Copyright © 2010, Meredith Wood

Published by Whiskey Creek Press LLC

Reviews for PANTHAN'S CRUCIBLE by Meredith Wood

At the age of two, Laura drowned a kitten in her wading pool. Frozen solid with fascination, she watched those golden eyes grow wider and wider as the kitten looked up at her. Gray fur, thick and mesmerizing, floated up like waves of seaweed from its body lapping softly across her hand as she held it under. Bubbles had come from the little black nose—tiny, minute bubbles—popping out one by one to float to the surface.

Sometimes she gets lost in that memory, counting the bubbles.

Sometimes, while she’s counting, she hears screams and she always wonders, Are they mine?

Her mom saved the poor thing and she’s heard, though she doesn’t remember this, that her mom performed a sort of CPR on it. She could’ve blocked that part of the memory because her punishment for such a cruel act was only to remember the attempted murder—repeatedly.

She’s since learned these sadistic exploits in children are a sure sign a murderer lies hidden in their heart just waiting to pounce—when least expected. Imagine living with the knowledge that you can at any moment turn into some hideous monster.

Frightening.

She’s tried to avoid cats since then and, as if there is some form of magical knowledge of what lies in her, they don’t like her much. They have a mutual agreement of avoidance. Thankfully she has one saving grace to her what could be murderous intentions: even the mere thought of blood makes her pass out cold.

Which was why she was lying in the middle of her grandma’s kitchen floor, staring at the water stains on the stomped ceiling, and Grandma was leaning over her, a basket of clean clothes at her hip.

“ If you’re gonna be sick, make it to the trashcan, please,” Grandma said.

Laura closed her eyes again, because the tight curls of her grandma’s new perm instead seemed to be wiggling ghost-worms. Gulping down the rising gorge, she managed a tiny nod.

“ History dictates that a person destined for immortality must go through a period of displacement,” her grandpa’s gravelly voice said from the table above her. “After all, no human is born immortal. Therefore, to reach this perpetual state a change must be made.”

He was reading from an article in his favorite newspaper, The Ozark Tales. He’d been reading from it when she sliced her finger open trying to cut a bad spot out of her apple. She grabbed hold of a chair leg and scooted to a sitting position, thankful the world stayed still. “I wonder if fainting can be called a period of displacement.”

Grandpa leaned over the table edge giving her a wide smile with his newly soaked dentures. She blinked at the dazzle.

“ Nah,” he said, “you’re just a wuss, Laurie girl.” He raised his brow. “If you’d eat more protein you’d have a stronger stomach. That’s your problem, you know.”

She stuck her tongue out at him and as usual, he laughed at her.

“ What does history have to do with mortality?” Grandma asked, dropping her clothesbasket on the table. “And stop with that tongue. It was one thing when you were six, but my lord, Laura, you’re sixteen.”

Laura watched Grandpa’s slippered foot—one soft tap then two fast against the floor. His way of counting to ten.

“ I think,” Grandpa said, “they’re trying to say that the actions have been repeated over and over in the course of our history.”

“ Yes, but Avery’s far from immortal.” Laura slapped the Band-Aid Grandma handed her over her cut and stood. “So I should get to the hospital.”

“ You might want to call that father of yours sometime today too,” Grandma said as Laura dug for her keys in her purse. “He’s been ringing your cell phone all morning. He’d be ringing the house phone too, if I hadn’t blocked his numbers.” She handed Laura her keys. They’d been behind the sugar bowl on the counter, right where she’d left them the night before.

Laura pushed open the back screened door and at the squeak, reminded herself again to find the WD40 when she got home. She still couldn’t decide whether she was going to stay at her dad’s for the summer or not. Last year all that had kept him from hotfooting it to the Ozarks and dragging her back to D.C. was her promise of coming this year.

She hated big cities. She hated Washington, D.C.

Her dad thought she needed the cultural diversion. Grandma figured she’d come back inked up and full of body piercings. Grandpa just said that she should take care not to eat raw fish. It didn’t matter how many times she tried to tell him vegetarians didn’t eat fish, raw or cooked.

“ Tell Avery I’ll bake her a batch of brownies as soon as she’s up for it,” Grandma called from the porch.

