Chapter 20 Marcus
MARCUS
“Remember, we stick together. Changelings are tricksters, fakers. You can’t trust them. And don’t forget, they can take on any form. If you spot it, isolate it before engaging.”
Solemn nods and a few half-hearted thumbs-up greet me before I turn and lead us into the forest. The trees press close, dense and suffocating, blotting out most of the moonlight. We have no choice but to rely on our wolf senses to guide us.
Crack!
The ground has been soft and mulchy, muffling most of our steps, but the sudden snap of a twig rings out like a gunshot. My pulse hammers in my ears. I fling up a hand to signal everyone to freeze. The scent of wet leaves and rot fills my nose as I hold myself utterly still.
Five agonizing minutes pass. Nothing comes. Finally, I exhale and whisper, “Move.”
Leonard grumbles. “I think I may have soiled my new shoes, and not from the mulch either.”
Min wrinkles her nose. “You are so disgusting.”
“Will you all just quit it?” Esmerelda scolds. “This is not the time.”
Everyone steps into line like they’ve just been lectured by the headmistress.
“We should be close,” Belvedere mutters. “Keep an eye out for a big oak.”
I’m grateful he knows where this lair is. I only hope the changeling is still here.
When we reach the tree, I almost laugh. It’s an ordinary, ancient oak, its bark rough and peeling with age. So obvious in its plainness that it’s almost clever. A hideout hiding in plain sight.
But as I step closer, I feel a prickle under my skin. There’s magic woven into the roots. Subtle but constricting, like a coil around my ribs. Belvedere was right; this isn’t just a tree.
“The entrance should be here somewhere,” Belvedere says.
We sweep vines aside until we find a narrow arch carved into the trunk. It’s too small for any of us to fit. Then Belvedere presses his palm against the bark, and with a creak, a hidden door swings inward, revealing a passage.
“How do you know about this?” Minerva asks.
Belvedere flashes a sheepish grin. “I slept with a changeling once. Nasty things, but kinky as fuck. Their bodies can do such… delicious things.” He shivers dramatically, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, pillow talk’s a bitch. I learned all sorts of secrets.”
Minerva shakes her head. “You are incorrigible.”
“And yet here I am, saving your asses with knowledge I paid for in sweat. Don’t judge. Just say thank you.”
She pecks his cheek. “Ew, but thank you.”
I cut in before this gets any weirder. “Focus. I’m going in first.”
The passage spirals downward, roots twisting around carved steps. My heartbeat drums louder with every step.
“Stay sharp,” I warn. “If the changeling comes at us here, there’s nowhere to run.”
Fifteen minutes later, we reach a heavy stone door with an intricate tangle of interlinked cogs serving as a lock.
“Here.” Belvedere hands me a bottle of swirling, red-orange liquid. “Try this.”
I pour it over the mechanism. With a hiss and a click, the lock unravels, and the door swings open.
Inside, glowing orbs float along the walls, their soft light fighting against the sinister energy in the air. Rows of chests line one wall, a small bed with a patchwork quilt rests at the back, and a rocking chair faces an unlit hearth.
Esmerelda moves beside me, opening drawers.
A low, mocking voice cuts through the silence, carrying from nowhere and everywhere at once.
The air warps with it, like heat shimmering above stone.
Shadows twitch at the edge of my vision until they pull together, shaping themselves into a figure that can’t quite decide what it wants to be.
Limbs stretch, shorten, rearrange. One second it looks almost human, the next its smile splits too wide, revealing sharp teeth.
My heart stutters. Instinctively, I shove Esmerelda behind me.
She shoves back, already braced to fight, eyes burning.
“It’s cute you think we didn’t know you’d know,” I throw back.
The changeling laughs, its voice warping as its form flickers. “Oh, I do enjoy this game. I knew you knew that I knew you knew.”
“Just shut the hell up, freak,” Esmerelda hisses. “We aren’t here for games. Tell us who the hell hired you to kill our families.”
The changeling’s face morphs into mock innocence. “Why, I don’t know what you could possibly mean.”
Esmerelda lurches forward, but I grab her jacket, stopping her in her tracks. She shrugs me off with a glare and points at the trickster. “You better speak up, or the next thing you change into will be your last.”
It looks at me. “I see why you put a ring on this one. She’s fire.” Then, it starts shifting. Tall to hunched, male to female to neither. It’s dizzying. Distracting.
Seconds later I discover why.
One second, it’s smirking, the next its arm lashes out like a whip, slamming Leonard into the wall.
Clutching his side, Leonard staggers upright. “Not like I need my ribs or anything.”
