A Fistful of Charms - Page 12/35

I didn't like the cold. I didn't like the feeling of so much water pressing on me. I didn't like that in some way I was connected to the ocean, with nothing between me and it but water. And I really didn't like that I had watched Jaws last month on the Classic Channel. Twice.

We had been swimming for some time, caught between the gray of the water surface and the gray of the unseen bottom, deep enough that a passing boat wouldn't clip us but shallow enough that the light still penetrated well. Marshal was clearly on edge about leaving the security of the diving-boat flag, but he was young enough to like breaking the rules when it suited him. I think that was why he was helping me. Life up here couldn't be that exciting.

The claustrophobic feeling of breathing underwater had eased, but I still didn't like it. Marshal had taken a heading from the boat, and all we had to do was follow it using the compass in the air gauge. Jenks had taken point, I was second, and Marshal brought up the rear. It was cold despite the amulets, and the farther we went, the more grateful I was becoming.

Marshal wasn't getting anything out of this but a good story he couldn't tell anyone. He had only asked one thing of me, and I quickly agreed, adding my own request.

He would get us to the island undetected, but he was going to take his equipment back with him. It wasn't that he was worried about losing the investment in his gear, but that Jenks and I might try to swim back through the shipping channel and get ourselves chopped to bait by a tanker. Good enough reason, but I agreed to it not because of my safety, but Marshal's.

I wanted him out of there and safe. He lived here. If I got caught and the Weres suspected he had helped us, they might go after him. I made him promise he'd go back to his boat, finish his dive, and return to the dock as if nothing had happened.

I had asked him to forget me, but I selfishly hoped he wouldn't. It had been fun talking about spells with someone who stirred them for a living. I didn't find that very often.

Slowly the water around me brightened from light reflecting off the rising bottom, and my adrenaline spiked when I realized we'd reached the island. The current had kept the dropoff sharp, and about thirty feet from the shore we stopped, my fins resting on the smooth, fist-sized rocks the bottom was made of.

Step one - check, I thought when I broke the surface, my pulse pounding from the stress of the dive. Marshal had warned us, but it still came as a surprise. Swimming with the sedate pace of a fish sounded easier than it was. My legs felt like rubber and the rest of me like lead.

The return to wind and sound was a shock, and I squinted through my fogged-up mask at the empty shore. Relieved, I edged in until I could sit neck deep in slightly warmer water. Pulling off my mask and mouthpiece, I took in crisp air that didn't taste like plastic.

Jenks was up already, and red pressure lines marked his face. He looked as tired as I felt. Different muscles, I decided. Too cold, perhaps. Marshal came up beside me in an upwelling of bubbles, and I turned to the boat, glad to find its white smear some distance away. The farther it was, the less likely the Weres would think it was a threat.

"You okay?" I asked Jenks, and he nodded, clearly miserable with cold despite the amulet Marshal had given him. Satisfied to simply sit and catch my breath, I scanned the empty shore. It looked peaceful enough, with a few gulls stomping about on the narrow beach, screaming as they weighed the possibility of a snack coming their way.

"I could've flown that in three minutes," Jenks said, wiggling out of his harness.

"Yeah," I said, following suit. "And collapsed from cold halfway to become fish food."

"Jax made it," he said sourly. "And I might collapse from the cold anyway. How do you stand it, Rache? Tink's titties, I think parts of me fell off."

I snorted, removing my gloves to fumble numbly at my belt. With Jenks's help I got out of my own gear and felt a hundred times lighter. Somewhere along the way I'd scratched the healing gashes of my knuckles back open, but my hands were too cold to bleed. I looked at the white-rimmed wounds, thinking I'd never get them healed over at this rate.

Marshal stood, sleek in his custom-designed wet suit of gold and black, his mask resting atop his forehead. "Rachel," he said, his brown eyes worried. "I changed my mind. Leaving you here isn't a good idea."

Jenks glanced at me, and I stifled a sigh, having half expected this. "I appreciate that," I said, lurching to stand and almost falling down again, "but the best way you can help me is to get yourself back out to your boat and finish your day as if you'd never heard of me. If any Weres come sniffing around, tell them you took me out on your boat and I hit you on the head and stole your gear. You didn't go to the I.S. because you were embarrassed."

