Jackal Moon (Book 2 of the Moon series)

Prologue

Bomani stood on the front lawn of the white house, looking out at the water. The sun was setting, turning the sky a molten orange-red. It looked like the water should be boiling with the fire sinking below the horizon. Feathery light clouds crossed over the deep pinks, hot oranges, and wicked reds that painted the sky in colors of conflict.

And conflict was coming, Bomani had no doubt about that. He'd been clan counselor to two wereleopard clan leaders; he could tell when change was in the air. He'd watched when Sekhmet had killed his own father—and Bomani's lifelong friend—to replace Darius as leader of their clan. He'd looked on when Sek had fought his sister Kess and had been defeated and very nearly killed.

That had surprised and disappointed Bomani. He'd been counting on sister killing brother. Sek was not a stable leader for their clan. Kess was an unknown, having been away from Miami for over a year, but he was willing to risk everything on the hope that she was saner than her brother.

That she had let Sek live was unexpected; that she had not accepted the mantel of clan leadership, mind-boggling. Kess had specified that Sek was to remain clan leader in her absence, with the condition that he never attempt to see or contact her again. Bomani, and all others in the clan, were under her orders to make sure Sek abided by that rule.

It was proving more difficult to enforce that edict than even Bomani had been expecting. The first few months after their return from North Carolina, Sekhmet had been focused on healing after his disastrous attempt to bring Kess home. He hadn't had the strength or energy to continue his pursuit of his sister. But now that he was fully recovered, with only silvery scars on his face, throat and stomach as reminders of his ordeal, Sek was more obsessed than ever.

Bomani was running out of time.

The more Sek focused on his sister, the less attention he paid to the threats crowding their borders in Miami. And those threats were growing stronger every day. Kess must return home.

Masud stepped out of the house, the younger wereleopard walking over to where Bomani stood. The clan counselor waited until Masud was close, then asked, How did he take it? Bomani was certain he already knew the answer to his question.

The other wereleopard wiped at the blood dripping from a cut on his forehead. About how you'd expect. When Bomani pointed at the wound, Masud shrugged. He threw two glasses at me this time. I ducked the first one, but….

The two of them stood there in silence for a few moments. Bomani knew Sek was becoming more erratic, descending into black pits of depression, followed by days of manic energy. His periods of calm were becoming fewer and farther between, especially now that Kess was denied him for good. Masud was an almost constant companion to the ill clan leader, and Bomani was grooming the young man to be his successor as counselor. Masud had a good head on his shoulders; it just remained to be seen if he could handle the less savory work that the position sometimes required. He was also the only one that Sekhmet seemed to trust lately, although that seemed to be on the wane, along with Sek’s stability.

Bomani knew that drastic measures would need to be taken to ensure their clan's survival. Samara and her hyenas were already sniffing around the territory, sensing weakness. He'd already gone back to North Carolina to try and convince Kess to come home; to drive home how desperate they were becoming. She had said she'd think about it, but he had yet to hear from her.

He was running out of options. And he was no longer content to wait for new ones to present themselves.

Masud spoke. I suppose I should go back in and check on him. His reluctance showed in the line of his shoulders and the look on his face.

Make sure you dose his drink. He needs a good night's sleep.

Masud nodded and went back inside the house. Bomani stared at the ocean for a while longer. Then he put his hand into the interior pocket of his jacket and withdrew a disposable cell phone. He walked down to the boat dock, dialing the number that would put him in contact with the Keepers of Divine Order. They were the werecreature problem solvers, and it was not lightly that Bomani called them.

He quickly explained what he required to the contact at the other end of the line. The Keepers were implacable and circumspect. They would not fail. Bomani negotiated the transfer of funds, although he had already made the arrangements before placing the call. He hung up, saddened for a moment that the plan was in motion.

Kess would soon return to Miami. One way or another.

Chapter One

The incense was the thing she remembered most about her marking ceremony. It had been heavy, almost like another presence in the room. The smoke from it had sent up a thick plume that threaded through the air like a serpent, undulating in the drafts. At fourteen, Laila had been fascinated by it. It gave off a powerful scent of funerary herbs, of things she'd been smelling since the cradle. Myrrh of course, and dragsonsblood, and something almost floral--possibly yarrow. It dulled her other senses and Laila felt herself slipping into a kind of half-trance.