After a dismissive wave, Laura climbed into her Sunfire. Her best friend Avery was in a coma so she doubted brownies would be tempting the poor girl any time soon. Then again, Grandma made some kickass brownies. It could work. Hold them under her nose, let her get a good long whiff, then wham, she’d be awake.

Didn’t hurt to dream every now and again.

Before Laura did anything else, she slid back her phone cover to check her calls. Dad had called four times, Tristan five.

“ Bite me,” she said to his number flashing up at her. Immediately she felt awful for saying it. That phrase had taken on a whole new meaning lately. Like wishing AIDs on someone—maybe worse. And, really, Tristan wasn’t all that bad. He just happened to be her boyfriend, which was why she couldn’t stand him.

Ah, now here’s a number I don’t know. Twice, too. She scrolled down to her voicemail and hit send, checking for a message.

It took wading past all of Dad’s and Tristan’s, but at last she was rewarded with a deep voice, strange accent, but scrumptious.

“ I’m in need of some help,” the voice said. “Do you think you could phone me back?”

Sorry, no talking to strangers, yummy voice guy. It’s against the rules. She tossed the phone into her console and started the car. Too bad she couldn’t help him. But kudos to the girl he’d been meaning to call. Nice if she’d be willing to trade. As ill-fated as Laura was, she probably couldn’t even sell Tristan on eBay with free shipping.

She pulled in the hospital parking lot, sunk in her too typical Tristan Funk, so wasn’t surprised when her phone rang and it was him. He haunted her like that.

“ Where’re you at?” he demanded.

“ Hospital. Where else?” She threw open her door and climbed out.

“ I don’t see you anywhere.”

Laura stopped walking to scan the entry behind the hospital’s smoky doors. She didn’t see him. “What’re you doing here?” she asked. She’d tried to time her visit with Avery when she knew he’d be at the bowling alley working.

“ She woke up this morning. I left you five messages. If you’d ever check them or call me back you’d know this.”

“ I’m on my way up.” Laura shoved her sunglasses in her purse.

“ They’ve moved her from ICU. She’s in 324 now.”

“ Gotcha. Bye.”

“ What?” His voice went harsh.

“ I love you.”

“ That’s what I thought. You sure are acting strange these days.” And then he hung up on her.

I sure didn’t hear you say it back, now did I? Who’s acting weird, huh? Huh? Useless frustrations. Tristan was always weird. She put the phone in her back pocket and headed past the receptionist’s desk, straight to the elevators. 324. Three plus two equaled five and five plus four equaled nine. Nine was a good number, a safe number.

“ I would speak with you,” a deep voice said from her left as she reached for the keypad. A hand circled her upper arm and tugged her into the next elevator car. “Do not turn around,” he added. “It would be best.”

Forgetting his command to face away, with her eyes shut tight she turned. She took a light inhale, breathing in the scent of clean air, trees, a spicy musk—and loved it. Another breath passed and she opened her eyes, then stared, shell-shocked.

The reality was so much more than her little pea-sized brain could’ve ever cooked up. About a six and a half foot giant scowled down at her with the deepest set of blue eyes. Almost unnatural. But she knew this couldn’t be true. Manufacturing, selling, buying, or wearing contacts had been against the law for seven years now. Better get that Lasiks if you didn’t want glasses.

He wasn’t an angel, sure. But he was something. Something…special.

“ Didn’t I tell you not to turn around?” he asked. He dropped her arm, his eyes flashing with humor as his face relaxed. “It doesn’t matter. I guess this proves I chose well.”

Chose? Chose who and for what?

He looked near his forties with black hair, rugged features, and a well-trimmed scruff. He had two tiny red teardrops tattooed below his right eye. Was he some type of high-class gang member?

“ I…” she stuttered.

What had she gotten herself into here?

The elevator doors closed and he leaned across her, thumbing the tenth floor button. “Laura Morgan, right?”

She stopped herself in mid-nod. But he had all the reassurance he needed.

“ Your father’s in danger and I’m thinking you can help him.”

She stiffened, tilting her head to the side, then lifted a brow. “What kind of danger?”

“ As far as your dad, it’s nothing you can’t fix for him. And as for your own problems, I think I can be a great help to you.”

“ What?” She waited a few seconds, watching the floor numbers light up, counting them. He didn’t respond.

Her brain deciding to function for the first time in weeks, she asked, “Has this all been a set up? I mean, is that what’s going on? Are you planning to kidnap me?”

