26 TALIESIN
I am completely, utterly spent.
Every muscle in my back feels taut and brittle; I’d not be surprised if driving over a pothole snapped me in half.
At least the rattle of the LandRover’s engine keeps me awake. I haven't slept properly since breaking out, and that’s not good. My brain is misfiring, and my reactions are slow.
But I can’t let it show.
Not now. There is still so much to be done.
“Hold up, pull in here,” Basil mutters from the passenger side, his eyes squinting over the paper map in his lap.
He’s been in charge of the directions the whole way, his grimy, nail-bitten thumb tracking our route into the dense, timbered countryside.
I guess it’s the indicator of the state we’re all in.
A kid’s smarts are holding us together. “Ménage Manor is right through those dead firs.”
“Good work. I’m sure there are guards on the perimeter.” I cut the engine, coasting the vehicle into a deep pocket of brambles and low-hanging branches. Nobody speaks for a moment.
Looking in the rear view mirror, my gaze is drawn to Rory. The air around her is shifting, humming with a soft warmth that tastes clean and reviving. I suck in a deep breath, allowing the strange atmosphere around her to recharge me.
It’s incredible.
For some reason her spark has officially switched on again and has brought with it a strange sensation.
It’s like a fresh breeze moves around her, independent of the climate. And it’s the most invigorating, pure thing to have ever entered my lungs.
“OK,” I say, turning around in my seat. “This is the plan. London, you’re with me. We’ll do a quick recce of the situation. Basil and Rory, you stay here, but if anyone comes, just start the engine and leave. Do not wait for us.”
Rory’s eyes find mine. “A couple of points; I can’t drive, and where do you expect us to go?”
“I’ll drive,” Basil grunts. “We’ll go back to the main road and wait on the hard shoulder there. Simple enough.”
Gods, he’s a cocky little shit, but I can’t help but like him.
“You good, London?” I ask. He’s pressing his nose up against Rory and inhaling deeply.
Pulling back, the faun nods. “Right there with you, captain.”
“Let’s do this.”
As I get out, Basil slides over into the driver's seat, then Aurora clambers into the front beside him. “Be careful out there, guys. Watch each other’s backs.”
“Will do, Princess.”
The idea of London being on my six isn’t totally comforting. It’s not hard to imagine him getting into a conversation with a caterpillar then forgetting all about staying alert.
But as we move deeper into the birch and pine forest, I notice London’s restless, skippy energy is dialed way down. His eyes are focused, and faun-ears swiveling like radars.
It’s like the closer we get to this fight, the more his chaotic brain settles into something clever and sharp.
“I’m going to shift, are you staying like that?” I ask him. London has only his ears and horns currently, not the rest of his goat legs and torso. I’ve no idea how he manages to partially shift.
He shakes his head, “I’ll shift too.” There is no wise-crack follow up.
“OK. Let’s stick together—if there’s something I need to communicate, I’ll shift back. Hopefully that won’t be necessary.”
Within seconds we’re both in beast-mode and bounding further into the trees. The first obstacle is a tall electric fence, but my wolf claws dig underneath it within a minute. Squeezing through the muddy hole, we then race to find cover in a group of spruce trees.
Now we have a view of our target.
Ménage Manor is maybe five hundred yards out. Before us is a well-kept pasture. It runs downward, the slope ending at a dark, wide moat that surrounds the main house.
The water is black and still, and my nose picks up the stagnant scent of algae.
The main driveway is to our left.
We can run parallel to it, hidden by a thick hedgerow. I indicate my muzzle to London, then take off, fast and low. Once we are only a hundred yards from the Manor, the hedge stops.
We’re almost at the bridge that spans the moat. But first there is a small red-brick building with two guards standing sentry. More guards patrol the far side of the bridge next to the Manor walls.
Time to observe.
Over the next ten minutes, several patrols appear and disappear. Looking to the manor rooftop, I see two men with rifles posted on a high balcony.
This is a shit ton of security.
How the fuck are we going to get inside, find Sky, and get out again without being seen? I’m sure, physically, London and I could take down several guards, but this kind of fire power is too much. We’d be fucked.
London prods me, pointing to an ATV that is rumbling out from the woods on the other side of the driveway.
Could we grab some guards? Take their uniforms and bluff our way in?
The ATV keeps heading towards the brick bridge-station. It's towing a heavy metal trailer, and as it gets closer I can see it’s loaded with metal fence poles and thick rolls of wire fencing. There are several muddy shovels stowed as well.
When the ATV rolls to a stop, London and I finally get a little more intel.
