The Waning Moon

  The Waning Moon

  An Eleanor Morgan Novel, Book Two

  Amy Cissell

  The Waning Moon

  An Eleanor Morgan Novel, Book Two

  Copyright © 2017

  by Amy Cissell

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  ISBN: 1546378537

  ISBN-13: 978-1546378532

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  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author at amyrcissell@gmail.com.

  * * *

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  * * *

  Cover Design: Skyla Dawn Cameron, Indigo Chicks Design

  Edited by: Colleen Vanderlinden

  For my two favorite people. L—you light up my life. C—you make it worth living.

  Thank you.

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  The Ruby Blade

  Also by Amy Cissell

  Acknowledgments

  I’m grateful to my editor, Colleen Vanderlinden for her expertise, humor, and encouragement.

  Special thanks to my cover artist, Skyla Cameron from Indigo Chick Designs, for her continuing excellent work on bringing Eleanor to life.

  Thank you to my proofreader Kari Furness—without your polishing, this book would be a lot less shiny.

  I want to thank my beta readers, Nichole and Marci, for their time, critiques, and encouragement.

  My first reader, platonic soul mate, and combination cheerleader and ass-kicker deserves her own call out. Without Cat, this book would still be sitting in a file somewhere.

  The biggest thanks this time around are for reserved for Chris. My partner, my love, and my favorite reader. Without your patience, support, enthusiasm, and incredible eye for detail, I couldn’t have done this.

  Chapter One

  ISAAC AND FLORENCE were sitting at the motel table poring over maps when I woke up. Three cups of Starbucks were centered on the table. I inhaled the scent and shuddered when I realized how good it smelled. This adventure was destroying my discerning palate. Before too long, I’d be willingly downing Folgers crystals and swearing it tasted like my usual roast!

  “Are you going to lie there thinking about coffee or are you planning on joining us?” Florence asked without looking up.

  “I need you to teach me how to shield my thoughts better.” I hopped out of bed and headed for the coffee.

  “I’d settle for teaching you how to shield your body better,” Florence said after a quick glance in my direction.

  I looked down at myself. Yep. Completely nude. “Sorry.” I hustled towards the bathroom only pausing long enough to grab my bag and snag my coffee.

  I rewarded myself with a life-affirming sip of Americano after successfully putting on each article of clothing and weaponry. Properly caffeinated, dressed, and armed, I returned to the main room.

  “What are you looking at?” I eyed the maps of Ohio, Illinois, and Tennessee covering the table.

  “Mounds,” Florence said.

  I snickered. “Glad you two found a way to bond.”

  Florence glared at me, but the hardness in her eyes quickly gave way to an amused twinkle, and she snorted. “You are ridiculous.”

  “That’s why everyone loves me. I’m fun.”

  “Barely-controlled chaos is not everyone’s idea of fun.”

  I fluttered my eyelashes at her. “C’mon, Florence. You’re having a little fun, aren’t you?”

  “Between harnessing powerful magic I never dreamed of, breaking ties with the coven I regarded as family, and fleeing my home with a wolf and a dragon?” She smiled. “Maybe a small bit of fun.”

  Isaac ruined my moment of triumph. “Did you know there are over seventy American Indian burial mounds in Ohio alone? I was wondering, Princess Pandemonium” — I stuck my tongue out at him — “if you could narrow it down?”

  “I narrowed it down to mounds, didn’t I? Why do I have to do all the work?”

  “Because you’re the only one who can find and open these gates. We’re the sidekicks,” Isaac said.

  “I prefer minion,” Florence said.

  I rolled my eyes. “You guys are great sidekicks, but to graduate to full minionhood, you’ll need to do a better job of anticipating my needs. Better coffee. Better beer. Maybe a foot massage every afternoon.”

  Isaac laughed. “Can you come look at the map?”

  Isaac’s map was marked with lots of large purple “x’s.” Florence had a tourism guide open with a list of mounds. I sat down and stared at the purple marks. Nothing jumped out at me. Not even a general pull of “start here.”

  “Ummm…” I said. Profundity, thy name is Eleanor. “Maybe I’ll feel something when we get closer?”

  “This area is bigger than the Black Hills,” Isaac said.

  “Bite me.”

  “Pressuring Eleanor to pick a location will probably have a detrimental effect on the overall results. We have over a month to find the gate and can get to Ohio in two reasonable driving days.”

  I tried to shake off the panic-inducing pressure and concentrate on the map, but I couldn’t focus.

  “Why don’t we start driving? We can figure it out on the way,” Florence said.

  “Breakfast first?” I asked.

