Tarnished Prophecy: Shifter Paranormal Romance (Soul Dance Book 3) Read online

  Not insurmountable. I can break in.

  She winced. Stealing a few Reichsmarks from the gadjo paled in comparison with what she had in mind, but she had no choice. Her striped prison suit had to go, and it was too cold to be naked. Never mind the type of attention that would garner.

  A quarter mile to the east brought her to a lane of shuttered women’s dress shops. Most were multi-story, which no doubt meant the proprietors slept upstairs. Toward the end of the street, a door opened, and a buxom, blonde woman swathed in gingham and a white apron bustled out, leaving the door ajar behind her.

  If it wasn’t an opportunity, Ilona had never seen one. She hurried up the steps and inside a cozy room lined with samples. Except they were one of a kind. The sharp-eyed woman who’d just left—maybe to go to market—would notice if anything hanging from the hooks adorning the room were missing.

  A curtained alcove was inset on the rear wall. She hustled through it, hoping to find more clothing. After all, this place had to have stock to sell beyond the display samples. Her heart pounded so hard, she expected to hear footsteps clattering down the stairs demanding to know what was going on, but silence reigned from the house’s upper levels. Piles of clothing scattered through the back room. Exactly what she needed.

  Without stopping to check sizes, she scooped a woolen skirt, wool tunic, cotton shirt, and thick jacket beneath one arm. A stack of sturdy socks beckoned, so she took a pair of them too and extended her invisibility illusion to cover everything.

  She’d just moved beyond the curtain, intent on the door, when the woman returned carting a bucket that smelled heavenly. Fresh milk. Meant a cow was nearby. Her mouth watered, but she froze in place willing the woman to move back upstairs with her pail. She’d obviously procured the milk for breakfast.

  So far, the goddess had shielded Ilona from harm, but she wasn’t under any illusions. The Nazis offered generous bounties for the return of escaped prisoners. This shop didn’t look prosperous enough for its owner to turn down a hundred Reichsmarks.

  The woman crossed the shop, moving carefully to keep milk from sloshing onto her shiny, wooden floor. Ilona would have employed a small spell to speed her on her way, but she needed to conserve her magic. It wouldn’t last forever.

  The woman stopped near the curtain, her nostrils flaring. She made a face, as if she’d smelled something putrid. Ilona clamped her teeth together to keep them from clanking against each other and giving her away. She could shield her visual presence, but not her stench. She hadn’t had a bath since the Nazis captured her. Her nose had adapted, but she must be ripe as rotten cheese.

  “Piotr,” the woman yelled.

  “Yes, Momma.” A child’s voice floated down the stairs.

  “Get the mop, bucket, and lye soap. It stinks in here. Must be that smelly customer we had yesterday, although she didn’t seem to be quite that rank while she was in here.”

  “Before breakfast?” the child inquired.

  “Yes, before breakfast.” The woman sounded annoyed. “It will take me time to cook something and time for the floor to dry. No reason they can’t happen together.”

  Ilona edged toward the door, taking care to be silent and praying a squeaky floorboard wouldn’t give her away. The woman had closed the door, but if she’d just start up the stairs, her heavy tread would hide the snick of the latch when Ilona let herself out.

  Sighing and muttering in German, the woman disappeared behind the curtain, pail still in hand. Before her son could appear with the mop and bucket, Ilona let herself out deploying still more magic to dampen the noise of the latch. Milk would have been wonderful, but she didn’t have time to hunt down the cow.

  She felt lightheaded from all the power sluicing through her, but ran anyway, picking a direct route that would lead out of town. A quarter hour later, staggering and panting, she cleared Dachau and hunted for something, anything, that would hide her from prying eyes for long enough to change clothes.

  A small stream cascaded down a muddy hillside before vanishing into a thicket of bushes and trees. With the last of her fading energy, she staggered up the hill choked with a blanket of leaves and crisscrossing tree limbs. Her feet ached in their ill-fitting prison shoes, and her arm clutching the stolen clothing cramped.