From beside me, Jenks looked at Marshal's muscular physique, clearly defined under the thick rubber, and chuckled. Marshal's smile widened, the water glinting on his face. "You're really something, Rachel. Maybe - "

Fins and gear in hand, I headed for the beach to get out of my wet suit. "No maybes," I said, not looking back. As my bare feet splashed in the sparkling surf, I dropped everything but my waist pack, reaching for a ley line and not finding one. I wasn't surprised. I had a spindle of ley line energy in my head, but I couldn't make a circle unless I tapped a line. It was limiting, but not debilitating.

"I've got your business card at the boat," Marshal insisted, following me. Jenks was right behind him, his pixy strength letting him carry his gear and our tanks both.

"Burn it?" I suggested. Stumbling on the smooth, fist-sized rocks, I sat down before I fell over. I didn't feel a bit like James Bond as I pulled a rock from under me and tossed it aside.

Jenks dropped everything where I had, then came to sit beside me with a weary sigh. With his help I peeled out of the wet suit, to feel cold and exposed.

Marshal stood awkwardly between me and the water, an obvious target should anyone come out of the nearby woods. "I should have known something was wrong when you wore running tights under your wet suit," he said as the suit came off.

The rocks were cold through the wet spandex, and setting my waist pack on my lap, I unzipped it. Everything was dry inside the zippy bags, and as Jenks got out of his suit, I put my lightweight running shoes on, fingers fumbling from the cold. Marshal's eyes widened at the splat gun peeking from around the rim. Letting him get an eyeful, I handed Jenks his scent disguise amulet, then dropped mine around my neck, tucking it behind the collar of my black two-piece running outfit. Reminded, I took Marshal's warmth charm and extended it to him. Marshal took a breath to protest, and I said, "It's got your name on it."

I nudged Jenks, and he reluctantly handed his over too. While he and I prepared to move, Marshal's expression slowly turned from puzzlement to alarm. It was a lot colder without the amulets, and I felt the wind keenly through the wet spandex. Tension had me stiff when I rolled up the wet suit as best I could and handed it to him.

"This isn't good," Marshal said as he took it and I sat on the rocks and looked up at him.

"No, it isn't," I said, cold, wet, and tired. "But here I am."

Feet shifting on the rocks, his glaze drifted to the splat gun, and while he fidgeted, I handed Jenks his share of the splat balls, which he dropped into a mesh bag hanging from his waist. I had offered to get him his own gun at the shop where I picked up the paint balls to fill with the sleepy-time potions, but he'd wanted the impressive-looking slingshot instead. It fastened to his arm and looked as effective as a crossbow. I was willing to bet he was as accurate with it too.

Ready to go, Jenks stood in a clatter of sliding stones, taking a stick of driftwood and swinging it as if it was a sword. He was gracefully controlled, and Marshal watched for a moment before he extended a hand to help me up. "You're a good witch, right?"

I took it, feeling the warmth and strength behind it. "Despite how it looks? Yes," I said, then tugged the cuff back down over my demon scar. My fingers slipped from his, and he dropped a step away. I was a white witch, damn it. Behind me, Jenks thrust and parried, silent but for his feet in the stones. We had to get going, but Marshal stood in front of me, looking sleek in his wet suit, warmth amulets dangling from his fingers.

He looked behind him at his boat and our gear piled on the shore. Lips tight in decision, he bowed his head and peeled the sticker off an amulet. "Here," he said, handing me the charm.

I blinked, the cold vanishing as my fingers touched it again. "Marshal..."

But he was moving, lean muscles bunching as he gathered a handful of equipment and strode to the edge of the vegetation. "Keep them," he said as he dropped the gear in the scrub, then went back for another, second load. "I changed my mind. I thought you were joking about this rescue thing. I can't leave you here without a way off. Your boyfriend can use my gear. I'm going to tell my boys you panicked and made me radio the water taxi to get you back to land. If you have to swim for it, hug Round Island to get to Mackinac Island and take the ferry. You can leave everything in a locker at one of the docks and mail me the key. If you don't swim off, leave everything here, and I'll pick it up the next time we get a good fog."

