Chapter 1.

 

Every evening, Mission House’s dining hall filled with patrons. Six chairs per table, and not a one of them stayed empty. A line wound back and forth through the foyer then out the door and around the block. Hundreds of people waited, daring Portland’s cold February rain.

Not because of the great food.

Moving at a trot, Dakota Vance scooped up a pair of paper plates. Mashed potatoes, a wilted salad, and some weird concoction of mayo, tuna fish, and macaroni. Not gourmet fare, she knew as she added an almost-fresh chocolate chip cookie to each plate. But their guests didn’t care.

Mission House’s food only had one thing going for it: it was free. And, for a soup kitchen, it wasn’t bad.

Dodging backpacks and garbage bags full of prized possessions, Dakota wove her way toward an unfed table. Some people would turn up their noses at her ‘customers’. They’d write them off as junkies, lazy bums, and mental cases.

That wasn’t what Dakota saw.

She saw misfortune. A woman with three small children, willing to live under an overpass if it kept her safe from the man who beat them. A scrawny teenager who’d fled some horror at home. An ancient man who had no family to care for him as he slid into dementia, no company except the ghosts of old friends.

Sure, there were junkies and alcoholics. Lots of them. But when she looked at them, she saw…

…Cally…

…mistakes. People too sick, too damaged, to escape the black hole of addiction. They needed a hand up, not disgust.

No, she wouldn’t judge the people who needed Mission House. Hell, working for a shelter didn’t pay much. One accident, one unpaid hospital bill, and she could be sitting here. This plate of nearly-expired food? That could be her next meal.

Oscar, one of their regulars, whistled as Dakota set his plate in front of him. “Salad, tuna crap, taters, and… what’s those things?”

She pretended not to notice when he pocketed his cookie. Later, he’d claim he hadn’t gotten one and plead for a second. Like he did every night. “Those are meatballs. Made with real, honest-to-God hamburger.”

“Hamburger, huh.” The old man prodded one with his plastic fork.

“Hamburger,” she assured him. “Get used to it. We got a new sponsor and there’s going to be a lot more meat on the menu.”

“No kidding?” The smile he gave her was warm, even if it lacked half its teeth. “I will change my dinner plans then, young lady!”

At once, she turned and sped away, before he could start a conversation. Her heart ached. People here longed for more than food. A gentle touch, a few moments of talk. Hell, even a person who could look at them squarely without wrinkling their nose in disgust.

But she didn’t have time. Three more tables needed food. By the time that she’d taken care of them, three more would be empty. You couldn't let people help themselves to the food. Too unsanitary and the risk of theft was too high. So, every plate, every cup, had to be carried out by one of the House's few volunteers, and a couple of underpaid employees like her.

As she flew into the kitchen for her next load, Amy (Mission House's perpetually frazzled director) caught her by the arm. “Dakota? Take a break.”

“But the rush has just started!”

“I know. Trust me, though, this is more important. This could mean everything to this place.”

Then why was she so nervous? “What's up?”

“Our new patron wants to talk to you. Now. There's a car waiting for you in the back alley.”

“Me? Why? I just work here!”

“I have no idea,” Amy sighed. “He was very specific about it, however. I don't want to scare you, but he said that if this discussion went well, he'd be willing to give more to the shelter. Lots more. Like, millions.”

Dakota's stomach lurched. Wow, no pressure or anything...

“I should go home, get cleaned up, and...”

“No, no, no. Someone’s here now. Out back.”

Dismayed, she stared down at her jeans and beat up sneakers. Fortunately, the call came early, before they'd gotten stained by food and filth. And her long, luxurious brown hair was woven into an elaborate French braid. Stylish and professional, that braid stood up to hot, sweaty kitchen work.

At least one part of her would look good for this interview!

Amy hustled her to the rear exit. “Which car am I looking for... uh, oh. Never mind.”

A sleek black stretch limo took up the entire alley. Its chauffeur, wearing a cap and black suit, stood at attention by the passenger door. “Miss Vance?”

Dakota gulped. “Yes?”

“Excellent. Mr. Alester is waiting. Please.”

He eased a door open, gently bumping one of the alley's overflowing garbage cans. She managed to slip into the limo's spacious interior, where one other passenger awaited.

Like a statue carved from ice, the woman was a vision in white. Tall and slender, she wore a tiny white dress and an enormous ermine fur coat. An odd platinum necklace circled her throat: a serpent biting its own tail. Her skin, pale as milk, was flawless. And her hair! Dakota had never seen anything like it. Smooth, glossy, platinum blonde hair poured down into the seat beside her in sleek coils. Heck, it had to be five feet long! How on earth could someone manage hair like that?