  Once she moved beyond sight of the road, she loosed her magic. Not having to maintain invisibility shored up her flagging strength, but not by much. Ilona worked her way through a slight opening in the vegetation and stopped in a grove of oak trees. The stream cut through them, which meant she could bathe. Maybe next time she stole something, her reek wouldn’t almost be her undoing.

  If she hadn’t been so exhausted, she’d have whooped aloud. She was free. She’d pulled it off against daunting odds. Locating a dry spot, she piled her new clothing atop it and stripped off her stinking prison suit. It would be better if she could find a place to hide it, but that wasn’t likely. When she was ready to leave, she’d wad it up and bury it beneath the thick carpet of leaves and debris.

  Unbuckling her shoes, she waded into the creek. Her teeth chattered from the cold, but she squatted in the water and washed weeks of grit and grime from her body. Even though she was beyond cold, she tilted her head until her hair was immersed and scrubbed her scalp with sand from the creek bottom, rinsing it well. Once she was as clean as she could get absent soap and shampoo, she moved upstream and drank her fill. Food would have to wait until her power wasn’t as depleted. She could lure small game—mice and suchlike—but not until she’d rested.

  She should have escaped right after they’d captured her. Today proved she could have, but fear had held her back. No more. She couldn’t eradicate her fears, but she was done giving in to them.

  Ilona made her way to where she’d left her clothes, gratified no one had come anywhere close while she bathed. She hadn’t seen any human tracks on her way up the hill, but it paid to be cautious.

  She aimed to remain free. Not an easy task, but one she was prepared to die for. As she wrapped herself in the clothing, she savored the finely woven fabrics next to her skin. The socks had been an indulgence, but they padded her feet, making the prison shoes less painful. It would be lovely to replace them, but she wasn’t about to return to Dachau. Maybe she’d risk a cobbler’s shop in another town, but not this one.

  Ilona eyed her discarded prison attire and stopped worrying about it. Surely, she wasn’t the first to escape Dachau. No one would associate the shapeless mass of sackcloth with her, and she’d left the prison before they’d gotten around to stenciling a number into her forearm. By the time anyone found her prison clothing, she’d be long gone.

  Sleep beckoned, but she had to put some miles between her and her current location. As many as possible. She’d taken the southern route out of town—the opposite way from Augsburg. Munich was ten miles away. It might be a good place to lose herself. Maybe even a good place to find work. She couldn’t walk that far without rest, but she could maybe make half that.

  There were probably Rom caravans in Munich, but if she’d wanted a caravan, she’d have headed back to Augsburg. She wasn’t exactly done with being a gypsy, but she was done associating with them. Guilt nagged. The Rom were her people, but she couldn’t do much to save them from Nazi persecution. Hell, she was having the devil’s own time saving herself.

  Ilona made her way along the steep hillside until she came to a dirt track leading roughly where she wanted to go. She pulled the hood of her jacket over her head to hide her dark hair and made as good a time as she could.

  Where was Aron? Had he made it out of Dachau too?

  She started to raise her mind voice, and then remembered the vampire. If they were in league with the Nazis—and it certainly appeared that way—the one she’d seen that day could scarcely be the only one. Magic to hide herself was one thing. Projected power quite another. The last thing she needed was undue attention—or any attention at all.

  She’d been worse than a fool to deploy power standing in t
he yard outside Dachau’s gates. If she wanted to remain alive, she’d have to do a better job checking for who might be sensitive to magic before she summoned it.

  Ilona murmured a quick prayer thanking Isis for her escape and asking her to watch over Aron. Today had gone surprisingly smoothly. Maybe it boded well for both their futures.

  Do not grow complacent, her inner voice cautioned.

  All it takes is one vampire—or a car full of Nazis—for my carefully balanced world to shatter.

  Chapter 2

  Jamal Jabari slowed the Mercedes to a crawl, crimping the wheel to avoid a pothole that might well be the death of his front axle. Maybe trying to coax the heavy vehicle many miles to the end of this road was a mistake, but he couldn’t turn back now. The ruts were deep enough it would be impossible to get the car headed back the other way.

