The Problem with Promises Read online

  Revulsion roiled inside me, squeezing my gut, catching my breath in its sweaty grip.

  “’Tis the Mage,” breathed my Fae.

  Shut up.

  “I will give him power,” he said, coldly. “That, and the opportunity to live to see the Black Mage humiliated and executed.” He folded his hands at his waist as if he still was an old man with a potbelly. “Once our souls fully merge, we shall be the most powerful mage in our realm. We shall know glory beyond glory.”

  “The last time you sought glory, you reached too high.”

  “This time I will be cautious, I will be prudent.”

  Not with Lexi, you won’t. The squeezing heartbreak of loss had been there, ever since I’d opened my eyes and found myself in front of my brother. But now? Anger melded itself to hatred.

  “We will live a long life,” he said, arrogance rolling off each word. “And a far more valuable one, respected by people of great influence. Let your brother live a life of honor and prestige. Release me from my vow.”

  I hate you, mage. With all my heart, I hate you.

  “He’s still a wolf. The moon will still call him.”

  “I will deal with that.”

  My gaze moved to the bottles of sun potion lining the shelf. “What are you going to do? Take him back to the portal for periodic rehabilitation?”

  “I will cleanse him as needed.”

  You’ll hang him out to dry, like a paper towel used over and over again. And over time, all that was Lexi—the brightness and the dark—would dwindle into gray. My twin would die a slow soul death and eventually the only entity left inside the husk of his body would be that of an old wizard.

  “I won’t do it,” I told him. “I will not release you from your vow. You will keep your pledge to me, mage. You will wait for us at Daniel’s Rock, and together we will travel to the castle and destroy your Book of Spells.”

  “You risk all our lives, nalera,” he said. “Do you not understand how dangerous it will be for you to travel in the company of your mate? He is wanted by the Black Mage.”

  “He’s evaded him before.”

  “But now, his own kind hunt for him, high and low. They consider the Son of Lukynae a traitor to his pack and now believe him to be a false prophet. They know his scent. They will run him to the ground.”

  “We’ll take our chances.”

  “We will wait for you at Daniel’s Rock. But if you do not hold to your part of the bargain, then mine is null.”

  The ward. Goddess, the ward. It has to be broken.

  “Lexi, if you can hear me, remember: Strongholds hold.”

  The world started to dim, the colors to swirl, and the figure of my brother started to fade. “You will regret your choice, nalera,” I heard my brother’s voice say, as the darkness swept over me.

  Chapter Nine

  I woke. As fast as that. Return to this realm came hard, with none of the usual slow and drowsy crawl to reality. An unaccustomed weight pressed me hard to the hard-packed earth. Heavier than gravity. Solid. Sealing my mouth. Smothering me.

  They’re burying me! In the spit of land at the end of the wolf cemetery, behind a high stone wall. Just another trapped Fae spending eternity with the pack.

  I lashed out. Feet, teeth—then, oh so stupidly—with my hands.

  A pained grunt. Mine? His?

  Don’t bury me.

  “Calm down!”

  My flailing knee hit something solid and warm. “Shit!” swore Trowbridge. Throbbing arm pinned to my chest, I staggered to my feet. Wildly, I swung around. I was Hedi among the headstones. The worry and fear I’d felt for my brother—and had kept so carefully cloaked from the mage—now ran rampant inside me.

  Trowbridge rose from his half crouch. “Hedi?”

  I danced out of his reach. “No, no, no.” Frustration bit at me, making me inarticulate with haste. “We have to break the ward. Right now.” I started to stumble toward it. Perhaps I could tear it again. Make a hole in it large enough for all of us.

  “Hedi, come back!”

  But I was already running, slaloming between the tombstones. Sprinting toward Casperella’s tumbled-down wall, praying that the ward’s skin was still thin there, even as my Fae said quietly, “Haste will not help. The ward is sealed. It is done.”

  No. It is not done.

  With blind hope I knelt before it, stick in hand. I gave the veil a prod.

  Evil. Everywhere.

