Grave Rites: An Urban Fantasy Adventure (Grant Wolves Book 6) Page 4

  Assured he was safe from wandering poltergeists, Chris leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “Stay out of my lap this time. You know it’s creepy.”

  “I’ll try to restrain myself, child,” was her dry reply. She never had done anything of the sort. The joke was just his way of trying to lighten the mood.

  Stepping out of his body, he looked around the room to get his bearings. It looked the same on the astral plane as it did in the living world, except the colors were a bit washed out. His emotions, on the other hand, were dialed up to eleven. It always took him a few seconds to orient himself, but on a day when his emotions were as strong as they were today, it took him longer than usual. He gathered his annoyance with Joey, the hurt over their fight, and the fear for their future into a ball and shoved it deep down, focusing instead on his worry for Naomi. Sometimes it was easier to embrace an emotion than push it away, especially if it was related to something he needed to do. Like now, when he needed to seek out his friend.

  Closing his eyes, he focused on his memories of her, conversations and events that were tinged with gratitude, relief, friendship, laughter, and yes, even that gnawing worry over her current wellbeing. He let the emotions wash over him until he and they were one. Then he called an image of her smiling face to mind and willed himself to her side. When he opened his eyes, it was to find himself exactly where he’d started. He tried a few more times, but the result was no different.

  Sighing, he kicked the leg of Cathy’s coffee table. Even the soft thud of his foot connecting with the wood gave him no satisfaction. He was getting better at influencing the physical world from the astral; it was one of the things Cathy’d been having him practice. He was still better at it when he was distracted than when he was being intentional, but just the other day he’d managed to pick up a tennis ball and hold it for nearly ten seconds.

  He shifted his attention to Cathy who sat quietly in her chair, inspecting her nails while she waited for Chris to return to his body. He looked more closely, observing the tightness around her eyes, the way she couldn’t seem to sit still. Cathy was normally one of the least fidgety people he knew. She was more worried than she was letting on, and he was acutely aware of just how vulnerable she was. Not frail—that’d never be a word he could imagine using to describe Cathy. But she was pushing seventy, and she wasn’t the spry young chicken she’d once been. If someone—or something—was targeting Seattle witches, Cathy was a prime target. She possessed incredible magical power, but her aging body grew more fragile every year.

  Chris slipped back into his body and opened his eyes.

  “Anything?” she asked, hope in her eyes.

  “Nothing.” Chris sat up and shifted onto the edge of the couch. “She could be out of range, or… We never did figure out how Madrigal kept Mom hidden on the astral plane as well as from magical tracking.”

  “But he did. That means there’s still hope for Naomi.”

  Chris summoned a smile, but he wasn’t feeling it. “Yeah. As much as I don’t like the idea of a nefarious someone with that kind of magic mojo running around my town, that beats the alternative.” An alternative neither of them wanted to talk about. Cathy looked away, and Chris studied her profile for a few seconds’ pause. He couldn’t shake the worry eating at him over her safety. “Why don’t you come stay at the house with us until this blows over?”

  She snorted softly and lifted her chin, meeting his eyes once more. “I can take care of myself, child.”

  “I know you can. But I would’ve said the same of Naomi. You trained her, after all.”

  Cathy grimaced, but shook her head. “I’m not going to be chased from my home, much less my coven, by some unknown threat.”

  “Yeah. I had a feeling you’d say that.” Chris drummed his fingers against his thigh, looking off toward the window. He couldn’t really force the issue. Clubbing her over the head and dragging her back to his cave was definitely out. “Speaking of your apprentices, have you heard from Dawn?”

  “A few days ago,” Cathy said. “She said the situation in Eastgate isn’t as bad as she’d feared, so she won’t have to stay long.”

  Chris nodded. Dawn had returned to Madrigal’s compound to check in on what remained of the cult left rudderless by his untimely demise. She’d been one of them at one time, in another life, and felt some responsibility to make sure they were okay—and not plotting any sort of revenge. “Maybe she should stay put until we clear this up. Or at least stay away from Seattle.”