He let out a soft snort of humor. “No. That wouldn’t be very inventive of me, would it?”

To test her limits a little she reached for the keypad. He didn’t stop her so she tapped the button for the third floor. Ten plus three equaled thirteen. Thirteen was the number of blocks she had that day. Twelve was the number of times she’d been hit.

She shook her head, forcing herself to stop the number crap. Denying her crutch always made the panic worse. Sure enough, in seconds she felt like a vacuum set to turbo had sucked out her lungs.

Ignoring it, she told herself she could breathe just fine, thank you. It didn’t help much, but she didn’t fall to the floor out cold, so yep, she really was breathing and he really was real.

They reached number ten and the doors dinged open. She shot forward, but made it maybe a foot before he snatched her purse strap, yanked her back inside, then closed the elevator with a quick finger tap on the button.

“ Look,” she said. “My dad’s just his friend and nothing more. I have no pull and I can’t get you any money, so you’re wasting your time.”

“ What’s wrong with your friend?” One of his arms circled her waist then gently pulled her to his chest. She couldn’t decide if she should feel upset about it.

She was in shock. Had to be the problem here. Why else wasn’t she trying to get free?

“ What friend?” she asked.

“ Avery. What happened to her?”

Now how’d he know so much about Avery when she hadn’t told him yet? She did get upset over this, fear trembling along her legs, up her torso. Had that been part of the plan? Attack her friend, which would finally force her to come to him?

“ Shh. Hush now.” He put a hand to her forehead, and abruptly her body calmed. She moved her head under his hand. Not a shake, not even close. She didn’t want him to let go and that should have scared her, but it didn’t.

“ I won’t harm you,” he said in his drugging voice. “What was done to her is why I need you—to put a stop to it. All of it.”

Laura replayed his words in her head... They still made absolutely no sense. “You want to stop the Wodens? You…can’t.”

“ If your government would stop with the power lust, they could reach their goals.”

He let her go as the elevator stopped and the doors opened. Her boyfriend Tristan stood there, his eyes going wide when he spotted her. “There you are. She’s asking for you.” He tugged her into the hall with him.

“ Answer your phone when I call next,” the blue-eyed giant behind her said. “I can track you anywhere now either way, so no more hiding.” She turned to tell him he was wasting his time, but the doors slid shut before she could. Then outrageously, she thought, of course I’ll answer when he calls.

“ Who was that?” Tristan asked, directing her down the corridor.

She refocused, flexing her fingers straight, reminding herself she had total control of her body and mind. “I don’t know,” she said, “but he said my dad was in trouble and then acted like he thought I could help him with some political movement he’s into.”

“ Politics?” Tristan ran his fingertips down the wall as they walked. “How’d he find out who you are?”

He cut a wide circle around the corner, stretching out his other hand to reach the opposite wall. “I guess it’s not that hard, though,” he answered himself, nodding to some inner beat in his head. “It’s not like it’s a secret.”

They headed toward where the wall signs said rooms 315-345 were. Her dad was the president’s best friend. Had been since they were kids. But her dad was a lawyer, not in the middle of politics; or at least, she didn’t think he was.

“ Hey.” Tristan grabbed her elbow then leaned around a doorway. Finding it empty, he pulled her inside. He kissed her. He was gentle at first then tried to make it more intense, but she moved away—not about to get hot and heavy with him in a hospital. No slouch in reading signals, he realized where he wasn’t going quickly enough and put his hand behind her head, pulling her to him. “I love you,” he said softly.

He smelled of coffee and donuts. “Tristan—” she began but he cut her off.

“ No,” he said. I know you want to talk, but not now…she’s still not out of the woods. You can’t leave me like this and I know that’s what you want.”

Laura clamped her mouth shut. He was right. Avery might be awake, but was still weak. How could she leave them both at a time like this? Even if only for the summer... “She’s got the best brother in the world.”

“ She’s my better half.”

He always said that. On the first day of third grade, he’d introduced her to Avery on the playground, saying, “We’re twins but they won’t let us be in the same class. I’d cheat off her if they did. She’s my better half.”

It had about killed him to watch his sister suffer, but the alternative had been putting her in the ground. Not long ago, skin color caused the hate crimes. Now, though, what mattered was the color of your irises.

