewelry store.

“Mama.” Peregrine tugged her sleeve. He pointed past a coffee stand. “Is that him—I mean her?”

Chandler craned her neck, looking between the stand and the people waiting in line for drinks. Sure enough, a hundred or so yards beyond that, The Thinker sat in front of City Hall as motionless as the statue she depicted, exactly like in Devlin’s photo. Metallic shades of teal and black paint covered every inch of her muscular and seemingly naked body. It was impressive how closely she resembled the original statue, though Chandler did pick up on a hint of bound breasts instead of defined male pecs.

“Not a loup-garou,” Gar stated bluntly.

Chandler studied the shapeshifter again, this time using her artistic eye to see creative possibilities. She took in the elongated lines of the shifter’s spine and skull. The negative space between her hunched shoulders and belly. The distance between her dark eyes. The curl at the sides of her nostrils. Thin lips. Chandler had no trouble envisioning the feminine skeleton beneath the masculine shape of The Thinker. And she took those lines and shapes and shifted them into something very different, and very real.

“I know what she is,” Chandler whispered.

“I smell rodent,” Gar said.

“You’re close. She’s a hedge-hare. I’m certain of it.” Hedge-hares were solitary, shapeshifting witches, highly skilled and often tricksters with a folklore legacy that encompassed cultures around the world. Four or maybe five years ago, Athena had invited one to join the coven. But the older teenage girl had turned her down flat, claiming she preferred to remain independent.

Peregrine went up on his tiptoes, staring toward the shifter. “Like a bunny?”

“Definitely not.” Chandler rested her hand heavily on his shoulder, easing him back onto the flats of his feet. “Come on, let’s go talk to her. But no running.”

Devlin lowered his voice. “What was the name of that hedge-hare Athena knew? Isobel something or other?”

Chandler nodded. “Isobel Lapin. I’m not sure this is her, though.”

“How could Lionel have ever mistaken a rabbit for a loup-garou?” Devlin said. “It doesn’t make sense.”

Gar chuckled. “That would be one vicious-looking rabbit.”

“Either way, we need to talk to her.” Chandler took a firm grip on Peregrine’s hand and led the way down the street. A couple of tourists were snapping photos while their friends lined up next to The Thinker, posing like her with their fists under their chins.

Chandler hung back a few steps, waiting. Finally, the tourists shoved cash into the shifter’s donation box and moved on.

She stepped up close to the shifter and whispered, “I’m Chandler Parrish. From the Northern Circle. Are you Isobel?”

The shifter remained frozen, like a snowshoe hare under the eye of a soaring hawk.

“I believe you knew my sister, Athena,” Devlin added.

The shifter still didn’t move, but a vibration of coiled energy built in the air around her as if she were readying to bolt.

“Please. We just want to ask a couple of questions.” Chandler kept her tone friendly. Whether The Thinker was guilty of careless shifting or not, it seemed likely that Lionel had witnessed it. If he hadn’t, then how else would he have known she was a shifter of any sort? That wasn’t something a person without magic could detect.

Peregrine poked Chandler in the ribs, yanking her attention away from The Thinker. “Mom, look!”

She glanced in the direction he was pointing. Up the street, a familiar long-legged silhouette emerged from under the shade of the coffee stand’s striped awning. Lionel.

As he waved and jogged toward them, excitement shivered inside Chandler, like it had when she’d seen him in her vision. She hadn’t stopped to think about that detail. It seemed so unimportant compared to battling dragons and Peregrine’s conception. But here it was again, that same quiver in her heart and wild twirl spinning low in her body. It made no sense for her to be even slightly drawn to him. He was a threat to the coven. But no one had ever said attraction belonged in the same box with rational behavior. Her life certainly was a good example of that.

Gar grumbled under his breath, “Maybe we can get some answers now.”

Chandler nodded. “I’m with you there.”

When Lionel reached them, his smile widened even further. “I—um, see you’ve decided I’m not totally crazy?”

“Actually, we’re more convinced you were wrong,” Devlin said.

Chandler tilted her head at the shifter, still maintaining her The Thinker pose. “Is this the person you saw change into a wolfish something?” Whether the hedge-hare was Isobel or not, she was a witch, so it didn’t matter if she overheard. Insinuating that she’d turned into a carnivore might piss her off enough to make her speak up about what happened.

“I’m sure of it.” Lionel turned away, gesturing at an alleyway between city hall and the building just north of it. “It happened over there. One minute there was The Thinker, then—” He abruptly stopped talking. He straightened his glasses and glanced back at The Thinker, then at the alley again as if confused. “What the hell?”

“What’s wrong?” Chandler followed his line of sight. Two white-haired old ladies toddled out from the darkness of the alleyway, arm in arm.

Lionel’s voice turned firm. “Don’t you see it? The loup-garou. It’s watching us. It’s not The Thinker.”

Chandler looked again. No wolves. No dogs. Nothing except for old ladies.

“I don’t see it,” Gar snarled.

“It’s leaving!” Lionel took off, racing toward the alleyway.

Gar sprinted after him, zigzagging between the ladies and leaping over a bicycle rack. Chandler started to follow, but Devlin caught her sleeve. “Stay here with Peregrine. I’ll see what’s going on.”

The authority in his voice made her blood boil, but the mama dragon inside her agreed with him. It was safer to stay put and not get Peregrine involved.

She reached for Peregrine’s hand—

He wasn’t there.

She caught a glimpse of him, a second behind Gar and Lionel, moving impossibly fast and vanishing into the alleyway.