  Trowbridge sank to one knee beside me. “Hedi?” Warmth, home, mate—those were the things I had, and my brother so lacked. I leaned into the heat of Trowbridge’s chest. Accepted the strong, impenetrable shield of his protection. Inhaled the scent of him—wild, woods, with a subtone of something pure.

  “You stopped breathing again,” he said tersely.

  “I saw Lexi in Threall,” I said brokenly. “He’s not really Lexi anymore. He’s shadowed, Trowbridge. The mage is there with him, behind his eyes, censoring his words … he tried to trick me … tried to act like he was Lexi. Using my brother’s mouth…”

  Trowbridge eased me away. “Sweetheart, we have to make tracks. We need to bring the Sisters back.”

  A new worry hit me. “How long was I out?”

  “Only a couple of minutes,” said Cordelia. “But you stopped breathing again. You have to cease going to that place, do you understand? No. More.”

  Lexi, remember who you are.

  * * *

  The windshield was dirty and the wipers weren’t any good. The air in the truck was redolent with tense Were, ferret (Anu sat behind me), blood (Gerry’s and Cordelia’s), and fragrant pine. The latter was due to the fact I was sitting in the front passenger seat, holding an ornamental pine shrub in my lap.

  Another clod of soil fell to the floorboards when I shifted my leg. If we’d had more time before piling into Harry’s truck, we might have thought of wrapping the roots in a green plastic bag. But it had been a scramble—Biggs had shown up in his own vehicle, just as we rounded the corner of the house. His radio had been blaring; his phone lay forgotten in the console between the seats. He’d said that he’d been doing the rounds and hadn’t heard or seen anything. It was the way he’d spread his hands, and said, “What?”—trailing the a into three notes—that had done it.

  Trowbridge’s fist had swung. It was a lights-out punch, square to the jaw. Biggs went flying into the forsythia, down for the count. Trowbridge had told Harry, “We’re heading south on the 400. Swing by and pick up Rachel. If we lose the Sisters’ trail, we’ll need her help.”

  Then he’d flown into the house and had come out approximately two seconds later, tucking Knox’s personal effects into a knapsack. He’d hurled that into the backseat of the car, almost nailing Anu, and turned for me.

  “Merry needs to be fed,” I’d told him, expecting him to grab a can of syrup. But Trowbridge had simply spun around and uprooted the bush with one hand. Then he’d one-armed lifted me into the truck’s passenger seat, and deposited Merry’s snack in my lap with a terse, “Tell her to chow down on that.”

  Merry hates pines.

  Disquieted, I searched for her among the pine boughs, and found her buried deep. Merry’s usual bright light had dimmed; the honey tones of her amber stone had dulled to a sickly brown. She’d taken the worst of my hurt into her, healing me while I traveled in Threall. I stroked her with a finger that should have been disfigured, but now was only plump and lobster red. In return she issued a halfhearted blip of yellow.

  It had been a tough night for the Faes.

  I will hold but I wish things were different. That I was just an ordinary wolf, mated to an average Were, looking forward to arguing over wallpaper and whose turn it was to take out the trash. That I didn’t have a brother stuck in some portal passage that no mortal—or Were for that matter—knew existed. That wizards belonged only to Hogwarts, that evil was vanquished with a swipe of sword, that fairy tales always ended neatly.

  Lexi.

  I gave Merry anoth
er stroke, trying to rid my brain of that new and ugly thought—what if it all came down to the same result? In the end—no matter how hard we fought—we lost. One us died, which meant the other two toppled over like dominos? Perhaps our fates were already set in stone, our destinies chiseled out by some stonemason working for a displeased Goddess.

  “You okay?” Trowbridge asked gruffly.

  The Alpha of Creemore drove with a fierce competence that belied the fact that he’d spent nine years in another realm where horsepower meant horsepower. The speedometer’s needle had climbed steadily since we’d left the side roads and merged onto the highway. Had I ever been in a car moving this fast? One hundred fifty-five kilometers—thirty-five over the speed limit. That would be a negative. Thankfully, since it was half past midnight, the cops were conspicuously absent on the 400 Highway.

  A small favor.

  Luck hadn’t smiled on Natasha and Elizabeth. According to a mortal who’d owed the pack a favor, their escape from our territory had been slowed down by the need to buy fuel at his gas station.