My heart seemed to swell and my eyes warmed from gratitude. "What about your driver?"

Marshal shrugged, his rubber-clad shoulders looking good as the sun glinted on him. "He'll go along with it. We go way back." His eyes went narrow with worry. "Promise me you won't trying to cross the straits. It's too far."

I nodded, and he handed Jenks his amulet back. "Watch the ferries coming in to Mackinac Island. Especially the ones that hydroplane. They come in fast. There's a second warmth amulet in my gear for your boyfriend. I have it for emergencies." He winced, his hairless eyebrows rising. "This sounds like one."

I didn't know what to say. From beside me, Jenks peeled the sticker from his amulet and fed it to one of the gulls ringing us. It flew squawking away, three more in hot pursuit. "Marshal," I stammered. "You might lose your license." Best-case scenario.

"No, I won't. I trust you. You aren't a professional diver, but you're a professional something, and you need a little help. If you have any problem, just dump the gear and swim at the surface. I'd, uh, rather you didn't, though." His brown eyes seemed to flit among the trees. "Something weird has been going on over here, and I don't like it." He smiled, though he still looked worried. "I hope you get your boyfriend back okay."

Relief slipped into me. God, what a nice guy. "Thank you, Marshal," I said, leaning forward and pulling myself up to give him a kiss on the cheek. "Can you reach your boat okay?"

He nodded, discomfited. "I do a lot of free swimming. Piece of cake."

I remembered my stint of swimming in the frozen Ohio River, hoping he would be okay. "Soon as I can, I'll call you to let you know we made it okay and where your stuff is."

"Thanks," he said, head swinging back up to me. "I'd appreciate that. Someday I'm going to track you down, and you're going to tell me what this was all about."

I felt a sloppy smile come over me. "It's a date. But then I'll have to kill you."

Laughing, he turned to go, then hesitated, the sun glinting on his suit. "Burn your card?"

Brushing my wet hair back, I nodded.

"Okay." This time he didn't stop. As I watched, he waded into the surf, diving into a wave and starting for his boat with clean, smooth strokes.

"Now I feel like James Bond," I said, and Jenks laughed.

"Into the woods," Jenks said, and with a last backward look at Marshal, I headed for the scrub. The smooth rocks were hard to walk on, and I felt like an idiot wobbling after him. It was warmer without the wind, and after only a few steps the beach turned into a thick brush.

The first of the spring-green leaves closed over us, and as I picked my way through the vegetation, Jenks asked, "Do you like him?"

"No," I said immediately, feeling the tension of a lie. How could I not? He was risking his livelihood, and maybe his life.

"He's a witch," Jenks offered, as if that was all it took.

Toying with the idea of letting the stick I was holding fling back to slap him, I said, "Jenks, stop being my mother."

The brush thinned as we forced our way into the interior and the trees grew larger.

"I think you like him," Jenks persisted. "He's got a nice body."

My breath came quick. "Okay, I like him," I admitted. "But it takes more than a nice body, Jenks. Jeez, I do have a little depth. You've got a great body, and you don't see me trying to get into your Fruit of the Looms."

He reddened at that, and finally breaking through into a clearing, I stopped, trying to find my sense of direction. "Which way do you think the compound is, anyway?"

Jenks was better than a compass, and he pointed. "Want to run until we get close?"

I nodded. Jenks was wearing Marshal's warmth amulet and looked toasty, but it was too much for me. Without it I felt sluggish, and I hoped I didn't hurt myself until I warmed up. Between Jax and the old plot map in the local museum, we had a good layout of the island.

Jenks ran a finger between his heel and his shoe before taking a deep breath and breaking into a slow lope that wouldn't stress us too much and would give us time to dodge obstacles instead of running into them. Jax had said most of the buildings in use were by the island's lakes; that's where we were headed. I thought of Marshal swimming for his boat and hoped he was okay.

As usual, Jenks took point, leaping over decaying logs and dodging boulders the size of a small car, which had been dumped by the last glacier. He looked good running ahead of me, and I wondered if he would run a few laps with me at the zoo before I switched him back. I could use the morale boost of being seen with him. It was quiet, with only birds and animals disturbing the morning. A jay saw us, screaming as it followed until losing interest. A plane droned overhead, and the wind kept the tops of the trees moving. I could smell spring everywhere, and I felt as if we had slipped back in time with the clear air, the bright sun, and the spooked deer.

