Bloodfire (Blood Destiny) (2 page)

I nodded slightly, trying not to let the
nervous panic rise up any further.
 
I usually tried to forget that there were big bad things out there like
the Brethren.
 
It wasn’t good for my
health to think about
the what
ifs.
 
What if the Brethren discovered who I
was and killed me?
 
What if they
killed the whole pack for harbouring me?
 
What if my mother hadn’t ever compelled the Cornish pack to take me
in?
 
What if she was still
alive?
 
What if…

Nope.
 
It didn’t do any good.

“Anyway,” John continued, “from what I
hear the new Lord Alpha is eager to stamp his authority across the
Kingdom.
 
He’s already made several
visits to different packs and I have no doubt that sooner or later he’ll make
his way to us whether we wish it or not.”
 
He watched me carefully.
 
“It
might be better to get it out of the way whilst we can still maintain some
control over the situation.”

I snorted.
 
“Whatever,” and quickly changed the
subject back to the wichtlein’s stone.
 
Bureaucratic protocol might demand that we had to inform our Lords and
Masters about it, but I was curious as to whether ‘large-scale death and
destruction’ was really going to happen, or if it was just scare-mongering.
 
“How seriously should I take this
rock?”
 

John’s expression was suddenly completely humourless.
 
“As to that, I’d say as seriously as possible.
 
The ways and actions of the otherworld
are rarely without good reason.”
 
He
held the little black stone between his finger and thumb and gazed at it
quietly for a moment before placing it inside his shirt pocket and buttoning it
over.
 

I frowned.
 
If John was treating the situation that
gravely then it definitely merited my more earnest attention.
 
“I’ll stay here and scout the area, see
what I can find.”

“Are you armed?”

I had my usual throwing daggers taped to
my arms.
 
And, of course, there was
my blood.
 
“I’m good.”

“Okay, then.
 
I need you back at the keep by sunrise
though or I’ll send Anton out looking for you.”

I threw John an evil look.
 
Anton and I were not exactly mates.
 
He laughed lightly and, picking up his
broad rimmed hat that he’d left at the side of the clearing, turned towards the
keep.

I watched his retreating back for a moment
and then started to look around, belatedly realising that I hadn’t thought to
ask him about the rumours he’d heard that had made him come here in the first
place.
 
Scuffing the dirt in a few
places that looked as if they might have been disturbed, I wondered if they
were related to the stone.
 
It had
certainly made a strange noise but it would never have been loud enough to
attract anyone’s attention from far away, and the village itself was at least
ten kilometres from here.
 
Maybe the wichtlein that had left its little offering in the first
place and been of the loud variety.
 
I shrugged and continued looking carefully around me.
 
Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t find
any more shiny stones though, or any traces of anything else.
 
I paused for a moment, trying to use my
Spidey senses but clearly I was either no superhero or there was nothing to be
found.
 
However, my gaze fell to the
area on my right, which was dark despite the afternoon sunshine, and contained dense
undergrowth that could be hiding all manner of things.
 
Hopefully not actual spiders.

I forced my way through and sniffed the
air.
 
It was heavy and musty but
felt natural.
 
I ploughed
ahead.
 
Peering through the tangle
of creepers and trees, it seemed as if there was something up ahead.
 
Certainly not anything alive, or even
undead, but there was something there that looked as if it didn’t belong.
 
I squinted, trying to make out what it
was, but couldn’t work it out from this distance.
 
I guessed I’d just have to push through
the maze of prickly gorse bushes to find out then.
 
This would have been easier if I’d been
wearing jeans instead of my running shorts.

I took a deep breath and gingerly stepped
past the first clump, wincing slightly as the sharp thorns scored the skin on
my thighs.
 
I gritted my teeth and
carried forward, hoping this was going to be worth it.
 
By the time I reached the other side of
the thigh high bushes, beads of blood were forming down the front of my legs
although I’d gotten used to the mild irritation of the pain.
 
Cursing John, wichtleins and the world in
general under my breath, I looked up and realised that what I’d spotted was a
length of black cloth.
 
