Panther Prowling

  “Seattle’s black. Menolly says power is out everywhere.” I glanced at my phone. “My bars are low. I’m going to go sit in my Jeep and charge my phone for a little bit. I’ll be back after a while, if the wind doesn’t blow me away.”

  I hurried out to my car and slipped into the driver’s seat. Turning on the ignition, I cracked the window. Then, I plugged in my phone, sat back, and watched the storm. The clouds were socked in, but churning as the rain lashed the trees. Gusts were growing stronger—smaller branches were starting to rip away from the trunks and sail across the yard. A flash lit up the sky, neon blue and illuminating the night, and immediately, hail stones pelted my windshield, the size of quarters.

  “Oh, hell.” I was stuck. I could make a run for the house but I’d get bombarded by extremely painful ice bullets. And I’d probably end up falling—slipping on them. As my phone rang, I flipped on the windshield wipers, trying to keep the ice from building up on the windshield.

  “It’s Menolly. Digger’s going to stay here with me for now. But the streets are already flooding and power lines are down everywhere. We may end up camping out on the kitchen level—the city didn’t think urban flooding would be such a big deal, but apparently the sewer drains are overloaded already.”

  “Cripes. Be careful, and if you go out, watch out for the downed lines. Electricity can torch you—and if your clothes caught fire—”

  “I know. I’d turn into a torch, and so much dust and ashes. Is this supposed to get much worse?” She sounded exasperated.

  “Yeah, a lot. I’m in my Jeep, charging my phone. Branches are starting to fly off the trees, and hail is going to dent my paint job. If you can’t make it home, you’ll have to chance the safe room come morning. Shade’s back.” I told her what had happened and what he’d told us about the Stradolan. “Now we know more about them, at least. But I wish it hadn’t happened this way.”

  “It sucks, but he’s alive and he’s not . . . well, he was harmed but he’s not going to die from this.”

  “That’s essentially what Camille said.” I didn’t want to tell her that Camille had also used her as a comparison.

  “She was right. We’ll find a way to help him through this, but I’m just glad there wasn’t any worse damage.”

  A branch went skittering past me, nearly missing my windshield. The hail let up but now a steady hail of twigs and debris were beginning to fly. My phone was charged partway, and I decided that it might be prudent to go back inside.

  “Listen, I’m going to head back in the house. Things are starting to get a little wild here. Call in a bit to let us know how you’re doing.” As I unplugged my phone and went to turn off the ignition, I thought I heard something outside my door, but couldn’t see anything out there but blowing branches.

  Of course you’re hearing things, I thought. The wind’s whipping at thirty-five miles an hour at a bare minimum.

  As I stepped out of the car, a gust of wind blasted me from the side and I leaned against the side of the Jeep. A branch came whirling down from one of the firs to the left of me, and the next thing I knew, it hit me square in the head. I staggered away from the car, but all I could see was a whirl of colors as pain stabbed through my forehead. The next moment, my knees hit the ground, and the world went dark.

  Chapter 16

  “Delilah? Delilah . . . can you hear me?” The voice seemed to echo from a long distance and I tried to focus. I couldn’t see anything, and there appeared to be some sort of cloth over my eyes. I struggled to sit up, but a wave of pain sent me reeling back and I stopped fighting.

  “Delilah? Are you awake?” The voice came more into focus and I recognized it. Camille.

  “Urmf . . .” It was the best I could muster. I flailed, trying to push the cloth off my face, but a hand grabbed my arm and forced it back down. I ran my fingers over the cloth beneath me. I wasn’t sure what I was lying on, but I suspected the sofa.

  “We have an ice pack on your forehead. Leave it alone.” Shade’s voice was low and soothing and I reached out, wanting his hand.

  “What . . . How . . .” I tried to find the words to ask how I’d gotten there, and where I was, but my thoughts were too fuzzy. But Shade took my hand then—I knew his fingers by touch—and that calmed me down.

  “You got hit by a flying branch. The storm is raging. You’ve been out for about an hour, but it looks like the bump on your head was the only damage you took. It won’t require stitches, but you’re going to have one hell of a bruise.”