  “Of course. No one wants to be trapped in a car with a hungry dragon.”

  “I’m not that bad.”

  “Yes, you are,” Isaac and Florence said together.

  We packed up and headed out. I gazed mournfully at the minivan. “This is a far cry from the beautiful truck you bought me in Portland.”

  “We’ll trade it in again soon,” Isaac said. “We’ll need something older with no computer parts. We’ll want to start collecting gasoline. Modern gas stations won’t work if the grid goes down.”

  “By the end of this journey, we might not even have a working car,” Florence added. “Be grateful for what we have now.”

  That shut me up. I’d mourned the impending loss of the internet, but hadn’t thought through all the implications of throwing the world back to a pre-Industrial time. The minivan suddenly looked shiny and new.

  “Fuck,” I said.

  “That about sums it up,” Isaac said.

  It wasn’t until we were well on our way that I’d girded my loins enough to ask the question I’d been dreading. “What’s the damage?”

  “What damage?” Isaac didn’t quite meet my eyes.

  “You know what.”

  Isaac looked at me. “It wasn’t as bad as last time.”

  “Mostly,” Florence added. “In so
me ways, though, it was worse.”

  “Just tell me!”

  Florence took a deep breath. “As you know, commercial air traffic was grounded. I called my friend at the FAA when we stopped in Murdo. The gate energy rendered my cell phone useless, and I had to use a pay phone. That was an adventure in itself—it’s been a long time since I’ve made a long-distance call from a payphone. He thanked me for the tip, and let me know rather subtly I shouldn’t contact him again. We are credible terrorist threats.”

  “I prefer to think we’re incredible terrorist threats,” Isaac interjected.

  I ignored the admittedly amusing pun. “But no one died?”

  The air in the vehicle grew noticeably chillier.

  “The military is reporting no casualties,” Florence said.

  “We’ve talked about this, Isaac.”

  “Most of western South Dakota and eastern Wyoming lost power during the surge. There are no official reports of the effect that had on hospitals, nursing homes, or vehicles, but there are rumors.”

  “What about backup generators?”

  “They’ll work as long as gasoline supplies are available, but there won’t be any new supplies coming into the area anytime soon.”

  I leaned back in my seat to process. There were a lot of aspects of what I was doing I hadn’t considered beyond the immediate repercussions of a magical surge.

  “We need to warn someone; let them know it’s going to keep happening. They can stockpile supplies in the affected areas, and make alternate delivery arrangements.”

  “I agree,” Florence said. “But I don’t want to compromise my government contacts without reliable information. If they get in trouble or we get identified, things will go downhill even more quickly. We need to stay anonymous—and now that the media is reporting this could be terrorist-related, it’ll be even more challenging.”

  “How do we stay under the radar? Is that even possible without hiding in northern Canada?”

  “It’s going to keep getting easier,” Florence said. “Rapid City airport and the adjacent Air Force base are shut down. The effects of this gate are not intermittent as they were in Portland. There is a permanent bubble of circuit-destroying energy around the gate. In Portland, within a couple of hours, everything except what was caught in the pulse was back online. The power stations there were repaired in short order, and the outages were over in hours.”

  “And this time?”

  “Hear for yourself,” Isaac said and flipped on the radio.

  “…the work of an electromagnetic pulse,” the newscaster said. “It seems to be localized, and we’re waiting on confirmation from the White House on whether they’ve traced this back to any terrorist groups. Communication into and out of the region is slow, but first reports indicate not only is the power out, but there is no estimated date when things will be back online. That means no television, no computers, no cell phones, and anything with computer circuitry—including cars, most appliances, thermostats, gas stations, credit cards, and many other everyday items. Authorities are recommending you fill up your bathtubs and any empty containers with water, open your freezers and refrigerators as infrequently as possible, and check on your elderly neighbors to ensure they’re okay.” Isaac flipped off the radio as it went to commercial.

  “Are you saying this didn’t happen the first time?”

  “Not like this. The plane crashes were on the news, and there were reports of power outages, but since the effects were less widespread and things were better in a few hours, people dismissed it as a freak event. Now they’re throwing around the “T” word with abandon.”

  “I kind of feel like a terrorist right now.”

  “We are not terrorists,” Isaac said. “Terrorists have demands, or political aims, or something.”

  “I’m not a terrorist, then—just someone destroying the very fabric mankind has built its existence on.”

  Florence tsked.

  I corrected myself. “Destroying the fabric of humankind to restore the earth’s balance and unleash a horde of megalomaniacal supernatural beings who might want to punish those who have taken liberties with the earth. That sounds pretty fucking political to me. I am a terrorist.”

