Authors: Jory Strong
Healer's Choice (12 page)
Aryck took up his position next to his father. Phaedra sat on the ground beside one of the elders.
Nahuatl stood with his back to a small fire. It crackled in the center of the circle, signaling a meeting of importance. He was dressed in the light loincloth he favored but he carried a staff made of Jaguar bone and skull, signifying his position and that he would speak as a representative of the ancestors.
Beyond him, members of the pack gathered, called there by curiosity instead of the alpha. Melina appeared, shifting easily from jaguar to human form and placing herself so Aryck couldn’t avoid seeing her naked breasts and the tuft of pubic hair arrowing down to draw attention to her vulva.
Several males jostled into position next to her, touching their bare skin to hers. Aryck turned his head to look at his father, wondering at the purpose for being called here.
Koren addressed the elders, saying, “Nahuatl came to me with a vision sent by the ancestors. They have shown him a face and given him the name of a woman capable of healing our cubs.”
Outside the circle, murmurs met his announcement. Like a fever, hope sped through those gathered. Inside the circle, the elders remained stoic, waiting as Aryck did, knowing there was more to the vision.
“She is human,” Koren said. “Gifted.”
Hope became edged with fear and distrust. Whispers held anger and hate but were silenced with a glance from Koren.
“And the cost to us if we bring this human into our midst?” one of the elders asked, his voice querulous.
Nahuatl tapped his staff on the ground, drawing every eye to him. “The ancestors have bid me to say this: The decision must be made quickly, and it is the enforcer who must be sent for her. They also issue a warning. If she does not agree to providing aid, then Aryck will die before returning to Jaguar lands.”
Those gathered in the circle weighed what was said, to what lengths they should go to save the cubs, but for Aryck the decision was easy. “I will go for the healer.”
Murmurs met his declaration, but none of the elders objected. Koren placed his hand on Aryck’s shoulder. “It will be done then, and the cubs healed because of it. Melina will accompany you.”
REBEKKA emerged from the thorn-lined path and onto a broken, cracked sidewalk a block away from the Wainwright house and on a different street. Hidden beneath her shirt, the dream catcher-like amulet was warm against her skin.
She reached up and touched it, grateful for its presence. The cold blossoming in her chest hadn’t reappeared when she passed beyond the wards protecting the witches.
Fear gnawed at her stomach at the thought of returning to the brothel. Denial continued to scream through her with the witch’s claim she was fathered by a demon.
She wouldn’t believe it. Couldn’t without seeking answers from her mother.
A glance at the sky confirmed it was too late to cross the Barrens. Even if she had the courage to enter the wasteland of burned and collapsed buildings by herself, she’d never reach the Fellowship settlement where her mother lived before nightfall.
She couldn’t return to the brothel, not until she knew she wouldn’t draw disease there. And she didn’t dare go to her homesteaded house in the area set aside for the gifted while she was being hunted.
Rebekka glanced at the sky again. If she hurried she could make it to Levi’s lair in the woods.
It could be secured at night. And at least she wouldn’t put anyone else at risk there.
She began running, part of her recognizing the danger of it, how moving quickly would draw more attention to herself. But the intense desire to escape the nightmare that had begun with the demon Abijah’s appearance, and grown worse with dreams and memories of the urchin, rode her.
Where it was possible she remained in shadow, using vegetation and the piled debris that had once been houses to shield her from the street and the places reclaimed by humans.
Sticker bushes tore at her clothing, scratching at bare skin. Still, she hurried. Driven, hoping to outrun her thoughts and fears.
Over the pounding of her heart she heard the rumble of an engine drawing closer. It could be anyone, she told herself. In Oakland the rich and powerful often sought out the gifted.
They bought the services and products of those they required to live apart, just as easily and openly as they entered the red zone, arriving in chauffer-driven cars to indulge in their chosen vices.
She forced herself to slow long enough to look around, and cursed herself for a fool when she saw the darting movement of a street child taking cover, this one older than the one she’d seen watching the Wainwright house.
Renewed fear spiked through her, bringing with it a surge of adrenaline. For enough coin to pay for a meal or buy shelter for the night, the boy would point her out to anyone hunting her then turn away, uncaring what his actions meant for her.
Rebekka pressed a hand to her side. Ran again, lungs and muscles burning with the effort.
She reached the place where the gifted section bordered that of the non-gifted instead of the red zone. Despite what the witches said, she couldn’t discount the possibility it was the vice lords who had benefited from the maze who now hunted her.
Piles of stone and rusted metal hidden by curling, tangled vines made it treacherous to stray too far from livestock paths used by those who took their animals to graze during the day. She did it anyway. Taking cover when the sound of an engine drew closer like a hungry mechanical bloodhound on her trail.
The street boy came into view, panting. She became aware of her own harsh breathing and pulled her shirt away from her body, pressed the material to her mouth in an effort to mute any sound that might give her away.
Moments later a sleek silver car drew alongside the boy. The backseat window rolled down, and Rebekka stifled a gasp when she saw the man’s profile. The port-wine stain on the left side of his face made him unforgettable. He was one of the men who’d attacked near the brothel, the only one to escape.
He turned his head, following the direction the boy pointed. She huddled deeper into her hiding place as two additional boys joined the first. One of them was the boy outside the Wainwright house. It made her sure he was the one she’d seen the night before.
The boys held out their hands for payment. The man glanced at the sky and cursed as he dropped coins into their hands before rolling up the window.
