The Walls of Jericho

Groundwork

A striking woman with strawberry-blonde wavy hair down to her shoulders stares back at me. 

She looks almost Nordic. A little like I did as Mia. Chilly. Reserved. Individualistic. With spectacularly made-up, strangely light eyes—not ice-blue, like Rebecca’s—but a sort of Baltic amber color that picks out the smattering of reddish-gold freckles over her nose, highlights each tiny flaw in her otherwise smooth complexion.

“This one, I think,” Rebecca says, selecting a lipliner in a fawn beige. She moves between me and the stranger that my reflection has become, then quickly outlines my lips with the pencil.

“This is the most neutral combination I can think of,” Rebecca tells me. “It should go with any of the wardrobe I’ve supplied. I’ll provide instructions with the palette for how to apply it.”

“Why are you doing all this?” I ask, peering at her. I can’t quite put my finger on why, but I feel like I know her. Or I should know her.

“It’s my job. It’s what the Alpha commands,” Rebecca replies in a cultured, contemporary voice that’s rich and slow. She surveys a tray of creamy little squares of lip color, selects one, then debates herself, and selects the next darker shade. She loads a lip brush and comes back to my face.

“I saw what you thought of the Alpha when we came in the door. It’s not obedience. It’s tolerance.”

“Part your lips and don’t talk,” she orders curtly. But as she brushes the color across my lips, she explains. “It’s obedience. There’s nothing else it can be. I’m wolf. Channing is the Alpha. For the time being.”

“What does that mean? 'For the time being'? You have some designs on that role?”

“Only that he’s not the only alpha bloodline. Just the one that’s made the most progress against this dragon.” Rebecca steps back and studies my face with the critical eye of a perfectionist.  

“What other alpha bloodlines are there?”

She meets my eyes with an icy-cold fixed stare. “Mine.”

Bingo. I figured as much. “I thought alphas were male.”

Rebecca’s blank expression devolves into a remarkably insulting combination of disgust and annoyance. “There’s an alpha male and, when he takes a mate, an alpha female. The alpha pair. I also have a brother. How can you know nothing about wolves and still have mated one?”

“Let’s not get into that.” I give my head a tight little shake. “I'm still trying to figure it out myself. You said Channing’s alpha lineage has made the most progress against this dragon. Is that different than other dragons?”

She brushes the lip color at the corner of my lips, blending in the lipliner some more. “I wouldn’t know. In our lifetime, this has been the only one we’ve found to pursue. It settled here, in Crossroads more than a hundred years ago. Despite how dangerous staying has become for it, it still stays. That’s different.”

Ah. That's the little snippet of information I needed. Now I’m beginning to understand Rebecca. “Why does the dragon stay someplace dangerous?”

“The same reason any other species does," she says mildly. "Either they’re courting a mate or defending a nest. Let’s get your clothes changed so I can get you out of here.”

Getting a little close for her comfort I see. Good. To get what I want, she's going to need to get uncomfortable. I follow Rebecca out of her tiny salon and into the shop. “Where’s Channing?”

“Probably in the communications center.” Rebecca gestures towards the dressing room. “Get dressed, then I’ll take you over there.”

The dressing room is larger than Rebecca’s little makeover studio, with a tri-fold mirror against one wall and a chair in the corner. There’s a pair of expensive jeans waiting inside for me, paired with a simple white tank top and an extremely urbane and chic battered black leather jacket. There’s also a  matched set of underwear in a familiar pale peach color and lacy pattern.

Huh. So this is where he came to get me clothes while I was in the infirmary. I run my hands over the jeans as I remove the tags. I’ve never felt denim so soft, and yet when she sent clothes for me before, she sent the cheapest garbage she could find. 

Interesting.

The next thing to figure out is whether it’s Channing that irks her. Or that fact that I’m with Channing that irks her. 

Stripping in sections, first top, then bottom, I change into the outfit Rebecca has put together for me. Then I stare at the woman in the mirror, stunned to realize the pampered elegant woman looking back, she’s me.

Suddenly, I’m eager to see what this does to Channing.

“Are there shoes for this get-up?” I call through the door to Rebecca.

“Yes. What size?”

“Six and a half.” There’s no sound as she moves away, but I hear rustling a few seconds later. “You said the dragon’s courting a mate or guarding a nest. Channing said they don’t take mates.”

