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Chapter Ten

 

The crescent moon disappeared behind the clouds. Rafe wiped the sweat off his forehead then scratched his stubble. The air conditioner in the small rental car was running at full blast and it still wasn’t enough to cool him down. He drove down the dirt road as fast as he could. He was hungry, tired and pissed off. How could he have lost the trail on Yara? He had managed to stay out of her sight throughout the entire flight. After landing in Manaus, he had gotten too close and she somehow sensed him. Stupid? Yes. He had managed to hide behind a pillar just in time. She jumped into a cab; he jumped in another one and offered a hefty tip to the driver to follow her car. But the moron lost them as soon as they reached the road out of town. Rafe was then pushed to change tactics. He went back to town, rented a car and went after her by himself.
Easier said than done, pal
. There were several small pockets of villages on the outskirts of the main city. Yara could have stopped in any of them, but something told him that she hadn’t. Phillip, the douchebag, hadn’t told him why she had come to Brazil, but Rafe would bet all his trophies that it wasn’t for the cheap shopping.

The narrow dirt road he was on had more craters than the moon’s surface, and on top of that, unexpected visitors kept on showing up out of nowhere – at one bend he almost crashed into a donkey that had been standing in the middle of the way, for nothing. Just like that. Standing, in the middle of the fucking road.

Rafe turned his head to the side and cracked his neck.

Yara’s sudden trip bugged him as much as Phillip’s request to follow her. Why was she here? Rafe knew she was a witch from Brazil, but according to his findings, she hadn’t gone back to this part of the world in several decades. So why now?

The car jerked up and down as he passed through yet another hole the size of the Grand Canyon. Lights filled the horizon and a small village slowly appeared ahead. He checked the map sprawled on the passenger seat. Yes, he had reached the edge of the mighty Amazon River.

After a few more minutes and several more bumps, he arrived at the village. A handful of shops and a bar formed what was probably the main square. He slowed down and spotted a yellow cab parked just across the road from the old tavern. Bingo. Rafe parked his rental car a few feet from it, and stepped out. The sun had gone down a couple of hours ago, but the air was still stuffy and extremely warm. The scent of rainforest and animals was striking here.

A few men sitting on small plastic tables in front of the tavern paused mid-drink and stared at Rafe, point blank. He suddenly felt like he was in one of those old Wild West movies. The sheriff would come out at any time now to interrogate the new comer. Ignoring the unwelcoming stares, Rafe crossed the road and went inside.

The old tavern looked like a small house turned into a bar. A wide, long room with a concrete floor greeted the patrons, while a long counter in front of a wall filled with bottles of spirits stood at the back, near the only other exit. One meager ceiling fan provided the only comfort for the guests who were occupying half of the tables. Like their fellow locals outside, they all stopped to glare at Rafe as soon as his foot crossed the door. Rafe gave the folks a quick nod of acknowledgement, then walked to the bar.

A short, chubby lady appeared by the curtain of colorful beads. “How can I help you?” she asked in Portuguese.

In his youth, Rafe had made the effort to learn a few languages to help him in his travels around the world. Portuguese had been one of them. Despite being only spoken in a few countries, one had to learn it if one wanted to fully experience the biggest feel-good festival in the world – the Brazilian Carnival. Rafe had lost count of how many times his broken Portuguese had earned him a night between the legs of delicious women in Rio de Janeiro. Despite all the economic mess, the poverty, the hard living, the humans in Brazil seemed to be blessed. They
lived
life, and knew how to enjoy it like very few people in the world. They laughed hard, they cried hard, they worked hard, they partied hard. No matter what happened, they still found a reason to smile. Brilliant.


Pinga velha
, please,” Rafe requested.

The old lady poured him a shot of a yellow-looking liquid. He took it and swung it down his throat. The fierce spirit went down like dragon fire. “One more.”

“Pay first,” the old lady replied.

Fair enough.

Rafe took out a few bills in the local currency and paid triple the amount of a shot. “Has a tall woman passed through this afternoon?”

“There are several women around here.”

“This one is different. She has spiky short hair, brown eyes, olive skin …She would have come by cab.”

“Who wants to know?” a male voice asked from the back of the room.

Rafe turned around and saw the owner of the question. He was an average-height man with dark skin and crisp graying hair. He had been playing cards with two other guys when Rafe arrived.

“A friend,” Rafe replied.

“Osh, what sort of a friend needs to enquire about his acquaintance at a stranger’s bar?”

“With all due respect, sir, that’s none of your business,” Rafe replied curtly.

“With all due respect,
sir
, we’re not fools,” the old man replied.