  I’ll drive until I can’t. Then I’ll figure things out from there.

  A whuffling growl reminded him that his wolf, bonded to him for hundreds of years, disapproved of most modern inventions. Cars were at the top of the heap. For some reason, the wolf hated being trapped in a car. It had never minded wagons, but they weren’t noisy. Nor did they stink of oil and gasoline. Jamal’s senses were far more acute than a normal human’s were, and he wasn’t overly fond of the hot metal reek of an engine. He did appreciate getting from point A to point B in a hurry, though.

  Color flashed in his rearview mirror, and he chuckled. Hadn’t taken the gypsy wagon following him long to catch up. Horses were definitely a better bet in these conditions. Tairin was in that wagon, along with Elliott Brend, a gypsy mage.

  Mirth faded, replaced by guilt. Tairin was his long-since-grown-up daughter, but her mother had been Romani. He’d known full well the penalties for mating outside his blood—and his wolf had given him untold grief for falling in love with Aneksi—but none of that stopped him from following his heart. He’d passed himself off as Romani and joined Aneksi’s caravan. Tairin had been their love child.

  Thank the goddess no one had looked at him too closely during the thirteen years he’d spent with the caravan. Rom had varying degrees of magic—nothing as strong as shifter power—but if they’d wanted to, they could have determined he wasn’t one of them. He’d known he was living on borrowed time, but he couldn’t convince Aneksi to leave her caravan.

  In truth, he hadn’t tried very hard, and destiny snared them. Tairin hit womanhood—a time when she had to either shift or die. He and Aneksi quarreled. His temper won out over judgment, and he’d left them both.

  Jamal winced. He’d failed in his duty to both his daughter and his shifter heritage. No excuses for not preparing Tairin for her first shift. Never mind that shifters didn’t look any more favorably on mixed blood pairings than the Rom. His people had censured him and made it abundantly clear if he left his pack to care for his daughter, they’d banish him forever. He’d stayed with his shifter clan, but he’d never felt the same about them—or himself.

  Two hundred years passed before his daughter hunted him down. An angry, alienated Tairin, but he didn’t blame her.

  A snort blew past his lips. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d wanted to meet him in open combat. They’d gotten past that, though, and he was grateful for the opportunity he’d let slip through his fingers so long ago: a chance to protect and support his daughter. He vowed never to give her cause to regret letting him back into her life.

  A large, black bird flapped toward him, its beak clacking open and shut. He recognized Meara in her vulture form. She’d overflown the route and was clearly on her way back.

  “Stop,” her mind voice commanded.

  Meara was one of the first shifters. Their kind dated back to the making of the world, and Meara had flown out of heat and light when Earth spun out of the sun.

  Jamal drew the car to a halt. Tairin and Elliott’s wagon rolled close to his back bumper before stopping too. No question about moving off the track. He couldn’t. The ruts on both sides of his tires were too deep. Guessing what was coming, he shielded his eyes from the flash of blue-white light that presaged Meara’s shift. Sure enough, the passenger door clicked open, and she climbed inside. Long, gray hair cloaked her nakedness, and she regarded him with a pair of shrewd, amber eyes.

  “Are there problems?” he asked, concerned about the two gypsy caravans ahead of them. Meara had declared this spot safe from both Nazis and vampires, but maybe something changed between yesterday and now.

  “No problems. Not yet, anyway.” She settled against the seat cushions, her nostrils flaring. Maybe she didn’t like the smells of a gasoline engine any better than he did.

  Jamal put the car in gear and moved forward at the same snail’s pace he’d adopted before. Meara wanted something, but peppering her with questions wouldn’t hurry things up.

  “There’s a blanket in the backseat,” he told her. “In case you’re cold.”

  Meara made a squawking sound, not unlike her vulture might have. “Why does everyone always assume I need clothing?”

  He considered correcting her, but remained silent. He’d suggested the blanket for her comfort, not in lieu of the garments she never wore.

  Meara rolled her shoulder blades and shook long hair out of her face. “I’m the one who suggested the Rom hole up back here—and I still believe it will be safe for a while—but we need a better plan.”

