Part 25 (2/2)

”A shame.”

A tense silence reigned except for the sound of the doctor's heart beating, the power broker inhaling deeply and the gun-holding one grinding his teeth. The broker spoke at last. ”You can force water down him via an IV can you not?”

”Yes, but-”

”Then do it.”

”To insert a fluid line we must tranquilize him. I can't guarantee that he will not be sluggish for tomorrow.”

The broker laughed, a low, humorless sound. ”Not a problem. With what we have planned for him he won't have to be fast, just deadly.”

Van shook his head, trying to lift it as he did.

”C'est la vie,” the doctor murmured, waving his hand behind his head.

”No,” Van mouthed, ”Don't-”

The dart struck his left shoulder with enough force it spun Van over and flipped him on his back.

The last thing he saw was the doctor leaning over him, whispering, ”Forgive me.”

CHAPTER 50.

Francois was the one who joined me in the open s.p.a.ce where I was marking chalk clockwise on the floor to create my power circle.

”Need any help?” he asked.

I glared at him, knowing it really wasn't him I was angry with.

”He wouldn't have you do this if there was any other way,” Francois murmured, leaning against the nearest wall, his pose meant to look relaxed, the strain in his muscles betraying the opposite.

I ignored his words and leaned back on my knees, deciding to take whatever time I had to figure out something that was bothering me. ”What exactly are you?” I asked, no heat to my words.

”I'm surprised you've been able to wait this long to find out.”

I raised my hands palm up toward him. ”If you're not comfortable sharing, I can understand that. It's your business.”

”It's not that.” He looked away, his hands thrust deep in his pockets. I actually expected him to tell me to take a flying leap, or the British equivalent, but instead he shrugged. ”I'm a didi-s.h.i.+fter.”

”A what?”

”We used to be called splitters but we're now politically correct and using the technical jargon for dissociative ident.i.ty disorder individuals. Get it? Didi-s.h.i.+fters.”

I'd heard of splitters but thought they didn't really exist, sort of like the boogeyman. But come to think of it all of us in the warehouse were bogeymen to a lot of humans. Splitters though were the stuff of legends, sort of a cross between a s.h.i.+fter/Were and a chameleon. Because they could a.s.sume different animal shapes historically they were very adept as a.s.sa.s.sins and liquidators. Which tended to make them loners and very wary.

”Repelled?” he asked, and I could hear him bracing for my response.

”You're talking to a shamanistic witch,” I laughed. ”Who am I to cast stones because you're something rare and unusual.”

His shoulders relaxed as he replied. ”That's a nice way to put it. Rare and unusual. Not what I usually hear once someone figures out how much of a face-ache I am.”

”Face-ache?”

”You know, a freak, screwed, outside the pale.”

I gave him a get-real look. ”It's not like there's all that many any of us can share what we are with, so I wouldn't waste any more time worrying about it.”

He laughed and scratched his head. ”Truth is I don't spend much time worried that the s.h.i.+fters will reject me, which they tend to do, or the Weres. That's their problem.” He nodded his chin toward the closed door to the room. ”He helped with that.”

”Willie?” I asked even as I guessed the real answer.

”Nah. Bran was the first git to not bat an eyelash when he found out. He treated me like his mate from the first and hasn't ever changed.”

Obviously he knew a different side of Bran than I did. But I bit my tongue. Instead I asked, ”So can you s.h.i.+ft into other forms than a dog?”

” I have to stay in the canidae family,” he said, ” But since that includes all canines; wolves, dholes, coyotes, jackals, and foxes, there's enough variety to keep life interesting.”

I bet. I knew my s.h.i.+fter brothers were canis lupis, the Grey Wolf, and that they tended to look down on dogs in part because dogs-canis lupus familiaris-were a subspecies of the Grey Wolf. The worst thing you could call a wolf s.h.i.+fter was any variation of the word dog. I learned that early, and often with my brothers. Not that it kept me from using dog-face, or stop me from telling them they were d.o.g.g.i.n' it. Yeah, I was a glutton for punishment that way.

”So do you choose what you s.h.i.+ft into?” I asked.

”Sometimes. Other times I let myself go and what I become is what I become. I've never let myself down.”

Speaking of letting someone down, my thoughts boomeranged back to Bran. No surprise there.

I went back to drawing my line, taking a deep breath to calm my emotions. Any spell involved intentions, including one as simple as a scrying spell. But this wasn't a casting like I'd used to find the doctor, this one used blood, which immediately catapulted it into the tread-lightly zone.

As I drew my circle I was drawing my safety zone, separating what was within from what was without. If I brought strong negative emotions with me into the creation of the sacred s.p.a.ce, I was calling forth negativity from the world around me. The last thing I needed or wanted.

”Aren't you drawing that in the wrong direction?” Francois asked, as I scooted forward about a foot at a time to create the nine-foot circle.

”It's drawn clockwise for invocation, counterclockwise for banis.h.i.+ng.” I released a breath as I sat back on my heels. ”Don't want to banish Van but call forth his location.”

Not that using the banis.h.i.+ng spell might not be perfect for certain others. Speak of the devil, as I heard footsteps join Francois. I didn't have to look to see who'd come in, I knew in my gut. Though it was funny that I didn't often hear him move.

”We brought the material you wanted,” he said, setting a paper bag near me, being sure not to cross the circle. Even though warlocks were kith and kin of witches our magic was different, and often at odds with one another. Which described Bran's and my relations.h.i.+p to a T.

I still didn't acknowledge him. Petty of me, but hey I was the one about to plunge headfirst into a world I vowed never to venture. But then I'd broken other vows. Not to practice magic, period. Then not to ever use the spell to usurp others' abilities. Look where those vows got me.

Right here, on a concrete floor in a cool room as the waxing moon hovered high in the sky outside the room's only window.

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