Taking The Night (Nightshade series Book 1)

by J F Posthumus

  Probably because she’d finally allowed herself to consciously acknowledge what she’d been feeling ever since she’d realized he truly cared about her. She pulled the scarf down and kissed his cheek.

  Soren returned the kiss and smiled up at her. “Take care of yourself, piccolina, and be careful.”

  “I will,” she promised before turning and walking away.

  Soren’s voice stopped her as she went to open the door. “You have a name for this… persona?”

  Selia smiled and looked over her shoulder at him, pulling the scarf back into place.

  “Nightshade,” she replied, and Soren’s laughter followed her as she left the room.

  “I’ll take it he’s doing well,” the Sandman said as the door cut off Soren’s laughter. He nodded towards the room. “Care sharing the joke with me?”

  “He asked what I was calling myself,” Selia replied sweetly.

  “Yeah?” the Sandman asked, the fabric of the mask stretching to hint at the smile beneath it.

  “Nightshade,” Selia replied impishly. She lowered her voice until only he could hear her. “He didn’t recognize me, so I think this should be a safe disguise.”

  “Good,” the Sandman replied. “We have a detour to take before we can make a visit to Azyre House.”

  “Oh?” Selia asked, intrigued. “Did you learn something?”

  “Yeah, I learned there’s going to be a bunch of drug dealers using a rave near here as a cover to meet and sell their goods. I plan on busting them up.”

  There was a darker edge to his voice and for some reason; it made Selia want to jump him that much more.

  “Well, then? What are we waiting for?” she asked. His brows rose above his sunglasses, which made her smile widen that much more. She slid an arm through his as she explained, “Well, I hate being late for a party.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  S elia had never been to a rave, so it took her a few moments to orient herself to the cacophony and visual overstimulation. Over a hundred, possibly closer to two hundred, people aging from sixteen to forty gyrated, undulated, and writhed about the open floor. They probably thought of it as dancing.

  Clothing seemed almost optional. She noted a number of topless people decorated with strategically applied paint that was iridescent with the black light that poured in from all sides. Strobes, set to different timers, flashed in time with the constant pounding of percussion. Songs changed, but the drumming rhythm seemed to be nearly the same, with barely a pause in between.

  The exception was when the DJ on the raised platform took time to shout out to the crowd and rev them up. She could smell and see alcohol being consumed, along with burning tobacco and less legal substances. Vials and pills were being passed about. Noses and mouths were being filled with chemicals and derivatives of plants that grew freely in her homeland.

  On Temeria, such plants were grown for their medicinal purposes, but here, she did not see anyone suffering from near-fatal wounds or debilitating disease. The only sickness Selia could detect around her was the poison of over-indulgence and a complete lack of restraint.

  The smell of intimate contact was also strong. Selia knew all of these things happened in this city, and that in some ways her employers fueled it. But she had never seen it all in the same place, so highly concentrated. It took a bit to regain herself and to be fully alert to her surroundings.

  What grounded her the most was the Sandman’s hand as he gripped her left forearm. His touch was the only familiarity in this place. He leaned over and whispered in her ear.

  “Are you going to be okay? It’s a lot to take in the first time.”

  She dimly realized he wasn’t whispering; he was almost shouting. The volume of the music was loud enough to require it. She nodded her head. Turning, she spoke into the Sandman’s ear.

  “I’m fine. Just a little amazed at the pandemonium.”

  He nodded and looked into the window. They were perched on the roof of the warehouse that housed the party and looked into the skylight. “Just blend in if you want to go inside. Move your hips, look dazed, don’t make a lot of noise, and you won’t be noticed. Well, you’ll get noticed because you’re beautiful, but that can’t be helped.”

  “Why can't I take part in your little drug bust?” she asked.

  “Oh, you can make your way to the back alley whenever you like,” the Sandman replied with a smile. “But you’ll be a little too memorable for anyone who’s around to give a statement to the police.”

