Chapter 7
By the time I got back to my apartment in Rowanville, it was late in the evening, and long shadows stretched across the room, silhouetted by the moonlight that streamed through my bay window.
I flicked on the light, then hung up my leather jacket before heading toward my kitchen to scrounge up something to eat.
I’d considered hounding Lakin, but the Residah called to me, inviting me to open its pages.
I figured I might as well get started on it tonight to free up my morning for my investigation.
Settling down on the couch with my back against the armrest and my knees drawn up, I made quick work of a bowl of sausage and potatoes.
With a full belly and a satisfied sigh, I propped the book up against my thighs and began to skim through the table of contents so I could see what was in this thing.
A chapter called ‘The Mage’s Code of Honor’ jumped out at me, and I flipped to it, curious to see what sort of standard Resinah expected of mages back in her day.
Magic is an extension of oneself. Every charm made and spell cast is a reflection on one’s soul. Treat all requests to perform magic with this in mind.
Magic is a gift given to us by the Creator, and must be treated with proper reverence. The possessor of magic is not a god, but rather an extension of one. Use magic to protect the weak, rather than take advantage of them.
In order to properly use the gift of magic, one must agree not to commit any acts of magic that go against the Creator’s tenets, including, but not limited to:
The murder of another mage or human
The exploitation of humans and other lesser beings through magical means
The performance of a spell on another mage or human that affects their mind or body without their express permission, with self-defense as an exception
I stopped there, pursing my lips as indignation burned in my chest. The mages had blown the third tenet right out of the water when they’d created shifters.
I wondered just how many of the original humans the mages used to create shifters had participated willingly.
Had any? Just how sacred did the mages hold the Residah?
The telephone on the kitchen counter rang, interrupting my train of thought. Annoyed, I set the book on the coffee table, then got up to answer it. Much as I would have rather ignored it, I didn’t get phone calls very often, and I was curious as to who it was.
“Hello?”
“Sunaya Baine.” A deep, hoarse voice sounded from the other end. “You should stop sticking your whiskers into matters that don’t concern you.”
“What are you talking about?” My entire body stiffened at the veiled threat, and my ears strained, trying to identify the voice on the other line.
“I think you know what I’m talking about.” The voice turned slightly smug. “You wouldn’t want to end up like poor Sillara, would you?”
“I'm a lot tougher than Sillara was,” I growled, finally understanding. This asshole was trying to get me to stop helping Lakin with his investigation. “Who the fuck are you, anyway?” There was a barely audible strain in his speech that told me it wasn't the speaker’s natural voice.
“If you’re not concerned about your own safety, then be concerned for your family.” The voice turned darker. “Meddle in our affairs, and they will pay the price.”
I opened my mouth to tell him that my family and I didn’t give two shits about each other, but the line disconnected, leaving me with nothing to shout at but a dial tone.
Frustrated, I slammed the receiver back down into the cradle.
This wasn’t the first time I’d received a threatening phone call, but they usually involved my own hide, not someone else’s.
Sighing, I returned to my position on the couch, but I couldn’t bring myself to touch the book on the table.
Instead, my mind wrestled with the phone call.
Whoever the caller was, they must be involved in the kidnappings, but what had alerted them to my involvement?
Was it because I’d visited the Enforcer’s Guild today and demanded Sillara’s files?
Dammit, but I should have found a way to keep a lower profile during my visit.
I ground my teeth together at the idea of another traitor in the Enforcer’s Guild.
The last time, it had been Deputy Talcon who’d been pulling strings from the inside – he’d been in league with Petros Yantz, and it was because of his interference that the silver poisonings weren’t properly investigated.
I’d killed him in self-defense when he and Yantz had kidnapped me and taken me to Yantz’s mansion to find out what I knew about their operation, which to my frustration had been precious little.
I’d already known that they were using kalois, a special herb from a foreign continent that kept shifters from detecting the deadly silver slipped into their food and drink, and into the drugs that were being distributed throughout Shiftertown.
But we hadn’t yet figured out the endgame, or the identity of the mastermind behind it.
Yantz and Talcon had only referred to him as ‘the Benefactor,’ and implied that their operation was merely the beginning of something much larger.
