Page 18 of Snag (Conduit #2)

“ As the weaver wills ,” he says reverently.

He means me. Never mind that in my opinion, it’s the universe doing the actual weaving, generally before each soul is reborn into this plane of existence. I— which is to say, the Conduit— just mess around with the individual threads while on the earthly plane.

I huff belligerently. “I wish.”

A broad grin overtakes his deference. His slightly crooked teeth are white against his dark skin.

His brown eyes are warm, welcoming. I still have no idea what his beast is.

I would have thought a bear, due to his sheer size.

But since he’s an Outcast — a mixed-clan shifter club — he could be an exceedingly rare shifter breed, like Doc Z and Cay.

Or even mythological like Rought and Rath.

“As you say, little goddess.” Grinder chuckles. “We’ll follow wherever you lead.”

I side-eye him for that declaration as well, but let it slide without comment.

Presh scrubs her hands over her face, then steps away from me, as if forcing herself to stand on her own. Her shoulder brushes against DeVille’s arm. He makes a visible effort to not react.

I meet Rought’s gaze and instantly know that DeVille isn’t the only shifter struggling with personal boundaries. The gryphon shifter simply hides it better.

Two surprisingly quiet motorcycles slide around the corner, heading our way. Despite being deliberately muffled, the heavy bikes are clearly powerful and dangerous rides, though neither Outcast biker wears a helmet. Stealth outweighs safety for these shifters, apparently.

“Pepper and Piston,” Grinder says, stepping toward the newcomers. They could be twins, though the female has darker-hair than her sandy-haired brother. Both are sharp-featured and slim, for shifters, at least. “Good. We’re set.”

I throw a look at Rought.

He laughs. “Did you think I’d let you wander around looking for a dire mage without extra backup? ”

“I wasn’t planning on much wandering,” I snap, though without heat. I’m actually having trouble not just grinning at Rought like a lovelorn idiot whenever he so much as glances in my direction. Being so enamored with anyone is a first for me.

At least as far as I remember.

That thought wipes even the hint of a smile from my face.

Right. “Essence trails,” I say brusquely, shoving away the black-and-white echoes of my lost memories that dully reverberate through my mind.

Memories captured in Mack’s photographs and imprinted on my brain, with none of the nuances of the before and after to mitigate them.

“Sometimes it’s about feeling, and sometimes it’s about sight. ”

“Okay.” Presh bobs her head determinedly. “I’m ready.”

I step around her so I’m at her back, completely out of her peripheral vision. Then I hold onto my essence and the essence that radiates from my necklace as tightly as I can. “You can feel … or see … the essence that twines around Grinder, yes?”

Presh takes a deep breath, then closes her eyes.

“Remember what it felt like to walk around the property,” I murmur. “How it felt while we were dancing and you could follow, even anticipate, my moves …”

“Yes …” Presh murmurs. Both of her hands float up in Grinder’s direction.

The burly shifter holds still, not wary but trying to be helpful. Behind him, Pepper and Piston remove their sunglasses in unison, revealing black eyes so dark against the white sclera that they appear to have no pupil.

Everyone’s attention is riveted to Precious.

Except for Rought. He’s watching me .

“Grinder’s essence is substantial,” I say, not needing to reach for it myself to know that. “There’s no question that he is powerful.”

“Deeply rooted,” Presh whispers.

“Yes,” I agree, surprised that the young awry has picked up that much on her first try. But then, she’s known Grinder for a long time. “Stable.”

“Yes.” Presh smiles, quietly pleased.

“Now your brother,” I prompt.

Presh’s hands flare to the sides, palms partly facing upward as she pivots to assess Rought’s essence. “Oh …” she whispers. “This is … different.”

“Yes,” I say, trying to not just gaze at Rought adoringly myself. “Rought is a … presence.”

“With a capital P ?” Rought asks playfully.

“The gryphon?” Presh tilts her head to the side. Thoughtfully, I assume. Not that she’s hearing something I can’t.

I start to elaborate, to prompt Presh to focus on what feels different when reading her brother’s essence, but the descriptive words that want to tumble out — that Rought feels like the sun dancing across my skin on a chilly, windy day, like being cuddled next to a bonfire and gazing up at the endless universe spread across the starlit sky but knowing I’m not alone — won’t be at all helpful for Presh’s assessment.