Her father was speaking, although there wasn't anyone else there to witness the marking. It was just her and her father, and if she really believed in such things, the jackal-headed god Anubis. They sat in the basement room that served as the center of worship. The marking ceremony was a private thing, held when the initiate was fourteen. The closest thing that Laila could compare it to was a Catholic's confirmation--the time in the participant's life where they were actively choosing to follow along the path that, up until that point, had been chosen for them. With the Keepers of Divine Order, it was the same. If you were serious about service to them, and to Anubis, you were marked with a bronze knife at fourteen somewhere on your body.

The Keepers of Divine Order had been around since ancient times. It was thought that the very first Keepers originated in ancient Egypt, where people with a need would go to the edges of cities, near the necropolis or cemeteries where the jackals and other night scavengers gathered, and leave their request along with an offering. The werejackals in the area would evaluate the requests and decide whether to grant them, depending upon the offering left or whether they felt the request met their requirements. Laila highly doubted that the first werejackals had been terribly picky.

Laila had been raised knowing that the Order was her future. She had wanted nothing else. Weaned on stories of the Anubis Knights and their exploits, reared by a highly respected Keeper and sister to another, Laila thought her marking ceremony was a foregone conclusion. There was no other choice for her. She'd been in training since she was old enough to walk, even if she hadn't known it at the time. Her wrestling games with her father and brother had been precursors to the martial arts lessons that soon followed; private piano lessons honed swift and flexible fingers that could strip and reassemble a rifle in record time. At fourteen, she stood before the small statue of Anubis with more fighting and weapons knowledge than most enlisted military men.

The old bronze khopesh knife was placed in the center of the low table, wreathed in smoke. Laila stared at it, unable to look away. It was almost as long as a man’s forearm, the blade shaped somewhere between a claw and a sickle. She’d seen it plenty of times—it was her father’s after all and he carried it with him almost everywhere he went—but it scared her now. She felt sweat break out across her face.

Her father finished intoning in his deep voice and he slewed around on his knees to face her. Her father, like everyone in her family, wasn’t tall for a man, but his lean frame was incredibly strong. Most people underestimated him because of his size. It was a mistake they would not repeat, usually because they were dead.

He lifted the blade in both hands, like an offering. This supplicant comes before you, seeking admittance to your Divine Order. May you receive her and deem her worthy.

She said the words that she had memorized. I offer unto you my life and my service, great Lord Anubis. You are the Opener of the Way and the Lord of Order. I will be your eyes and hands here on earth. I ask that you find use for them.

Her father knee-walked over to her, the knife still held before him in one hand, a chalice in the other. He gave her an encouraging smile. Ready? he whispered.

Not trusting herself to speak, Laila nodded. Her father drew the knife down her forehead in a vertical line above her left eye. Blood spilled out, dripping down her brow bone and into the cup he held against her face. She closed her eyes so he could continue cutting, beginning again just beneath her eye and stopping the line parallel with the tip of her nose. The smell of blood, even this small amount, was thick in the closed room.

By blood and by bone, by earth and by darkness, by life and by death, so I offer my oath. She clenched her hands into fists, feeling hot and nauseous in the little room. Blood still dripped down her face and suddenly Laila was swept with the urge to fight, to hurt, to lash out with teeth and claw. It was almost overwhelming at first and she shook as the sensations passed through her. It was a little like when she changed forms, although she was still relatively new to it since she’d had her first change only a few months ago. When she changed, she was always in charge; it was simply another part of her that was taking precedence. This new feeling was edgier though, almost like she danced on the edge of control. It was scary and dangerous and she was a little appalled to find out that she kind of liked it.

Her father pressed a clean white cloth to her face. She would have a scar matching his and her brother's. She was a were, which meant she’d heal quickly and that the scar would be slight. Only wounds inflicted by silver or those from another were would leave telling marks behind. If her father’s scar was any indication, no one would be able to see it unless they knew where to look by the time she was his age. Her brother’s scar was still noticeable, although not glaringly so, but it too was fading with time.

Her father told her to lie down. She heard him open the door and felt the circulation of fresh air as it carried out the cloying smell of the incense. He was rattling around, gathering up bottles of salves and unguents that would help the healing process. Laila didn’t care about the cut; she was more interested in this new feeling. It was still there, quiet now, having subsided back into the recesses of her head since there wasn’t anything to feed its bloody desires.

She wondered briefly if this is what being consecrated to Anubis meant. Did this feeling mean the ritual worked? Or was this one of the by-products of being a werejackal? She hadn’t smelled blood since her first change, so maybe this was some kind of were response? Everything was still so new. She’d known she came from a family of werejackals and the odds were good that she would be one too, but knowing and knowing were vastly different, as she was finding out.

