The Darkness in Dreams (Enforcer's Legacy, #1)(11)

“Do you remember your fascination with ancient myth?”

The conversations late into the night, the philosophical ramblings which Marge enjoyed. Lexi indulged her friend but was honest enough to admit her own curiosity. She found the stories about magical beings and immortal wars more fascinating than real life, especially the Wandjina stories, the origin myths from Australia about warriors who were both animals and men, created eons ago.

“What did you like best about the Wandjina stories?” Marge asked.

Lexi shrugged. “I liked the idea of men shifting into animals I guess, I don’t really know why.”

“What if the Wandjina stories were true?”

Silence all around. Eyes, watching every movement, waiting for a reaction while male bodies remained ready and relaxed. Lexi realized her migraine was back, pinging behind her right eye and making it difficult to focus.

“I’m not sure where you’re going with this, Marge.”

“I’m telling you a simple truth. Myth can be based upon fact, and fact exists.”

“Those myths are thousands of years old.”

“That doesn't make the underlying source less real.”

“You’re telling me you think the ability to shift into different shapes actually exists?”

“For some, yes,” Marge said evenly. “I’ve watched men do it, shift into another creature and then shift back again.”

Lexi set down her glass and stood, walked away from the table until she was in the sun. Blond hair spilled around her shoulders, the pale ends littered with grass from when she’d been hard on the ground. The impressions of her hip, her shoulder, were still visible in the sand. That had to tell her something if she wanted to think about it.

Behind her, the rustle of cloth as Marge moved. The chink of china as a glass brushed against a plate.

“Come back and sit down,” Marge said. “It’s hot in the sun.”

“I’m not sure I can do that.”

“I understand this must feel strange to you.”

“It’s not in the normal realm of experience,” agreed Lexi.

“Unless you consider your own paranormal talent. Some would argue your ability to see residual earth memories couldn’t possibly exist—because such things are beyond their experience. But you know it’s real and post-cognition seems quite normal from your perspective.”

“I know, Marge.” This was her friend, who hadn’t doubted when she learned of Lexi’s sensitivities. “I’m sure you’re trying to make a point and I’m being rude about it.” But she didn’t sit down.

“I want to tell you a story,” Marge said. “And I want you to reserve judgment until I’m finished. Will you promise?”

“No.”

“Relax. It’s a love story. You like those.”

“Not particularly.”

“You’ll want to hear this one, though. It’s one of my favorites.”

Of course it was. And it probably involved Robbie.

There was stubborn, and there was foolish. Lexi was without allies, in the middle of a wilderness, and the keys to the only vehicle in sight were not in her possession.

She crossed her arms and walked with jerky movements to rejoin the group around the table. It wasn’t until she sat down that Lexi realized her action for what it was: a defensive gesture that would not protect her once the secrets were revealed.





CHAPTER 6





At first no one spoke. There was only the vast landscape and the restless, whispering wind. The tang of the wine blunted scents of sage mixed with dust. Arsen’s campfire had gone out. There was nothing to look at but olive-drab terrain. Rugged, unforgiving.

Isolated.

Marge launched into her story.

“Did you know there are tribes living in the Amazon that no one has ever seen? Scientists know they’re there. We have photo-evidence from satellites, but they manage to live completely out of sight.”

Lexi noticed how Robbie was relaxed in his chair, studying the horizon while Arsen was staring at the weeds near his feet. They were both paying attention to every word.

“There are others living just as invisibly,” the woman continued. “Early cultures thought they were Gods. They thought they were immortal. They stumbled upon our little planet and found it to their liking. They thrived, began to interact with humans. But everything that lives can be killed. When a ruling member of this immortal society was murdered, the Calata—that’s what they call themselves—realized the need for self-protection. Since some in their rank were alchemists, they used their knowledge to create a class of warriors—perhaps using the Wandjina story as a template. They gave these half-human, half-immortal warriors the ability to change their forms. They could fight as either men or animals, and from what I understand, it was very efficient.”

“So, this isn’t the ‘Gods come down from Olympus’ version?”

“No,” the woman said quietly, “but it has everything else you’d expect from a myth—including the tragic ending.”

Lexi had been reaching for her glass of wine when Marge looked in Christan’s direction. Now she was looking back and Lexi set her wineglass down on the table, a little surprised she didn’t break the fragile stem.