  “Still planning to leave witnesses, eh? How have you kept a low profile for so long?”

  The Sandman didn’t answer, aside from rolling his eyes and moving to the back of the building, disappearing down the fire escape.

  Selia supposed she would stand out, dressed in head to toe black. Even if she removed the mask across her face, an athletic blonde in a skin-tight black outfit and swords would stand out pretty well down there.

  Maybe, she thought, if she stripped down to her expensive underwear…

  Deciding that she would rather take part in the violent aspect of the evening than dance with a bunch of strangers, Selia watched the people below for a while longer. She was confident that once the real fun began, she’d hear something. She snickered at a stray thought that she’d wait until she heard the Sandman cry for help.

  The scene below soon began to bore her, however. Once she was used to the chaos taking place, there was very little to interest her. A final glance into the throng did provide one bit of interest for her. Several girls were grouped together, all of which had light colored hair, except for the tips, which each girl had dyed a different color. She pondered on how intrigued she was by that as she made her way to the fire escape the Sandman had gone down.

  As she came to the top of the ladder, she heard grunts and yells cut short. From the roof two stories up from the alley, Selia witnessed the Sandman in fighting form. He spun from foe to foe, the extended steel batons cutting through the air before impacting on weapons, limbs, and the occasional skull.

  Four men lay on the pavement around the Sandman. Two more were in the midst of falling to join the unconscious. There were three more men, armed with guns, who continued to fight with him. None of them were far enough to make a clear shot without risking injury or death. They seemed to be waving their guns at the Sandman, as if he was going to do them the courtesy of holding still long enough for them to shoot.

  The sound of a breaking forearm was followed by the clatter of a firearm to the pavement; one less weapon to worry about. Even as she waited with keen interest to see what method the Sandman would use to disarm and undoubtedly subdue the final pair, Selia’s eyes caught movement a little further away. A good fifteen feet away, two more people, a male and a female, were entering the alleyway from an adjutant street. Both wore denim and leather clothing, lean of build and confident of stride. They saw the Sandman in action and moved simultaneously. Semiautomatic handguns, looking too large to be comfortable for either of the newcomers, came out of their jackets and pointed at the Sandman’s back.

  Selia didn’t think. There was a moment of remembering that the Sandman was dressed, literally, in head to foot Kevlar that would prevent anything short of a high-powered rifle round from puncturing his body. She pondered how many similar situations the Sandman might have faced and survived.

  She just leapt from the second story roof. Her arms went wide as her legs tucked together. Wind blew against her body as she plummeted to the couple who were even now discharging their weapons. Her eyes and mind locked onto the sight of the Sandman being slammed forward by the impact of both guns. Her eyes were sharper than they had ever been since she came to the city.

  The puckered holes that appeared in the material of the Sandman’s trench coat burned into her mind. The sound of his batons falling from his hands onto the street sounded horribly clear. The impact of his body as he hit the street seemed to be pressing against her own flesh. She screamed as she fell the last few fe
et into the ones who had shot the Sandman.

  Her forearms smashed into opposite shoulders of the female and male just before her feet touched the pavement between them and her knees bent to absorb the impact of the fall. Selia came up, swinging her fist into the male’s face. Her knuckles struck the man’s face just below his right eye, and the bones of his skull gave slightly an instant before the force of her blow forced the man to his knees. Selia grabbed the female by her medium-length blonde hair and pushed her face down into Selia’s rising knee. The woman’s nose broke, and Selia felt teeth come loose against her Kevlar-reinforced knee.

  She pulled back on the woman’s hair and was momentarily surprised when the woman’s hair came up without the woman attached to it. As the woman slid to the ground, groaning, Selia recognized her as one of the young girls whose hairdos she had been admiring earlier. This one’s tips had been dyed a brilliant shade of jade. The green appealed to Selia in some distant corner of her mind. The wig went into her trench pocket as she moved swiftly past the fallen pair.