  The car hit a bump and sloughed sideways. Jamal corrected the steering. “What kind of plan?”

  “I had something more aggressive in mind. Going to ground and waiting for the vampires to find us—and they will—isn’t wise.”

  He narrowed his eyes to thoughtful slits. Working in concert with the Romani, they’d wiped out a dozen vampires, including the master vamp who’d created the nest. But they’d missed at least four who worked directly for Hitler…

  “What are you thinking?” Meara demanded.

  “Several things.” Jamal organized his thoughts. “If it hadn’t been for Tairin and Elliott stumbling onto that nest, we’d never have known about the vampires’ link to the Reich—”

  “That surprised me.” She spoke over him. “And very little does. It also explains a lot.”

  “Like how the Reich rose to power so quickly?” Jamal cut in. “That seemed odd to me too as I watched it unfold. With vampires fueling the Nazi war machine, though, it makes perfect sense how people ceded power to them and sat back while atrocities mounted up.”

  “Convenient for them humans can’t sense magic, eh?” Meara arched a brow and sank deeper into the plush leather seat.

  “Plays right into Hitler’s rule the world plan,” Jamal agreed.

  “Which is a good lead-in to why I’m in your car and not flying around outside. Elliott and Tairin snuck into Dachau and poisoned about fifty SS officers. It was a start, but we need to organize and do a whole lot more to undermine the work camps.”

  “I’m guessing you have something in mind.” Jamal cast a sidelong glance at her tall, thin form. Hair swathed her from head to foot in waves of silvery gray. No wonder she’d dismissed his offer of a blanket.

  “I do. Once we get to an area where the caravans can stop for a few days, I will raise as many shifters as I can. Most Rom aren’t as strong as Elliott—”

  “He’s a shifter now,” Jamal reminded her.

  Meara rolled her amber eyes. “As if I could forget. I was there when Tairin’s wolf bit him to stymie the master vampire’s attempt to steal his body. Regardless, he’ll be far stronger now than he was as a Romani mage. It doesn’t change the fact that most Rom can barely light a candle.”

  “Where are you going with this?”

  “When we work with the Rom, it potentiates both our magics and makes the Rom strong enough to withstand vampire mind control tactics. We’ll need every magic-wielder we can locate to launch a coordinated attack.”

  “The Rom aren’t warriors,” he argued. “What if they’d rather hide than fight?”

  “Not an option.
The vampires caught our scents when we scavenged their nest. They won’t rest until they locate all of us. Vamps are arrogant. They assume that if they find us, killing us—or turning us—will be easy. We could sit back and wait for them to attack, but I far prefer to do everything in our power to subvert the Nazis—and their vampire sidekicks. To the extent we can keep them off balance, never knowing when the next stealth attack will happen, we might have a chance of doing enough damage to erode their power base.”

  “Might work.” Jamal thought back to things he’d overheard the Romani discussing. “Michael and Stewart will fight. So will the others who went with us to wipe out the vampires—assuming we can find them. The other caravans are either heading out of Germany or going into hiding, just like the two ahead of us.”

  “Might have been better to keep the Romani together, but there were too many to have any hope of sequestering them in the same place.”

  An image of brightly painted wagons and horses adorned with bell-studded harnesses flashed through Jamal’s mind. “Even if they’d transitioned to cars—rather than their wagons and horses—gypsy caravans would be impossible to hide. I’m worried about the ones ahead of us, but we seem to have moved far enough off any beaten track to avoid notice, at least for a while.”

  A corner of Meara’s mouth twisted downward. “It’s a whole new world out there. I never thought I’d live to see a day when we fought side by side with Romani. Or expended energy protecting them.”

  Something about her words caught his attention, and he angled a glance her way. “Even though you helped plan our offensive against the vampires, you didn’t believe it would come together?”

  “Something like that, but I recognized the necessity of what we were doing. My doubts would only have gotten in the way, so I buried them deep.” She showed him a mouthful of teeth. “Good thing too. Once we got there, we were in the thick of it immediately.”