That was just great – a wannabe hero, that’s all he needed. Rafe rubbed his stubble with his fingers, weighing his options. He could get the information out of the man and anyone else in that bar in a flick of a paw, but getting into a fight was not the smartest solution to his conundrum.

He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket, and drew one out. “It must be a hard life, being a taxi driver in this part of the country,” he noted, then lit his cigarette and took a drag. “I’ve heard that one has to go into a lot of debt to buy a cab license around here, is that true?”

The man narrowed his brown eyes at Rafe. He obviously didn’t like the way the conversation was going.

Rafe blew out a long puff and leaned lazily against the counter. “That added to the tough roads full of holes the size of Manhattan, it must take you quite a lot of rides to feed your family.”

As Rafe expected, at the mention of his offspring, the man’s chilled act vanished. He jumped to his feet, chest puffed up, eyes blazing. “Don’t you dare come in here and threaten my family, Yankee.”

The other men also stood up, but didn’t make a move. They were probably waiting to see who would draw first blood.

“Osh, calm down, Indian,” the barwoman shouted from behind the counter. “I don’t want any fights in my establishment. If you want a vent, take it outside.”

“I don’t mean to cause any trouble, ma’am,” Rafe ensured the lady, but his eyes were still locked on Indian. A small part of him actually admired the old man’s courage to stand up to him and to what he thought was honorable. Once upon a time, Rafe would have done it too. “I’ll pay you to tell me where she is, old chap.”

The man paused and bit his lip. “I don’t want your money.”

“I do!” the barwoman shrieked. “I think she …”

“Shut your mouth, Irene,” Indian growled at her.

Irene glared at Indian but complied.

It was getting late and the longer he chit-chatted here, the farther away Yara got. Rafe took out a bunch of $100 bills. “I’ll pay you double what the tall woman paid you to keep quiet. Actually, this offer is for any one of you folks in here.”

“How much?” one of the younger guys sitting in the corner asked.

“Mind your own business!” Indian shouted at his colleague. Rafe could sense the old man’s anger growing into a rage. Indian turned back around and pinned Rafe with his brown eyes. “Look here, Yankee, this is a peaceful town. We don’t care much for strangers coming in here asking questions. So I’d get in your car and hit the road.”

As if on cue, Indian’s poker buddies stood up from their chairs and squared off.

Rafe shook his head.
Damn the Soartas.
“I don’t have anything against you or this town, old man,” he said, as he put out his cigarette on the metallic ashtray on the counter.
But if I have to…
Without warning, he leaped high in the air and landed in front of Indian. Before the man could blink, he grabbed him by the collar, pulling him close. “I don’t care much for people who stand in my way,” Rafe snarled low, letting his wolf emerge just enough to give Indian a taste. His grey eyes gleamed; his claws emerged rasping dangerously against the old man’s skin. Indian trembled against his grip.

The almost inaudible sound of a knife being unsheathed called Rafe’s attention. With his right hand still holding Indian in place, he lunged at the owner and whacked the blade out of the man’s hands in one blow. “If you wanna live to see another sunrise, get the fuck out of here,” he growled at the S.O.B.

The man froze in fear, just like everyone else in the bar.

“I said get out. NOW,” Rafe roared.

The entire bar was empty in less than ten seconds.

After the last foot disappeared through the door, Rafe resumed his conversation with Indian. “Now it’s just the two of us, old man. I’ll give you one last chance to take my offer, but this time around, your reward will be your life,” he drawled, clearly enunciating the last two words just to ensure the old man understood what was at stake. “Tell me where the tall woman is.”

Indian blinked a couple of times. “She’s … she’s not here. You’re wasting your time.”

What a fool!
Rafe lifted Indian by the collar, and growled just inches from his ear. “I know you think your bravado is honorable, old man, but I ask you, is it worth dying for a stranger?”

“She’s no stranger,” Indian choked out.

Rafe frowned. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Her clan has been protecting our lands for centuries.”

“Clan? What clan?”

Chapter Eleven

 

Yara slashed at another tree branch with her combat knife. The sun had gone down a couple of hours ago, and the thin crescent moon wasn’t much help in the light department. Hiking through an unfamiliar jungle at night was borderline insane, but doing it in the mighty Amazon Rainforest with the aid of a mere flashlight and one guide was simply stupid. Yara chuckled bitterly.
Unfamiliar jungle. Who would have thought.
Back in the day, she would have covered the entire area with her eyes closed. This forest had been her playground, her
land
, but now it was just another unknown territory in which she needed the help of a human to guide her.

“Do you wanna stop now, miss?” Quickfeet shouted from the top of the hill.

“No, let’s carry on.”