  Life is full of learning examples, and this was yet another. Something to remember: all good getaways require a full tank. I would bet my last Cherry Blossom that Elizabeth was ragging on Natasha for that oversight.

  I knew it in my bones that we’d catch up to them soon. And then what? We’d drag them back by their fake auburn hair and force them to make things right.

  Which reminded me of an important detail. “The bikers didn’t want to kill me. Not there anyhow,” I told Trowbridge. I stared ahead, thinking it through. “They wanted to take me somewhere. To meet someone.”

  “Had to be Whitlock,” said Cordelia.

  “And Itchy told Gerry not to shoot you,” I added. “‘Don’t lose the bonus,’ he said. ‘We have to make him look dirty.’”

  “I’m done with this asshole,” said Trowbridge. “When we get back from the Fae realm, I’m going to take him on. Whitlock wants war? He’s got it.”

  Two hours ago, I’d been appalled at the thought of a deliberate kill. But somewhere back in the cemetery, I’d crossed some invisible line. I knew without a doubt that there had been no “oops” to what I’d done to Itchy or Gerry. I’d wanted them dead and I’d followed that impulse to the grisly end. The three of us—my inner-wolf, Fae-me, and plain old Hedi—had not been appalled and horrified when we’d battered Gerry’s noggin with the tombstone.

  The truth is ugly … in fact, we’d smiled.

  Even now, the yen to spill some of Natasha’s blood was as fierce a craving as I’d ever experienced. What had changed inside me? Was it because I’d turned my wolf loose? Am I turning feral? Did letting out my inner animal make me think like one?

  Was that even bad?

  Not if I’m going to run with wolves.

  “Are you going to keep going to Threall every time you close your eyes?” Trowbridge asked suddenly. “Is that why you didn’t sleep back at the house?”

  “Maybe,” I said. My mate steered the car smoothly through a bend in the road. A long semi was hauling a silver trailer, its fumes redolent of swine.

  “Poppet.” Cordelia heaved a deep sigh from the backseat. “It scares the crap out of him when you stop breathing.” She sat stiffly, her hand pressed hard to a dark blue towel held against her flank. A gun lay by her hip. Before we’d all piled into our cars, she’d stalked into the Trowbridge house and came out with ugly-dark-and-deadly. The weapon smelled of gun oil with a hint of Cordelia. But the other Cordelia—the stripped-down one, before the heavy foundation and powder.

  The towel appeared wet. “Are you still bleeding?”

  “I am fine,” she said, lifting her brows as if to dare me to contradict her. “Don’t worry about me.”

  I lifted mine and turned back to face the road. Trowbridge cast me a swift glance, his face carefully neutral. “Do you have any control over going there?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  Up ahead, the pig hauler lumbered in the slow lane, leaving a trail of dust and swine stink. I dipped my chin into the midst of the pine, letting the soft candles of its branches brush my nose, as we overtook the long semi. The side of the trailer was a dull façade of grillwork and peepholes. The swine were pale pink shapes. The driver wore a cap, and a disbelieving expression, as we blew past him.

  All the little piggies going to market.

  “Is there a kill list for halflings?” I asked abruptly.

  Trowbridge shot me a quick look. “What?”

  “Lexi said there was a kill list.” I watched a ruddy flush creep over his cheeks. “You told me that they died early because they couldn’t survive their change. But that’s not the truth, is it? Are they given a little help to their ends?”

  “Do you really want to go into this right now?” He pressed the pedal completely to the floor, and the pig hauler disappeared in our dust.

  My voice grew tight. “I need to know.”

  We traveled another half kilometer at rocketing speed before he sighed and lifted his foot slightly off the gas. “Listen to the whole story before you make up your mind.” He scowled at the road. “We have rules, made to protect our race.”

  “From contamination?” I asked stiffly.

  “Will you listen?”

  I tossed my head. “Go on.”

  “From the word go, a male wolf is told to avoid human girls because they are way more fertile than ours. But a very few wolves … they don’t listen and in some cases, they get a human girl pregnant.” He shot me a quelling glance. “We don’t take that lightly, okay? In my opinion any wolf that knocks up a human should be taken out and shot.”

