Mistress of the Stone (20 page)

The golden girl stayed with her lover for as long as she dared, but ghosts have little concept of time and what seemed like a few minutes was in fact many hours long. When they finally kissed goodbye, it was midday. She faded from his grasp, the memory of his kiss still on her lips.

She rematerialized at the werewolf village.

The ragtag cluster of huts was nearly empty. A little girl ran up to her, turning half wolf when she realized who she was.

“Miss Sibyl,” she cried. “Xander isn’t here.”

“I know, sweetness,” she cooed softly. “I came to speak to Jovis.”

“He’s not here either. Most of the pack went to Sanctuary, looking for Xander.”

Sibyl turned toward to the north. The wolves were welcome at Sanctuary, but only two at a time, in the event they came in anger. Perhaps like today.

“Thank you, darlin’. I’ll be on my way then.”

It was then the little girl’s mother came out of her hut. This was Sophie, one of the beta she-wolves whose job it was to look after the pack’s children. Sophie crooked a finger at her child to come to her, then blessed herself with the sign of the cross when she looked up and saw Sibyl.

The little girl returned to her human form, no longer afraid, and frolicked amidst the mud puddles and grasshoppers. She waved back at Sibyl before skipping back to her mother. “If you take the monkey path you might run into them, Miss.”

The mother grabbed the little girl’s arm and pushed her through the doorway. Sophie lingered at the doorway. “If you’ve come looking for your brother, he’s not here.”

“I’ve come to see the pack leader, but it seems we missed each other.”

“Aye, you did. They’ve been gone all day, but we expect them back any time now. Jovis said his pilgrimage was a courtesy call.”

Sibyl doubted that very much. “Thank you, Sophie.”

The woman nodded in farewell. She turned to walk back into her house then paused. “Sibyl.” She looked around to see if anyone else was listening. “They know the scion is here. They know your brother is in league with her.” Her voice fell low. “Tell him not to do anything stupid. The pack…they won’t allow it.”

“I understand, Sophie. Thank you again.”

Sibyl let her form fade away, leaving a trace of mist where her body once stood. It agitated the wolves when she did that. But she needed to keep them off balance, just in case they decided to move against her brother.

Xander had done a fine job antagonizing and dividing the pack. Now it was left to her to keep them from trying to kill him. They needed to know he had a powerful ally in his sister, even if she was dead.

She thought about going back to Sanctuary, but reconsidered. Sophie was right. They’d be back soon. She’d try to catch them on the trail instead.

It didn’t take her long to find the first wolf. Cwen.

Cwen traveled in human form, picking ackee berries from a nearby tree when Sibyl made her appearance.

Startled, Cwen tumbled from the tree after catching sight of Sibyl floating in mid air. The alpha gasped for breath, choking on the berries she had swallowed during the fall.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Don’t do that, Sibyl!” She braced herself on all fours before she stood up.

“Sorry, Cwen. I’ve not found a way yet to appear without upsetting everyone.”

“Aye, well, shake a bush next time so I can at least get some warning.” Her right palm was bright red from crushed berries. She spat out the remains then wiped her hand against the wide leaves of a bush. “So what brings the sea witch out to visit us?”

Sibyl groaned. “I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”

“Why? There’s no shame in it. Any ship captain in his right mind would pay handsomely to have your sort on board.” She licked the remains of the juice off her fingers. “It’s too bad you’re stuck on the island.”

Sibyl couldn’t help but notice a coarse satisfaction on Cwen’s face. The woman was a bully, and a spiteful one at that. Moreover, she had eyes for Sibyl’s brother. Cwen was an ambitious woman, and she had placed her sights on Xander as the best candidate for the next pack leader.

Pleased with her taunt, Cwen softened her stance. “So what is it, Sibyl? What brings you to our village? Surely not your wayward brother.”

“Indeed he does. I hoped to meet with Jovis and talk to him about taking Xander back into the pack.”

Cwen barked a laugh. “That won’t happen now. Not without a battle. I can assure you of that.”