The island had been privately owned since forever, never developed from its original temperate-zone mix of softwood forest and meadow. Officially it was now a private hunters' retreat, patterned after Isle Royale farther north, but instead of real wolves tracking down moose, it was Weres sporting with white-tailed deer.

During a careful questioning, Jenks and I had found that the locals didn't think highly of either the year-round residents or the visitors who passed through their town on the way to the island, never taking the time for a meal or to fill up their gas tank. One man told Jenks they had to restock the deer every year since the animals could and did swim for the mainland - which made me all warm and fuzzy inside.

According to the records and what little Jax told us, a primitive road circled the island. I was breathing hard but moving well when we found it, and Jenks cut a hard right as soon as we crossed it. He slowed too, but we still ran right into the deer carcass.

Jenks jerked to a stop, and I plowed into him, pinwheeling to keep from falling into the hollowed-out body, its head flung over its back and its eyes cloudy.

"Holy crap," he swore, panting as he backed up, white-faced. "It's a deer, isn't it?"

I nodded, transfixed and breathing heavily. There was surprisingly little smell since the temperatures had been keeping the decomposition slow. But what worried me was that it had been gutted, the entrails eaten first and the rest remaining as a slow smorgasbord.

"Let's get out of here," I said, thinking that even though the Weres were on a private island, they were doing their entire species a great disservice. Remembering and honoring your heritage was one thing. Going wild was another.

We backed away, the low growl rumbling up from behind us pulling me to a heart-pounding halt. Damn. From the other side came a high yip. Double damn. Adrenaline pulsed through me, making my head hurt and my hand drop to the reassuring feel of my splat gun. Jenks turned, putting his back to mine. Shit. Why couldn't anything be easy?

"Where are they?" I whispered, bewildered. The clearing looked empty.

"Rache?" Jenks said. "My size recognition might be off, but I think it's a real wolf."

I followed his gaze, but I didn't see anything until it moved. My first flush of fear redoubled. A Were, I could reason with, shouting things like I.S. investigations, paperwork, and news crews, but what could you say to a wolf whose kill you ran into? And what in hell were they doing with real wolves? God, I didn't want to know.

"Get your ass up a tree," I said, fixed on the yellow orbs watching me. My gun was in my hand, arms extended and stiff.

"They're too thin," he whispered. "And I've got your back."

My gut clenched. Three more wolves came skulking out from the brush, snarling at each other as they closed the distance. It was a clear indication that we should leave, but there was nowhere to go. "How good are you with that slingshot?" I said loudly, hoping the sound of our voices would chase them off. Ri-i-i-ight.

I heard a low thrum of vibrating rubber, and the closest wolf yipped, shying before it snapped at its pack mate. "It didn't break against the fur," Jenks said. "Maybe if they're closer."

I licked my lips, my grip on my gun tightening. Crap, I didn't want to waste my spells on wolves, but I didn't want to end up like that deer either. They weren't afraid of people. And what that likely meant gave me an unsettled feeling. They'd been running with Weres.

My pulse jackhammered when the nearest wolf started an unnerving pace to me. The memory of Karen pinning me to the floor and choking me into unconsciousness raced through me. Oh God, these wolves wouldn't pull their punches. I couldn't make a protective circle.

"Use 'em, Rache!" Jenks exclaimed, his back to mine. "We've got three more coming from my side!"

Adrenaline burned, tripping me into an unreal high of the calm-of-battle. I exhaled and squeezed the trigger, aiming for the nose. The nearest wolf yelped, then dropped in its tracks. The rest charged. I gasped, praying the compressed air would hold out as I continued to shoot.

"Stop!" shouted a distant masculine voice. The sound of tearing bushes spun me.

"Rachel!" Jenks cried, falling away.

A black shadow crashed into me. I screamed, clenched into a ball as I hit the ground. Leaf mold hit my cheek. The musky scent of Were filled my senses. The memory of Karen's teeth on my neck paralyzed me. "They're alive!" I shouted, covering my face. "Damn it, don't hurt me, they're alive!" This wasn't an alpha contest, but an attack in the woods, and I could be as scared as I wanted.

