Shift (5 page)

“Open the door,” he demanded, the dual tones of his voice almost united in both pitch and intensity. Feathers sprouted from his arms, and one fluttered to the floor. He flinched and his left arm jerked. Startled, I jumped back and smacked my bad elbow on Marc’s arm. He steadied me with one hand, and I stepped forward again. The thunderbird hadn’t noticed. His focus was riveted on the closed door, as if he were willing it to open on its own. “Open it,” he repeated.

“Give me your name.”

“Open the window.” He forced his gaze from the door and met mine briefly, before his head jerked toward the closed windows and his hair disappeared beneath a crown of shorter, paler brown feathers.

“Your name.”

He groaned, and his legs began to shake against the concrete floor, his knobby knees knocking together over and over. “Kai.”

“Kai what?” I stepped closer to the bars, thrilled by my progress and
fascinated
by his reaction.

“We don’t have last names. We aren’t human.” He spat the last word as if it were an insult, as if it burned his tongue, in spite of the sweat now dripping steadily from his head feathers.

“Get the window.” I turned to Marc, but he was already halfway across the basement. He flipped the latch on the first pane and tilted the glass forward.

Cold, dry air swirled into the room, almost visible in the damp warmth of the basement. Kai exhaled deeply. His crown feathers receded into his skull and he opened his eyes. He wasn’t all better. It would take more than a fresh breeze for that. But he could cope now.

“Good. Now, let’s get acquainted.” Metal scraped concrete at my back, and I sank into the folding metal chair Marc had set behind me. “Where do you live? Where is your flock?”

“It’s a
Flight
,” he spat. “And you couldn’t get there if you wanted to. But you don’t want to. Trust me.”

“Why not?”

“Because they’d shred you in about two seconds.”

“Like your friend shredded ours? In the field just past the tree line?”

Kai cocked his head again and raised one brow. “Something like that.”

“Why can’t I get to your home?”

“Because you can’t fly.”

“What does that mean?” Marc set a second chair beside mine. “You live in a tree? ’Cause we can climb.”

But Kai only set his injured arm in his lap and pressed his lips firmly together. He was done talking about his home.

“Fine.” I thought for a moment. “How ’bout a phone number? We need to talk to your Alpha. Or whatever you call him. Or her.”

Kai shook his head and indulged a small smile. “No phone.”

“Not even a land line?” Marc asked, settling into the second chair.

“Especially not a land line.” The bird paused, and after a calming glance at the open window, he let contempt fill his gaze again, then aimed it at both of us like a weapon. “Your species has survived this long by sheer bumbling luck. By constantly mopping up your own messes. We’ve survived this long by staying away from humans and by not making messes in the first place. We don’t have phones, or cable, or cars, or anything that might require regular human maintenance. Other than a few baubles like programs on disk to entertain our young, we have nothing beyond running water and electricity to keep the lights working and the heat going.”

I grinned, surprised. “You need heat? Why don’t you just migrate south for the winter?”

Kai scowled. “We
are
south for the winter. Our territorial rights don’t extend any farther south than we live now.”

I filed that little nugget of almost-information away for later. “Okay, so you live like the Amish. How can one get in touch with your…Flight?”

Kai almost smirked that time. “In person. But in your case, that would be suicide.”

I couldn’t stop my eyes from rolling. “So you’ve said. Why exactly is your flock of Tweetys ready to peck us to death on sight?”

The thunderbird’s eyes narrowed, as if he wasn’t sure he could trust my ignorance. “Because your people—your
Pride
—” again he said it like a dirty word “—killed one of our most promising young cocks.”

I blinked for a moment over his phrasing and almost laughed out loud. Then his meaning sank in. Male thunderbirds were called cocks. Seriously. Like chickens.

And he thought we’d killed one of theirs?

“We will attack until our thirst for vengeance is sated, even if we have to pick you off one by one.”

I glanced at Marc in confusion before turning back to the bird. “What the hell are you talking abou—” But my question was aborted for good at the first terrified shout from above.

I glanced up the stairs toward the commotion—deeply pitched cries for help and rapid, heavy footsteps—then back at Kai. The thunderbird was grinning eagerly. His anticipation made my stomach churn.