“Obviously, they do, or there wouldn’t still be dragons,” Rebecca answers. “They choose mates and bear offspring. Wolves haven’t figured out when. Or how.” She raps on the door, then rakes me from head to toe when I open it. “Hmm. Much improved.”

“Did you just smile?” I ask, taking the shoebox and the pair of black socks she hands to me.

“Proud of my handiwork,” Rebecca retorts. “Don’t think it means I like you.”

“I promise not to get confused.” I leave the door open, taking a seat on the chair, then strip off my plain white socks. “That’s your real beef with Channing, isn’t it?”

“That I’m proud of my handiwork?” She looks at me like I’m the biggest i***t on the planet. She's not going to like when I flip this one on her.

“No. That he won’t let you study the dragon.” I watch her carefully and see my suspicion is confirmed. “This isn’t your real gig, is it? What are you? Some kind of zoologist?”

Her pale blue eyes fix on me. It’s clear she didn’t expect I was smart enough to figure her—or likely anything else—out. I kind of like that she’s off her guard. It gives me a way to make her a resource.

“Paleontologist,” she answers at last, slowly, like she’s anticipating an attack of some kind.

“Hmm.” I yank the socks onto my feet quickly, then open the shoebox and move the paper covering the shoes. They’re cute little low-heeled ankle boots with a zip on the inside, also in a black leather. “These are nice.”

“Of course they are.”

“Listen, Rebecca.” I unzip the first boot, then stick my hand inside the shoe, pulling out the paper packing that helps it keep its form. “I want to find a dragon. I want to find it before Channing and Avernus do. Sounds to me like you and I might have that in common.”

A little space opens between those plum-rouged lips of hers. “What is it you want?”

Pulling the boot over my foot, I bend over my knees to zip it, then pick the other one out of the box. “I already told you—to find the dragon first. You agree to help me. I’ll get Channing to let you out of here. Sound like a good deal to you?”

“Why should I help you? You’re exactly like the rest of them. You plan to kill it.”

I drop the paper stuffing back into the box and unzip the second boot. “Yeah. I do. Only that one though, and I’m not explaining why, so don’t ask. You just said he’s staying here for a reason—either a mate or a nest. I only want him. You help me find him, whatever he’s guarding is yours. I won’t tell a soul. Not even about your little alpha ambitions.”

At that, she snorts derisively. “’Ambitions’ require desire and effort. If you know Channing, then you know my brother. He lacks both and I’m no match in a direct challenge for the alpha role.”

“I know your—.” Suddenly, I know why I felt like I recognized her. It’s those cold-blooded killer ice-blue eyes. “Ferdi. Ferdi’s your brother.”

Rebecca nods, then steps closer and leans in the dressing room doorframe. “When our father died in a fight against the dragon, our uncle succeeded him in the alpha role. His strategies weren’t great though, and wolves kept dying in the subsequent skirmishes. It led to unrest in the pack. Channing’s dad challenged. Our uncle lost. For Ferdi, that was a relief. There’s a price to being alpha, a price Ferdi isn’t willing to pay.”

“You mean the potential for dying.”

“And taking your mate with you.”

Oh. Yeah. That uncomfortable thing again. “Ferdi doesn’t have a mate though." I think of all the pretty girls who'd come into Esteban's to cry over Ferdi into their bowl of chocolate syrup drenched ice cream. "No one would die with him if something were to happen.”

Rebecca shakes her head. Not a single hair on her platinum pixie hairdo moves as she does it. It seems so fitting of her. Unmoved. Untouchable. It's a little bit fascinating. I should probably have her teach me how to pull off a decent affectation.

“Ferdi doesn’t have a mate that we know of. There’s a difference.”

“Ah. Aren’t you just full of little pearls of wisdom?” I zip the boot and shove the empty shoebox aside. Getting to my feet, I turn in place, modeling for her approval. “Well?”

“I’ll do it.”

“Excellent.” I smile and extend a hand to her to shake on the deal. “How do I look?”

“Like you. Just with a better wardrobe, and a makeup artist and hair stylist.” Rebecca stares at my hand for a long second, then clasps it with hers and heaves a deep breath. “This is going to be a lot of work, isn’t it?”

“You're obviously a perfectionist. As far as style is concerned, I'm your nemesis, so that’d be my guess.”

“Then we better get started.” She jerks her head towards the boutique. “This way. I’ll take you to Channing.”