  Cathy’s soft snort drew his eyes back to her. “If she gets wind of something going on here, she’ll come right back.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right. I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.” Chris pushed to his feet with a sigh, scrubbing a hand through his dark hair. His mind wandered back to the matter of Cathy’s safety. “Maybe I should stay with you for a few days…”

  “Don’t be silly. Your pack needs you.” Her tone held a note of warning to it. Cathy wasn’t known for her temper, but she wasn’t the sort of woman he wanted to piss off either. She was—had always been—one of his greatest allies and resources. But more than that—she was family. As one of Adelaide Grant’s closest friends, “Aunt Cathy” had been a fixture in his life as far back as he could remember.

  Yes, he was on thin ice. But his conscience wouldn’t let it stand. His wolf paced restlessly in the back of his mind, bolstering his protective instinct. Sometimes you have to lie down on that ice and spread your weight out as much as possible to offer a friend a lifeline.

  “At least let me send someone to stay with you,” Chris said, softening it with, “some brawn to complement your beauty, hmm?”

  The shrewd narrowing of her eyes and lack of immediate refusal gave him hope. “I have some research to do. An assistant might help speed things along.”

  Chris smiled and reached for his phone. “I know just the librarian for the job.” Justin wouldn’t mind hanging out with Cathy for a few days, especially if it got him access to her occult library. And despite his sweater vests and bow ties, he could hold his own in a fight.

  Cathy rose and walked over to give him a hug, wrapping her thin arms around him tightly. “We’ll sort this out, child.”

  “I hope so. I really do.”

  4

  Try as she might, Joey couldn’t get her brief conversation with Chris out of her head. It wasn’t so much that Naomi was missing—though of course that was cause for concern—it was how short Chris had been with her. Terse. Yeah, he was angry with her. He had every right to be, and he didn’t even know the half of it yet. She’d apologized profusely for turning her phone off, but he’d cut her off. Cut her off! And said they’d talk about it later.

  Because it was a conversation best had in person, she’d let it go, but the tight ball of anxiety in her stomach had lingered through the rest of the baby shower. Now that the last guest had departed, Joey had high hopes of losing herself in some mindless cleaning for a while. She moved around the living room, collecting used paper cups, plates, forks, and napkins into a precarious stack while Melinda packed leftover snacks into plastic containers.

  Sara stood in the center of the room, surveying the “damage” while rubbing her massive midsection absently. “That was fun. Just give me a minute and I’ll help you pick up.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Melinda said. “If anything, you should go upstairs and lie down.”

  Joey shot Sara’s cousin an annoyed look, mostly because she’d beaten her to the punch. “Yeah, what she said. Take a load off. Get your nap on.”

  Sara shook her head and grunted softly. “I’m fine.” She walked over to the couch and squatted down to try and pick up a pair of booties that’d fallen off the stack on the coffee table onto the floor, groaned when she couldn’t reach, and flopped on the couch. “Then again, putting my feet up for a few minutes does sound nice.”

  Joey snickered softly, transferring a little water from one cup to another so she could nest them t
ogether. “Hey Mel, you know a lot about wolf babies, right?”

  “Oh, a fair bit, yes. Why?” Melinda asked with a pleasant smile.

  “I was just wondering if it’s possible for a lycanthrope baby to be so alpha that it influences their mother.” Joey glanced at Sara who smirked at her from afar. Laughing, Joey held up a hand. “Hey, it’s a fair question! You’ve been different the last few months. Less submissive, even with Jon. Hell, especially with Jon. Everyone’s noticed.”

  “It’s his fault I’m in this condition. He’s earned it,” Sara said, only reinforcing Joey’s observation.

  But Joey knew Sara wouldn’t change the situation for the world. She and Jon had tried to get pregnant for years before it finally happened. Lycanthropes’ low fertility had worked against them to the point that Joey had wondered if one of them was simply infertile.

  Melinda chuckled. “It’s possible for a child’s dominance drive to affect the mother, yes. Probable, even.”

  “Interesting,” Joey said.