Panthans were green-eyed. About ten years ago, they’d crossed over from their world filled with a bloodlust and the urge to kill. They looked like humans, they spoke like humans, but they sure weren’t humans. Some said they had fangs. Some said they changed to a cat-like form for their attacks. Though that was mostly just rumors. They enjoyed playing with their victims. That much was known from what they left behind.

Poor Avery, though. She’d been nearly beaten to death for the color of her eyes. She’d been wearing her identification tag declaring her human, but the Woden soldiers, the States’ own defensive act against the Panthans, hadn’t cared about details. She could’ve been a Panthan, right?

Stupid berserkers—every last one of them.

Laura patted Tristan’s chest a couple times, reassuring him she wasn’t going anywhere and trying to calm her inner confusion as well. “How’s she feeling?”

He ran a hand over his face. “Pretty good, considering all the pain killers she’s on. She still looks like she should be hanging in a meat locker, not awake and in a hospital bed. She wants a mirror.”

“ And?” She could tell he’d been battling this request.

“ And I think that’s a bad idea.”

“ Does she remember anything?” The worry over whether she would or wouldn’t and what was best for her had been Laura’s constant companion for the past week.

“ She remembers it all, every punch, kick, slap—”

Laura hugged him hard, wrapping her hand around the back of his neck and squeezing, trying to pass a comfort to him that she didn’t feel. “Take me to her.”

Once they reached Avery’s room, Laura agreed one-hundred percent with Tristan’s assessment of his sister. She looked much worse. Laura hadn’t expected her to be able to open her left eye for several days still. But there it shimmered, a green crevice in a purple mountain.

Awkward and feeling like a fool, Laura stood there staring. She’d grown used to the silent vigilance of the past week. Avery had lain there, hooked up to beeping monitors, unaware of the effort of those around her, and she’d seemed peaceful and well on her way to recovery. The bruises had begun to change color, the swelling subsiding.

They brushed her hair every day, but since she’d been awake and moving, what was once a cloud of blond now lay matted on one side. Laura knew the other side—the one under the bandage—was shaved bald. It had taken forty-five stitches all in all. One line ran from the top of her forehead to the middle of her scalp. The second line formed a kind of tee, following almost to the tip of her ear.

They said it had been a blunt object—though what they didn’t know. The head injury had also been the cause of the coma—swelling on the brain. Blood maybe?

Laura shook herself into action and moved to Avery’s side, keeping her focus on the IV line taped to her friend’s pale hand. I should take that hand. She didn’t.

It was different now. Avery was awake.

“ Have the…” Laura stopped, clearing her throat before she forced herself to meet Avery’s gaze. “Did the police talk to you yet?”

Avery’s tongue slid across her lips. She swallowed, wincing with the effort. “This morning. First thing.”

Laura sank into the chair beside the bed, taking the hand this time. The soft, familiar sound of her friend’s voice had calmed the sudden panic. It was just Avery.

“ Both legs are broken,” Avery continued, her voice even. Controlled. There was rage there, simmering. Laura moved aside a little so Tristan could hand over the cup of water he’d poured.

Avery took two small sips and as Tristan set the cup down said, “I want to see my face.” Her hand closed tighter around Laura’s. Not much, but tighter.

Laura shook her head. “Not yet.”

Avery let loose a hoarse snort. “Why? Afraid it might hurt me?”

“ They can fix it,” Tristan said, leaning against Laura’s shoulder. “There’s no reason to put yourself through it. Haven’t you suffered enough?”

“ They haven’t,” Avery shoved out between her clenched teeth. “I want them dead.”

Laura sat in the silence that followed, dealing with a sucking helplessness. She couldn’t take away Avery’s pain or the memories of that night. No one could.

“ They didn’t rape me,” Avery said as if she knew where Laura’s thoughts headed.

Laura jerked a little. “But—” She stopped herself. If Avery really didn’t remember it then why remind her? Laura looked down and her friend’s eyes had closed, her breaths coming steady. She was going to sleep.

“ Avery. Look at me.” Laura squeezed her hand. “The police are doing everything they can. And they will get them.” She waited, watching for movement behind those closed lids, hoping she was listening. “All you need to do is get better. The Woden soldiers will be reprimanded. They have to be.”