“Shit.” Chandler bolted after him with Devlin beside her. The old ladies scurried out of the way as they flew past them. Hopefully, Lionel had seen a shadow. Something wolf-shaped. Maybe a hunched person. An optical illusion, like how she’d mistaken Devlin’s dog with a scarecrow for a redcap and its victim.

The alley was dark, even darker than Chandler had expected. There was nothing in it. Nothing at all. Not Lionel. Not Gar. Not Peregrine! Not a single person.

She reached the other end of the alley, where it opened into a small park. Her pulse hammered in her ears as she scanned the walkways and between the maple trees. Where were they? They couldn’t have gotten far.

She spotted Peregrine beyond the maples, near where a line of parked cars edged the greenspace. Gar had a grip on the back of Peregrine’s hoodie. Lionel stood next to them, hand shading his eyes as he looked up the street and between the cars. But there were no people gawking or pointing at anything. No one screaming about a wolf. No shrieks of terror. Nothing to indicate that something strange had run through the park ahead of them. As a matter of fact, only a few yards from them a man was calmly feeding a parking meter. A woman did eye Lionel suspiciously for a second as she pushed a baby stroller past him.

Devlin let out a sigh of relief. “Looks like another false alarm.”

“Thankfully,” Chandler said, though her pulse still wasn’t ready to calm down.

Devlin smiled. “One thing’s for sure, Gar can confidently testify in front of the Council that Lionel isn’t a threat to the witching world’s anonymity. No one in their right mind would believe Lionel about anything.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Chandler said.

While she watched, Gar released his grip on Peregrine’s hoodie. Peregrine turned, saying something to Lionel.

Chandler exhaled sadly. “I feel bad for Lionel. He seems like a good person.”

“That might be,” Devlin said. “But it’s time to put this problem to rest and move on.”

Chandler kept pace with Devlin as they jogged across the park. When they reached them, Lionel’s expression tightened. “I—I really thought I saw…”

A deep scowl darkened Devlin’s face. “Thought—as in imagined—seems to be the key word here.”

“It had red eyes,” Lionel said firmly. “Loup-garou’s eyes glow, right?”

Gar huffed. “You’ve got your myths confused.”

“It was oily black and twice the size of a St. Bernard,” Lionel insisted.

Chandler went cold. Real or imagined, he was perfectly describing a black dog. A type of hellhound. A portent of death. A fae creature.

“There it is again!” Peregrine screeched. He waved toward where a city bus was pulled up across the street. Then he took off like a sprinter from a starting gate, flying past the man still standing beside the parking meter. He darted between parked cars and into traffic.

“Stop!” Chandler shrieked. She raced after him, dodging around the man at the meter and squeezing between two pickup trucks parked far too close together.

Ahead of her, a car squealed to a stop, inches from Peregrine. He dodged around it and reached the other side of the street, vanishing from view behind the city bus.

The traffic started moving again, blocking Chandler’s way.

“Watch where you’re going!” a driver shouted at her.

Lionel was beside her, holding up his hand to stop traffic. Cars squealed to a stop, but the city bus took advantage of the break in traffic and pulled away from the curb, blocking her way and leaving her trapped in the middle of the street.

One long second passed, then another as the bus chugged by. People stared at her through the bus’s smudged windows. Finally, the rear of the bus slid past. She dashed behind it and reached the far side of the street.

She looked up the sidewalk, along the line of buildings. Peregrine wasn’t there.

“Do you see him?” she shouted to Lionel.

Lionel scanned the opposite direction. “He can’t have gotten far.”

Bang! Crash! The clatter of metal hitting pavement echoed from a wide alley that served as a bistro’s outdoor seating area. Someone yelled, “Fucking kid!”

Chandler took off toward the bistro. Lionel was beside her. Gar and Devlin were a second behind, their footsteps pounding. As she rounded the corner, she spotted Peregrine zinging through the outdoor seating area. Ahead of him an empty table crashed over, chairs flew into the air though nothing appeared to have bumped into them. A customer swore. A waiter shouted.

Lionel followed Peregrine’s path. Gar and Devlin trailed him. But Chandler veered to one side, picking up speed as she raced down a walkway that edged the seating area. At the end of the walkway, she swerved right. If she was lucky, she could cut off whatever Peregrine was chasing before he caught up with it.

The rope that formed the back boundary of the seating area swayed as if something big had jumped over it. Peregrine leapt the same rope. Chandler pushed her legs harder as Peregrine winged by a parked delivery truck and careened around a corner, passing dumpsters.

Adrenaline screamed in Chandler’s legs. Protective magic throbbed in her tattoos. She was gaining on them. Almost there.

Peregrine froze midstride. She couldn’t see the creature, but its wild energy wailed in the air a half dozen yards ahead of Peregrine, stalking toward him. A low and very audible growl reverberated.

“Back off, hellhound.” Gar’s voice echoed close by. He had a way with animals and his dart gun. But she wasn’t about to leave Peregrine’s safety to anyone else, especially someone who could no more see the creature than she could.

In one swift motion, Chandler drew her wand and flung herself forward, between the creature and Peregrine. If it wanted to get to him, it was going to have to go through her first. This hellhound was going to learn he’d messed with the wrong boy.

“Holy shit,” Devlin screeched.

Two yards ahead of Chandler, the crouched dog materialized. It was enormous. As black as oil with ruby embers for eyes and teeth like switchblades. Its spiny hackles were raised. It crouched even lower, readying to spring.

“Get down!” Lionel raced toward her. She felt the sudden weight of his body as he flung himself over top of her and Peregrine, pushing them to the pavement and covering them.

“Mama, I’m scared,” Peregrine whimpered close to her ear.

Chandler glanced up in time to glimpse the hellish dog sailing over all three of them with the effortless power of a gigantic tiger bounding a fence.