Then Kaci’s panicked screeching joined the rest, and I raced up the concrete steps with Marc at my heels.

I
threw open the door and we burst into the kitchen in time to see my uncle Rick and Ed Taylor tear down the wide central hallway toward the back door, momentarily shocked out of fresh grief by whatever new horror had just ripped its way into our lives.

Marc passed me in the hall, and I was the last one out of the house—other than Owen, who looked frustrated and furious to be confined to his bed. By the time I made it onto the small, crowded back porch, the screaming had stopped, though I could still hear Kaci sobbing softly somewhere ahead. The only other sounds were the quiet murmurs of several Alphas trying to figure out what had happened and someone’s agonized, half-coherent moans.

My heart thumped as I made my way down three steps and onto the pale winter grass, politely nudging and tapping shoulders to make a path for myself. Fifty feet from the porch, the Alphas stood huddled around a masculine form whose face I couldn’t yet see. My mother knelt on the ground by the tom’s head, but she seemed to be talking to him rather than administering first aid.

At the edge of the surrounding crowd, Manx stood with Des cradled in one arm, the other wrapped around Kaci’s shoulders as tears streamed down the young tabby’s face.

A shallow breath slipped from me in relief when I saw that she was okay, if terrified. Until I realized Jace wasn’t with her.

No…

I edged toward the form on the ground, my pulse racing as I tried to remember whether or not he had a pair of brown hiking boots, which was all I could clearly see of the injured tom. But I didn’t know Jace like I knew Marc. I didn’t have his wardrobe memorized, nor could I predict what he would say or do in any given situation. Yet my relief was like aloe on a sunburn when Jace stepped up on my left, miraculously uninjured. His hand brushed mine, but he didn’t take it, well aware that Marc was on my other side. And that we were surrounded by people.

“It’s pretty bad,” Jace whispered.

“Who is it?” I made no move for a closer look.

“Charlie.” Charles Eames was my uncle’s senior enforcer. His older brother was John Eames, the geneticist who’d discovered the truth about how strays were infected, and about Kaci’s “double recessive” heritage. Their father had been an Alpha up north when I was little, but none of his sons married. When he retired, his territory went to his son-in-law, Wes Gardner. Who was now firmly allied with Calvin Malone.

That particular tangle of family ties was just one example of why civil war would devastate the U.S. Prides. There were only ten territories, and everyone I knew had friends and relatives in most of the other Prides. Drawing lines of allegiance was very delicate work, and keeping them in place would be nearly impossible.

Charlie groaned again, and I steeled my spine, then stepped forward for a closer look. Marc came with me, and we knelt opposite my mother beside the downed tom. It took most of my self-control to hold in my gasp of shock and horror at what I saw.

Charles Eames lay with his head turned toward my mother, staring at her as if she were a meditative focal point. Perhaps the only thing keeping him conscious. Both of his arms and one leg were crooked—obviously broken at multiple points—and the bone actually showed through the torn skin of his left arm, where someone had ripped his sleeve open to expose the injury. Blood pooled from his arm, still oozing from the open wound.

“Needed a cigarette,” Charlie whispered to my mom. “Was only a few feet from the porch.” His eyes closed and he flinched as he drew in a deep breath.

My mother frowned and began unbuttoning his shirt. Gently she pulled the material from the waistband of his jeans and laid his shirt open to expose his torso. The left side of his chest was already blue and purple; at the very least, he’d broken several ribs, on the same side as his broken leg and the arm with the open fracture. He’d landed on his left side.

“How many were there?” My father bent to help my mom pull the rest of the shirt loose, and Charlie started shivering.

“Two. From the roof.” He flinched over another short inhalation, as every single head swung toward the house, to make sure we hadn’t just walked into a trap. But the roof was clear now. The birds wouldn’t take on so many of us at once. Hopefully.

I crossed my arms against the cold as Charlie continued, and my father shifted into his line of sight so the injured tom wouldn’t have to strain to see him. “I heard this whoosh, and when I turned around, they were
on
me.” He coughed, then swallowed, eyes squeezed shut against the pain. “Then I was in the air. One had my arm, one my ankle.”

“I can’t believe they could carry you,” I said, thinking of how the first thunderbird had struggled with Kaci, as little as she weighed.