Sibyl felt her insides quake. What had Xander done now? “Why? What happened?”

The she-wolf was a big woman, and as handsome as any man would want. But she was also intimidating, even to a ghost. Cwen took her pointing finger and let the nail turn into a claw, sharpening it against a nearby tree.

“The whole island knows that the witch’s scion is here. Your fool brother thinks he can keep her from the pack.”

“Xander suffered to bring her here. He was badly wounded.”

“Well, he looked pretty healthy to me. He challenged Jovis.”

Sibyl cupped her mouth. “No.”

“Don’t worry. It didn’t get serious. Jovis doesn’t have the bollocks to get too far over his head. He wants to make sure he dies of old age in his bed.”

“Listen to me, Cwen.” Sibyl reached out and touched the she-wolf on the forearm. She wasn’t particularly fond of Cwen, but she did respect her. Perhaps she could make Jovis see reason through the alpha female. “In my cards, I saw that Xander stood in mortal danger. If I promise you I won’t let him use Luísa or the stone for my sake, will you rally the pack? Will you protect him?”

“Xander doesn’t need our protection. He does well enough on his own.”

“I know you want him, Cwen. I know you care for him. And you two belong together.” She lied. Sibyl hated the idea of having the she-wolf as a sister-in-law. But it was either Cwen or a dead brother.

“We do indeed, but your love-struck brother prefers the little pirate queen. The bastard even admitted to mating with her.”

Sibyl quirked a brow at this new piece of information. Apparently it didn’t take her brother long to heal if he shagged the
Portuguesa
so soon.

“Men.” Sibyl huffed. “What do they know? Leave it to me, Cwen. I’ll see that he chooses you. It’s the right choice. Anyone can see that.”

A prideful look of satisfaction crossed Cwen’s face. “I know it and you know it. But you know your brother. He’s hard to reason with.”

“He’ll reason with me. Xander abides by my counsel. I beg you, Cwen. My foolish brother doesn’t realize the danger he’s in. He’ll die without your help.”

Cwen’s expression shifted. They weren’t alone. She darted a look behind her then pulled Sibyl further into the bush. “The pack’s coming.” She looked down at Sibyl as if she were eying a small mouse. “If Xander wants the pack behind him, all he has to do is wrest it from Jovis. The pack needs to be strong again.” Her grip tightened on Sibyl’s wrist. “It needs to be free. I’ve no wish to keep you from your peace, Sibyl, but if it’s a choice between free will for my tribe or your eternal rest, I will side with the wolves. If Xander is smart, he’ll do the same.”

“He’s stubborn, but I know I can sway his heart.”

“You’re wrong, Sibyl. Xander will never rest until you do. He loves you too much. And that will be his undoing.”

“Give me a chance to prove it, Cwen. I can change his mind.”

“Even if you did, what of Saint-Sauveur? You’ll need more than the wolf pack to stop him from taking over. Already, he’s enlisted the werehyenas and the man-bats. He’s become too powerful for us to fight alone.”

“Not more powerful than the Sorceress.”

“Aye, but Izabel doesn’t trouble herself with the business of the were-tribes. I can’t even remember the last time she granted an audience to anyone outside her guards.”

“The Sorceress is a practical woman. And a practical woman has her price. The Oracle will tell me what she wants most. And I will get it for her.”

“Before the blood moon?”

“Aye. It must be so.”

“Sibyl, I’ve always thought of you as a fair bit smarter than your wandering brother, but I fear you underestimate Saint-Sauveur. He’s a man without limits.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Cwen. I know exactly where Luc’s shortcomings are—I know them better than anyone.”

She vanished once more, leaving nothing but a slack-jawed she-wolf in her wake.

She’d ask the Oracle for the answers she needed. Often cruel and indifferent, the Oracle doled its answers sparingly. It was a magic older than the Sorceress herself, and it spoke to the moon alone. Today, she hoped, it would speak to her.