  “What happens?”

  “The guy responsible is expected to inform his Alpha, who in turn must pass the information on to the council. The woman’s name is put on the watch list.”

  “They kill her?” I asked, shocked.

  “No,” he said. “Hedi, I don’t agree with this, okay? Any guy who gets a human girl pregnant deserves to be shot. I don’t agree—”

  “Just tell me,” I said tightly.

  He exhaled through his teeth. “If she safely delivers the kid, the child’s name is added to the list. Then it’s the wolf’s duty to stay out of the kid’s life but to keep watch. You always know where your kid is, and when he or she’s just about to enter into their puberty—”

  “How would the wolf know the kid’s ready for puberty?”

  “Their scent changes just before their instinct kicks in. They can feel their wolf inside them and the need to run. The kid will feel compelled to head north, for the woods. Doesn’t matter if they’ve never been out of the city. They’ll hitchhike if they have to.”

  I tried to imagine some suburban teen thumbing her way up north. Not knowing why, just being driven by a need she didn’t understand. “Those poor kids.”

  “The father must follow his kid into the forest. Two go in, one comes out.”

  “That’s barbaric,” I whispered.

  Trowbridge’s mouth was a flat line. “It’s a severe punishment. For a man to kill his child—”

  “Yeah, I’m crying for him.” Disgust roiled inside me. “What about the kid? Doesn’t he or she have a right to life? What about the human mother? How does she feel about losing her child?”

  Goddess, those poor women.

  “It’s wrong all the way around. I know that.” His tone hardened. “But the kid’s going to die. There’s no stopping it. A halfling’s body doesn’t have the magic to heal. They literally split apart. Gaping wounds, torn bellies. They don’t have the magic to re-form into their wolf.” Trowbridge, now committed to telling all, kept talking, his voice a low, flat monotone. “The halflings die screaming. Slowly torn apart, their muscles—”

  “How are they sure that every halfling will die?”

  Regret in his eyes. “They just are.”

  “Fae Stars,” I said, my voice a thin thread. “Why didn’t you just kill us at birth? Drown us like kittens?”

 
“You’re not a halfling. You can change into your wolf. I’ve seen enough Fae-Were crosses in Merenwyn to know that.”

  It was a long way off, but the question had to be asked. I stared at him, taking in the dark eyelashes, the high cheekbones. The shadows that lived under his eyes, and in his eyes. Tell me the truth. “What if we have children?” I asked softly.

  “We will love them.” He smiled as if he saw them in his mind’s eye. “Their mother will teach them to swim, and their father will teach them to hunt. They won’t grow up like you did—that I can promise you. If I have to reeducate every wolf in my pack, they will be accepted.”

  That’s when we saw the taillights of the witches’ broom.

  * * *

  The 400 is a provincial highway, well used as it links the city of Toronto to cottage country. It has three lanes going north, three lanes going south. Between them, a steel barrier and a thin strip of asphalt reserved for breakdowns. It’s a fairly straight road, and after leaving the pig hauler in our dust, we’d hit another long straight section of highway, which afforded us great visibility, as it was well lit. The witches’ broom—an old Impala—had funky taillights. Shaped like a cat’s eye, or maybe half of a mocking smile.

  Trowbridge’s smile fell away. “Got them,” he said, pressing the gas pedal to the floor. The truck rocketed forward. Ahead on the road, the Impala suddenly surged forward.

  “They’ve seen us,” I said.

  Natasha tore down the highway like a parole violator outrunning the law, but in the game of who’s got the bigger engine, Harry’s truck was the clear winner. The distance separating us steadily narrowed. If we didn’t draw abreast of them by the time we got to the overpass, we’d get them half a kilometer later.

  Cordelia opened her window. “You better cover your ears,” she said, “in case I actually need to pull the trigger.”

  I flattened a pine bough to see better. Were those rear lights in the shadows beneath the underpass? “Trowbridge, there’s a car there—no, it’s a van. Is it one of ours?”

  Trowbridge swore, and his hands grew tight around the wheel, and several things happened all at once. The van’s interior lights suddenly blazed. Natasha stood on her brakes.