“Weren’t trying to.” Charlie closed his eyes again, and spoke without opening them. “They took me up about thirty feet, then let me go.”

My own eyes closed in horror. They’d dropped him on purpose. And if he’d weighed any less, they might have dropped him from higher up. They weren’t trying to take him. They were trying to kill him.

When I opened my eyes, I found my father watching me, and I saw the same bitter comprehension behind the bright green of his eyes. Thunderbirds were unlike any foe we’d ever faced. They swooped in out of nowhere, then flew off once they’d inflicted maximum damage. We couldn’t defend ourselves from their talons, nor could we Shift fast enough to truly fight them. And we certainly couldn’t chase them across the sky.

In the span of a single hour, they’d injured Owen, gravely injured Charlie Eames, and killed Jake Taylor. We were down three men, at the worst possible time.

The lump in my throat was too big to breathe around. How could we fight Malone if we didn’t survive the thunderbirds?

“Greg…” Vic emerged from the crowd and my dad stood to take the phone he held out. “I got him on the line.”

“Thank you.” My Alpha turned to pace as he spoke into the phone, while my mother did what she could for Charlie. “Danny? How close are you?” He paused as Dr. Carver said something I couldn’t quite make out over the static. “Can you get here any faster?”

I squeezed Marc’s hand when it slid into my good one, and we followed my father away from the crowd to listen in on his call. If he hadn’t wanted anyone to hear, he’d have gone inside.

“Depends. Do you want me in one piece?” Carver asked, and my father sighed.

“Just hurry. These damn birds dropped Charlie Eames from thirty feet up. At best guess, I’d say he’s got six or seven broken bones, and he’s not exactly breathing easy.”

“Thirty feet?” I heard astonishment and horror in Carver’s voice, and faintly I registered his blinker beeping, unacknowledged by the distracted driver. “It’s a wonder he survived a fall like that.”

“He wouldn’t have, if he’d landed on his head. Or on anything other than the grass.” Fortunately, last week’s ice storm had melted and dampened the ground so that it squished beneath our feet, no doubt softening Charlie’s landing somewhat. “I think he has a concussion and he’s in a lot of pain. What should we do for him?”

Marc and I headed toward the gathering as my father nodded and “uh-huh’d” the doctor’s directions on how best to get Charlie inside without damaging him further. Kaci caught my attention, still sobbing softly on the edge of the crowd. Manx had taken the baby inside—it was still cold out, and Owen was alone in the house—so Jace had moved in to comfort the poor tabby, but he could do little in that moment to truly calm her.

“You need your coat,” I said, rubbing her arms when she started to shiver. But her problem was more than just the temperature.

“Is that what they were going to do to me?” Kaci stared straight into my eyes, refusing to be derailed by my concern for her health. “Were they going to drop me?” Her eyes filled with tears and her pitch rose into a near-hysterical squeal.

Jace frowned at me over her head, and I glanced to the left, where my mother and several of the enforcers were trying to follow Dr. Carver’s instructions. “Let’s go inside, where it’s—”
safer
“—warmer,” I said, thinking of Kai’s prediction and his fellow thunderbirds perched on our roof.

“No!” Kaci scowled, and my heart ached to see a younger version of an expression I’d worn time and again. “You can’t just tuck me away in some safe pocket and keep me in the dark.” People were looking now, and my mother frowned at me, warning me silently not to let Kaci upset Charlie any more than his numerous broken bones already had. But the tabby wouldn’t be quieted, and I recognized the determination in her expression—from my own mirror. “That was almost me, so I’m
entitled
to answers,” she insisted. “What do they want?”

I sighed, well aware that nearly everyone was watching us now, including Charlie. “They want revenge.”

My father’s eyebrows shot up, then his forehead wrinkled in a deep frown. He pushed Vic’s phone into my uncle’s hand without a word and stalked toward me. “I think it’s time I met this thunderbird.”

My father stood just in front of the folding chairs, staring down at the prisoner, who’d made no move to stand, even after my dad introduced himself as an Alpha. “I understand your people—your
Flight
—” he glanced at me for confirmation, and I nodded “—thinks we’re responsible for the death of one of your own? A young man?”

