Surrender (The Tribe MC: Chase of Prey Book 2) (8 page)

CHAPTER 9

The circle was there, right in front of her. The other women were already dancing and the henna on her body was dark in the moonlight. The people gathered around the fire were all tense, the spells in the air shimmering and silvery.

Broken bits of colored glass had been strewn around the perimeter of the giant parking lot where they gathered. In every RV hung amulets and charms. Every tire was marked with more of them.

Jaelle and many other women who had done this dance once before were dancing also, in a second Circle, outside of Cara’s. The spells they chanted were intended to protect those within the inner circle.

Every person there knew that tonight, they needed more protection and they had ever had before. Families had gathered from everywhere: Europe, Canada, Central and South America. Many of them spoke a language other than English, but Romani was the only language being spoken here tonight. The smells of incense and food rose high in the air. There was a feast being prepared; every RV had been the site of much cooking earlier that day. Children sat, unusually silent and solemn, on the opposite side of the fire, facing the Council of Elders.

Almost every female here, no matter her age, had what was commonly referred to as Duc. That meant magic, or a type of second sight. All of them had it in varying degrees; some had so little that they mostly relied on it as a form of strong intuition rather than spellcasting.

But others were strong, so strong that they could create fire, wind, or even rain during a drought. Some were able to read minds, mesmerize others or speak to the dead. There were spellcasters, fortunetellers and those who could see far into the future. Of all of the Tribe, it was always the women who possessed the greatest magic.

And many of the Elders knew that this was the strongest generation they had ever seen. In a world where magic lay dying, shattered by a lack of faith and that enemy, science, women had been born whose magic was stronger than any of the past two generations. It was as if they had known that the old Queen would not be displaced until now. It was as if they had reached out their long fingers and gifted these women with powers that had not been seen since the time of their great-great-grandmothers.

Despite the introduction of gadjo into their bloodlines, despite lack of faith and the sagging structure that was family, somehow, the blood had risen and created these women.

And it still might not be enough.

Somewhere out there, the night rogues hunted — rogues who had somehow learned how to control their shapes. It was unheard of, and it was unholy. It was enough to destroy the Tribe forever.

What most wolves did not know, but the Tribe did, was that the Covenant worked two ways. If the rogues rose up, destroyed the humans and took over the world, the Tribe would die. The Covenant that the tribe had made years ago, long before Wolf in any of their forms had walked the earth, decreed that the Tribe were the protectors of the people.

And how they had paid for that pact!

The eldest of the Elders sat silent, his face impassive as he stared into the flames.  Darlo was 101 years old, not that it showed. His back was still straight; no confusion clouded his eyes and his hands did not shake. Most days, he did not feel his age, either, but tonight he felt every year, and he felt afraid.

All his life, Darlo had feared this moment. He’d seen three Queens come and go. He attended his first ceremony as a child suckling at his mother’s breasts. He didn’t remember that ceremony, or that short-lived and tragic Queen. He only knew the legends of her, and he only knew that because she was his family. Her story mostly went unsung and untold because it was said that to even speak her name was gajengi baxt — bad luck of the worst kind.

After her, an older woman, strong and capable, had come into power. Her time as Queen had only been a few short years because she had succumbed to cancer. The Queen who had just passed had been next; she had reigned for almost 70 years. Darlo wished the new Queen would have such a long life, but he feared that hope might not come to pass.

The music began. The ones who would be Queen began to move, their hair flying, the bells around their ankles chattering and clattering, their fingers snapping.

Cara was there, a part of the inner circle. Nausea rose up in her stomach and she had to look away from the flames, fearful that she would become hypnotized by them, stagger right into that fire and burn herself alive.

What had happened to Sebastian? Where was he now?

She was dressed in a long silk and gauze skirt. With every shake and swirl of her hips, the fabric moved across her long slender legs and allowed the flames to silhouette her figure. Her long jet-black hair was down, unadorned except for the thin coating of precious scented oil that the women of her family had rubbed into it. Her fingers held the clackers, finger–bells that rang out merrily in a counterpoint to the bells on her ankles.

Her top was a simple diaphanous scarf twisted many times around her breasts. Its fiery red color accented the red and black of her skirt and the henna on her arms, back and belly.

The music rose higher and higher. A primitive beat began in her blood and she could feel it coiling up into her stomach — her magic. Her bare feet touched wet grass and broken concrete. The starlight glittered on the silver rings she wore on her fingers and the brass finger bells she clutched.

Her hair moved across her back, silk and satin. Her hips undulated and her arms moved in a snake–like gesture.

She could see admiration on the faces of those gathered around the fire. Of all the women dancing, she was the best. A knot formed in her chest, making it impossible for her to breathe, to swallow. She had drunk the sacred wine earlier as well, they all had. Cara was not a fool; she knew that the Elders spiked that wine with a head-spinning combination of drab — medicinal and magical herbs. That wine would allow the women who were fighting for the position of Queen to forget their fear and nerves; it would allow them to forget their inhibitions and dance wildly.

The taste in her mouth was sour, bitter. She wanted to spit but knew that would be disrespectful.

