Chapter 15

Jameson stayed quiet, wondering at the way Carick’s fingers flew over the tiny keyboard of Jameson’s smartphone. For years he’d considered them a necessary evil of modern times, but Carick had immediately fallen in love. They were in Jameson’s truck, speeding down country roads, heading to a neighboring town for what might prove to be a bust. Or maybe not.

Last Jameson remembered, he had been contemplating what could signify to the coven houses it was safe to return from wherever they had gone. He must have fallen asleep again, and his phone fell out of his pocket, because when he woke up, the sun was overhead, and Carick was poking him, demanding he “stir the electricity in the contraption.”

Carick had figured out the phone scary fast. Jameson was reminded of Leloo in The Fifth Element every time Carick pulled the phone close to his face and muttered something under his breath.

He’d stared at the phone while Jameson had sat him in a chair and buzzed his shaggy hair off, then trimmed his beard close to his face. Carick hadn’t spared a glance in the mirror when Jameson was done, trying to walk outside with his head down, eyes glued to the phone. “My looks are of no consequence,” he’d muttered when Jameson had prompted him.

But an hour ago it had become obvious Carick was using the phone for more than funny cat videos. He’d turned the screen to Jameson and said, “Humans are fighting the vampires, or at least the party they run as. We need to be at this meeting.”

Jameson knew what party that was. The Victory Party, charming humans out of their votes and their rights.

But Jameson had immediately realized Carick was right. If there were human meetings, there was a chance they could find switches there. Shifters, too.

Jameson turned into the building parking lot, a library, the meeting scheduled for its assembly room. He parked, and he and Carick jumped out of the truck and headed in, Carick finally slipping the phone in the pockets of the big and tall jeans Jameson had bought for him. Jameson already saw a few cars he recognized.

Inside, he sized up the decent-sized crowd, which was mostly humans in various states of outrage. But he saw Flint and his younger brother Bryce immediately, the two bears who lived next door. Flint saw him back and raised a hand, then moved on to study Carick. The surly bear lifted his nose into the air, trying to catch a scent.

Jameson stopped to size up Carick, wondering what other shifters would think of him. He looked acceptable enough, maybe like a lumberjack who came from a rich family, wearing jeans and a flannel shirt, and heavy work boots. He had a touch of silver at the temples of his close-cropped hair and a scowl on his face. Big enough to be a bear but absent of any such scent. Living proof that something was strange in Five Hills.

Flint caught Jameson’s eye again, then raised his chin at another male across the room. Riot. Interesting that he had come. The young male with the rock star hairdo was leaning against a side wall, hands shoved in hoodie pockets. His menacing mountain lion scent preceded him, lean and hungry, like that of one much older than him. He saw Jameson and gave a short lift of his head in acknowledgement. Jameson nodded back.

Flint shot Jameson a look, that Jameson couldn’t decipher, until Flint spoke up so Jameson could hear, his rumbling baritone turning heads. He gestured at Riot. “You believe that, Bryce? The damn cat done dragged itself in.”

Riot shot a dark glare Flint’s way, with a hint of a snarl on his lip before his eyes shuttered and he returned his focus to the room around him, dismissing Flint altogether. Like bears were no big deal. Flint would hate that.

Jameson hurried across the room to Flint, leaving Carick to figure himself out. He spoke softly to Flint “You still got a problem with that kid? When you gonna get over that?”

Flint sneered. “Soon as your boy gets over his anger management issues.”

Jameson shook his head. “It was a year ago, Flint. And you’re the last one to talk.” Jameson liked Flint, but he could get along with Riot, too, if Flint would just get over himself. They were going to have to start working together, all of them. Jameson had a flash of what the future could look like, then shook his head and pushed it away. Things were different now, it would never work.

He studied Riot instead, wondering what had brought him. The big cat was a rock climbing instructor who often volunteered to lead excursions in the Natanhala Forest. Jameson had heard through the workvine that the inked-up shifter was normally quiet but respectful, not just of the rangers but the environment as well. He stuck to the trails, avoided nesting sites, and made sure his groups left no trace of their visit. Jameson had never had reason to personally dislike him, and he knew enough to leave sparring disputes at sparring.

Flint caught Jameson’s gaze and snarled, showing even white teeth, then spoke, pulling his attention away. “Your boss know you’re here? Aren’t federal employees supposed to be non-partisan?”

Jameson waved him off. “Who’s running this thing, anyway?”

Bryce leaned forward from Flint’s other side to stare at Jameson. “Everyone.” His blond hair and russet cheeks made him look younger than his age, but he was a solid kid with a good head on his shoulders. Jameson liked him a lot.

Jameson frowned, not sure what Bryce could mean, but Bryce broke in. “Seriously, J. I walked around before the meeting and checked out the name tags.” He pointed around the room as he spoke. “Over there you got the head of the Democratic Party of North Carolina, she’s talking to the Republican rep who got his ass handed to him by Victory Party last year. And on the other side of the aisle, that group is full of Green and Labor representatives, the Constitutional Party, and the Libertarians. This is nuts. Unprecedented to have so many rival parties working together. They must be shaking in their boots that Victory Party is going to sweep the elections: President, Congress, Senate, all of them.”