Still, Presh says, “Starlight …” questioningly. She opens one eye, peeking at me over her shoulder. “Or maybe the … cosmos? Rought feels a little like the intersection point. I’m not … I don’t know how to explain it.”

“He does,” I say. “And the exact words aren’t important because it’s a feeling. Dozens of shapeshifters left residual trails up and down these streets. They will have some commonalities, but they’re all fundamentally unique.”

“Especially the berserkers,” DeVille mutters.

“Exactly,” I say. “But there’s nothing darkly tainted about the shifters’ essence.

Nothing malignant. Nothing that makes you want to clench your teeth, or that runs cold down your back.

And the dire mage’s power will feel different than the berserkers as well.

Though now that I think about it, whatever spell Chains used last night had a lot in common with the corrupted energy the berserkers give off. ”

Presh frowns. “So I’m looking for corrupted energy?”

“No,” I say, “because you probably won’t know it, not until faced with the actual source. You’re looking for a tenor that’s not the shifters. Or mine. Though I won’t have left any trail. I can’t be tracked like that.”

Grinder and Rought share a glance.

Then Grinder clears his throat. “Not to be that guy, but any of us would be able to smell a dire mage from blocks away.”

I offer him a knowing smile. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But the mage has been out and about in Newport this morning while you were cleaning and fixing windows.”

Grinder glances at Rought again, sharp and questioningly.

Pepper and Piston share a similar glance, and I catch a hint of essence shifting between them.

The shifter siblings are telepathic. That, paired with their unusual eye color, and with them being mixed-clan shifters in a pack that occupies territory along a coastline, narrows down their species sharply.

Both are exceedingly rare marine shifters.

Well, rare in that they’re choosing to dwell on land. Likely dolphins.

Rought grimaces. “Seems the dire mage is highly skilled in obfuscation spells. We’ve only picked her up when she’s wanted to be seen.”

Grinder scratches his beard. “But … the possession …” He clears his throat, glancing at Presh and DeVille with concern.

“Yes,” I say, not making the elder shifter elaborate. “Either this dire mage has an unusual skill set, or she’s —”

“Too skilled,” Rought mutters.

“Or …” I continue, slightly more pointedly, “we’re dealing with multiple mages.”

“Motherfucker,” Grinder snarls. “They don’t usually work together, do they?”

“They don’t usually live long enough,” Rought says. “After going dark.”

“Neither do berserkers,” I say mildly. “Usually.”

Silence falls between us. Grinder pulls out his phone and starts texting. Likely checking in with the rest of the Outcast lieutenants— or warning them all, including Pinky.

“Okay,” Presh says determinedly, though her voice remains a much-needed sweetness. “I’m looking for … feeling for energy that doesn’t match the shifters.”

I smile at her. Bellamy’s path is easy to distinguish from the vibrant, natural energy of the shifters. For me, at least. The dire mage’s residual is smudged — oily and weirdly cloying — all around us, as if she’s been walking these streets recently. “I’ll give you a hint, shall I?”

“Toward the beach,” she says, with just a hint of a question threaded through the declaration. “Again?”

“Yes. But to the south this time.”

I step up beside Presh, not touching her but near enough.

She starts off down the block, keeping to the cleared sidewalk.

Rought, Grinder, and DeVille array themselves behind us, near enough to grab us or dart in front of us if needed.

Piston and Pepper start their motorcycles, then begin to navigate an outer perimeter, circling a block ahead, then back around.

Together, we go dire mage hunting.

Though I find myself wondering if there’s an ice-cream place nearby. Actually, the grocery store should have —

“Zaya?” Presh twines her fingers through mine. Her voice is gentle, as it was in the motel room when I was barely functioning. Or rather, functioning just enough to get the young awry to safety.

“I’m with you, Precious. Always.”

“I know. Thank you for letting me come with you.”

I laugh quietly. “With this posse of shifters? It doesn’t get much more secure.”

“And with you,” Presh murmurs reverently.

Just this one time, I don’t brush that whispered benediction away.

I share a glance with Rought over my shoulder and let this feeling merge with the tiny ball of light, of warmth, that’s taken up residence in my chest. Then I ease my hand away from Precious’s hold so her senses aren’t overwhelmed, and I focus back where I know I’m supposed to be. Here in the now .