Chapter 36 Tash #2
She didn't waste time. "I need to fix your clothes."
That scrambled my brain. "Is that a fashion critique, or—?"
She cut me off. "No. Remember, I did it for Fifi."
I tried for humor. "Okay, but I don't want to end up in teenager clothes."
Maeve rolled her eyes, then motioned for me to hold out my arm.
I did as I was told.
She braced my wrist, fingers surprisingly strong. With her other hand, she pinched my sleeve between her thumb and forefinger and started tracing loops.
The pattern wasn't random. It moved. It spiraled, then branched, sometimes flicking back on itself.
Each time her nail hit the fabric, it left a faint shimmer, as if light had been braided into the thread.
She murmured as she worked, but none of the words sounded remotely familiar.
They were soft, almost like a lullaby, but the tune swung from sharp to sweet and back again.
After a minute, she switched arms, repeating the same circuit. Shoulder, elbow, wrist. The pattern stacked, then vanished, leaving nothing but regular, off-the-rack cloth.
She finished with a flick of her fingers, then breathed a puff of air onto the seam.
The fabric glittered. Just for a heartbeat, then nothing.
Maeve let go, took a step back, eyed her handiwork like a chef waiting for critique. "There. Should hold against a full-body shift, no matter how wild it gets. I even reinforced the knees. Don't ask why, you'll thank me later."
I flexed my arm and checked the sleeve. It looked and felt totally normal.
"Is it done?" I asked, still expecting a punchline.
"Try it. Partial shift first." She crossed her arms, mouth twitching with challenge.
I drew a breath and pictured the magic crawling up my spine. Taryn sat ready, but I only pushed enough to change my arm.
My nails stretched, then hardened. My skin shimmered, rainbow and copper, but the sleeve disappeared into the scales. The fabric stretched, flowed, and contoured right to the new shape like it had been painted on.
I flexed a claw, half expecting a seam to give.
Nothing.
And when I pulled the magic back, the fabric snapped back, no baggy elbows, no scarring. Like it had never been tested.
Maeve smirked. "Told you. It'll hold through anything, even a dragon-sized meltdown."
When we went back into the living room, Livia stood at the head of the dining table, posture perfect, as if she was bracing for gunfire.
Chance leaned against the mantle again. Damon sat ramrod straight, one hand wrapped around his mug. The twins stayed at their spot on the rug. Maeve drifted closer to the snack tray, probably because nerves required carbohydrates.
Livia didn't start right away. She took three slow breaths. When she finally spoke, her voice was steady, but the words had to muscle their way past a boulder.
"I need to tell you all something. It's been a long time coming, but I believe this is the time." She glanced at each of us, then fixed on Chance.
"After your father died, I made decisions. Some to keep this family alive. Others were less clear-cut." Her hands trembled, just a little, so she locked them together, white-knuckled.
"The Hollow Order still operates throughout the world.
You all know that. What you don't know is that not all hunters are the same.
Many are fanatics, yes. But there's a faction, a not inconsiderable group, who believe their purpose is to fight only what's truly dangerous.
Demons. Out-of-control shifters. Vampires and dark witches.
The creatures out there who hurt humans for sport. Not us."
A muscle ticked in Damon's cheek. Evan went stone-faced, his eyes narrowing.
Livia pressed forward. "For years, I've worked with them. Quietly. I shared information, passed warnings. What was needed to keep our people off their radar. My main point of contact is a woman named Kira Blackwood. She's the one who helped Tash escape."
That floored me. I tried to replay the mad dash through the woods, the way Kira had popped my zip tie and handed over the pin as soon as the coast was clear.
Livia kept going. "Kira and her allies risk everything to keep peace.
They don't want a massacre. They want to stop the bloodshed.
I never told you because…" Now her gaze snapped to Evan, and every syllable cut.
"Honestly, I thought the family would explode.
There'd be a bloodbath, seeking out hunters even more. I couldn't risk you."
The silence that dropped was so thick even Lola stopped fuming.
Livia pushed on, lights glinting in the silver of her hair.
"For the record. SkyArc isn't tied to the Order.
They're just a company, albeit with shitty morals.
William Hanlon is an Order member who is also related to the owners of SkyArc.
He saw what the Order could offer and angled for a position.
That's how they brought him into the fold.
But most of their company is blind to the supernatural. They're developers, not zealots."
Chance's jaw flexed. His stare bored holes in his mother, but he didn't interrupt.
"Kira has just let me know the cabin where Tash was held is on Ash Ridge and that Hanlon is in the process of leaving.
There's physical evidence there, though, so Xavier can connect Hanlon with her kidnapping if he can come up with a reason to search the cabin and get a warrant, which will neutralize Hanlon for the future. "
Livia drew herself upright. "I'm telling you now, not because I want permission, but because if we want to win, we need to know who's out there.
Kira's been crucial to our defense. She's why Tash got out safe and Mere and Fifi weren't targeted first. She's why—" her voice caught, but she bulldozed through, "—she's why I'm not dead yet. "
Damon set his mug down so hard it rattled the tray. But he held off.
Evan was another story.
He'd been pacing at the edge of the room, a shadow in the firelight, arms crossed so tight it looked painful. Now, he spun, advanced on the table, and planted his fist flat on the wood with a bang that jerked every single person upright.
His eyes blazed. Not gold, not human, just raw, scorched dragon.
"There are no good hunters," he spat. "Only dead ones.
You're senile if think you can trust a monster who makes a living off blood and betrayal?
You're living in a fantasy." He glared at Livia.
"You go soft, you lose everything. That's how Dad died. That's how the Hollow Order wins."
Chance cleared his throat. "We're not talking about Dad. Mom's talking about moving forward. Maybe about stopping this shadow war."
Evan's voice turned lethal. "There is no forward. Don't insult my intelligence with talk of ‘factions' and ‘good intentions.' They'll gut us the second it's useful."
The table vibrated from the impact of his fist. Even the fire seemed to duck.
Evan's breath roughened. For a split second, I thought he'd shift right there. Instead, he straightened, set his jaw, and stalked toward the door.
He yanked it open, slammed it hard enough to make the windows shudder, and vanished.