Jameson agreed. And they were probably right. He spoke to Bryce. “What are you two doing here?”

The younger bear shrugged. “After your speech at the BBOC, we felt like we should do something.”

“You believed me?”

The two males exchanged glances. Flint was the first to speak. “Of course I do. Bryce, what about you?”

Bryce nodded. “Yeah I do. Most of the guys did. The female cat, too, I heard her saying she believed every word. That she was ready to kick some vampire ass.”

Jameson let out a breath. Good news. Flint bumped his shoulder, gesturing at Carick who was stalking the perimeter of the crowd, scowl still firmly fixed on his face, black eyes glittering. “Who’s your big friend with the brand new clothes?”

Jameson didn’t hesitate. “The Steward.”

“No shit!” Flint hissed, standing to get a better view. But a man near the front of the room moved the front of the podium, switching the microphone on and raising his hands for quiet.

The human was in his early sixties, Jameson would guess, and although it was clear he’d once been fit, maybe a soldier, time had left his midsection soft and the crown of his head shining bare. He wore wire-rimmed bifocals and introduced himself as Mr. Bunn.

Jameson ignored him, studying the crowd instead. Children with their parents, young adults, middle-aged couples, all the way up to seniors. Rich and poor and in-between. Jameson scented only a few shifters among the bunch, and the crowd was small, twenty-five to thirty people at the most.

If the vampires were charming humans through the televisions, what made these people immune? He looked around again, not trying to hide his curiosity. And were there any switches in the bunch? How would he even know? He’d asked Carick in the dead of the last night, how to identify a switch, and Carick had growled in reply, “She’s the one with magicks spilling off of her while she kills vampires.”

Helpful.

The door on the side of the room opened, making Jameson’s muscles freeze in place, his breath bottleneck in his throat as the sweet scent of mountain flowers swirled to him.

He stared at the woman entering, her face hidden by wavy brown hair. She was petite, but her shape was all woman. He’d found her! The woman from the diner. Or rather she’d found him.

The woman (switch) lifted her face to the front of the room, allowing Jameson a generous view of it. Lovely. Beautiful. Special! Two painfully bruised black eyes barely starting to heal made him snarl. How could she have gotten them? If a man gave them to her, he would kill the bastard. Rip his throat right out with his teeth. He ground said teeth and studied her, ignoring the purple and black of the injury.

Everything about her said feminine and dainty, almost fairy-like. Her cheekbones were long and sharp, her jaw line, too, and her eyes had an almond shape and slant that was at once exotic and completely at home with the rest of her face. Her lips were pouty and the perfect Cupid’s bow shape. So delicate and elven, like a brunette Tinkerbell with her hair down. Jameson wouldn’t have been surprised to discover her ears were pointed.

His stomach did a nosedive as he struggled to get air. She was having an even stronger effect on him than she had in the diner.

The woman stood by the door and focused on the speaker. Jameson watched her with hooded eyes, finding pleasure just in gazing at her, forgetting for a moment his need to talk to her. He took in every detail.

She wore a gauzy peasant-style blouse with embroidery at the neck and sleeves reminded him of simpler times. Years past, when cotton and wool had made up the bulk of the clothing he wore and indeed “polyester” hadn’t even been a word, that’s what he recalled when he looked at her. Her navy blue shorts came to mid-thigh, revealing a splendid view of her toned legs and shapely ankles, all the way to her dainty feet in metallic-looking, clockwork-embellished sandals. He knew that style. Steampunk. Like the Jules Verne books he’d read as a child. He loved that only one thing she wore pointed to it. She was understated. Subtle.

Her toenails were painted a shade that reminded Jameson of pearls from the ocean. His throat clicked as he tried to swallow. She was the perfect woman, and he was a goner. She wasn’t a shifter. But for the first time in his life, it didn’t matter. None of it. Keeper. Carick. Vampires. Shifter alliance. He could happily give up every miserable moment of it and spend the rest of his life following her, hoping for a glance or a kind word. Being there if she needed something.

He couldn’t look away. Couldn’t hear a word that was being said. Was he drooling? Her style was feminine without being overly flowery, unique without being loud. The clockwork sandals reminded Jameson of the days when tinkering had been his full-time job, making nostalgia float through him.

She was so… light.

Her face changed as he watched, her expression morphing from attentive and interested to pissed. Murderous even. She was staring at a slide the speaker had put up. Jameson shot a look at it. A picture of a candidate, a male with red eyes that only Jameson could see. Vampire. He whipped his head back to the woman by the door. But she was gone. The door clunked shut behind her, cutting off a ray of green light that had prismed in from the dark beyond.

Jameson shot to his feet, to follow.