I charge with brute force, aiming to pin the fucker, but it twists, body flattening like a shadow. I crash into stone as the creature reforms behind me with a maniacal laugh. It flips me around, pinning me to the wall, its hands crushing my throat.
My vision blurs, but then Esmerelda strikes. Her knife sails across the room, embedding deep in its shoulder.
The changeling grins as it yanks the blade free, like it barely felt it, then flings it back.
“Esmerelda!” I tackle her to the floor right as the blade whirs past.
She winces under me. “Ouch, fuck. Get off me!”
“You’re welcome,” I growl.
She glares. “Next time, let me get hit. Might hurt less.”
I scramble up.
“Watch out!” Esmerelda yells as the changeling’s hands morph into boulders. It swings down, and I roll to the side just in time. Those boulder fists hit the floor, sending a splintering fissure through the stone.
I hook its legs and flip it, pinning its arms. I’m ready to punch its face, when it suddenly morphs into an exact replica of Esmerelda.
“You wouldn’t hit a lady, would you?” it taunts.
“Hit it, you idiot!” Esmerelda yells.
I drive my fist home.
The changeling splinters into a cockroach, skittering across the floor. Minerva stomps, but it flickers into a Leonard lookalike. Creepy as fuck.
The real Leonard barrels forward. The changeling mirrors his stance exactly, mocking.
They fight in perfect sync, the changeling copying Leonard’s every move.
Leonard flicks a glance at me, then deliberately stumbles.
When the changeling does the same, Esmerelda jumps on its back.
Before I can so much as blink, it turns into a snake, squeezing out of her hold, then coiling around her.
It morphs back into what I imagine to be its natural self: pin-like eyes in its head, mouth wide and full of razor-sharp teeth.
“I wonder if I should have a taste of your lady here. You do know a changeling bite is poisonous, right?”
Everyone stops in their tracks, looking to me for guidance. My heart thunders, and breath rushes out of my mouth in heavy exhales. The changeling dips its head low and flicks out its forked tongue, licking Esmerelda on her neck.
“You’re fucking dead if you let go of me,” she spits.
Anger surges through me like poisonous gas. It sets all my nerves on fire, and I clench my jaw. My wolf wants to strike, to tear the changeling’s flesh from his bones, but for once he is silent, waiting for me to strike.
The helplessness I felt after the petrification attack comes at me tenfold.
We collectively hold our breath. Esmerelda meets my gaze.
She doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, but I know she’s going to make a move.
It’s like our thoughts are one. I have to act the moment she does or this isn’t going to work.
Instead of struggling, she dips to her knees.
The changeling clearly didn’t expect that, as shock claims his face.
Esmerelda rolls forward and springs up. Kicking out, she sends the changeling stumbling back.
“Min, the rope!” I shout.
Minerva whirls the glowing, magic-soaked rope. The changeling leaps upward like a monkey, but Min is faster. She lassos it mid-air, yanking it to the ground.
“Everyone!” Esmerelda calls.
She and I flank it, striking together, while Leonard grabs hold of the rope beside Min.
The changeling morphs wildly. Changing to half-wolf, half-demon, a grotesque mix of our faces.
The rope burns against its flesh. It screams, thrashing harder, flickering from one creature to the next in rapid succession.
It’s terrifying to realize creatures such as this live among us.
Belvedere tackles it, pinning its legs. He smashes another potion vial across its face. The liquid hisses, burning into its mouth. The changeling convulses, unholy sounds ripping from its throat. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, it collapses, unconscious.
I tie the rope tighter, double-knotting until I’m certain it can’t break free. Then I collapse beside the others, dragging in ragged gulps of air. We look like we’ve been dragged backward through the forest.
Belvedere groans at his ripped sleeve. “That bastard plucked my coat.”
My eyes snap to Esmerelda. Blood streaks her cheek. I’m at her side in an instant, brushing it with my thumb. “You’re bleeding.”
“So am I,” Leonard grumbles. “But I don’t see you rushing to my aid.”
Esmerelda scowls. “Yeah, everyone’s bleeding.”
She’s right, but it doesn’t matter. Not when the sight of her blood makes my vision a haze of red. The changeling drew blood from my wife. I’ll rip its teeth out one by one if it touches her again.
“How the hell are we getting it into the hotel without anyone noticing?” I mutter.
Leonard shrugs. “Anyone got a plan?”
Belvedere grins, eyes glinting. “I do.”
On the way to Belvedere’s, we call Serafina, telling her to meet us there. My nerves coil tighter with every passing block. When we arrive, Belvedere doesn’t waste time with pleasantries. He ushers us inside and down a narrow staircase that I’m sure wasn’t there last time.