Several men and a woman were playing the bari lavuta — a violin. Their music spun higher and faster. The drums moved with that rising tempo and voices began to chant in unison.

Cara felt dizzy, frightened and alone. The bodies pressing into hers belonged to some women that she had known her entire life and some that she’d only met this night. Many were young, but others were not.

One by one, they began to form a line. The music changed, grew softer, slower. It was mournful on the soft night wind. Cara looked at the outer circle. The women there were doing their best to make sure that the magic being spent here tonight was not being seen outside the circle, but she had a feeling that nothing would stop the rogues from finding them. Looking around, she could see the same fear on every other face, even those of the Elders.

The first woman stepped forward. Her arms spun above her head and her fingers came together in a move that dancers worldwide would have envied if they had seen it. Rain began to fall, splattering on the flames and making them hiss and sputter. With one finger the woman caused the rain to change directions, drifting along the crowd and forming gentle misting curtains that left the children laughing and some of the adults clapping their hands.

The Elders nodded curtly and she stepped away. Next was a woman capable of mesmerization, and then a woman who could look into the hearts of the people standing around her and tell them what they were thinking.

Cara watched all of them, and with each woman that stepped forward, her heart leaped with hope in her chest.

She had a choice. She could pretend to be far less powerful than she was; she could let her spells fizzle and become muddled and confused. That would be the only thing that would keep her from winning the crown this night.

But to do that would be to shame her family. It would be allowing her people to come to harm. She was needed, and despite her frenzied desire to be anyone else at all, this was who and what she was.

She was last in line. She stepped forward and looked at the Elders, then over at the small copse of trees that sat just to her right. There were RVs parked around and behind it, but other than that, they were the same trees she’d seen in her vision. It was there that she had spotted a Wolf in her dreams, but Sebastian did not stand there now.

Cara gathered all the power she had and flung her arms wide. A glowing column of solid blue–white light shot up from her chest. She wasn’t sure what she intended to do; she knew she was angry, and that she wanted to Sebastian to be where she had thought he would be, but he wasn’t. That light arced, turned in on itself and shot down toward the earth. It hit the trees and incinerated them. There were no flames; there was no burst of light or even the scent of crisped leaves. The trees were simply gone.

Cara was as stunned as the onlookers. A small child began to cry and its mother rushed to pick it up. There was fear on every face and Cara knew that even here, even among her family, she was an oddity. They would follow her, but they would always be afraid of her.

Tears soaked her cheeks and she looked over at the little boy crying in his mother’s arms. “Chava, bolde tut, kako,” she told him. The phrase meant “child, please turn away.” His mother gripped him tighter and turned her back.

Cara looked around and saw that many others were also turning their backs. They had to: they were terrified. She didn’t blame them. Cara’s eyes closed and she took a long breath. Her feet left the ground and she was soon rising high above the caravans and the people gathered. She was soaring only for a moment; she didn’t know how to control it and she began to fall back towards the ground.

Terror gripped her and a scream burst from her lips. One hand flashed out and a long spell came from her mouth. Her feet stopped just inches from the ground and she hung there, suspended and shocked. The Elders were all standing, and Cara knew there was no need for discussion. She’d be the one thing she never wanted to be — Queen of the Tribe.

She sagged and her feet touched the concrete again. She went to her knees on that rough surface, not caring that it would tear her skirt and the flesh below. Every part of her cried out against this; every part of her wished that it wasn’t so.

It was Darlo who came forward. He stood before her and said, “Do not kneel before us. We shall kneel before you.” Cara swallowed back her tears and lifted her chin in what she hoped looked like a proud gesture.

She was lifted to her feet and the Elders, including her father, gathered around her. Darlo began to draw the runes and she could feel the power gathering below them. The magic was not his to give or command — it was her own — but this, these runes, were a gift from the entire Tribe. They would be her wards and her crown.

And then she saw him: Sebastian. He stood within the perimeter of the caravan’s circle. He’d somehow managed to walk across the broken glass, through the fire and spells. He’d managed to find them despite everything they had done to cloak themselves!

Her heart raced and she stared at him, her mouth parted and her eyes shining with tears and hope. He was here, and she’d had this vision. Could she have both? Was it possible?

Suddenly, screams filled the night. A small child shrieked as a heavy black–furred creature leapt down from the top of one of the motor homes, its fangs bared and foam pouring down its muzzle. The child’s mother grabbed a burning stick from the fire and thrust of the flame into the rogue’s face. It squealed in anger.

Ion suddenly appeared, running through the small gaps between the motor homes, followed by a group of young Tribe members both male and female. They wore heavy guns on long leather straps and they began to fire into the crowd.

Cara stared around in horror. The rogues were attacking and Tribe members were falling. Gunfire was sounding out, bullets striking the concrete and bouncing back up, stopping as they hit flesh. The rat–a–tat sound made her want to clap her hands over her ears, but the shrieks of fear and pain were far worse.

She saw Sebastian running out her and she stood frozen, not knowing what she should do. The Tribe was being attacked, and not just by rogues, but by members of their own family.