  As he spoke, something landed across the roof, very loudly, then skittered along the shingles. The howl of the wind echoed through the window. It moaned like a Bean Sidhe, sending a chill down my back.

  Managing to find my voice, I pulled the cloth off my eyes and whispered, “Where am I? Prop me up?”

  Someone had stuffed pillows behind my back—in the dim light of the candle’s glow, I couldn’t tell who it was. But I could see Shade sitting next to me, and Camille’s face came into focus. She was leaning on the back of the sofa.

  “You’re in the living room. We didn’t want to chance anybody going upstairs in case a tree decides to topple through the roof. The storm’s as bad as they were predicting. Anything outside that isn’t nailed down is probably down in Birchwater Pond by now.”

  Camille was good at sounding normal when things weren’t, but even I could tell that something else had happened. The inflection in her voice was a little too happy for the circumstances.

  As the room came more into focus, I realized I had one hell of a headache. “I feel like I got run over by a truck.”

  “The branch that hit you was lying beside you—it was four feet long. You’re lucky it didn’t split your skull open.” Shade motioned to somebody, and as they rested an ice-cold compress over my forehead, a few seconds of intense pain hit, then a wave of relief swept over me as the chilling moisture numbed the pain. “I don’t know if you’re going to end up with a black eye or not—it’s looking like that might be the case—but your temple is nice and purple.”

  I muttered an “Oh thanks” and closed my eyes.

  “Do you feel nauseated?” Morio loomed overhead and I realize he’d pressed the compress to my head.

  I frowned. Did I? It was hard to focus on anything except the pain in my head. “No, I don’t think so. Woozy, yes, and shaky but . . .” I started to shake my head but that was an extremely bad idea. “No, no nausea. In fact, I could use something to drink.”

  “I’ll get her something.” Trillian’s voice echoed from my right, near my feet. The flickering shadows from the candle flames weren’t strong enough to illuminate much in the room.

  As the ice eased the pain, I began to feel a bit more confident, and with Shade’s help, I sat fully upright. Camille stuffed more pillows behind me. I reached up to feel the compress. It was already growing warm. Smoky, who was sitting in a chair near my head, took it and—as I watched—breathed a fine layer of mist on it. White dragons and silver dragons could do that—breathe frost and fog and ice. He handed it back to me and it was nice and cold again. I gratefully pressed it back to my forehead.

  Trillian returned then with a water bottle. I took a big swig. It was lemon water. “The lemon will be good for you.” He also handed me a couple of cookies. “For energy.”

  I managed a half-grin and nibbled on the chocolate chips, even though I really didn’t have any appetite. But the minute I tasted them, I realized that the hunger was there, I just hadn’t been feeling it. I wolfed them down.

  “So . . . bad storm. Did Menolly call back? Do you have my phone?”

  “Your sister is still down at the Wayfarer. She and Digger have been out piling sandbags against the front. She’s okay, though. She checked in about twenty minutes ago. Nerissa and Chase are still down at the station—they have generators there. And Trillian went down to check on Iris, Bruce, and the babies.
They’re fine.” Shade looked like he wanted to say more, but then closed his mouth.

  “What? What happened? I can see it in both your and Camille’s eyes. What went on while I was out cold?” When they didn’t answer, I started to push my way off the sofa. “I’ll get up if you don’t tell me.”

  Camille let out a sigh. “Daniel called. He thought somebody was outside of his apartment. The alarm system was failing—a massive power surge spiked his condo complex and seems to have shorted the security system. Unfortunately, we got cut off. We haven’t heard from him since then, and we don’t know if his phone just lost power or what.”

  “What are we waiting for? We have to go check on him.” I struggled to stand, but Shade pushed me back on the sofa.

  “You aren’t going anywhere.”

  “I have to—we can’t leave Daniel in the lurch. I’m okay.”