Odd.
 
I checked around it, in case it was a
trap of some sort, but it appeared to be merely hanging on its own from the
branch of a gnarly oak tree.
 
I
tugged it a few times but it was fairly stubborn so I yanked harder, falling
backwards into the gorse when it came free.
 

“Shit!” I swore loudly and even looked
around to make sure that
no-one
had seen my fall.
 
I wouldn’t have put it past some of the
pack to
have set
this all up just to have a laugh at
my expense. Grimacing in pain as the thorns pulled away from skin, I forced myself
up and looked at my prize.

It was about three yards long with a skein
of silver thread running through each side.
 
It was unlikely that a Cornish local had
left this behind, given its thorny location and heavy feel.
 
I raised it to my nose and sniffed,
before choking as the unmistakable stench of death hit my nostrils.
 
Definitely not a local
then.
 
Unlikely to be a pack
member playing a practical joke either – their sensitive sense of smell
would have made it difficult to even get close to the material.
 
Yet there was obviously something
otherworldly about it.

I searched around again for any other
signs of anything but came up short.
 
There were no signs of a trail to be seen. I certainly wasn’t a tracker
of John’s standards but I was fairly competent despite my lack of shifter super
senses.
 
However there was nothing;
in fact it was as if the cloth had just dropped dramatically from the sky.
 
The mystery deepens, I thought
cryptically.
 
Still, perhaps John
might be able to shed more light on it.
 
After all, for all I knew, wichtleins were just keen fashionistas along
with casually dropping ominous rocky notes of doom for random passersby.

Looking up, I realised that the afternoon
was beginning to turn into dusk, with the blue sky darkening over just a tinge.
 
I glanced back at the gorse, the only
way out, and sighed.
 
Better get
going, I figured.
 
I didn’t think
I’d be wearing any pretty skirts at any time in my near future after this.
 
Well, to be fair, I didn’t actually own
any skirts, or dresses, but that didn’t mean that I didn’t want the choice to
wear them if I wanted to, without looking as if I’d travelled through a meat
grinder at least.

It took me some time to get back through
the thorny bushes and return to the clearing.
 
I had another quick look around, just in
case I’d missed something, but there was nothing there.
 
Trying to avoid touching it with my bare
skin, I put the black cloth over my shoulder, and headed westwards for the
keep.
 
The light-hearted feeling I’d
had earlier that day during my run had completely dissipated.
 
The potential Brethren visit
notwithstanding,
John was clearly taking this whole omen very
seriously.
 
I made a mental note to
check the keep’s library later for any information about wichtleins.
 
It was possible I could dig up something
useful on the Othernet too.

I wasn’t far from home when Tom, my
sparring buddy, bounced up to me.
 
His
tortoiseshell hair glinted in the fading daylight and his smile matched his
sunny appearance.
 
“Hey Red!
 
Where have you been all day? And what is
that awful smell?
 
Have you been
digging up old graves again?”

“Out for a run, then I helped John do some
investigating in the forest.
 
I
found this on my way.”
 
I pointed at
the cloth from where the offending reek was coming from.
 
He couldn’t help himself from leaning
over closer and inhaling deeply, before recoiling away from me in disgust.
 
Tom was the kind of guy who’d fart under
the duvet then be compelled to lift up the cover to sniff.

“Eeugh!
 
Let me guess, you were down a rabid
rabbit hole and came across the shroud of Bugs Bunny?”

Clearly, my recent exploits had not gone
without comment across the pack.
 
I
considered telling him the truth but figured that if John hadn’t mentioned it
to the others yet then it was probably not my place to say.
 
“Something like that,” I said
dismissively, waving a hand airily in front of me.
 
Tom shrugged and grinned, moving around
to my non-death cloth wrapped side and placing an easy arm across my shoulder.

We walked companionably towards the large
grey castle like building.
 
Even
after living here for years, I still felt a little thrill whenever I saw it
looming towards me.
 