  Sara slipped off her shoes and put her feet up on the coffee table. “You say that now. Just wait until it’s your turn.”

  Joey barked a laugh. “We haven’t even gotten married yet. Don’t put the cart before the horse.” The words slipped easily from her mouth, but they brought with them a belated stab of regret for her actions the previous night.

  “Are you using protection?” Sara asked. “Your mother was prolific, by lycanthrope standards.”

  Choking on her own saliva, Joey coughed a few times to clear her throat. “Sara, I love you, but I’m not discussing my sex life with you.”

  “Just saying,” Sara said. “It’s the only way to be sure, if you’re truly not ready. Not that I wouldn’t welcome a little niece or nephew to grow up with my little one. You and Chris will make beautiful babies one day.”

  “Fingers crossed,” Melinda added. “It seems like fewer lycanthrope children are born every year.”

  Joey grimaced and moved a little more quickly around the room, collecting trash. “Go bark up someone else’s tree.”

  The words came out harsher than intended, but they just laughed and thankfully let the subject go. While Sara and Melinda chatted back and forth a bit, Joey tuned them out while she focused on cleaning up. Her mind drifted back to thoughts of Chris and whether she was going to be able to get clear of this mess with him without begging on her hands and knees. It unsettled her to think that she’d actually be willing to do that, if she had to. She never thought she’d be willing to do that for anyone, but Chris… he was her soulmate. If making things right meant eating a little crow, she’d do that even if she ended up picking feathers out of her teeth for weeks.

  “You okay, Joey?” Melinda’s voice brought her back from where her mind had wandered.

  “Hm? Yeah, why?”

  “You’ve been standing there holding those plates and cups for a couple of minutes.”

  Joey looked down, then around her with a wince. “Sorry, a little distracted I guess.” Swallowing, she spurred herself into motion again, grabbing the trash bag with the gift wrappings in it and shoving her handful of trash inside.

  “Anything you want to talk about?” Sara asked, twisting and craning her neck to look at Joey over the back of the couch.

  Joey hesitated. Sara gave good advice, and ordinarily she’d be interested in a sisterly heart to heart. However, she didn’t know—or like—Melinda well enough to go into it with her around. But Sara was also a walking bullshit detector, and in her current condition there was no telling how much she’d press the issue. As much as Joey enjoyed seeing her sister-in-law display a little more backbone, she didn’t particularly want to invoke it right now.

  “Chris called a little bit ago. A couple of local witches have gone missing. One of them is a friend of ours.”

  Sara gasped. “It’s not Cathy, is it?”

  “No, Naomi.”

  “Oh no!” Sara straightened in her seat, blue eyes wide.

  “Missing witches, you say?” Melinda’s hands stilled while her eyes fixed on Joey.

  Joey nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Hmm. I suppose it could be a coincidence that they’re both magic users,” Melinda said. “I hope there isn’t a magic-eating creature on the loose.”

  The bag in Joey’s hands slipped from her grasp and hit the floor. She lunged for it and grabbed it before it could tip over and spill anything. She glanced between Melinda and Sara, whose expressions were thoughtful and uneasy. Respectively. “Sorry, I think I misheard you. Did you say magic-eating creature?”

  “Oh, yes,” Melinda replied with a grave nod. “There are some real nasty ones out there.”

  “Melinda,” Sara said. Her cousin’s name came out sounding like a warning.

  Joey studied her sister-in-law with narrowed eyes. “I know you’re not trying to keep me in the dark, here.”

  Sara shot her cousin a look and resumed rubbing her stomach. “She’s just pulling your leg, Joey.”

  “Oh.” Joey tugged on the trash bag’s drawstrings so she could tie it off, giving Melinda a bit of side-eye.

  “Sorry,” Melinda said, but the sparkle in her eyes didn’t exactly scream contrition.

  Joey snorted and shook her head, as annoyed with herself for being gullible as she was at Melinda for taking advantage of it. But it sure as hell wouldn’t have been the first time something like that had been sprung on her. “Well, I’m glad nothing like that exists—that we know of. Either way, it’s a good time to not be a witch in Seattle.”