Probably with a stable of stylists. Which, judging from her fur coat, she could afford.

The only color in her icy beauty came from her eyes−one blue, one green. Both brilliant, like tiny gems. “Miss Dakota Vance?”

“Yes. Are you... Mrs. Alester?”

A faint sniff. “I am Mr. Alester's secretary. My name is unimportant.”

I'm in the wrong field. I need to work someplace where the 'secretaries' get coats like that!

The stranger pressed a button. “Drive.”

Even her nail polish was white!

With a click, the doors locked. To Dakota, it sounded like a cage door swinging shut. Which was totally silly. Lots of cars locked automatically. Mission House also wasn't in a great neighborhood and a car like this screamed wealth. Something that might tempt a poor person to do something foolish.

No, locking the door made sense. And why should she care? It wasn’t like she needed to jump out of the car, right?

Right.

Sternly, she pushed that ridiculous fear from her mind. If Amy was right, a lot of money was riding on this conversation. Money that could literally save lives. This was no time for vapors and fits.

As the limo rumbled out into traffic, she cleared her throat. “May I ask what this is about? I don’t understand why Mr. Alester would want to talk to me.”

“This is about your sister, Cally Vance.”

Cally.

At the sound of her name, Dakota closed her eyes. Only two years had passed since the day she got that terrible phone call from the LAPD. Two years to accept that she would never see her sister's smile, never hear her breathless laughter on the phone again. That wasn't anywhere near enough time to wash away the grief of that loss.

Or the rage that came with it.

She felt it now, simmering behind the sorrow. A year of meditation, six months of grief counseling... and the fury remained. Lurking like a poisonous asp in her heart.

The secretary's cold, unfeeling eyes studied her. “You know your sister was murdered, yes?”

Shock took her breath away. “I always thought... I mean, they said she was a junkie, that she overdosed...”

“No.”

One word, but it breathed upon the embers of her anger, fanning it to life. Sorrow, sadness, guilt... all the dark emotions that plagued her for two years were drawn into the flames. Those weaker pains burned away until nothing but rage remained.

“Why?” Dakota’s voice trembled.

“Cally was pregnant. She bore the child of a very wealthy man. One who thought it would be cheaper to have her killed.”

Dark red clouds, rage given form, fogged her vision. For two years, she'd sought peace. She'd fought against blame, against anger. Worried that, somehow, some way, she could have saved her sister from the drugs that killed her. Now...

Now, fury set her free. Screw forgiveness, screw self-doubt. Cally was murdered. Dakota let that hatred wash over her.

She opened her eyes to find the secretary smiling. A cold, gloating simper. “Mr. Alester thought you'd care. And that you'd want revenge on the man who killed Cally.”

“Yes.” The word came out in a harsh croak.

“Excellent. First, though, I need to destroy your world.”

As if she hadn't already done that?

“I'm going to tell you something impossible. Something insane. Then I'm going to prove it.”

“Okay.” Whatever it took was fine with her.

The sinister woman leaned forward. “I'm going to tell you the truth: humans do not control this world. Dark powers lurk behind your companies, your governments. They're called Shifters.”

“Shifters?” Alarms sounded in Dakota's mind. Junkies and madmen spouted this kind of conspiracy theory. Not sane professionals.

“Shape-shifters.”

“Like werewolves?” Oh hell, this was too mad even for a meth-head!

“Wolves. Bears. Rats. And worse things.” The doubt on her face only made the woman’s smile deepen. “I myself am a Hare.”

“You're a were-rabbit.” Those locked doors looked really ominous now.

“Mr. Alester sent me to speak to you because my Kind is the least, shall we say, physically intimidating. We need to see if your mind is strong enough to handle the sight of a Shift. Most humans can't.”

“So, you're going to turn into a rabbit?”

“Yes,” she said.

And she did.

One moment, the secretary sat across from her, lounging in her luxurious fur coat. Then, light flared around her, the air shimmered... and the woman vanished. In her place sat a large white rabbit. One that had the secretary's brilliant green and blue eyes.

Dakota screamed and threw herself at the door.

The wisely locked door.

 

It took four trips back and forth across the Willamette River before the shaking stopped. Human once more, the secretary sipped champagne in silence and offered no words of help or advice.

In time, Dakota's heart slowed. The fear and shock that had threatened to drown her receded. In its wake, one simple truth remained. She'd just seen a woman turn into a rabbit.

Nothing was impossible.

“Compos mentis?” the woman asked at last.

She didn't know what that meant but caught the gist of it. “I'm okay.”

“Excellent. Then you're strong enough to help us. Strong enough to avenge your sister.”

