Wild Warrior (The Weavers Circle 2)

“I see them,” Clay said, and Baer wanted to shake them both. He didn’t like feeling so left out, and it was getting irritating that the two Weavers had obviously learned a trick they hadn’t shared with him.

“What? What is it?”

“Pestilents. About a half dozen. Getting close to the new guy.” Clay released Grey and opened his hand, giving his arm a little shake to free himself of the moss.

They started in the direction Grey had pointed, and Baer took a couple of quick steps to catch up with them.

“What the hell was that all about? Did you use Clay like he was a freaking battery?” Baer demanded.

Grey smirked at Baer. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

“How?”

“I discovered it not too long ago when I was helping him figure out his powers. When he’s all amped up on energy from the earth, I can siphon some of that off him to amp up my own. It makes it a lot easier to sort through all the noise from the random humans to home in on a Weaver.”

“Can you also see the pestilents?” Clay asked. He paused at the corner, waiting for a car to pass them before crossing the street.

“No. I…I’m not sure if they have souls, or maybe their souls are just too different from us. Either way, I can’t see them or get a read on them like I can Weavers and humans.”

“Can we all use Clay like a battery?”

“I’m not a fucking battery,” Clay growled.

“I don’t know, but I think it might be something worth exploring. It could give us all an advantage in a fight,” Grey continued.

Baer clapped a hand on Clay’s shoulder. “But later. We’ve got a brother to locate and pestilents to get rid of.”

“You’re such an ass,” Clay muttered, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice.

“A shame he couldn’t have wandered through a flea market. That would have been fun.” He and Clay had met for the first time in a flea market. Pestilents had chased them through it, and he had a feeling that he and Clay would never be allowed to return to that flea market after all the chaos and destruction they’d caused.

But it had been fun.

At the intersection of McDonough and Abercorn, they caught sight of a group of a dozen people walking down the street, heading toward the Savannah River. At the head of the group was a man in period costume, carrying what looked to be a large iron lamp glowing with bright yellow light.

The man’s voice rose above the shuffle of feet and low conversation. “This is the Colonial Park Cemetery on your right. It was started in 1750 and is the final resting place of some of Savannah’s first settlers. It also houses more than seven hundred victims of the great yellow fever epidemic, and for a short time, it served as a camp for Union soldiers during General Sherman’s march to the sea. If you visit during the day, you’ll find the soldiers have left a permanent mark on the cemetery by making some alterations to the headstones. There are several residents who are said to have lived for a few hundred years and one man who was even born a thousand years before his own father. Colonial Park also served as the dueling grounds for the city from 1740 until about 1877. At night, it is believed to be the most haunted cemetery in all of Savannah.”

“Huh. He’s on a ghost tour. They must have come from the Sorrell Weed House over on Harris Street,” Grey said.

“Your knowledge of this city is a little scary,” Baer mumbled.

Grey gave a little sniff and crossed his arms over his chest. “I like my books to be thoroughly researched.”

“Which one is he?” Clay asked, seeming to ignore them both.

As if the would-be Weaver had heard them, one man stopped walking and turned to face where they were standing on the opposite corner while the rest of the tour group continued down to gather near the iron fence surrounding the cemetery.

“Take a wild guess,” Grey said.

He was a very tall black man with his head shaved. He was wearing a smart-looking suit, but the color was difficult to make out in the dim lighting. The white oxford was lacking a tie and open at the throat, giving him a slightly casual air. Baer couldn’t figure out how he could be comfortable in the lingering humidity.

The man just stared. His facial features hidden by the shadows, but there was a sense of curiosity or maybe confusion.

“What’s the plan?” Baer asked.

“Grey will get our new brother to the Jeep. Give him the keys.”

Baer didn’t hesitate to slap the keys into Grey’s open palm at Clay’s instructions, but the Soul Weaver didn’t look pleased.

“Baer and I will take care of the pestilents hanging out in the cemetery.”