Cornwall’s
history was steeped in Celtic myths and rumour had it that our keep was built
on the ruin of a centuries old Celtic castle.
 
It certainly wasn’t a fairy tale castle
with turrets and steeples, but its solid squatness was both welcoming and
reassuring.
 
The grand oak gate at
its entrance bore marks of various violent fights and incursions from the past,
either from the shifters who’d lived there in years gone by, or from even
earlier inhabitants than them, and the rippling imperfections in the various
visible glass windows hinted at its lack of modernity. Behind the keep, out of
sight, was Julia’s little herb garden which she used to grow any manner of
weeds with which to feed her various concoctions, whilst in front lay a long
drive covered in pale pink shale which had the unnerving habit of jumping up by
themselves and chipping a long line of visitors’ gleaming car paint. Regardless
of anything, however, it was my home and I loved it.

Julia was just inside the door when we
entered, pinning something up onto the noticeboard.
 
She was a tiny woman with grey hair,
slightly older than John and a whole lot scarier.
 
She’d lived with the Cornwall pack for
her entire life and treated everyone as if they were naughty children.
 
She fixed me with a death stare.
 
“Mackenzie Smith, don’t you dare come
into the keep with that…thing.
 
It
smells like Hades.”

I lightly touched the cloth on my shoulder
without thinking and then recoiled slightly at the shudder its touch gave me.
 
“I need to show it to John,” I
protested.

“I don’t care.
 
It is not entering this building and
defiling our living space.
 
Besides,
John has already gone out.”
 
She
sniffed delicately and continued to glare at me until I rolled my eyes in
acquiescence and began to back out.

To be fair to her, despite the keep’s
vaguely menacing appearance outside and shabby interior within, it was
well-kept
with a seemingly ever-lasting lemon fresh
smell.
 
I had long suspected that
she hired brownies to clean it at nights, but had never been able to catch any
of them to prove it.
 
Tom almost ran
up the stairs out of her way whilst I flounced outside and headed for an unused
shed beside the north face of the keep, tying it securely to a post inside
before stomping ungratefully back in.
 
She was waiting for me in the hall.

“When will he back?”
 
What I really wanted to know was whether
he’d called he Brethren yet and if they were really coming to our little corner
to investigate.

“He said he’d be some time dear, but that he’d
probably return by supper.”
 

I scowled in annoyance.
 
Now that I’d removed the evil smelling
object from her notice, she’d reverted to calling me dear again.
 
Julia called everyone dear.
 
I knew she wasn’t trying to be patronising
but any endearments of any sort wound me up.
 
Duck, hen, chick, even Red as Tom
insisted on calling me, all annoyed me.
 
Mack was fine.
 
If you were
Julia or John, you could get away with Mackenzie, but woe betide anyone else
who tried that one.
 
My red hair
wasn’t the only fiery thing about me.
 
I was pretty sure that from the moment of my arrival at the keep, the
whole pack had been aware of my volatile temper.
 
And it wasn’t entirely my own fault that
I’d fly off the handle at times.
 
Despite
my mother’s last words to me to keep my bloodfire a secret, I’d mentioned it to
Betsy, a werelynx shifter the same age as me, when we’d pricked each other’s
fingers at age nine and sworn a blood pact of friendship to each other.
 
I think at the time I’d just been happy
to finally
have found
a friend.
 
She’d vowed – and still to this
day continued to assert the same, I might add - that she’d felt the fire inside
my blood when we’d pressed our pinkies together.
 
And, naturally, a scant three hours
later the whole pack knew that I had a strange heat inside me that shaped my
emotions and often directed my actions. I was pretty sure that most pack
members were under the impression that it was a particular side effect of being
a puny red-haired human, and my limited experience outside the shifter world
meant that I couldn’t genuinely say otherwise.
 
Certainly, since that day, I’d learned
to never entirely trust Betsy with a secret again.
 
John, for his part, had merely raised an
eyebrow and gently suggested that I made sure the fire didn’t burn me out.
 
Ha bloody ha.