  “You seriously think we should go driving through the storm? Winds are a steady fifty to sixty miles an hour. They’ve closed the 520 Floating Bridge so they could open the draw spans. Trees are down all over the place, power is out in the entire Seattle area and the Greater Eastside. Lines are down and hot everywhere. It’s dangerous out there, Delilah.” Morio crossed his arms, shaking his head. “We’re risking our lives if we step out that door.”

  My head was rapidly clearing, even though the pain remained. I cautiously finished the rest of the water, then pushed myself to my feet. Shade knew better than to try to stop me this time—instead he offered me his arm and I balanced on it as I stood. After a few seconds, I knew I wasn’t going to topple over, and let go.

  “Don’t you think we owe it to him to try? He’s our cousin.” I turned to Camille. “What if Aslo is after him? What if Jay Miles sent Aslo back to Daniel’s for some reason?”

  She looked half convinced. “You might be right.”

  “Why would he go back to Daniel’s, though? Daniel stole the sword in the first place. Why give him another crack at it? If they have it, that is?”

  But my instincts were urging me to go help him. I tried to puzzle through the headache. Why would Aslo and Jay return for Daniel? The ghosts wanted to keep Einar from emerging. So that meant going back to Leif, not Daniel. They hadn’t urged Daniel to get it back. They’d urged us to find it. They just picked Daniel’s house as the venue for their appearance.

  “Wait! I think I’m on to something.” The pieces were beginning to fall into place. “Daniel . . . he was affected by the sword—remember, he said he thought it was making him want to rampage through town with it? That it sparked off a flashback from when he was in the ISA?”

  Camille nodded. “Yeah . . . so how does that play into events?”

  “Einar needs a host—a host he can control, if he’s to exit the sword and return to life. He has to have a living body to possess. But Jay wouldn’t be a good host—he wants to control the king who controls the army. He wouldn’t want Einar to control him. And Aslo . . . he works for Jay, but would a necromancer want a toadie of his having that much power? However, Daniel . . . The sword—Einar—liked Daniel and was able to influence him. Ten to one, Jay knows this. What if they’re—”

  “Looking to force Daniel into being an unwilling host for Einar! You have to be right on this. Jay figured out that Einar wants Daniel.” Camille whirled to face Smoky. “Delilah’s right, we have to go over there now. We can’t let that happen.”

  The others now looked alarmed, which is precisely what I’d hoped for. “We go, then?”

  Nodding slowly, Camille stood. “We get dressed and head out. And hope to hell we can navigate this storm. Delilah, are you sure you’re up to coming with us?”

  “You can’t make me stay home so don’t even try.” I frowned. “Shade, can you bring me some clean, warm clothes?”

  He nodded, heading for the stairs.

  Camille followed him. She was wearing a bathrobe and nightgown. “I’ll change, too.”

  Twenty minutes later, we were dressed and out the door. We left Shade and Roz home to watch over Hanna, Maggie, and the house. Meanwhile, Smoky, Trillian, Morio, Vanzir, Camille, and I all piled into Morio’s SUV. It was safer to take just one car. If the word safe could even be implied.

  As we stepped onto the porch, a blast of wind busted past and I grimaced as the cold sting of rain hit against the bump on my head. The storm was raging, and it sounded like it was getting worse. Seattle wasn’t a target for hurricanes, but occasionally we hit the lower levels of gale-force winds, and this was setting up to vie for the record.

  Without the lights in our house, or the lights along the drive, it was so dark we could barely see the house. We carried flashlights—and our weapons—but even the beam of a flashlight wasn’t strong enough to thoroughly pierce the darkness. Camille and I inched down the stairs, holding on to the rails. The constant howling from the wind was loud enough to disorient me, and it took me a moment to figure out when I was on the actual ground.

  Morio held out his keychain and the SUV’s lights blinked as he unlocked the doors. We cautiously made our way over to the vehicle, and—once there—slid into the car. Morio and Camille sat in front. Smoky and I sat in the middle seat. And Vanzir and Trillian took the rear.

  “Hold on and keep your eyes open. There aren’t going to be any streetlights on, due to the power outages, so I’m taking this slow and easy.” Morio wasn’t always so cautious on the road, but tonight, he inched down the driveway, and every time anybody started to say something, he hushed them.

