Wild Country (The World of the Others #2)- Anne Bishop Page 0,15

them was true.

The bitch had deserved to have her precious deck of cards stolen.

She set the cards aside and opened the velvet bag. She poured the stones out on the bed, then picked them up, one by one. Agates and jasper. Onyx and jet. Stones for power and opportunity. Stones for prosperity and luck. Stones for protection. She’d spent a year gathering this combination of stones that resonated in exactly the right way with her and with each other, forming a veil of safety. The stones had given her that thin window of opportunity to run away before her father gave her to Judd McCall as a “wife,” had brought her the luck of crossing paths with Kelley on the night she’d stupidly gotten shitfaced drunk, had helped things fall into place to bring her to Prairie Gold—a place her father would never think to look for her.

But those dissonant stones Kelley had put into some of the jar candles had torn the veil of safety her stones had created around her. Oh, her stones were still working, were still in resonance with her, but there would be that tear now, that bit of dark energy that would cling to her, that would attract other kinds of darkness.

She handled each stone before putting it back in the bag. Then she picked up her deck of tarot cards. But she didn’t unwrap the silk scarf she kept around them.

What if the cards indicated that she shouldn’t leave? What if they indicated she should go but danger would be waiting?

Of course it would be waiting. Sooner or later, her father would find her—and kill her if he couldn’t bring her back under his control. The Blackstone Clan didn’t tolerate anyone whispering its secrets, especially one of its own.

No choice. Not really. She would go with Kelley and hope she wasn’t found for a long, long time.

Sighing, she tucked the decks of cards and the bag of stones back in the box, fetched her suitcase, and packed what she didn’t want to leave behind.

CHAPTER 7

Windsday, Messis 1

Jana Paniccia opened the bottle of wine and filled a water glass. Getting drunk wasn’t the answer. Wasting money on wine instead of buying food wasn’t the answer.

But what was the … frigging … answer?

“Insufferable bastards.” She swallowed too much wine and choked a little. “ ‘Too much turmoil in the world right now, Ms. Paniccia.’ ” She perfectly mimicked the prissy voice and smug attitude of the administrator who ran the Hubb NE police academy. “ ‘Can’t be rocking the boat now and upsetting the status quo.’ Status quo, my butt.” Jana waved the glass in a sweeping gesture. “You should be grateful to have anyone want to be a cop right now. Uphold law and order? You and my great aunt Fanny.” That had been one of Martha’s sayings. Jana had never known what it meant, but it fit the occasion.

The academy had taken the tuition and fees quick enough. The instructors had let her take the classes—and take the bruises, both physical and emotional, that the other cadets dished out because she had dared want to work in a field that was exclusively male.

Smaller didn’t mean incompetent. Not as muscular? So what? She had brains, and she wanted this. Hadn’t wanted to be anything else but a cop for as long as she could remember.

“You’re romanticizing the job, honey,” Pops had told her. “You’ve read too many stories about the frontier and a kind of law that didn’t exist even then.”

“So I should be a waitress or a secretary?”

“I didn’t say that. You’re choosing a hard road, and there’s no certainty that you’ll succeed. But if that’s what you want, you give it everything you’ve got. If spunk and attitude can make up for you being a girl in a male-dominated field, then, by gosh, you’ll make it and you’ll wear that badge with honor.”

She had survived the loss of people she loved. She had survived the academy. But she’d used up her savings, and there was almost nothing left. No hope of a job as a police officer, despite her qualifications. And with everyone in Thaisia reeling from the terra indigene’s slaughter of humans across the continent, she wasn’t sure there was much hope for anything.

She was feeling a little light-headed from the wine and lack of food when her mobile phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number, but it was a Northeast Region area code. Had to be since calls couldn’t cross