The windows of this brick rambler were covered in blackout curtains. Neighbors had reported an unusual amount of traffic and visitors at odd hours of the day and night. After a windstorm that knocked over trash cans, a neighbor reported to the police that he’d seen suspicious garbage. Industrial-size containers of antifreeze, drain cleaners and duct tape, fuel cans, and coffee filters stained red. The conclusion was simple: meth lab.
Rowan watched from the driver’s side of his car. Ignoring the throbbing pain in his eyes. They still ached like they had at Stryker’s house. When this business was finished, he wouldwash them out again. Lyons and two undercover detectives were in an unmarked car a few car-lengths behind him, waiting for a warrant.
The door of the house opened. Two men emerged, stood on the front porch, lit cigarettes and talked in low voices. Even at this distance, the rod-thin, hollow expressions and jerky body movements of the two men marked them as addicts. When they were finished, they flicked their cigarette butts in the direction of a pile of blue rocks. One of the men picked up one of the stones and tossed it to his companion. They both laughed and retreated inside.
Rowan thumbed on his steering wheel. What kind of rocks were blue? He went over the types of blue rocks in his head. Then that same bad feeling he’d had at Stryker’s place edged up his spine.
Wizard lore told of a type of rock, called Oculist stone, that was found in the polar regions in ancient times and possessed magical properties. As a crushed powder, it could weaken or kill Wizards, but when used in its solid form, it could power cities. When there was peace between dragons and Wizards, the dragons agreed to oversee the handling of the stones and protect them from the Wizards’ enemies. Then the truce fell apart, and a war broke out.
When the Wizards defeated the dragons, they demolished the mines, fearful the stones would fall into the wrong hands. Rumors persisted among the Fire Wizards that not all of the Oculist stone deposits were discovered and destroyed.
Rowan focused on the pile of rocks again with renewed interest. The glow from the streetlamp turned the rocks indigo blue. He’d seen the same blue haze when The Infernowas under attack. His unease kicked into high gear. If he was right, an old enemy planned to release the powder on the world. But who? The enemy list was endless.
The powder made from the rocks was relatively safe to humans, giving them a psychedelic high that rivaled anything on the market today. The irony was that humans would survive. Anyone with even a trace of Wizard blood would not. Disguising the Oculist powder as a new designer drug called Magic Carpet Ride was brilliant.
Superman’s Achilles heel was Kryptonite. A Wizard’s fatal weakness was oddly similar. The blue rocks were remnants of a meteor responsible for the mass extinction of the dinosaurs. Some speculated that an ancestor of the dinosaurs survived and became the dragon of myth and legend, capable of breathing fire and flying at dizzying speeds and heights.
The warrant to enter the house took too much time. And if his suspicions were correct, time was in short supply. If those inside suspected they were surrounded, they would bolt.
Rowan got out of his car and crossed the street. Someone inside drew aside the window curtain and peered out. He could hear muffled arguing over whether he was a customer or a cop. The heated arguing went silent, and he knew they had made their decision.
A gunshot punctured the silence. Then two more rang out, followed by an explosion.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
In the rooftop apartment in Belltown, a water glass slipped from Morgan’s hand, dropping to the floor and shattering. It was the third glass in as many hours. Dawn was moments away. She hadn’t been able to sleep. She’d had a premonition. And this one connected to Rowan. No, not quite a vision of the future. More a feeling of something that was happening in the present.
Across the room, Wiz lifted his head off his paws. He barked and his tongue hung out the side of his mouth. His expression was piercing, as though trying to will her into action. It was as though he could read her mind, her concern.
Morgan reached for a dustpan and broom in a closet beside the sink, to sweep the glass. She knew so little about his kind. She knew he was a shapeshifter but had never seen him shift into human form. She also knew he was loyal to female Wizards but not why. Perhaps it didn’t matter. Some secrets deserved protection.
Was that how she classified her keeping the truth from Rowan that he had a son? Was her secret one that must be safeguarded? But who was she protecting? Certainly not Rowan.
It was baked into male Wizards by their leadership that they must not worry about such mundane matters as parenthood or raising a child. Their focus must remain on preserving the continuation of their species.
Neither did her secret protect her child. He had been taken from her to raise as a warrior, and she did not know if he was alive or dead. In the early years she had tried to search for him, but he had disappeared without a trace.
She cut her finger on one of the shards of glass as she dumped the broken pieces into the wastebasket under the sink. Red blood dripped into the sink as she gazed out the window at the awakening dawn. She knew who she protected.
She was protecting herself.
Her biggest fear was that he had wanted a child and would blame her for not telling him. Would he want to search for their son or tell her that their child was better off where he was?
Morgan stopped the blood on her finger with a thought and slid Wiz a glance. There were times when she could almost feel what he was thinking. She felt a wave of comfort advising her not to judge herself too harshly. “Wiz. Was that you?”
Wiz only blinked and rested his head on his paws once again.
Or perhaps her inner strength was growing and had made the suggestion subconsciously. Danu of the Waters had said that might happen the more her powers grew. She prayed her power of healing grew as well. She would need it in the coming days.
Stryker’s condition had worsened. He was not responding as she’d hoped. He lay on his back as still as a likeness of a medieval knight on the top of a marble casket, a grim image with only the slight rise and fall of his chest as an indication he was alive.
AJ fared better. The sleeping aid Stryker had given her before he’d been poisoned was wearing off and there was color in her cheeks and an easy, strong rhythm in her breathing. When she regained consciousness, Morgan hoped AJ could shed light on what had happened to them. Until then, all Morgan could do was wait. She’d always believed she was patient. Rowan was the one with a short fuse. Not anymore. Somehow their roles had reversed.
When she’d broken the last glass, she knew the real reason her nerves were so frayed. Rowan was in danger, and she was powerless to help him. His mind was closed to hers and there was no way she could warn him or find out if he was all right. The only reason she sensed danger around him at all was that the brand he’d placed over her heart, and hers over his, enhanced their connection.
His was the image of a rowan tree in the center of a circle of flames and hers was three curved blue lines representing the currents and power of water. Water and fire should not be compatible except during the Fertility Festival of Bealtaine, or so she’d always believed. Was this another one of the lies they’d been taught as children?
Rowan’s brand began to warm against her skin. Morgan placed her hand against it and received an instant jolt of heat. She turned toward the door as her pulse quickened. He was coming.