  The silence in the wake of her statement was palpable. Melinda went back to moving hors d’oeuvres from a platter to a plastic tub while Sara sat quietly on the couch, rubbing her stomach.

  “What?” Joey said, though she wasn’t entirely sure where the thread of suspicion had come from.

  Sara shifted position so she could see Joey better, wincing in the process. “Melinda’s a witch.”

  Joey blinked, fingers tightening on the trash bag. “What? How is that… I’ve seen her shift with my own eyes.”

  “Lycanthropes are inherently magical creatures,” Melinda said. “It’s in our blood, in our DNA. The source of our power. We tap into that magic to shapeshift, to heal, to commune with our wolf souls.”

  Joey cocked her head. “Sure. But that doesn’t make us witches.”

  “Not all of us.” Melinda put a lid on the hors d’oeuvre container and burped it to get some of the air out. “Just the ones that have enough magic to qualify as witches.”

  “You’d better not be pulling my leg again.” Her eyes darted to Sara as she considered her sister-in-law’s mysterious knowledge of magic-related things. It was one of those things she kept meaning to ask about but hadn’t quite gotten around to. “Are you a witch too?”

  Sara shook her head, blue eyes solemn. “No. My mother was, but my sister and I aren’t. It’s rare but runs a little stronger in my family.”

  Joey rubbed the back of her head and abandoned the trash bag, walking over to plop down on the other end of the sofa from Sara. She didn’t know what to say, and it was a rare occasion indeed that she was rendered completely speechless. After a few moments of processing everything, she looked at Melinda. “So, if there’s a threat to witches in Seattle, you may be in danger.”

  An hour ago, that would’ve seemed like a pleasant possibility, but Melinda was still family. By marriage. Technically.

  Melinda snorted softly and pushed her hair over her shoulder. “I can take care of myself. I’ll be careful. Take precautions.”

  Technically, Melinda wasn’t part of her pack, so she couldn’t order her to do anything. But Melinda was important to Sara, so Joey felt a certain responsibility for keeping her safe from whatever threat was on the loose. Then again, for all they knew, it really could be a coincidence that Naomi and Rachel were both witches and missing. There was simply too much uncertainty about the whole situation, and Joey didn’t like uncertainty.

  “Nonetheless, I’d
feel better if you had some backup. I’m going to send someone over to hang around and help out for a few days. I want you to take them—or Jon or Dad—with you if you need to run errands or something. Hell, call me and I’ll go with you if you want.”

  Melinda pressed her lips together, but dipped her head in a polite nod. “Very well, Alpha.”

  Joey nodded, then pulled Sara’s feet into her lap and began rubbing them. Maybe Melinda wasn’t so bad after all.

  Chris leaned an elbow on his desk and propped his head up on his fist with a sigh, still working the mouse with his other hand. A glance at the clock in the corner of the screen revealed only two minutes had passed since the last time he looked, but it felt like it’d been much longer. He’d been scouring the internet for the last hour for any and all information he could find about Naomi Shaw, Rachel Ward, and their disappearances, recording everything he could find in a text document. Unfortunately, it didn’t amount to a whole lot.

  “Problem?” Maria asked from her position behind Joey’s desk. She’d volunteered to help with the research. He hoped she was having more luck than he was.

  “Just wishing Adam were here.”

  “If it’s any consolation, Adam probably wishes he were here too. Wasn’t he complaining about spotty cell signals and lack of internet the last time he called?”

  Chuckling, Chris nodded. “Yeah, something like that.”

  “Hope it’s worth it.”

  Chris suspected it was. Adam had developed quite a crush on Dawn after she appeared in Seattle, and had jumped at the opportunity to accompany her on her little mission to Eastgate. Chris couldn’t help but worry, though. Even if Dawn did end up returning Adam’s affection—and Chris considered that a long shot at best, given Dawn’s troubled history with men—she was a witch, not a lycanthrope. Any relationship between them was doomed to end in sadness, one way or another.