“Indeed. If you continue your current path, your crow will be a sitting duck, and I’m afraid both their conditions will be terminal.”
“Terminal?” Surely he didn’t mean…
“They will not survive this, Lilith. If you want to help your familiars, you must help yourself.”
“They’ll die?” Her jaw trembled, so she clamped her mouth shut.
“Yes.”
Her throat thickened. She was responsible for poor Esther’s condition, and if she didn’t fix it, she would die. How could she have let this happen? She loved her familiars more than anything in the world. Hell, they were the only creatures she’d ever loved.
“What can I do?” Her voice sounded tiny.
“Go to the counseling center and ask for Azrael. I’ll let him know to be expecting you. I’m sure he can partner you with someone to help you work through your…issues.” He curled his lip. “And Lilith, take a shower before you go. You stink.”
CHAPTER TWO
Spencer Monroe eyed the hole in the side of the cliff. It couldn’t have been more than two and a half feet in diameter—a tight squeeze in human form, and who knew what lay waiting inside. If he could shift into his owl, he’d have no trouble getting in. Sadly, a group of locals—all human—had gathered to watch.
“Cameraman always goes first.” Alan clapped him on the shoulder. “You know how this works.”
Yes, Spencer knew how shows like this worked. Though he’d only been part of The Hunt for Cryptids for a couple of months, he’d been a cameraman for a decade. And yes, he realized the irony of an owl shifter working for a show that was supposedly trying to expose the existence of supernatural beings.
Even more ironic? Every member of the team had some sort of magic, and the icing on the cryptid cake… The show’s host, Alan Peterson, was Bigfoot himself. Of course, they’d never actually expose their kind. But humans ate this stuff up.
Spencer crouched in front of the hole and shined the light from his camera inside. Millions of tiny crystals encrusted the walls, reflecting the beam back at him. A bead of sweat rolled down his back, and he set the camera down to adjust his shirt. Living first in Arizona and then in L.A., he never understood the phrase “It’s not the heat; it’s the humidity,” until he started traveling. The air seemed to wrap around him like a wet towel, never allowing his sweat to evaporate.
Summer in the rainforest was no joke.
He scooted toward the hole and rested his hands on the surface, peeking his head inside, and a woman from the crowd shouted in a native language. Spencer turned to see her raising her hands and closing her eyes as if she were praying. A very loud, very insistent prayer.
He looked at Juan, their local guide and resident alpaca shifter. “What’s she saying?”
Juan fought his smile. “She says, ‘The devil lives inside.’”
Spencer chuckled. Though he’d never been to The Underworld, he highly doubted the entrance to Lucifer’s lair was a hole in the wall he’d have to lie on his belly to wiggle through. The devil seemed much more dignified than that.
“Be careful,” Rebecca, a fox shifter and the second cameraperson said.
Spencer flashed her a reassuring grin. “Always.”
“Get in there, man. We’re burning daylight,” Alan called before turning on his thousand-watt smile and narrating their adventure to Rebecca’s camera.
Spencer worked his shoulders into the hole, inching the camera forward and army-crawling into the cave. Gravel clung to his forearms, and his pulse kicked into a sprint. Was he scared? Sure, a little, but that was part of the fun.
The tunnel opened into a small cavern. The crystals he’d glimpsed from outside lined all the walls and the ceiling, and another tunnel the size of a doorway stood at the opposite end of the space. Rebecca shoved a lamp through the entry, and he turned it on, illuminating the antechamber.
“You ready for me?” Alan’s face appeared at the end of the tunnel.
“Yeah.” A hissing sound reverberated through the cave. “No, wait.” A three-foot-long snake slithered toward him, lifting its head, preparing to strike. “Shit! Viper!”
At the sight of the highly venomous reptile, Spencer’s fight or flight instinct kicked in. Though, in his case, it was fight and flight. He called on his owl, and vibrating energy danced through his body. His skin pricked as feathers formed, his arms transforming into wings as he morphed into his bird. Flapping them, he took to the air a split second before the serpent struck.
Gods, I hate snakes. And for good reason. One of the nasty suckers had bitten him when he was a kid, and he’d spent a week in the hospital, nearly succumbing to the venom. Of course, that was before he learned to shift…and how to fight the little bastards.
“You got it, or do you need help in there?” Alan called.
Now, why would he ask a question like that? Spencer and Alan had been friends since middle school. He’d seen Spencer take on plenty of snakes. They weren’t his bird’s favorite food, but owls were opportunistic hunters. Plus, the only good snake was a dead snake. Anyway, Alan wasn’t expecting an answer. All Spencer could do in his owl form was hoot.