Cally. Once more, anger flooded through her. This time, she welcomed it and the strength it brought. “How? What can I do? I'm just a human.”

“That's precisely why you're valuable to us.” A gloating eagerness lit the woman's face. Not a pleasant look. “Let me explain. The worst and most powerful of the Shifting Kind are Dragons.”

Dragons existed? Dragons? Shock threatened to overwhelm her again.

The secretary leaned forward hungrily. “Every fairytale you've read? Every story of Dragons' greed and cruelty? It's all true.”

That was almost funny, given that the secretary looked like the evil Snow Queen. Though, she had turned into a Hare. And bunnies couldn't really be evil, could they? Dakota couldn't think of a single story that had a rabbit as the villain.

“Some Shifters, like Mr. Alester, fight against them. We try to protect the humans they prey upon. Girls like your sister Cally.”

Who had been pregnant... with a Dragon's child?

“We've located one of the strongholds of these evil creatures. Unfortunately, we can't do any reconnaissance. Shifters recognize each other. Anyone we sent in would be spotted immediately.”

“So, you want me to spy on a...a nest of Dragons?”

“We want you to avenge your sister. I trust that's important to you too?”

“Yes,” Dakota admitted slowly.

“Good.” Once more, the secretary pressed a button on her armrest. “Airport.”

Airport? They were leaving Portland? “I need to get my...”

“You don't need anything.”

“But...”

“We're flying you to Upstate New York. We'll provide everything you need, including a house near this Dragon compound.”

Was she truly signing up as a spy? On something as dangerous as a Dragon?

Dakota thought of Cally. Her love of life. How she threw herself into everything she did. The way she brightened any party and drew the shyest man out of his shell.

She'd do anything for her. Even track a Dragon back to its lair.

“So, I do what? Spy on them?”

“Yes. Any information is valuable. In particular, we're looking for a specific site. It will be hidden somewhere on the Dragons' property, probably deep in the woods where their twisted rituals won’t be noticed. It looks like a natural spring, but to Shifters, it's far, far more.”

“What do you mean?”

A faint sneer of contempt curled her lip. “You wouldn't understand. Don’t waste time thinking about the bigger picture. You'll have more success if you focus on the jobs assigned to you.”

That insult stung like a slap. Reminding Dakota that she didn't really have any reason to trust this odd woman.

Still...

A chance to understand what really happened to my sister? To make the man that killed her pay for his crime?

How could she refuse that?

Thus, in the end, all she said was, “Okay.”

“One last thing.”

From a pocket, the Hare drew what looked like a large gray cigar and held it out. Strange letters spelled a word across its surface. ‘MeYaipa.’ Its weight shocked Dakota. Why, the thing had to be solid lead! She turned it over, puzzled.

“Think of your sister.”

“Why?”

“Indulge me.” Her cold, imperious tone made that an order, not a request.

Cally. Her sister's smiling face came to mind. Making pancakes together in the morning. Whispering secrets to each other long past midnight.

“No!” the secretary snapped. “Not like that. Think of her death. Contemplate the unfairness of it all, how she was torn from you by the sins of an evil creature. Think of your loss.”

The empty chair at Christmas. The birthdays that passed without a call. All the nights she'd seen some homeless teen at Mission House and hoped, for one cruel second, that Cally had finally come home.

Gone.

Because of some man.

Because of some Dragon.

Once more, rage swelled. This time, though, something joined it.

A fury that dwarfed her own blazed in her mind. Formless, causeless rage. Screams, wings, a dark, endless void. And through it all, rage. Mindless. Implacable. Lusting for only one thing.

Vengeance.

Dakota shrieked as that word echoed through her soul. The lead cylinder dropped from her fingers and rolled across the floor.

Her hostess retrieved it and handed it back to her quickly. “Keep this with you at all times.”

Dakota shrank away, horrified by that brief touch with madness. “What was that?”

“It's a GPS device,” the Hare explained patiently. “When you find this spring, you need to hide this close by it so we can locate you.”

“No.” Dakota stared at the tracker like it was a rotting maggot. “What was that screaming?”

“I didn't hear any screams.” The secretary's delicate nose wrinkled. “Are you prone to fits of hysteria? If so, you may not be able to help avenge your sister.”

She hadn't heard that? Hadn't felt the touch of something vast and evil? Dakota swallowed hard and forced herself to take the lead tube.

Cool and heavy, it lay in her hand.

Nothing happened.

“I'm sorry. I must be a bit rattled by this all.”

“It could be a side effect of seeing me Shift.” As the first lights of the airport appeared, the white-haired lady stared out the window. “Don't worry. It will pass.”

Frightened and uneasy, Dakota gazed out the window too.

And wondered what she'd gotten herself into.