"Randy, stand down!" the masculine voice shouted.

I still had my gun. I still had my gun. The thought of it slid through my panic. I could plug the son of a bitch if I needed to, but putting him down might not be the best way to go about this. Now that we were found, I'd rather talk my way out of it.

The Were standing over me grabbed my shoulder in his mouth, and I almost lost it. "I submit!" I shouted, knowing it would likely trigger a different set of reactions. My hand still gripped my gun, and if things didn't change really fast, I was going to drop him.

"Get off her," Jenks said, his voice low and controlled. "Now."

All I could see was werewolf hair, long, brown, and silky. The heat from him was a moist wave of musk. I shook from the adrenaline as the Were snarled, my shoulder still in its mouth. I heard three pairs of people feet come to a thumping halt around us.

"What is he?" I heard one whisper.

"He's going to be a chew toy if he doesn't put that slingshot down," another answered.

I took a breath, willing myself to stop trembling. "If this moldy wolf hide doesn't get off me, I'm going to spell him!" I shouted, hoping my voice wasn't shaking.

The Were growled, and I couldn't help but shriek, "I'll do it!" when his grip tightened.

"Randy, get your wormy ass off her!" the first voice exclaimed. "She's right. They aren't dead; they're knocked out. Stand down!"

The pressure on my shoulder increased, then vanished. Hand on my shoulder, I sat up, trying not to shake as I took in the clearing. It was full of downed wolves and Weres, all but one in their people shift.

Jenks was surrounded by three Weres in brown fatigues holding conventional weapons. I didn't know what they were, but they looked big enough to leave holes. He still hadn't lowered his arm with the slingshot on it, and it was pointed at a fourth Were standing a little apart from everyone else. He didn't have a drawn weapon, but it was clear he was in charge since he had a shiny little emblem on his cap instead of a patch like everyone else. He looked older too. There was a pistol in a holster on his belt, and brown face paint marked his skin. Swell, I'd fallen into a freaking survivalist group. Just peachy damn keen.

The Were that had pinned me was nosing the three downed wolves. In the nearby distance a wolf howled, and I shivered, pulling my legs straight. "Can I stand up?"

The Were with the emblem on his hat snorted. "I don't know, ma'am. Can you?"

Funny, funny man. Taking that as permission, I sullenly got to my feet, brushing the sticks and leaf mold off. He had a twang to his voice, as if having grown up in the South.

"Your weapon?" he said, eyes tracking my movements. "And the bag and any charms."

I debated for all of three seconds, then emptied the chamber and broke all the balls underfoot before tossing it. He caught it with an easy grace, an amused smile on him. His gaze lingered on my neck and the clearly Were bite marks, and I made a face of exasperation. God! Maybe I should have worn a turtleneck to storm the rebel fortress.

"Witch?" he said, and I nodded, throwing him my pack and two amulets. I could have given them to Marshal, for all the good they had done me.

"I came for Nick," I said, shivering in the new cold. "What do you want for him?"

The surrounding Weres seemed to relax. Jenks jerked when one reached for his slingshot, and I did nothing when they wrestled him to the ground and took it and his belt pack away, looking like bullies falling on a kid after school. Jaw gritted at the grunts and thumps of fists into flesh, I watched the leader instead, wanting to know whom we faced. He wasn't the alpha, I decided, while his men smacked Jenks into a temporary submission. But by his clean-shaven face and his bearing, he was high up in the pack.

Standing my height in heavy-looking military boots, he made a good-sized Were, well-proportioned and tidy in his fatigues, with narrow shoulders and a body that looked like it was used to running. Trim, not blocky in the least. Maybe late thirties, early forties - his hair was cut too close to his skull to know if it was gray or simply blond.

Jenks shoved the three Weres off him in disgust and got to his feet, a sullen, beaten pixy. He was bleeding from a scratch on his forehead, and his face went ashen when he saw the blood on his hands. With that, he lost all his will to fight, obediently wobbling into place behind me when we were encouraged to head back to the road.

Time to go meet the boss.