Kingsley’s territory was due north, nestled in the rolling hills between mountain ranges, straddling a river. In all the traveling he’d done for mage dinners or conventions, he’d never been to Wyoming. It might’ve been too rural for the mages he often meddled with, but wow, it sure was beautiful.
Regardless, he knew that if he saw any mages in this area, especially right outside of Kingsley’s territory, they were enemies. That was just logic.
He watched an old Toyota slowly roll by, the man in the driver’s seat staring out the passenger window at the vans and their group of misfits. A woman walking her bulldog down the way stopped as the dog lifted its leg to a bush. She raised her hand against the glare of the sun, checking out the strangers. News of their arrival would spread fast. With any luck, they could keep their adversaries in the dark about how many mages they had.
They’d left survivors after their battle with Momar’s people in the basajaunak lands, wanting the story to get back to other mages. But it had developed and changed in ways Sebastian hadn’t anticipated, possibly because they’d hit the surviving mage with a nightmare spell and sent him home in a coffin—not the kind of thing conducive to good mental health. It was like the story had gone through a few rounds of the game “Telephone” in a loud bar full of drunks. It had been twisted and morphed, becoming something other. Something dark, about an intensely powerful magical monster.
Jessie.
Based on what Sebastian had heard through the pipeline, Momar still didn’t know the infamous Elliot Graves was helping Jessie. Sebastian would like to make sure that stayed an open question for as long as possible. The less their enemies knew, the less powerful they’d be.
“Okay everyone, listen up,” a shifter shouted, putting up his hands to get everyone’s attention.
Sebastian vaguely recalled that he was one of the shifters who’d grown up in Kingsley’s pack and joined Austin’s pack with Kingsley’s blessing.
“We’ve got six rooms booked,” the shifter went on, “which is nearly half of this motel. You’ll need to get in, get dressed and/or showered, and get out. While you’re waiting for your turn, or waiting for everyone to finish, feel free to explore the town. It is mostly comprised of Dicks, but they are aware of shifters. The Dicks are like those in Alpha Steele’s territory—either okay with magic, or very good at turning a blind eye. However, they have likely never seen a gargoyle. Don’t mind them staring. There is a strict no-challenge policy outside of Alpha Kingsley’s pack. You can use posturing to stop someone from staring, but no violence. Not unless they start it, and they rarely do.”
“We’re not so fragile that we get up in arms whenever someone looks at us,” one of the gargoyles muttered.
“Maybe that’s because no one notices you,” said a shifter with short platinum-blonde hair—
Isabelle, her name was. She smirked, and the gargoyle glowered.
Austin nodded to the announcer before hefting a couple of bags out of one of the vans and murmuring something to Jessie. She glanced out over the crowd, a little crease between her brows, before nodding and heading toward the motel.
“John, get them a key,” the announcer said, motioning to someone in the crowd.
“Jessie’s going to hang back to make sure her team follows protocol,” Nessa whispered, walking up to stand beside him. “Betcha anything.”
“Well if it weren’t for her, I doubt a couple of them would’ve even been allowed on the plane.”
“Niamh’s on shaky ground after what happened in the air.” Nessa grinned. She’d been caught with her alcohol stash but had refused to relinquish it.
Sebastian started chuckling helplessly, remembering Mr. Tom shaking his head and muttering,
“You should never try to take a puca’s alcohol. That’s a sure way to get killed.”
“But you do it all the time,” Ulric had replied to him.
“I tell her to stop drinking, or not to start drinking, or to get rid of that insufferable cooler, but I never try to actually take her beverage. There are some lines that a body just should not cross, especially with foul-tempered, miserable old lushes.”
Sebastian sighed. “I’m surprised Cyra didn’t get arrested for what she did with that fireball.”
He hadn’t witnessed it, but apparently she’d started rolling fire across her knuckles out of boredom. When the flight attendant hurried over to take away her lighter, Cyra had taken it upon herself to prove she didn’t have one by creating a fireball.