The thunderbird nodded but remained seated, his broken arm resting carefully in his lap, but not quite cradled, as if showing pain would be admitting weakness. Werecats had similar instincts. Weakness means vulnerability, and admitting such to an enemy could get your head ripped right off.

But his refusal to stand was an outright insult, and his bold eye contact said he damn well knew it.

“Your name is Kai?” my father continued; we’d filled him in upstairs. The thunderbird nodded again. “Do you have some kind of proof I can examine, Kai? Because to my knowledge, none of my men has ever even
seen
a thunderbird before today. And killing someone of another species is precisely the kind of thing I would hear about.”

Though, there were always surprises. Toms like Kevin Mitchell, whose crimes went unnoticed until it was too late.

Kai sat straighter, though it must have hurt the still-oozing gashes across his stomach. “We accepted evidence in the form of sworn testimony from a respected member of your own community.”

“Wait…” I crossed both arms over my chest and ventured closer to the bars, confident that the bird was now too weak and in too much pain to lunge for me. And that if I was wrong, I could defend myself from one caged bird with a broken wing. “Someone told you we killed your…cock?” I resisted the urge to grin. What was a crude joke to us was serious business to him, and making fun of our prisoner would not convince him to cooperate.

Still, that joke was begging to be told. Later, when we needed a tension breaker. Where Kai wouldn’t hear.

“Who?” I demanded, frowning down at him.

“Even if I wanted to tell you—” and it was clear that he did not “—it’s not my place to say.”

“So you won’t even tell us who’s accusing us?”

“No.” He turned slightly, probably looking for a more comfortable position on the floor, but flinched instead when the movement hurt.

“How is that…just?” I almost said
fair
, but bit my tongue before someone could remind me that life wasn’t fair. Few enforcers knew that better than I did.

The bird heaved a one-shouldered shrug with his back pressed against the cinder blocks. “We gave our word that we would guard his identity in exchange for the information he offered. We swore on our honor.” He looked so serious—so obviously committed to keeping his promise—that I couldn’t bring myself to argue. Instead, I turned to my father, shuffling one boot against the gritty concrete floor.

“It’s Malone.” To me, it seemed obvious. Of course, in that moment I was just as likely to claim that Calvin Malone was the worldwide source of all evil. So maybe mine wasn’t the most objective of opinions….

For a minute, I thought he’d argue. But then my Alpha nodded slowly, rubbing the stubble on his chin with one hand. “That’s certainly a possibility….”

“It’s more than that.” I unfolded my arms to gesture with them, careful not to turn my back to the caged bird. “Who else would try to frame us for killing a thunderbird?”

Marc raised one brow in the deep shadows, silently asking if I were serious. “Milo Mitchell. Wes Gardner. Take your pick.”

“If it was either one of them, he was acting on Malone’s behalf. It’s all the same.”

My father waved me into silence and turned back to the thunderbird. “If we don’t know who’s accusing us, how can we defend ourselves? Or investigate the accusation?”

Kai stared back steadily. “That is not our concern.”

“It’s in the interest of justice,” I insisted. “If you guys value honor so highly, shouldn’t you be interested in justice?”

“For Finn? Yes.” The bird nodded without hesitation, his good hand hovering protectively over the open wounds on his torso. “That is our only motive. For you? Not in the least.”

“But you’re not getting justice for…Finn?” I raised my brows in question, and he nodded. “…if you’re attacking the wrong Pride.” Not that I was trying to pin the tail on another cat. I was just trying to get the name of our accuser. “Right?”

Kai actually seemed to consider that one. “I agree. But that’s not my call.”

“Whose call is it?” My father stepped up to my side. Marc was our backup, a constant, silent threat.

“The Flight’s.”

I frowned, uncomprehending. “So who decides for the Flight?”

Kai scowled at my ignorance. “We do.”

“All of you?” I couldn’t wrap my brain around it. Without a leader—someone to spearhead the decision-making process and keep the others in line—how could they function?

My father had gone still, and I couldn’t interpret his silence, or his willingness to let me continue questioning the bird on my own. But I wasn’t going to complain. If I messed up, he’d step in. “What if you disagree? Isn’t there some sort of…pecking order?”