Her father returned, cool hands removing the cloth from her face. As he worked at the cut, she thought about asking him about this new feeling. She knew she could talk to him about anything, but this she felt hesitant about and she couldn’t explain why. It wasn’t like he could look at her like she was a freak—she was exactly like him and Mebis. At the thought of her brother, Laila had her answer. She’d talk to Mebis about it when he got home. He’d know and would be straight up with her. He always was.

Chapter Two

The final bell rang and Laila moved her hand away from the faint ridge that demarcated the scar from the other flesh on her face. According to what she’d told kids at school, she’d gotten whacked in the face with an oar while she’d been on vacation the summer of her fourteenth year and it had laid her open beautifully. If she'd told anyone the truth, they'd have stayed far, far away from her, farther than they did now.

Three years later and the scar was fading and now students hardly gave it a second glance. She worked hard to fit in, at her father's request, even though it was difficult for her. It was a fine line he wanted her to walk: be liked, but not too well liked, be friends with many different people but don't be one of the popular crowd that drew too much notice. He wanted her to blend in and mingle with many different groups, never singled out for being too weird or too accomplished. Laila was an above average student with good grades, never a behavioral problem in her classes, had just enough extra-curriculars to look normal, but not too many that she stood out.

That was the key. You didn't want to be noticed. You didn't want to be memorable.

So Laila plodded along in lock-step with the rest of the junior class. She was on the school paper because she was good in English and her teacher had recommended her for it. She was in the French club because this was New Orleans after all. She ran cross country because it was a sport and she was part of a team, but she didn't have to play closely with a group or come into close contact with anyone. And above all, she quelled every one of her impulses to cut loose and show them all what she could do.

And after classes and school activities, she trained. Jujitsu and karate, kung fu and kickboxing, Krav Maga and iaido, judo and aikido. She was proficient with knifes, swords, handguns and rifles, all manner of bows, and esoteric weapons too numerous to count. At seventeen, she was deadly in any number of ways, but hadn't gotten to kill anyone. Yet. But she knew the time was coming and soon.

This was why she couldn't stand out from the crowd, either by being too successful or too weird. It had been hard at first to understand this, especially when she was younger. Her father's occupation made that a bit more complicated. He was a mortician, and as soon as some kids found that out, they'd loved to tease her about it. To her it was normal; to them, completely macabre. Laila had gotten into a few fights where she'd allowed her natural instincts to run loose, but after a talk from her brother Mebis, she'd finally understood why she had to fly below everyone's radar.

Sometimes it went against Laila's very nature, even now. She wasn't one of those pretty, brainless girls with nothing worrying her head but the next trip to the mall to buy the latest must have purse or pair of shoes. She wasn't inclined to manufacture drama just so she could have the starring role. But she also wasn't meek and quiet and content to be led around by her peers either. She couldn't wait until she graduated and could stop being under a microscope. That's what high school felt like for her; one wrong step and everything would be analyzed to the smallest detail, and that was the last thing she or her family wanted.

Laila went to her locker to grab the books she'd need for her homework tonight. Exams started next week, and then summer break. Thank Anubis. Her messenger bag was almost full when Genevieve leaned against an adjacent locker and grinned crookedly at her.

What? Laila turned her head to look at her best friend.

I know something you don't know, Genevieve sing-songed.

The entire periodic table of elements? Chemistry was not Laila's strong subject. It probably boded ill for a future in demolitions.

Yes, but this is something way better. Guess again.

I hate it when you're smug. Genevieve was Laila's oldest friend. They'd met in third grade and had been inseparable ever since. Gen knew everything about Laila that was germane to tell another soul who wasn't a werebeast. Spill it.

Gen grabbed her arm and whispered in her ear. Cam's going to ask you out. How's that for juicy?

Laila looked up at her friend; Gen was, like everyone else, taller by several inches. How'd you find this out?

Gen ran a hand through her dark hair, fluffing the pixie cut. He might have mentioned it to Terry who may have then told Ryan who then told his girlfriend, Barbara, who in turn may have mentioned it to me during fifth period. I couldn't wait to tell you!

Yeah, well, Cam hasn't actually asked me anything, so you'll forgive me if I don't start picking out names for our firstborn. Laila shut her locker and made her way down the hall towards the double doors that led outside.

Gen followed, still alight with the news. Come on, Laila. It's about time you went out on a date. It's been forever since you and Rey.