  She was only a few steps from the Sandman, trying to get up, when the two men he hadn’t had the opportunity to dispatch opened fire. Selia moved confidently forward, noting the clumsy and shaky aiming of the two young males who might not even be out of high school. She also noticed that people were pouring out of the back entrance of the warehouse, and smartphones were pointed in her direction.

  Hell, she thought, I’ll give them a show.

  Continuing to move forward, Selia seemed heedless of the bullets being fired at her, which wasn’t hard, in her opinion. The guys were horrible shots. She knelt, grabbed the Sandman’s dropped batons, and flung the one in her left hand at the nearest shooter.

  The baton hit the gun and the fingers that gripped it. There was a collection of muted crunching sounds. The gunner howled as the gun dropped from his broken fingers. Even as this was happening, Selia threw her body down into a half-roll, half-flip and landed on the ground past the injured gunner. The momentum carried her on, and she rolled up into a crouch before the second shooter, whose arm was still outstretched past her. He was aiming where she had been, more or less, seconds ago. Selia brought the remaining baton in a full swing up between the gunner’s legs.

  The growing crowd around the back exit all shouted “Ooooooh!” in mock sympathy; the final gunman could only manage a soundless wail. His knees buckled, his hands coming to his crotch. The gun discharging was obviously not a reflex, but rather a matter of the gun still being in his hand as both fists clenched.

  Unless, of course, the gunman had some strange notion that shooting himself in the knee would improve how he was feeling. Some shrieked at the sound of the gun firing, but more laughed at the result. Selia saw some of the crowd push in for a better view, their smartphones held in front of them.

  Reaching behind her, Selia retrieved the baton she had tossed. She hefted both weapons and thought, Nice. I see why he likes these.

  She rose slowly to a standing position.

  “Hey, Nightshade,” a familiar voice called from behind her. She turned around, facing the Sandman. He stood three feet behind her and asked casually, “Mind giving those back, now?”

  She tossed the batons to him, underhanded. He caught them deftly, but she could read the stiffness in his movements. He was in a lot of pain.

  “Hey, Sandman! Dude!”

  This call came from someone in the crowd milling outside the warehouse’s back entrance. Selia glanced over even as the Sandman looked past her to the crowd. Selia estimated at least half the rave was either in the alley or trying to get there.

  “Take a picture with you and your sidekick, man?”

  A tall, gangly male with blue hair that was cut short on the right and covered most of the left side of his face was holding up his iPhone. His wrist was festooned with glowing bracelets, and he had a hopeful smile on his face. Others were shouting that they, too, would like a photo-op. The rest were just staring, videotaping, taking pictures, or furiously texting. A handful were going “old school” and actually talking on their phones. The phrase “O-M-G! You are not gonna believe what just happened!” rang out in several voices, overlapping one another.

  “I’m… not the Sandman.” The Sandman said in an almost serious, carrying voice. “And she isn’t my sidekick.” There was a long, awkward pause as the sound of smartphones snapping pictures filled the silence. As if he couldn’t handle the spectacle and silence, the Sandman all but blurted a final statement. “Don’t do drugs, kids; they’re bad for you.”

  “If you loved the show, make sure to buy the graphic novel!” Selia suddenly shouted in a loud, absurd voice. She didn’t know what was coming over her. She also realized that she was waving at the crowd like she was Miss America on a parade. For some reason, she couldn’t stop herself. “Tonight’s entertainment was brought to you by the owners of the establishment and that awesome DJ! Give ‘em a hand!”

  Most of the crowd turned to face the open door and began applauding.

  Selia moved towards the Sandman, who was already ducking into the shadows. She took a chance and cast the spell that made her undetectable in shadows, taking care to cast it wide enough to affect the Sandman as well.

  She looked back to see the crowd trying to find them. She knew the spell wouldn’t show up on a camera- it didn’t produce any light or visible energy, and they were both in the darkest part of the alley. She followed after the Sandman, knowing they were heading toward the motorcycle for a fast trip to his lair, and an even faster trip back to the bungalow outside of the city.