Whatever Sillara had been involved with, it probably had something to do with this larger plan. And I had a bad feeling that even if we figured out what it was, the Benefactor would still be miles ahead of us.
Morning sunlight struck my closed eyelids, and I opened them to find that I was still on the couch, where I’d eventually fallen asleep after a restless night.
I’d spent the better part of my night staring at the ceiling as I tried to come up with theories about who the caller could have been, and also about whether or not I should warn my “family” that they were in danger.
On the one hand, my aunt Mafiela and I hated each other, and if someone took her out I certainly wouldn’t lose any sleep over it.
But there were innocent cubs in the Jaguar Clan that an outsider could loosely consider to be my family, and I didn’t want their blood anywhere near my hands.
In the end, I grabbed a shower and a change of clothes, then rode my bike over to my aunt’s house in Shiftertown.
She lived in the upper crust section of town, where rows of tri-colored terraced houses nestled side-by-side like a set of painted eggs in a carton, though nowhere near as fragile.
My aunt wasn't the cheerful type though; she’d painted her house a dark purple, and the shutters and roof tiles were a complementary but boring dark grey.
Not even the flowers nestled in the beds out front offered any of bright colors – they were beautiful, but pure white.
I left my steambike on the curb, then trotted up the steps and banged on the front door with a heavy brass knocker molded into the shape of a jaguar head. A few moments later, a blond jaguar shifter dressed in a suit and tie answered the door, his yellow eyes already narrowed in disapproval.
“Hey, Hennis.” I greeted my aunt’s butler casually, as if he weren’t looking down his nose at me like I was a spot of dung on his shiny shoes. Damn, but he could give the mages lessons on how to be a supercilious asshole. “Is my aunt home?”
“I’m afraid Chieftain Baine is not accepting visitors at this moment.” Hennis’s lips thinned. “Perhaps I could take a message.”
“Sorry, but this isn’t a social call.” I lifted my wrist, flashing the enforcer’s shield that hung from my leather bracelet in the shape of a small bronze charm. “I’m here on official business.”
“Very well. Please wait here.”
He shut the door in my face, and I sighed, resigned to waiting on the front porch of the house I’d lived in for a good portion of my childhood.
Though Aunt Mafiela had disapproved of my mother’s illegitimate pregnancy, she’d loved my mother all the same and had allowed us both to live with her.
This house had many good memories from when my mother was alive, as well as plenty of dark ones from the two years I’d lived here without her.
If I’d been any other enforcer, Hennis would have invited me to wait in the receiving parlor. But because I was the black sheep, the hated relation, I was stuck out on the porch. Oh well, at least it was summer, and early enough in the day that the temperature was tolerable.
The door opened once more, and my lovely aunt glared at me from behind the threshold.
She couldn’t have looked less like me, dressed in a ruffled white blouse and high-waisted grey pants that showed off her slender figure, her blonde hair swept back from her diamond-shaped face into an elegant bun.
The end of her nose was slightly tilted up, like mine, and her eyes were the same size and shape.
But her irises were yellow, like the majority of the Jaguar Clan, whereas mine were bottle green – just one more thing to set me apart from everyone else.
“By Magorah, Sunaya. What do you want?” she demanded, her eyes glimmering with annoyance. “It’s barely midmorning!” Jaguars were notoriously nocturnal, so for Mafiela it was like I’d come knocking at seven in the morning.
“Oh I’m sorry, did I disturb your beauty sleep?” I snapped, raking her with a sneer. I couldn’t help it – everything about the woman set me on edge. “I know how much you need it.” It was a lie of course – Mafiela was beautiful, with her sharp cheekbones, thickly-lashed eyes and generous mouth.
A flush spread across those sharp cheekbones, and she peeled back her lips to snarl at me, fangs exposed. “I don’t have to take this kind of abuse from you. If you don’t have anything important to say, you can leave.” She made to shut the door.
“Oh stop it.” I stuck my boot on the brass threshold, preventing her from closing the door. “I’m here because a threat was made against your family recently.”
Mafiela’s eyes flashed. “A threat? What kind of threat?”