  “I need to focus, people. We don’t want to get caught in a bunch of downed power lines. That’s just asking for trouble.”

  We quieted down. As we reached the main street, Victoria Road, Morio turned left. “We have to go around Lake Washington to I-405, then south to Bellevue. With the 520 Floating Bridge closed, there’s really no other option. I don’t want to try to drive all the way through a blacked-out Seattle to the I-90 bridge. That would be a recipe for disaster.”

  He managed to navigate out of Belles-Faire, to 205th Street, which would run a long stretch before we had to turn. It was a heavily wooded road, which meant we had a good chance of running across a downed tree, but for now it was our best bet.

  The wind was blasting against the sides of the car, a streaming whistle as we cautiously ate through the miles. Morio turned on his high beams so we would have the best chance of seeing danger before we got to it. All the while, we kept our mouths shut, giving him the space in which to focus on driving. The streets were a hazard of littered branches and tree limbs, and Morio swerved time and again to miss them.

  Eventually, we came to a T-junction. To our left was Cedar Way. To the right, the street ran as 37th Avenue NE. Morio turned right.

  “We follow this to 40th Place NE, then shortly after shift on to 197th.” Morio had the ability to look at a map and remember the directions almost by rote.

  The road remained a two-lane street, curving through the heavily forested suburb. Here and there, we would see one house with lights—which told us just who owned generators out here. A short while later, we came to a fork in the road, where we turned to the left onto 197th.

  Our luck continued to hold as we sped along, and 197th turned into 201st Place. Around the Puget Sound area, it seemed that city planners had no problem with naming the same street two different names, depending on whatever whims befell them. So streets turned into avenues turned into places.

  At yet another junction, we bent to the south on 55th Avenue NE, then onto a street that made me giggle. We were on Cat’s Whiskers Road, which would finally take us to Highway 522 and eventually lead us to I-405. As we approached Highway 522, however, a noise thundered in back of us and the road shook. Morio pulled over to the shoulder of the street.

  “What’s going on?”

  Trillian ducked out of the car, then right back in. “We just missed being creamed by a huge freaking fir tr
ee. It’s covering the road. We’re not going home the same way, I tell you that much. A minute later, and we would be under that trunk.”

  I sobered, suddenly realizing just how dangerous this storm really was. “Get a move on. If any other trees around here have unstable roots, we don’t want to hang around to find out.”

  He nodded and eased back onto the road. Five minutes later, he suddenly swerved hard to the right, and the wheels screeched as he struggled to bring the car out of a skid over the watery pavement.

  I glanced out of my window as we passed to see another tree lying halfway across the road. Morio had managed to miss it, but we hadn’t had much room to spare. I caught my breath and whispered a prayer to Bast that she get us there safely.

  Another two near misses and we reached the interchange, where Morio took the exit south, and we were on the freeway. It was nearly empty, which was good, and it was also relatively safe, given the circumstances. The lights were out there, too, but at least we were on a wide swath of asphalt and there weren’t many other cars around to worry about.

  We managed to find our turnoff and eased into Bellevue, where the streets looked like a war zone. They were covered with branches, and the wind was even worse over here on the East Side. Morio had to bypass the route we would have normally taken to Daniel’s—we got halfway down the street and a huge old cedar lay stretched out across it, sparking power lines everywhere. Camille leaned forward.

  “Smoke. I think one of the power lines is starting a fire on the tree.” She called 911 and reported it. “We should get out of here before the fire engines block off the street.”

  Morio cautiously backed into one of the driveways, turning around, and we headed back the way we came. We managed to swing out just before the fire trucks came roaring down, hanging a right onto the street we’d just vacated. We watched them speed into the dark night.

  After two more blocked streets we finally found a way through to the Lakefront Village Condo Community. The security guard was keeping watch as best as he could, given the security systems were off-line. He checked our names on the printed-out list of acceptable visitors and waved us in, then locked the door behind us. He handed us a flashlight and pointed to the stairs. The elevators were out of commission, of course.