THE SHAPESHIFTERS DIDN’T BELIEVE IN JAILS. TYPICAL punishments were death or labor. In the rare cases when they did sentence someone to isolation, they exiled them to a remote area.
The Keep did have several holding cells, large, empty rooms equipped with loup cages. One of them held my “bodyguard.” Curran insisted on walking with me to the door. Somehow, despite the early hour, the hallways of the Keep were full of shapeshifters, who made valiant efforts not to stare at me.
“For nocturnal people, you’re terribly active in daylight,” I murmured.
“The curiosity is killing them. They’d mob you if they could get away with it.”
“That would go very badly for everyone involved. I don’t like crowds.”
Curran pondered that for a moment. “I have some final arrangements to make and then I’m free. Would you have a nice dinner with me?”
“I’ll cook,” I told him.
“You sure? I can have it made.”
“I’d prefer to cook.” It might be our last dinner.
“I’ll help you, then.”
He stopped by a door. “She is in there. Can you find your way back by yourself?”
“I have an uncanny sense of direction.”
He presented me with his Beast Lord face. “Right. I’ll have a compass, chalk, a ball of string, and rations for five days brought to you.”
Ha-ha. “If I get in trouble, I’ll ask that nice blond girl you designated as my babysitter.”
Curran glanced at the young blond shapeshifter who’d discreetly followed us from his quarters. “You’ve been made. You can come wait by the door.”
She walked over and stood by the door.
Curran took my hand and squeezed my fingers.
The shapeshifters froze.
“Later,” he said.
“Later.” I may have had a hell of a lot of baggage, but he was no prize either. Living with him meant living in a glass box.
Curran released my fingers, glanced at the hallway, and raised his voice. “Carry on.”
Suddenly everybody had someplace to be and they really needed to get there.
I opened the door and walked into the cell.
A large rectangular room stretched before me, completely empty except for a loup cage, eight feet tall, with the bars the size of my wrist. The magic was down, or the bars would fluoresce with enchanted silver. Eight support beams extended from the cage’s ceiling and floor, anchoring it to the Keep itself.
The woman sat within the cage, in the same cross-legged pose as the last time I’d seen her. Her spear leaned against the wall, well out of her reach.
I approached the cage and sat cross-legged on the floor. I could’ve covered the floor of the room with all the questions I wanted to ask her. The sixty-four-thousand-dollar question was, would she answer?
The woman opened her eyes. Completely black and impenetrable, like two chunks of coal.
We looked each other over. She had the face of a woman who spent a lot of time outside and laughed often—her pale brown skin was weather-beaten, crow’s feet fanned from her eyes, and her mouth seemed perpetually hiding a sardonic laugh, as if she was convinced she was the only able mind in a world of fools.
“He’s very strong.” An odd accent tinted her voice. “Stubborn and proud, but very strong. He’s a good choice.”
She meant Curran. “What’s your name?”
“Naeemah.”
“Do you really shift into a crocodile?”
She inclined her head—a nod in slow motion.
“Crocodiles are cold-blooded.”
“That is a truth.”
“Most shapeshifters are mammals.”
“That is a truth also.”
“So how does it work?”
Naeemah gave me a wide smile without showing any teeth. “I’m not most shapeshifters.”
Touché.
“Why do you protect me?”
“I’ve told you already: it’s my job. Pay attention.”
“Who hired you?”
Red sparked in Naeemah’s eyes and melted into her anthracite irises. “Let me out of the cage and I will tell you.”
I raised my eyebrows. “How do I know you won’t stab someone in the back?”
Naeemah gave me a patronizing look. “Bring the spear.”
I rose and got the spear. It was about five feet long, with a plain metal head, about nine inches long and close to three inches wide at the base. A tightly wrapped leather cord reinforced the socket, binding it to the shaft so well, the spear head seemed to sprout from the wood.
I raised the spear on the palms of my hands, bringing it to eye level. Bent. Almost as if it had been a branch at some point instead of a wooden pole cut perfectly straight from a larger piece of wood. Heavier than expected and very hard. The texture was odd, too, smooth, polished, and pale, like driftwood. Small black marks peppered the wood, etched into it with heated wire. Birds, lions, wavy lines, geometric figures . . . Hieroglyphs, written sideways on the shaft. Each set of characters was segregated by a horizontal line. Small vertical strokes ran in a ring just before the line, in some places only a few, in others so many they circled the shaft.
The burned marks ended a couple of feet from the spearhead. Interesting.
“Look there.” Naeemah pointed to the last set of hieroglyphs. Her face took on a regal air. She seemed ancient and unapproachable, like a mysterious statue from a long-forgotten age. “That is my name. Next to it is the name of my father. Following it is the name of his mother and then her older brother, and then their father, and their father’s father before him.”
“And these?” I drew my fingers across the short marks.
“Those are the assassins we have taken.” Naeemah sneered. “We don’t kill for profit. Any jackal can do that. We are the hunters of killers. That is what we do.”
I checked the last name. At least three dozen marks, maybe more.
“How old are you?”
“My sons had children before you were born. No more answers. Decide.”
I went to the door and stuck my head out. The blond shapeshifter waited for me in the precise spot Curran told her to stand.
“Do you have a key to the loup cage?”
“Yes, mate.” She pulled the key out and handed it to me.