Page 57 of Love the Way You Lion (Rise of the Resistance #3)

The Cat Makes Her Play

DELILAH

Y esterday, I watched the street. Today, I’m hoping to glimpse her.

Since Marvin told me I was pregnant, I thought long and hard about what kind of care I'll have for this baby. Given my own aberrations and Taurus’ makeup, I knew that a regular OB wouldn’t cut it.

The Company might know everything there is to know about the clones and their creation, but from what I’ve seen so far, they don’t know dick about the extranatural world.

And that’s not something I’m willing to let them figure out on my fucking kid.

Those of us with a little ‘kitchen magick’—as I thought I had before—don’t call it supernatural, paranormal, or any of that garbage.

It’s always been the ‘extranatural’ world in every coven or group that I found.

I suppose the other species that I haven’t met call it the same, but despite repeated requests from everyone that I’ve ever worked with, I’ve met none of them—only magickal folk of the human hybrid category.

I know where to find most of them because of the collection of maps I’ve drawn in my Book of Shadows over the years, but sought none of them out.

Perhaps it is time to change that, but it will have to wait until I get the Resistance community in order.

I’d love to know if the intel I have on all the creatures and species that others claim to have worked with is real. Now is not the time to hunt merfolk or crones or other shifters. I have prey that demands my attention now, and I can’t abandon that task.

Clea is not human.

That much I gathered from the creepy letters and gifts that got left for me every single place that I moved after that night.

There is no way a human, even with strong magick, would have survived that fall.

Despite that, she never approached me again.

Oh, no, she only tortured me psychologically until I felt that nowhere on the planet was safe.

Running from her is how I ended up in a small dive bar off the beaten path in the Midwest. I wouldn’t have strayed so close to home, but the rumors of people disappearing without a trace and reappearing days or weeks later caught my eye.

I’d been watching feeds and ticklers on the web for unusual happenings since the first stalker package, hoping to get ahead of Clea before she found me each time.

Clea always left her mark when she hit a city.

I learned over the years following the incident to watch for an uptick in weird events, particularly in the club scene.

I don’t know why she did any of the things she did outside of stalking me, but I sure as hell knew when it was her.

Unfortunately for me, she usually hid her hijinks until she’d dropped her message off.

I grew tired of her obsession and tired of hearing her name whispered in the circles of the extranormals. If I could figure out which species was selling cloaking devices or forming rips or whatever the hell they were doing in Cincinnati, I could make use of it and get away from her for good.

What I found was a dive bar, a few friends, and nothing more for months.

Sure, I could tell that people were behaving oddly and that a secret lived here, but I couldn’t figure it out.

I went back day after day, charming every local I could until I met Michaela and Dona.

The way they looked at one another all the time, checking to make sure they didn’t say or do the wrong thing, told me they were the key to finding out what in the hell was going on in this place.

Clea didn’t show. I have no idea why, except that something or someone more pressing must have been claiming her time.

Eventually, I wormed my way into the girls’ good graces and received my invite to The Rift. Once I was there, I knew I could move here and get away from Clea for good. I had to figure out how to do it while alerting no one that I was on the run.

I took up the cause of the Resistance and… Voila! I had an instant home.

Knowing all of this, it would be hard to imagine that I’m sitting at this table watching the bookshop I know belongs to Clea, waiting for my chance for anything besides finishing the job I started.

She’s a magickal midwife.

At least, the rumors I’ve monitored ever since emigrating to The Rift for good say that she is.

In fact, they say that she is the best magickal midwife in the nine realms. I don’t know about that.

I’ve only visited two, but I know my sources are not wont to exaggerate.

She’s presided over hundreds of births, according to the stories, from faeries to selkies to demi-gods.

I guess even the devil has a calling .

If I’m going to give birth to a miracle baby born of a magickal shifter and a clone, she’s the person who I need at the birth.

Ain’t life a bitch?

Irony aside, I know I won’t be able to get close enough to her to speak with her unless I get the drop on her.

She’s as much of a fucking genius as I am, and since I figured out her dirty secret, I don’t have the foggiest clue what her powers are outside of the birthing realm.

Clea fell thirty stories and lived—she could be able to fly, be invincible, have regenerative powers, be undead—I just don’t fucking know.

I can’t barge in and demand her services without a background check. Everything I’ve found out online is suspicion, rumor, and unsubstantiated claims. I have to see for myself what she’s packing before I go in unprotected.

So, I wait and I watch—again.

The next day, I decide that I have seen enough.

The bookshop is not merely a bookshop, and Clea has chosen her headquarters well.

People filter in and out all day—far more people than a modest independent bookshop should draw.

They all look normal, but something about the aura of the entire block is off.

I wouldn’t notice it if not for my budding magick, so I doubt any of the human Londoners have ever given it a second thought, even if they go inside.