  Chapter Twenty

  S he was mostly right. They were on the eco-friendly and silent motorcycle within minutes. But the course that the Sandman took was not what she expected.

  “Ummm... you just missed the turn-off for the lair.” She yelled through her helmet, leaning against the Sandman’s.

  “We are heading straight to the bungalow. Can you keep that 'hiding' spell on us while we're traveling? We need to get there as quickly as possible and not every cop is going to look the other way for us.” The Sandman’s voice carried back to her, aided by the wind.

  “Sure,” Selia replied. “It's a spell any novice can cast. I was a year away from being granted master status when I was banished.”

  Magic came from life and the living, and the stronger the caster, the more powerful the spell. Or, with the lower-level spells, the longer they could be held before tiring the mage. Though Selia hadn't cast a lot of magic out of fear in the last ten years, she was still strong in the arcane. It wasn't something that would just vanish from not being used.

  Grow rusty like a tool left unused, sure, but not disappear. Considering she had been using some magic, mostly novice, apprentice, and initiate level spells, she was able to use the less-frequently used spells without worry of being wiped out by them.

  “Good. Hold on tight,” he warned, and the bike lurched silently forward.

  The on-board speedometer display jumped to 110. She had to really concentrate to work the spell. That was going to be a challenge when her arms had to be locked as strongly as possible around the Sandman's waist.

  “Why the rush to get back to the bungalow?” she yelled, confident the spell would hold long enough for the question.

  When this was over, she was definitely going to delve back into her mage craft that she'd let atrophy for almost a decade. Odd that she'd been so diligent those first two years about keeping up her training before allowing this new world to overcome a lot of it.

  “How long did it take Big Al to freak out and send goons to the bungalow when a single picture of you playing Mrs. Sandman showed up on the internet?” he practically shouted at her. “How long do you think he's going to sit on a whole page of YouTube video clips before checking to make sure you weren't lying the first time? You'll be lucky if he doesn't have you tailed twenty-four seven after that fiasco!”

  The spell flickered for a few seconds as what he said hit her like a brick wall.
She spat out one of the many curses she'd learned in Italian as she gripped his waist tighter. Love, anger, and even fear were powerful emotions that could be used to fuel spells. Selia pulled her annoyance and fear of them being caught together and fed it into the magic. Some lessons, it seemed, were returning with a vengeance.

  Fortunately, the forest to her temporary home was coming into view and they were slowing down. Even before the cycle stopped, she jumped off and grabbed the cover from the side. Using a touch of magic, she had the bike covered the moment the Sandman slid off the seat.

  Selia took off at a run, pulling off her coat even as they neared the back door, the Sandman on her heels.

  Pulling him into the bathroom, she yanked the door shut before shoving the jacket into his hand.

  “If... if you are right, it won't take Alex and Bernie long to show up here. Even shadows can be seen in a dark house,” she said by way of explanation, as she tossed her gloves on the sink's edge. The bathroom was the only room in the house with no windows. She tugged off her belt, followed by her boots.

  A knock on the door sounded even as she was wiggling out of the skin-tight leggings she wore beneath the Kevlar pants. A few more softly spoken curses and she kicked the Kevlar pants and leggings towards the Sandman.

  She stuck her head out the door and yelled, “Just a minute!” She yanked out the pins in her hair and tossed the blond wig in the sink. Quickly, she removed her cosmetic contacts and set them carefully on the edge of the sink. Smirking, she pushed the Sandman into the shower stall, shoved her weapons against his chest, and turned on the water.

  “Stay put and shut up,” she told him as she shut the door and raced to the 'clean' bedroom while jerking on the bathrobe.

  Running to the door, she was a bit surprised the door hadn’t broken in, from the sound of the insistent pounding that hadn't stopped. She turned the deadbolt and lock, and threw open the door, a scowl on her face.