Laila rolled her eyes. Rey had been her first and last boyfriend and had proven to be a total failure in every sense of the word. Her father hadn't been too keen on her dating anyone, but Laila had managed to use his own arguments against him successfully for once. It would have looked weird for a girl her age not to have a boyfriend at some point and Rey had seemed relatively harmless. She'd been fifteen when they met and they'd been together for over a year. It had been a pretty easy relationship, consisting mostly of group dates and the odd makeout session. But towards the end, it had gotten a lot more difficult.

Rey was short for Reynard. It meant fox and the name was accurate for a number of reasons. Laila thought he was a complete fox; she was intensely attracted to the dark haired, dark eyed boy. And he was sly like a fox, lulling her and her family into thinking he was a nice guy and one who could be trusted. He'd been her first everything. Laila had thought their sex was great--not that she'd had anything to compare it to--and was grateful for his experience and patience the night she first slept with him. She probably should have been more curious about where and how he'd amassed that experience, but she was in love with him. He was her first love.

Her first heartbreak.

She found out he was cheating on her after they'd been together for a little over a year. He'd sworn it was the first time, but Laila wasn't buying it. Still, he had a way of making everything sound so reasonable--and the touch of his hand did things to her that stopped rational thought--so she gave him another chance. But she wasn't stupid. She kept tabs on him and soon found him with another girl from a different school.

Laila wasn't a particularly jealous person, but she was proud. Rey had played her for a sucker. And it didn't help that jackals were monogamous creatures by nature, most of them remaining together until one of them died. She wasn't ready for that kind of commitment, but she did expect a certain amount of fidelity.

She'd asked to meet with him alone, intending to tell him off, but things had gotten out of hand and she'd wound up delivering the mother of all ass kickings. He probably hadn't been able to stand up straight for a week and there was the distinct possibility that he'd pissed blood for longer. He'd been so scared that he never told anyone what happened and she simply told everyone that they'd broken up. Only Gen knew that he'd cheated on her. Laila hadn't been interested in dating anyone after Rey, despite several offers.

Gen nudged her as they walked. Come on, it isn't a marriage proposal--it's a date. Maybe a little something extra. I hear he's good.

I love how you have access to all of this information on people's sexual histories. Do you have a network of bedroom spies that work for you or something? Is there a bunch of ninjas that hide in closets and take notes for you?

Please, girl. I've amassed dossiers on every eligible male with in the tri-county area. I don't believe in wasting time with starter models. I'm looking for the elite.

Laila gave her friend a look. They're going to sleep with you, Gen, not overthrow a third world dictator.

You remember my father, right? Tall man, mustache, we call him Il Duce?

Laila smiled, a genuine one. Gen's dad was very protective of his little girl, raising her like a true southern belle. Gen wanted none of it and had set about a conquest of available young men to get back at the deb balls and white dresses and comportment classes, leaving a swath of broken hearts in her wake. Her father still thought of his daughter as a little girl, but Gen was hell-bent on showing him that there was nothing little about her. He responded by strict rules and ridiculous curfews, which only escalated her behavior. Gen's mother just drank her gin and tonics and tried to stay out of their way.

Laila walked Gen to her car, a bright silver BMW convertible roadster. Laila thought that if Mr. Bordreaux was really interested in keeping his daughter inaccessible and unnoticeable, he might want to give her a new car, maybe a nice, boring Toyota. This one attracted way too much attention, especially from the older college guys he was trying to keep her away from.

Honestly, Laila, Gen said after sliding behind the steering wheel. Just give Cam a shot, that's all.

I'll think about it, Laila answered, shading her eyes from the afternoon sun.

Fine. That's the best I can hope for. Need a ride?

Laila shook her head. I'm just going to get the streetcar home. She didn't want Gen knowing that she was headed to the studio. She might want to stay and watch Laila's workout in the hopes of scoring some cute Asian strange and Laila did not want to explain that to her dad. He already wasn't wild with the way Gen behaved, and he was still blaming her for putting ideas in Laila’s head about dating. It was better to hoof it to Master Toshi's and avoid any Gen-shaped problems.

K. Call me later!

*********

Laila pushed in the glass doors of Master Toshi's martial arts studio and passed through the small anteroom, before buzzing herself inside and heading to the changing room. The anteroom served two purposes: as a place to interview possible students and as a gate to ensure that only those meant to see what went on in the studio actually witnessed the fighting and training that took place. Master