“ It’s not the soldiers she blames,” Tristan said softly from behind. He wrapped his arm across Laura’s collarbone and leaned down, his mouth right beside her ear. “It’s the Panthans. They’re the ones that corrupted the Wodens and they’re the ones who kill for pleasure. You can’t possibly blame the soldiers, Laura…” He waited and she gulped down her words, if not her thoughts.

In her opinion, which no one cared about anyway, vengeance ruled the Wodens. New laws didn’t matter to them either. What did they care if the victim before them was a green-eyed human or a green-eyed creature hell-bent on murder? Why couldn’t people understand the Wodens were not a band of merry Robin Hoods?

Look at Avery.

“ Do you?” he asked then, his voice filled with revulsion.

She pulled away, glancing down at Avery then back up at his face. His mouth was set in anger. Under the shadow of his long lashes, his dark eyes narrowed with warning. He wanted her to say what she couldn’t.

“ I don’t know who to blame anymore.”

In a side sweep of his arm, he knocked the paper cup off the bedside table then spun around, facing the wall, not her. She tried not to let it hurt. Told herself it didn’t hurt.

“ You make me sick,” he ground out.

“ I make you sick?” She jumped up, turning to him. “Your sister was almost beaten to death and then raped and I’m not supposed to hold it against the ones who did it?”

She braced herself for the outcome, which certainly didn’t take long. His fists clenched at his sides and he turned to her, red creeping up his neck and face. “You heard her loud and clear, so don’t try to act like you didn’t. They didn’t rape her! It was an honest mistake.” He took a step toward her and she backed up, her hip catching on the side of the chair.

She glanced at Avery to make sure she was still sleeping. “You know she was,” Laura hissed at him. This insane world was making everyone crazy. “You were here when they examined her; she just doesn’t remember it.”

“ No.” He relaxed a little and his pupils dilated, as if coming to an understanding of some kind. “She left the city with Jake, don’t you remember?”

Laura’s body jerked like a yanked string. He was right, but it didn’t seem to fit right. Come on, Jake was a charmer, yeah, but Avery was smarter than that. At least she’d thought her friend was. Laura opened her mouth, shut it, then tried again. “Did… Did she tell you that?”

“ She didn’t have to. They were late as it was. All the doctors said was she’d had intercourse; nobody said anything about rape.”

Laura sank into the chair, lost hope crashing against a growing guilt.

“ You want them called in, don’t you?” He was beside her again. When he laid his hand on her arm, she flinched away, the chair screeching with an echo in the tiled room.

She buried her head in her hands and stayed, refusing to reply.

“ My God,” he said. “You’re insane. You’re just sick!”

The door thumped shut behind him.

She made herself sick. Pity the Wodens. Fear the Wodens. But do not blame them for their wrongs. Those were the rules. Traitor!

With her hand to her chest and her eyes burning holes into Avery’s waffle blanket, she wished she wasn’t so conflicted, wished she could understand everyone’s loyalty to the Wodens.

It was the same wish she’d had for weeks now, ever since she’d found that letter Mr. or Ms. I’m-not-going-to-tell-you-my-name-but-let-me-ruin-your-life had sent to her grandma. She truly didn’t know whom to blame. All she did know, because of that letter, was she had a sister out there that was half Panthan and the Woden soldiers had killed her mom. Nothing but a matter of time before the next victim the soldiers took down would be her sister.

Exactly how was she supposed to wish for the destruction of something that was her only link to her dead mom? That was the Wodens’ mission. Search and destroy any and all Panthans.

A week ago, they’d almost taken out her best friend. Her sister didn’t even have the flimsy protection of a human badge. Not that the badge had helped Avery. Only the luck of being attacked by a drunken soldier had done that.

Luck, God—whatever—Laura doubted anything would come to the rescue of a bastard half-breed who’d been born to a Panthan’s whore.

Lilly, Avery’s tiny little day nurse, came through the door then. She smiled and made three silent handclaps. Laura gave her a look of confusion—not being up on mime language—and Lilly pointed her fingers at her eyes then at Avery. Laura opened her mouth in an O of understanding. The nurse was silently cheering for her patient’s accomplishment of waking from the coma. Laura smiled before quietly pushing to her feet.

Her cell went off and Lilly frowned, afraid the noise would wake Avery. When it came to her patients, she was Florence Nightingale come again. Laura hustled out the door, checking the caller ID as she went. Dad again. So not going there right now. She let it roll on over to voice mail.

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