When Indian had first introduced the short, skinny guide, Yara had silently cursed the Soartas, but after just a few minutes into the jungle, she had bitten her tongue and quickly understood the reason for his funny nickname. He was fast and agile even in the most treacherous of terrains, jumping around any obstacles he couldn’t hack out of his way. Even though his wrinkled face indicated he’d be at least over forty, his energy was of a twenty-year-old.
The fight for survival did that to a person
, Yara thought to herself. Throughout the hike, she had kept her distance – she told herself it was because she needed some privacy to draw on her panther powers to see better, but the truth was, she was struggling to keep up.

They had crossed the Amazon River on a small boat, then after three quarters of an hour, they anchored on a low embankment, and started their journey into the thick rainforest. If it wasn’t for the urgency of her mission, Yara would have enjoyed the trip. She had forgotten how magical the Amazon was. Tall trees packed with colorful birds seemed to pop out straight from the river, in an attempt to reach the skies. The waters were somewhat murky but every once in a while a crocodile would grace them with its presence or a school of fish would play above water inches from their canoe, reminding Yara why this place was called Maagi-Aquas by her clan,
Magical Waters
. Thousands of multi-colored birds had filled the air with their song as soon as the blood-orange sun greeted the horizon.

Yara let out a long sigh. Her jungle was truly the epitome of
life
, but
it wasn’t hers anymore. She had lost the right to call it hers several decades ago.

The scent of bitter spices reached her nose, pulling her out of her sad thoughts.

Hmm, Fairy’s Eye.

The juice from this magical root, which was given to the witches by the Fae people several centuries ago, would help Zoricah sleep. Its true power, however, lay in its natural form. A pinch of its dried powder would provide her leader’s body strength to cope with the rapid changes to her body and to accommodate the growing inmã inside her.

“Quickfeet, wait up,” Yara called as she paused to search for the small bush-like tree. After just a few moments, she spotted the familiar tiny red berries that sparkled like red emeralds a few feet away. Bingo.

“Watch out!” Quickfeet shouted pointing at something in front of her.

What in Hiad? Yara’s gaze followed the man’s finger but all she saw was a thick branch lying on the way, nothing else. “What? What is it?” she asked and was about to ignore his warning when her panther roared inside her mind.

Suddenly, the branch lying not even a feet away from her started moving on its own, stretching out and uncurling itself … into a massive anaconda.

Yara froze in place. The snake’s head slowly rose in the air, pinning Yara with its ugly black eyes. Its thin split tongue flickered in and out. Its olive-green scales had black blotches along the length of the body, which couldn’t be less than 20 feet long and as thick as Yara’s thighs.

“Stand really still,” Quickfeet whispered urgently.

“What do you think I’m doing?” she croaked back. By the gates of Hiad! Green anacondas were one of the most powerful snakes in the world. They weren’t poisonous but the main danger wasn’t their bite. Anacondas killed by coiling themselves around their prey and squeezing until every single bone was crushed. And that’s exactly what it would do to Yara, then it’d take its time swallowing her whole. Great.

From the corner of her eye she saw her tiny guide tiptoe his way closer, carrying a machete in his hand.

“Don’t be a fool,” Yara whispered. “Back away.” No way in Hiad he could take on a massive snake like that by himself. She admired his courage, but it was the most ludicrous idea she’d ever seen.

Yara knew that there was only one way out of her predicament.

She glared at the serpent and let her panther out. A low growl reverberated in her chest. She felt her eyes burn into the luminous green it turned into, every time magic coursed through her veins. Her teeth elongated into thick fangs, the bones in her body cracked, slowly expanding into the shape of her feline.

The anaconda recoiled, flickered its tongue a couple of times, then slithered its way into the bushes without giving Yara a second glance.

Yara exhaled a well-deserved breath, then quickly pulled her panther back, before she ripped the only pair of jeans she’d brought with her.

“What a fool I was,” Yara chided herself. She had grown up in this jungle! How could she have missed the freaking snake? Damned Soartas who let her skills rust away with time.

“It wouldn’t dare touch ya, miss,” Quickfeet stated. “Anacondas are quite smart. They know not to get into a fight they’ll lose.”

“Lose? Did you see the size of that thing?” Yara snorted. “It must have been at least 20 feet long.”

“Osh! But it knows you’re more powerful!”

More powerful.
At those words, Yara paused. How much did her clever guide really know about her and her tribe? He didn’t look surprised or scared. She hadn’t completely shifted but he must have at least noticed her glimmering eyes.

“Indian told me you come here often,” Yara said testing the waters. “Do you usually bring tourists this deep in the jungle?”

She knelt by the Fairy’s Eye plant and started digging it out, careful not to break its delicate roots.

