Lilith Saintcrow: Taken

Maybe it was magic, she thought, slowly. With werewolves, vampires, spirits, shamans—magic couldn’t be far behind, could it?

Zach. They were talking about Zach. Something had happened to him. She strained to remember, the room going fuzzy and distant.

It was an Unpleasant Thing. She waited for the majir to tell her she didn’t want to see, waited for her own brain to shiver away from a bad memory.

It didn’t happen.

Zach. He’d found her somehow. And she remembered him—it was funny, the memory kept slipping and sliding inside her, as if it hadn’t found its proper place yet—crouching in front of the rest of the vampires, hunching down defensively. It probably hadn’t occurred to him to leave her to Mark’s tender mercies.

No. She knew it hadn’t occurred to him.

Had he gotten her out of there? How?

And now he was in trouble. Something was wrong with him.

The majir crowded close.

We cannot force you, they said. You can accept our help, and be truly a shaman. We will aid you, and you will hear us. You will be part of the Tribes. There is no going back.

Well, that was a laugh, wasn’t it? There had never been any going back, for her. Not since she’d married Mark, thinking he was Prince Charming instead of a beast. Everything followed from that one mistake.

The room solidified around her. The spirits had stilled, their quicksilver smoke hanging over her body, oddly frozen. Bruises retreated visibly, swelling receding, and the body on the bed stirred slightly.

How strange, she thought. I don’t feel that at all.

It was odder still to think she could take two steps backward, and leave the room. There might be somewhere else to go, after all. Werewolves, vampires, shamans—why not heaven? Or hell?

She could be done with the whole thing, with a life spent cowering in fear. It didn’t seem like it would be difficult.

But there was Zach. He’d kidnapped her, and saved her life. He’d found her, and it sounded like he’d killed a lot of vampires to do it, too. What else had he done? How had he gotten her out of that cellar? Was he hurt? Dying, maybe?

She hesitated. The spirits said nothing. Just when she’d gotten used to their chirping all the time.

How on earth was she supposed to get back in her body?

Just as she thought it, the majir turned away from the form on the bed. They streamed toward her, and Sophie found herself reaching out with her own insubstantial hands to clasp theirs. They felt warm and tangible, just like real skin, and for a moment all their faces flushed with warmth, their mouths becoming little O s of surprise.

There was a moment of soft confusion, heat folding around her like the blooming of an orchid, and she sank into a hot darkness full of thudding.

For a moment she panicked, thinking she was back in the cellar again. But her eyelids snapped up, the light striking into the center of her head, and she realized the pounding was her own pulse, marking off time.

Her throat burned. Her body ached, her head and ribs most of all. The sheets rasped against her skin like heat on a fresh sunburn. Her scalp crawled, and she could smell herself, sick and unwashed under a rush of musk and queer silver.

Dizziness poured through her. Then someone was there, lifting her up with a gentle arm under her shoulders. A cup hit her lips, liquid filled her mouth, and she was so thirsty she drank until the burning sourness of whatever it was reached her stomach and made her eyes water. Deep retching coughs pulled at her tender ribs; she flinched and tried to cut them off.

It didn’t work.

“Easy there,” Cullen rumbled. “God damn .” Julia was the one holding her up, and Cullen kept pouring whatever was in the cup down despite Sophie’s spluttering. “That smells foul .”

It did. And it burned .

“It’s good for you.” Cullen’s eyes twinkled. “Want some?”

“No, thanks.” Julia’s clean hair brushed her face. “Shaman brews. Worse than distemper.”

“What would you know, cub?” The bear-man grinned. “Hello, Sophie. Glad to see you among us again.”

Whatever he was pouring down her throat burned and smelled like rocket fuel and wet seaweed, with a healthy dose of damp fur and nose-stinging mint. It was like gasoline toothpaste, for God’s sake, and he kept pouring until she spluttered again and lost half of it over her face.

“Don’t drown her, you moron!” Julia snatched her away. Sophie’s body was limp as a rag doll’s. Her muscles were all unstrung, the heat of the drink filling her belly and exploding outward. It filled her arms and legs with unsteady warmth, as if a wire had run through the middle of her bones and started glowing. The girl held her up, hugging her close. She was warm, and her musk was oddly familiar. And comforting.

Sophie coughed. The majir gathered, watching solemnly. They had done what they could for now.

The rest was up to her.

Her lips were chapped. She licked them, a residue of bitterness coating her tongue. Her mouth wouldn’t work right for a moment.

“You need more.” Cullen leaned in.

“For Christ’s sake—” Julia didn’t think much of this notion.

“Quiet, cubling.” The bear-man rumbled deep in his chest.

Sophie found her voice. “Z-Zach. Where’s Zach?”

They both went completely still.

“Just relax,” Julia finally said, steadying her. “Shaman-healing’s hard on the body. You were in bad shape.”

“Zach.” It was hard to sound firm instead of querulous. “Where is he?”

“In a safe place.” Cullen set the mug down on the nightstand. “Where he can’t hurt anyone or himself.”

“Aren’t you going to tell her the rest of it?” The words burst out, and Julia didn’t look even faintly daunted by the glance the big man gave her. “He can’t shift back. He’s gone into the rage. We have to—”

“That’s enough.” Cullen actually glowered . “We have to make sure this shaman doesn’t die of shock and join the earthbound spirits, that’s what we have to do. If you can’t shut your mouth, Carcajou, I’ll—”

“Leave her alone.” Even to herself Sophie sounded tired. “Where’s Zach? I need to see him.”

“You can’t even stand up,” the bear-man pointed out. “The majir have done what they can. You need food, and rest, and—”

You know, I have had it up to here with other people running my life. “I want to get cleaned up.” She enunciated each word clearly. “Julia can help me.”

“Right on. I’ll get everything.” The girl laid her back down, gently, and Sophie found herself sinking into pillows again. Julia bolted for the doorway, almost hit the side of it, kicked the door itself, and was gone into a white-painted hall outside in a trice.

That left Sophie looking up at Cullen, who was even bigger and broader seen from this angle. “Zach.” She moistened her dry lips again. “What’s wrong with him?”

“You don’t know anything about Carcajou.” He didn’t even bother to make it a question. His eyes were very blue, and circled with dark rings. “Of all the Tribes, they’re best at killing upir . But that’s not what they’re famous for.”

She lay there, wishing she could look at the ceiling or out the window.

“They don’t stop,” Cullen said quietly. “They never back down once they’ve picked a fight. It gets them killed a lot. But it’s the rage in them. All of us have it, but they’ve got double, and doused in diesel, too.” He sighed, heavily, shoulders slumping. “He went after you while we were all still arguing over what to do. Cut a path right through a colony of upir and took on Armitage’s wife. Turned out she’d been running her own little playground on the side, right under her hubby’s nose.”