They fanned out as the car drove away. Rebekka remained hidden, not daring to make any movement at all, not daring even to close her eyes.
The car disappeared from sight but the sound of it lingered. Each moment slowed to feel like a hundred of them. When the car reappeared it kept going, heading in the direction she’d come from. The boys gathered a short time later and did the same.
She couldn’t be sure they were calling off their search so they could get to shelter before night fell, or if they were lying in wait, knowing she was defenseless against them, that even to save her life, she couldn’t inflict harm, not without it turning her gift into something evil.
Rebekka shivered, sweat cold against her skin, the amulet warm, as if reminding her that with the appearance of the urchin, her gift was already changed, perhaps tainted.
The distinctive rumble of a bus’s engine cut across the waiting silence, bringing the hope of escape—if she dared risk it.
In her mind she traveled the distance to the nearest stop. Imagined herself climbing into the bus and going to a place few in the red zone went to willingly—the building housing the police and guard.
Her pulse accelerated and her breathing grew shallow thinking about it. She wavered, considered returning to the Wainwright house and seeking shelter with the witches. Discarded the idea. Even if she could reach them, their protection would come at a price she didn’t want to pay.
Before the fear could build, Rebekka broke from cover, running toward the bus stop.
A cry went up from one of the boys.
She didn’t look back. Didn’t slow as she pulled the dollar bills tucked away for emergencies from a pocket as she rounded a corner and saw the bus.
It slowed to a stop, disgorged its passengers.
She sped up, racing, knowing this was the last bus of the day and if it began moving, the driver wouldn’t stop for her.
If not for an old woman who had to be helped down the stairs, Rebekka never would have made it in time. She clambered on before the driver could close the door and lock her out in his desire to finish work and get home before dark.
She paid and took a seat on the empty bus. Looked out the window.
All three of the boys were visible. One looked angry. He said something to the other two, then turned and ran.
Terror gripped Rebekka. Only days past, she and Levi had taken this same bus on their way to the Mission and found enemies waiting for them. If they hadn’t gotten off at an earlier stop, they would have ended up in the maze or dead.
In escaping that fate she’d found herself a prisoner of the Iberás—though they’d labeled her a guest. And now, because of those events, she sought refuge with them.
Rebekka reached up and touched the amulet through her shirt. Was it wrong to put those at the Iberá estate at risk?
I have no choice
, she told herself as the bus picked up speed.
, she told herself as the bus picked up speed.
She remained tensed, half expecting the silver car with the assailant from the night before to intercept the bus. If it happened the bus driver would hand her over without question, without reporting the incident if told not to by someone with authority or who offered money for his silence on behalf of a vice lord.
Outside the window the bus skirted the area where the wealthy and powerful lived. Downtown came into view along with her last memory of it, when her attention had been caught by a flag fluttering on the antenna of a black sedan—a red lion rampant centered on an elaborate shield design and set against a gold background—the heraldic crest of the Iberás, though she didn’t know it at the time.
Fear returned in a rush. What if Enzo Iberá wasn’t at the guard headquarters? Or if he was, what if he turned her away, refused to take her to his family’s estate? Where would she find shelter for the night?
The stop closest to the building housing the guard drew near. Rebekka reached up and pulled the cable, signaling she wanted to get off.
When her feet touched the sidewalk she hurried forward. The hope for safety grew with each step, swelling and nearly edging out the fear of being turned out at dusk.
She entered the building, and after a brief phone call, the man on duty summoned another to take her to General Iberá’s office.
Their footsteps echoed in a hallway lined with framed photographs of men in guardsmen uniforms. The pictures continued up the stairway and onto the next floor.
Rebekka forced steel in her spine and courage into each step forward. Both deserted her when her escort stopped in an open doorway and she saw the black-robed Father Ursu waiting there alongside Enzo Iberá.
Eight
REBEKKA turned, thinking only to escape. Her escort blocked her, fingers imprisoning her upper arms, forcing her forward and then turning her to face the priest and the general.
“There is no reason to fear,” Enzo said.
Rebekka only barely smothered a hysterical laugh. In running from the man in the silver car, she’d fled right into the grasp of the person the witches claimed was responsible for her being hunted.
Terror beat at her, threatening to turn her into true prey, to replace the ability to think with only the need to fight if she couldn’t flee.
Her breathing was ragged, her heart a wild pounding in her chest and ears.
The hands on her arms dropped away but the solid mass of the guardsman continued to block her escape.
Her fingers curled around the witches’ token in her pocket. It was an unconscious gesture and yet the feel of it against her palm reminded her that she’d dared to use it, triggering a spell placed on it by the Wainwrights and summoning Aziel—a being from the ghostlands—in order to escape the Iberá estate.
Enzo had witnessed it. He’d heard Aziel’s order to free her and his warning to cease searching for Tir or every man, woman, and child bearing the Iberá name would be killed. He’d heard Aziel tell the patriarch, “Your fate is now bound to the healer’s.”
Rebekka stiffened her spine and fought to make her voice sound confident as her gaze met Enzo’s. “There is every reason to fear. The Church is still hunting me.”
Standing next to Enzo, Father Ursu smoothed a hand over the material of his robes. “You are mistaken.”
“I am not mistaken. Twice I’ve only barely managed to escape. Once last night. The other just a short while ago.”
“What happened?” Enzo asked, his expression and sharp question making Rebekka believe he had no knowledge of her pursuers.
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