10
SERENA
The video display on my phone took an extra few seconds to synch up. When it finally did, a shriveled old black woman’s head entered the frame.
“Ms. Weston?” the ancient voice creaked. Xiomara rubbed her eyes as she squinted into her phone. “Everything alright?”
“Not exactly,” I said.
She cleared her throat. All around her I saw nothing but darkness. Only the glow reflected back from her screen distinguished her facial features at all.
“Jesus Christ,” she mumbled. “What time is it?”
“Does it matter?”
“Hell yes it matters!” the Head of the Order grunted. “You’d better have a damned good reason to be waking me up at this hour!”
I laughed a little on the inside, knowing how badly I was baiting her. She deserved it, though. I was pissed.
“Well? What is it?”
“I think I just met up with my contacts,” I told her.
I heard her cough off camera, dry and raspy. “You were supposed to wait,” Xiomara said groggily. “You were supposed to stay in the fucking hotel, remember?”
“I got antsy.”
Xiomara did next what she always did: she leaned in and jammed her face way too close to the screen. For several moments all I could see was a single bloodshot eye, and a good part of a nose. Everything else was distorted.
“You got… what?”
“Antsy,” I repeated. “Stir crazy. Bonkers.” There was no reason to lie.
“You had a giant hotel room in which to stretch those legs, Ms. Weston! You couldn’t open a goddamn window?”
“No. Fuck that.”
I saw her jerk back a little in surprise, but I think it was mostly for show. Xiomara knew me. I wasn’t some wide-eyed acolyte, content to sit on her hands. I was a seasoned fucking veteran. Shit, at one point I was the golden child.
“You had me squatting alone in that hotel room for four days,” I barked. “I was tired of waiting. Tired of Europe…” At that we both grew silent for a moment. Neither one of us wanted to go there again. “I couldn’t stay anymore,” I finished. “I just had to get the hell out for a few minutes.”
“All that was for your own protection,” she growled.
“Yeah,” I admitted. “I found that out.”
Before she said another word I launched into the whole story of what happened. Well, most of the story anyway. I detailed the entire encounter in the alley, skipped over the part about the bar, and neglected to mention how one of my contacts and I had screwed each other stupid until the wee hours of the morning.
Xiomara went with the stern angle at first, acting inconsolably furious that I’d disobeyed her direct orders. Halfway through however, she sensed that I was even more pissed than she was. While it didn’t back her up a single inch, it did calm her down some.
“You could’ve warned me,” I seethed.
“Warned you about what?”
“My contacts,” I sighed. “They think they’re werewolves.”
“Shifters, yes.”
I ground my teeth together. She knew this part too! The whole thing was just getting weirder and weirder.
“This is all stuff you could’ve told me ahead of time.”
Xiomara pulled back from the phone’s camera a bit. “Would you have believed me?”
“What, that they’re crazy? Yes.”
“No, that they’re shifters.”
I scowled at her. “Of course not!”
“But they are.”
She said it so calmly, so nonchalant. Like it was a well-known fact.
“Please don’t tell me you’ve been buying into their bullshit,” I sneered.
Xiomara huddled up in her bed, pulling the blankets over her shoulders. She was cold but awake now. I could see her cataracts glowing eerily as she stared back at me.
“Damien was made six years ago,” she said. “Zuma beach, west Malibu. He spent a year or two on his own, struggling with what he was. It was two members of the Order who found him. We took him in. Helped him find more of his kind.”
I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying anything. I let her continue.
“Broderick has more obscure origins. He’s ex-military, we know that much. Norwegian special forces or something. And he was made willingly…” Xiomara paused to rub the bridge of her nose. “Which explains why he’s always so pissed off,” she went on. “Most of his anger is internal. Directed at himself.”
I wanted to scream. I couldn’t believe I’d been dragged across the ocean for this nonsense.
“Is this some sort of fucked up test?” I asked. “Why are you telling me all this?”
“Because you need to know what you’re dealing with,” Xiomara said sternly. “Their pack’s gone lawless. They could easily be dangerous, and so you need to treat them—”
“Pack? What pack?” I practically yelled. “What the hell are you talking about?”
I’d had enough of being out of the loop, really. Whatever she believed or didn’t believe, I just wanted to know what was going on.
“Why even humor these people? You’re feeding into their fantasy! You’re only making things worse. In fact, you—”
Xiomara threw me a hard look — one she’d delivered to me only once before. It very carefully told me there was a line. A line I was about to cross… if I hadn’t already.