The bridge guard with wire-rim glasses steps forward. “All done?”
“Yeah, no sweat. Everything running like fucking clockwork,” the driver replies. “Here, Bragger, you got a smoke?”
The second bridge guard, who must be Bragger, tosses him a packet. “Heard it was quite the party last night. I wouldn't be surprised if they start late.”
“Fuck man,” the ATV driver grumbles, lighting his cigarette. “That’ll change the timing of everything. The clock is already ticking.”
The glasses guard looks over his shoulder at the Manor. “Have you ever known the Director to not have the hunt running on time? That’s one scary bitch. Even if you do pay a million dollars to come here, I can’t imagine she’d hold up proceedings for a couple of hangovers.”
“True,” Bragger laughs. “And I’m sure if they do a line, or some fucking magic potion, they’ll soon be raring to go again.”
The driver throws his half-smoked cigarette into the bushes close to me and London. “I’d better go, don’t want Madam Director to set Whipper on me.”
Bragger chuckles. “Not wrong there, man.”
Whipper? Madam Director?
Before the driver can pull away, a second ATV comes bouncing out from a different trail in the woods. The back rack of this one is a long ladder, and several black plastic cases.
“What’s up, dudes,” he calls out, skidding to a stop. Bragger gives him a high five. “All the cameras should be online, can you check?”
A digital tablet is pulled out and the men circle around it. “The feeds look clear. Nice,” Bragger comments. “I’ll start a pool, $20 minimum, but it closes as soon as the chase goes live.”
All four men wander into the small brick building, talking over each other about odds, runners, prize money.
OK. What the fuck?
We have security cameras up and a live stream to show what? A hunt?
I suppress a snarl. I’ve a very dark feeling about what the rich assholes are going to be hunting. I don’t think it’s wild turkeys. And that one man said ‘the clock is already ticking’.
What does that mean?
First things first; finish the recce. I slink on my belly down under the bridge to the moat. London follows. From here we should be hidden from everything, so I take a moment to shift back.
“Thoughts?” I ask the faun.
London cocks his head on one side. “They talked about a hunt, right? So if everyone is coming out of the big house for the hunt, maybe we can shimmy inside during that? Or do we even need to get inside if everyone is coming out? Do we think little Sky will be brought out too?”
Good questions.
The house itself is like a fortress. Moat, armed guards, only one way in and out.
But if the Elite pricks are out in the woods, it evens the playing field. We can take some captives and torture the fuck out of them to find where the girls are kept.
In shifted form we start our retreat, but something stops me. A deep growling that makes my wolf-blood heat.
Slinking through the grass, I realize the sounds are coming from two heavy animals on the far side of the bridge. They aren't normal guard dogs, they're savage, mutated hounds. As their nostrils flare, aggressively catching the air, I see them turn their heads in our direction.
Did they catch our scent?
The mutts snap their oversized jaws, thick ropes of drool dripping from their maw.
We need to move.
London and I bolt as behind us howls sound. The faun’s hand pushes on my coat, urging me to go faster. He’s right. Our natural scent is a massive giveaway.
Fuck.
We race through the dark woods until we are under the perimeter fence and back to the LandRover. I shift, scramble in and slam the door shut.
“What’s going on?” Rory yells.
I can’t answer, my chest is heaving as I start the engine and pull away. We’ve got to move. I don’t know how well those things can track, and I’m not risking Rory.
“That was exciting,” London puffs.
Rory lets out a frustrated sound. “What the fuck happened?”
I leave London to the explanations while I screech around the corner and onto the main road again. Finding a forest turn-off, I roll in and cut the engine.
“...and so you see, it’s a pickle. Those dog-things are going to smell a wolf and a faun from a mile away.”
He’s right. We’ll have to go in as humans, and that is a distinct fucking disadvantage. I’m running through options in my head when the air in the cabin shifts. Somehow, I know it’s Rory’s magical signature.
I look around to see her fingers dancing a beautiful pattern.
The scent of fresh clean rain floods the vehicle.
“So what about this spell? It’s to block odors.
No man wants to smell a girl’s sweat, you know.
” She throws a wry grin in my direction then casts some more.
I can feel the air around me continue to cool and freshen.
“Can you smell him, London?” Rory asks the faun.
London blinks. “Burt has never smelled so good. I’m almost inclined to kiss him.”
“I wouldn’t try if I were you,” I growl at him, but without any heat.
Then my face breaks into a smile. She can hide our tell-tale scents.
“Nice work, Princess. Very nice work indeed.”