Chapter Eighteen

Sibyl willed herself to the beachhead where the Oracle had lived for hundreds of years. No ancestor could remember when the great stone shrine didn’t exist on the island. It was as if the mountain herself gave birth to it.

The altar to the Oracle was a table hewn from one solid piece of stone; behind it a stone monolith kept vigil. Ancient runes carved the lintel, but no creature living or dead could read them.

The chisel marks had long worn away, its edges soft and rounded. Each block fitted so tightly, even a leaf could not penetrate it. Gruesome faces carved into the stone kept all but the most desperate away.

The old people said that the faces belonged to those who dared to ask the Oracle for counsel. The price for its favor had cost the supplicant’s soul.

Sibyl materialized several feet from the altar. Although she had visited the shrine many times, she took a care in showing every reverence in case the old tales proved true. She wanted no enemy in the Oracle, a magic too old to be denied or offended.

The gray stone, assaulted by the sea on one side and the encroaching jungle on the other, stood as a sentinel, a mute observer of all that had passed on this island. In front of the shrine sat a worn stone pedestal where petitioners knelt and asked their questions. Only on their knees would they be able to see the mouth of the Oracle, a black maw inset at the underside of the altar.

Dark and seductive, it drew in each petitioner like a moth to a torch. Total surrender was the coin for the Oracle’s advice.
 

According to legend, the supplicant’s hands had to be placed on the lips of the Oracle. But there was no guarantee of deliverance or succor. In a bitter mood, the fires of hell could roar out of its mouth and roast you alive.

No one in living memory had ever asked the Oracle for its counsel. But scorch marks trailed from its gaping black maw and bits of glass and clay fused to the stone pad in front of it. Someone had asked for favor once—and been denied.

Sibyl approached cautiously. Just because she was a ghost didn’t mean she could afford to be careless.

The sea seemed quiet today and in the distance a ship bobbed at anchor. It wasn’t the
Vengeance
. This ship was much smaller and sailed with fewer cannons. And it listed a bit, though still afloat. It sat too far away to make out her colors, lying flat against the mast, but she had the bearing of a pirate ship, marked by the leanness of its hull and the wide cannon ports.

It was rumored the
Coral
sailed nearby, looking for her stolen captain. Hapless fools. They should have never come. No matter what happened, Luísa was lost to them.

Sibyl would have warned them, but her soul remained locked on this island. She couldn’t venture any farther out than the beach.

She turned her attention to the Oracle. Maybe this was a bad idea, but she couldn’t stop now. Xander was in trouble. If her cards told true, she could lose him forever.

With head bowed, she prayed. She prayed to God, to the four winds and to the cruel stone in front of her. Her body rocked on trembling knees though she tried to stay still. Her knotted belt popped against her thigh in time with her swaying.

“Oracle, tell me how to gain the Sorceress’s help. What price will she ask of me for my brother’s safety?” She bent her head and waited, hoping that hell’s fire wouldn’t finish off what was left of her.

Silence.
Perhaps the Oracle died long ago, or perhaps it had no interest in her plight. She was about to get up when a startled voice cried out to her.

“Sibyl! No!”

She turned to find Luc Saint-Sauveur. The devil take him! Must he haunt her even after her death?

Saint-Sauveur raced toward her, his feet splashing soft sand in his wake. What did the fool want now? His men waddled several yards behind him, all pushing great barrows of ship’s stores. Even though Luc rushed toward her, the others held back. They had the uncommon good sense to respect the dead and not cross paths with a ghost—especially a ghost who hated their master with an unquenchable passion.

Saint-Sauveur took another step toward her, and Sibyl took one step back.

“Stay away from me, Luc.”

“
Chere
…Sibyl, what are you doing here? This is a cursed place.”

“And I am a cursed soul.”

“No, beloved.”

She pumped a fist at him.”Stop calling me that. There is no love between us. There never was.”

Saint-Sauveur’s face turned muddy. “No,
mon amour
. I suppose you prefer the cold touch of —”