“Ms. Weston,” she snapped coldly, “rein it in.”
Somehow I did. It wasn’t easy though, not this time. Not after London. Not after Alex.
“Now listen to me,” she went on, her voice intentionally slow and grating. “I want you to think very hard about something for a moment.”
A lecture was the last thing I needed right now. But whatever was coming, I knew enough to keep my mouth shut.
“Do you remember Savannah?”
All the blood in my veins turned to ice. It happened quickly, almost instantly. There was no stopping it.
“Do I need to remind you of what you saw there, Ms. Weston?”
I knew exactly what I saw there. And together, we’d agreed not to talk about it again. Ever.
Apparently Xiomara was now breaking that agreement. Or more likely, she’d claim that I was the one who screwed things up by stepping over the line.
“Yes,” was all I said. “I remember.”
“Very good.”
She studied me for a moment, letting the magnitude of what just happened sink in. The silence was a hundred miles beyond uncomfortable. I didn’t dare break it though.
“And when I showed you the Estonian footage,” Xiomara went on, “do you remember your reaction?”
I did, of course. Sixty-two seconds worth of hi-resolution footage of a fully-interactive, anthropomorphic apparition. One that actually talked to another member of the Order, answering questions. One that asked its own questions too, before finally dissipating into a thick, web-like mist.
It wasn’t something you ever forgot, really.
“Yes,” I said. “I remember my reaction.”
“You were in awe,” said Xiomara, “because you didn’t think such a thing was possible. And then you saw it. You witnessed it with your own two eyes, and any preconceived notions you might’ve had about the afterlife were shattered.”
I let my shoulders slump. I finally saw what she was getting at.
“You’ve seen poltergeists firsthand,” she went on. “You’ve vetted an actual warlock in Bridgeport Connecticut!” She looked angry again. It wasn’t a good anger. “What happened, did you suddenly forget these things?”
Though the question was rhetoric, the old woman leaned into the screen, waiting on an answer. I shook my head no.
“You move objects with your mind, Serena. You move them with such authority and power that half the Hallowed Order was afraid to even admit you!”
I tried to swallow but couldn’t. My mouth was too dry.
“So why is it so fucking hard for you to believe in the concept of shape-shifters?” she snarled. “Especially when they’ve existed in our planet’s lore for two thousand years?”
She was right, of course. She always was. I hated her for it, but it’s what we all loved about her too.
“Alright,” I said. Then, more begrudgingly: “Sorry.”
Her expression softened, but not by much. I’d still woken her up. I’d still signed my name at the very top of her shit list. But I sensed she was done chewing my ass out, at least for now.
“Now if you’re through trying to disprove what I already know, I’ll give you the details of your assignment.”
Should’ve done that already… I wanted to say. But of course I didn’t.
My phone dinged. A message had come through, along with a photograph.
“Go on. Pull that up,” said Xiomara.
I did… and what I saw was amazing. I stared at it for half a minute, pinching my fingers against the screen to zoom in on every last tiny detail.
“Is… Is that what I think it is?” I said into the phone.
“Yes.”
“And it’s real?”
“It is, Ms. Weston. One-hundred percent genuine.”
I flipped the phone back to Xiomara, who was staring down her nose at me.
“Wow.”
“Wow indeed,” said the Head of the Order.
“And they’re going to help us?” I asked, suddenly excited. “They know where to look for—”
“Yes,” she interjected. “They do. And they’re helping us because they owe us, to a certain extent. But they’re assisting us for another reason. Because I promised you would help them.”
I was confused now. “Help them?”
“It’ll be dangerous,” the old woman said, ignoring me. “But you’ll be strong enough if the three of you stay together. Remember how your abilities work, Serena. The closer you are to these men, the more powerful you’ll be.”
Her last words were strange, considering what had happened between me and Damien, and for one heart-stopping moment I thought she knew. Probably not, I realized. Because if she had, she would’ve already eaten me alive.
“I know you love Europe as much as a shit sundae,” she sighed. “But I sent you because you’re the best, Ms. Weston. Or at least, that’s what you keep fucking reminding me.”
“You know I am,” I said, and I meant it.
Her quick nod was almost an agreement. Or at least that’s how I took it.
“Good. Now shut up and listen. Because here’s what I need you to do…”