  “Well, when you put it that way,” Florence said. “But I think you’re doing the right thing.”

  “I’m pretty sure Timothy McVeigh and Osama bin Laden thought they were on the right track,” I said.

  “There is no way to talk about this without sounding like I’m rationalizing, but we have to believe in what we’re doing. We have to believe what’s happening is right.”

  “I do,” I said. “I don’t want to kill anyone in the process. I can’t stop this without killing myself, and if I believed this truly was the wrong course, I would.” Isaac glared at me out of the corner of his eye. “I’m not going to. The gates need to open. I wish there was a way to stop the loss of innocent life in the process.”

  “That’s what separates you from Osama bin Laden and Timothy McVeigh,” Florence said.

  “Road to hell, good intentions,” I said.

  “Actions based on good intentions are better than no action at all. Sometimes great good looks, on the surface, like great wrong. We are going to change the world.”

  “I know agonizing over this does nothing. I am concerned, however, about the effects of the coming winter on the Black Hills and wherever we go next. If power is not restored and is indeed permanently knocked out, how will people survive? Without transportation, refrigeration, and heat, what will happen?”

  “When it becomes apparent there is no salvaging the power system, evacuations will commence,” Isaac said. “People survived before the advent of electricity and computers, and they can again.”

  “That was with smaller populations, less urban density, and a much, much lower dependence on technology. Today’s people are helpless. The only ones left when I finish will be a bunch of supernaturals, crotchety mountain folk, and doomsday preppers.”

  “Once all the gates are open, and travel between planes resumes, you can take the throne and order your loyal subjects to help,” Florence said.

  “Sure,” I agreed. “What are the chances that will be as easy as it sounds?”

  “Nothing worth doing is easy.”

  “I don’t know—Isaac is totally worth doing, and he’s wicked easy.”

  “Hey!” Isaac said. “I can’t believe you insulted my virtue!”

  “I can’t believe you insulted my eardrums,” Florence said.

  “Thank you,” I said. “For everything. For helping rein in the full blast of power. For finding a way to release me from the bindings placed on me. For standing with us against your coven and your former lover. For being my friend.”

  “I knew you’d be the one to save us all. I will do what I can to stand with you, to protect you, and most importantly, to give you space when you can no longer control your ridiculous hormones.”

  I reached up and squeezed her shoulder. She was giving me an out to think about something else, and I took it. Tomorrow there’d be enough time to worry about how many people I’d kill next time. And the next. And the next.

  Chapter Two

  DUSK WAS STARTING to purple the eastern sky when I saw the first building silhouettes thrusting upwards and interrupting the horizon.

  I closed my eyes. The lights of the skyscrapers remained superimposed on my eyelids. I tried to imagine the city at night with scattered bonfires—in metal barrels, of course—to break the darkness. I shivered. I was going to destroy these people’s lives. I was more than Florence’s weapon—I was a nuclear bomb.

  Isaac navigated the traffic with ease while I gaped at the skyline like the tourist I was. I’d never been anywhere larger than Seattle before and paid little attention to the direction the car was going. My view disappeared when Isaac pulled into a long, circular driveway and stopped in front of the biggest house I’d ever seen.

  In answer to my unspoken question, Isaac said,
“A friend lives here. It’s safer than a hotel.”

  “What kind of friend? Another shifter?”

  “Yes. The leaders of the Chicago Pride live here.” We piled out of the minivan and headed to the house.

  “We’re not going to have to overthrow another asshole, are we?”

  “I certainly hope not,” someone said from the darkness. I jumped and turned towards the voice.

  In front of me was the most unassumingly beautiful couple I’d ever seen. They were of average height—much taller than me—and their skin was so dark they seemed to detach from the shadows as they stepped forward. He was a hair taller than her, and his head was shaved. Her black hair floated around her face in a cloud of tight curls. They looked majestic, and I fought the urge to incline my head in acknowledgment of their dominance.

  “Florence, Eleanor, this is Candace and Joseph,” Isaac said.

  I reached my hand out. Joseph shook it, but Candace stared at it until I dropped it. This was going to be fun.

  “Candace is the leader of the Chicago Pride, and Joseph is her mate,” Isaac continued, ignoring Candace’s slight.

  “One of my mates,” she corrected.

  “The best mate,” Joseph said in heavily accented English. She smiled at him, and her white teeth gleamed in the near-dark.

  “Joseph and I have known each other for a long time,” Isaac said.

  “Glad I am to see you again,” Joseph said. “It has been too long. I see you have a mate of your own now. Your search finally bore fruit.”