Dark Queen (Jane Yellowrock #12)

“Am I?”

“We hunted together. You flew in the form of my friend.”

I had taken the form of Anzu and flown into the far north with Gee DiMercy. We had hunted were-creatures who had killed humans. “Sabina said it would be okay, but . . . skinwalker tradition teaches us that if we take the form of a sentient being, that’s the first step into darkness. Am I evolving into u’tlun’ta? Is that what this time-changing thing is?”

“U’tlun’ta do not evolve. You did not take the form of a living body. You did not eat the body while it was alive so that you might also take the memories and the dreams and the hopes. That is what u’tlun’ta does to take the path into darkness,” Soul said, which was more than I had ever been told or figured out on my own. “You did not make of her a victim. That is not why time is slipping.”

Slipping. That, or timewalkers were playing with time all around me. Or . . . using me as a focus to affect their own changes on the future, if that was even possible. “Then why is time slipping?”

“Some physicists suggest that our universe is one of an ever-growing stack of universes,” Gee said, “a new one created each time we make even the smallest choice.”

I stared at my cup. “Right. So I’m slipping into a different universe?”

“I don’t think so,” Gee said. “I think you are reinventing this one in small, personal moments.”

“Unconsciously,” Soul said. “It can be done by accident. And it is very, very dangerous.”

By accident. That sucked.

I thought about that. About all the things that had happened to me since I came to New Orleans and went to work for Leo. I had changed. Maybe too much. Maybe so much that I was trying to undo some of the changes, subconsciously, by accident, or, crap, what if it was happening even in my sleep? No. No way. I slowed my breathing, forced calm into me. Edmund appeared and placed a cup of tea in front of Soul and a cup of spiced coffee at Gee’s elbow. “You’re not their servant,” I snapped. “You’re the heir to the Master of the City.”

“I am also hospitable to guests, my mistress.” There was censure in his tone. Mild but there.

I blew out a breath that was too aggravated to be a sigh and drained my mug. “Sorry.” I set the ceramic mug on the table with a small thump. “You’re right.”

Ed replaced my mug with a fresh one. Chai. Frothed cream on top. I was an ass. “Thank you, Edmund,” I said in my best Bethel Christian Children’s Home manners. “The tea is delicious.” Ed didn’t reply. I said, “Soul, if my DNA started forming new strands, would that make it possible that I’d slip into timewalking without intent, even unconscious intent?”

The room was very still. Upstairs, two men were arguing over a measurement. One of them called the other a shithead. I’d have to say something. We didn’t cuss in this house. But I didn’t get up. I stared at my mug instead.

“How has your DNA changed?” Soul whispered.

“It’s got an extra strand. Maybe two.”

“I see,” Soul said. “Timewalkers from this world often have peculiar genetics. Some have fallen into time-slipping.”

“What happened to them?”

“I’ve known only a few. Two vanished. One died of very fast-acting malignancies. The others lived long lives and died happy, surrounded by friends and family.”

The last part sounded like a lie, but it also sounded good, so I let it stand. “How did they survive?”

“They learned self-control. They learned to be happy in spite of illness, pain, war, pestilence, and death.”

“Drink your tea, my mistress,” Ed said softly.

I drank my tea. Self-control. That was something my housemothers had tried to pound into me, growing up. “Is there a class I can take?” I asked, a small smile trying to find my lips. “Maybe an online course? I’m kinda busy right now, but I’m highly motivated and ready to learn.”

Soul smiled with me. “This has happened only when you are fighting? In danger? When others you love are in danger?”

“This time, Eli kicked just as I stood. His foot was coming for my throat. Killing strike. He hadn’t pulled the kick yet and it was about to impact.” Eli’s eyes tightened, a minuscule move as if a single nerve twitched. To him I said, “Yes. I was going to avoid the kick. But my brain said otherwise.” To Soul, I said, “So far as I’ve noticed, it’s battle, when I think I’m about to be injured. Muscle memory takes over. I’m fighting. Then things are different. Little things, but—” I stopped again, remembering when Ayatas shot me. Beast had stopped time then. I frowned, wondering how much she contributed to time-slippage. Could anything be considered insignificant when it came to stopping time?

“You must not lose focus,” Soul said. “When fighting, you must remain rooted to the Earth, your center of gravity aligned with the Earth’s. You must fight with the concentration of meditation.”

“Zen,” Eli said. “The Zen of warfare. The knowledge that battle is taking place around you. That you are in the middle of it. But without leaving the inviolability of your own concentration.” Eli read books on war and fighting. Strategy and tactics. The mind-set of the warrior.

“You think that’ll work?”

“I’ve known a few guys in my life who could do that. They’re all dead.”

“Did they live a long life and die happy, surrounded by friends and family?” I asked.

“Sure.”

A lie. Lots of lies floating in the air. “Thank you for coming,” I said to Soul and Gee. “I appreciate the effort, the time, and the wisdom you shared with me.” And that was pure Tsalagi. Way better than the housemothers’ prattle.

They said their good-byes and left, Edmund letting them into the night and shutting the door.

“Let’s spar,” Eli said. “You can practice meditating and I’ll practice hurting you.”

“That sounds like a good idea, except that I’m so full of tea I’d slosh.” But I was thinking that I didn’t have time to learn a whole new way to fight in time for the bloody battles.

“Go pee and meet me in the workout room. And this time you’ll know I don’t mean to hurt you. You’ll keep that uppermost in your mind. You have to be able to control this before the firefight.” He meant the Sangre Duello. Eli got up and left, his feet silent on the stairs.

Edmund came to the table. He stood beside me, placing his hand on my shoulder.

“The Sangre Duello will soon be over. For good or ill, all our lives will change. And you can rest. Take a . . . What is the American word? Retreat? A strategic withdrawal? You can ride Bitsa into your mountains and heal.”

“That’s a good idea.” I had taken a break once, when Bitsa was being built. I’d nearly been beheaded and was so close to death that it took a long time to get well. I’d hunted and slept and eaten a lot of game. Shifted as often as I needed to continue healing.

“You haven’t ridden Bitsa since you came back with her,” Edmund said. “Why?”

“Bitsa is for freedom,” I said before I thought. “I’m tied here, until the Sangre Duello is done. It’s the only way I can protect the people I love.”

“Your little witches. Your godchildren. Children who would be killed or taken and turned by Titus Flavius Vespasianus, Emperor of the Mithrans and renowned hater of homosexuals, Jews, people of color, and witches.”

“Well. That’s great to know. Yeah. So, thank you for that insight. A retreat is a great idea. After I spill some blood and kill some people. But for now, I’ll go spar with Eli and find my center. My Zen moment.” If I sounded a little sarcastic, really, who could blame me?



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