A quick scouting trip to the roof of a bakery allowed me to use my beast vision at night, and I could make out a lush, leafy miniature rainforest on the roof of her store.

That could not exist in London’s climate without extranormal help.

There appears to be a glass greenhouse and fountain area, so I assume she meets with clients there.

It would give them cover to drop whatever enchantments and glamours they used to stride through the Queen’s capital without drawing suspicion.

It’s stupid that I have to approach this way, but such is life.

I disapparate to that perch again, having witnessed a noticeably short, stubby man enter the store at a brisk pace.

He seemed too round and too awkward to be human, so I believe I may get a glimpse of a species I have yet to see in person.

Could he be a brownie or a gnome? Perhaps a dwarf or an elf?

Straining, I lean forward and drop the kitty face to see if I can make them out as they step out onto the roof. Before I can see what the little man is hiding, my breath catches.

Argus.

That fucking wolf can smell prey for miles.

The rumors online say that Clea won him in a game of cards from Odin.

Another said she had captured a shifter cheating on her and relegated him to wolf form to be her companion as a punishment.

Another tale said that he was a warg, and yet another claimed she’d tamed the Fenrir wolf.

They attributed Argus to everything from a shifter to a were to the pet or enforcer of gods and goddesses.

I knew him when he was a quarter of the size he is now, and he gives Aradia a run for her money.

If Argus is not extranormal, then there is no way he does not have dire wolf blood.

He’s enormous, jet black, and his eyes are as blue as the sea.

He is never leashed, but he wears a collar of trinkets imbued with protection spells suited to Clea’s surroundings.

I saw him rip apart a black bear that charged us in the woods when we were in middle school.

You do not fuck with Argus .

I’m without my familiar, so I can’t let him scent me.

Noting the ring of peacock feathers around his neck, I wonder if that is a coincidence or if Clea has figured out that I am here.

I don’t wait to find out, though, because this turn of events means that I have to go back to the drawing board and plan yet again.

I am not afraid of the Big Bad Wolf, but I don’t want to become his dinner, either.

Time for an alternative approach, Deli.

I nibble on the croissant as I watch the comings and goings.

I’m back with an alternative plan, but I had to come later in the day than I would have preferred.

The extension of my side project is clashing with my community duties, my mate duties, and my work duties.

I can’t be in four places at once, and it annoys the piss out of me.

I also can’t use a spell as a substitute for any of those things, so I’ve opted for technology.

Talia made me promise I’d be back within the next day or so—otherwise, she’s sending the bird after me.

“I don’t know what they are up to, Lily. It has my hackles up, though,” I say, reaching up to adjust the wireless headphones tucked into my ears. “It’s too quiet. The chatter is minimal. We have to be ready.”

A noise distracts me, and I look down, watching Twist skitter under cars and between people as he returns. Looking triumphant, he climbs up onto the table and stands in front of me, holding a piece of paper like a prize. I smile, taking it as I hand him a piece of crusty goodness on my plate .

“Lily, I have to go. I’ll get back to you later.” I hang up without ceremony, knowing that she’s gotten used to it. I open the paper, studying the leaflet with interest before I burst into laughter.

It’s an advertisement for the bookshop, and I’ll be fucked if that bitch didn’t hit the nail on the fucking head. She’s calling it ‘ Destiny ’.

Clea has always had a sharp wit, but this is even more on point than usual. The flier is for a sale on books and gifts, which implies that perhaps she’s selling more than just occult books in there. I pat Twist’s head, letting him know I am pleased, and he chitters in response.

I’m going to have to put him in danger again.

I have to know what she’s hocking in there and what’s on the roof before I can approach.

I can’t step into a store like that, run by that person, and not know every square inch of the place.

She could have enchantments on the products, other casters—or worse—hiding, or even have some traps built into the structure.

No way am I getting suckered into walking over a containment spell.

“I need to send you home to the Maison. I will send a message to Victor before I do. He needs to suit you for surveillance.” The coal-black ferret stands on his back legs, raising a paw as if pumping his fist, and I chuckle.

“That’s the spirit, love. You will be my eyes and ears in the wolf’s den—be invisible. ”

After he chitters a response, I pat his head again before picking up my million-dollar booty phone.

Sending a quick text to Victor, I sigh. While Twist is getting outfitted, I have a trip to make.

I have to see the bird since I haven’t since he and the artist hooked up.

He texted me to check in, and I don’t want him to feel like I’m ignoring him .

“Be careful, darling, and I will return after I complete my mission. Do not take any unnecessary risks—Argus would enjoy eating you for high tea.”

I could swear the animal snorts and shimmers as I disapparate him to my other home. They say that pets take on the personalities of their owners.Taurus is in for a hell of a ride with any animal I bring into our lives. He has enough trouble trying to tame me.

Now to calm the ruffled feathers of a big bird at HQ.