“No, I’m not stupid, miss!” Quickfeet chuckled, crouching down to give her a hand. “I only come here when I need … err … supplies.”

Yara lifted a brow at him. “What kind of supplies?”

“Hmm, the kind that is not sold in town,” he replied with a coy grin.

Yara narrowed her eyes at him. She remembered very well the several nights she and her cousins had spent chasing the natives away from their special crops. The humans knew it was dangerous, and the witches didn’t go easy on their prisoners, but the allure of taking their magic mushrooms and other special plants was too powerful for the human nature to resist. One day, Yara and her best friend, Yuma-ci, came up with a solution. They planted a small crop, away from their real one, just for humans to steal from. The unusual project had been received with skepticism by the Mothers, but soon after, the little rascals were no longer a problem.

Yara stood up and placed the shrub in her pack back. “It must take you a long time to collect these supplies around this immensity of trees.”

“Nah, I know a place,” he replied smugly.

“You know a place.”

“Yep.”

“Can you take me there?”

“Yep,” he answered but didn’t move.

Little rascal.
Yara crossed her arms over her chest. “How much?”

He shrugged feigning uncertainty, but she knew he must have been calculating his amount ever since she went for the magical root. “Dunno, miss, it’s quite hard to get there…”

“I have American dollars, Quickfeet,” she reminded him.

His eyes lit up. “A hundred dollars.”

“Twenty,” she replied.

“Fifty.”

“Thirty-five, and you help me carry the herbs.”

“Forty-five and you let me take some too.”

Yara chuckled at his cunning negotiating skills. She put her hand out. “Deal.”

Quickfeet flashed her a wide toothless smile and shook her hand. He looked more like a proud school kid than a grown man. “If we hurry we can get there in one hour.”

“So what are we waiting for?” Yara replied, already moving along the narrow path.

He took the lead, she followed. Protected by the shadows, Yara let her grin grow wider. She was certain Quickfeet was leading her to the old crop for humans. Excellent. She’d get all the ingredients she needed and return to New York in no time.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Her panther jumped awake to full alert.

Danger. Fuck.

A high-pitched, constant sound reached her ears. It was coming from somewhere behind them, and it was coming fast.

“Quickfeet, duck!” Yara shouted but her warning was too late. The powerful arrow zinged past her and pierced Quickfeet all the way through his chest.

With a grunt, he plummeted to the ground.

No!
Yara’s mind screamed silently.

She ran to his side, but before she could carry him to cover, another arrow made its way into his body. The foul smell of sulfur reached her nose.
Wandering’s milk
. The arrows were soaked in the venom of wandering spiders, the deadliest poison in the Amazon. As if on cue, Quickfeet started shaking uncontrollably, red blood spurted out of his nostrils and his ears. There was nothing she could do to save him.
Damn the Soartas
, she cursed silently.

Yara lunged toward the safety of the nearest bush and crouched low. Her eyes roamed the dark trees, searching for the attacker, but she knew better. She knew the S.O.B. was a female warrior who had been trained to be invisible. Just like she had once been.

A bird cry echoed in the distance. A second later, it was answered by another

just a few feet behind Yara.
Shit.
Those were no birds, they were combat signals. Time to get the fuck out.

Yara called her panther forth and used its power to leap out of the bush and dart away. Before she hit the ground, her soft hands had morphed into large black paws, her eyes had turned bright green, and a long tail had sprung out, helping her balance the descent. She ran as fast as her powers enabled her, leaving backpack, Fairy’s Eye and shredded clothes behind.

From the corner of her eyes, she spotted several shadows emerging from the top of the trees, swinging their way through the vines, without even having to touch the ground. Arrows zinged past, narrowly missing her. Her feline ears and eyes distinguished several unwanted chasers. They were getting close. She needed to outsmart them before they outran her. Yara put more power on her hind legs and turned left without warning. Cries of frustration and rage resonated in the dark night.

“Ha, take that, sucker…”

But before Yara could enjoy victory, she found herself being lifted up in the air by a massive net. Her large paws were trapped, unable to give her leverage to leap away. Desperate, she bit hard on the thick rope. Then she stopped. Her tongue was immediately deadened and a foul taste of bitter herbs saturated her mouth. Oh, crap. This was no ordinary rope. She felt her grip on her feline inmã slip away and panic freeze her mind as she watched her paws shift back to fingers and black fur give way to olive skin. “Fuck!”

“That’s right, little panther,” a sarcastic female voice called from below. “Angel’s Trumpets make great ropes, and even better traps to catch unwanted visitors.”

With a sigh, she rested her head back on the ropes. “How nice to see you too, Yuma-ci.”

Great, a family reunion was the last thing Yara had wanted for her trip.

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