Shadow World

by Gaja J. Kos

  The mother and daughter had cleared away, as did the majority of the pedestrians. Water pooled atop the sidewalk, the rap-rap-rap of the rain increasing as a shift in the wind changed its trajectory and sent it crashing against the glass.

  Finally, the man said, “Where in Fužine can I find this Stane?”

  “What do I look like to you?” I arched an eyebrow. “A fucking information center? Walk around for a while. I’m sure you won’t go unnoticed.”

  He cast me one last look that I supposed was meant to be nasty, but only made me fight back a laugh. Still, I was glad to see him march out my door and huddle under his pitch-black umbrella—probably worth more than my best blade.

  After I sent Stane a quick text to be on the lookout for a dickhead in a suit, I pulled out the folder I’d stashed in the drawer under the counter, parked my butt in my comfy swivel chair, and skimmed the contents. The case wasn’t the usual espionage or assassination, but a retrieval mission. Viktor Maselnik, a well-known black-market fence, came into possession of an arcane tracking amulet that belonged to my clients. Naturally, the witches wanted it back. And they made it clear they didn’t give a flying fuck about my methods as long as the amulet ended up in their hands.

  A smile tugged at the corners of my lips. Those always were my favorite clients.

  I flipped through the pages until I found a photograph of the stolen item, along with a detailed description of every single aspect. The object itself was a circular silver thing that faintly resembled a sundial. A blue stone was embedded in the dead center, and once activated, cast a gentle light on the sigils etched on the rim.

  Rain pounded against the windows while I memorized every fine detail—including the weight and the feel of the amulet’s presence the witches had described to a T.

  Fences who dealt with arcane items were notorious for their forgeries that could fool even a connoisseur. But there was always a difference.

  Simulating magic was possible. Replicating it, on the other hand, was not.

  I ran through the list of things to watch out for in my head once more, then stood up and grabbed my empty mug off the metal shelf behind me. Always better to plan with the taste of Irish coffee keeping me company.

  I made it exactly two steps when the air in the shop shifted.

  My fingers tightened around the black mug as I instinctively placed my back to the wall and grabbed the nearest knife. An unfamiliar, yet not entirely foreign presence wrapped around me. Pressed against my skin in a manner that made it all too clear who my unannounced visitor was.

  A godsdamned demon lord.

  Chapter 3

  I always took pride in fear being a steady companion that walked beside me, yet never caused me to falter. Right now, I was just glad I was still on my fucking feet.

  A pair of eyes, one a silver-white, the other a vivid blue, fixed on me the instant he materialized.

  Shit.

  I knew who he was. I’d killed several of his demons when I had still been at Yelena’s beck and call, confined to the Shadow World.

  Breccan.

  The oldest of all demon lords.

  Gripping the blade tighter, I set the mug on the shelf beside me. It would have made a nifty weapon, but it was one of the first things I’d purchased when I opened the shop, and I really didn’t want to ruin the damn thing in a fight I was more than likely to lose anyway.

  Those unnerving eyes followed my movement, the scar running from his left temple all the way to his jaw becoming more prominent as the artificial light hit his face from a new angle. No, I was decidedly not thinking about how that carved line turned his stark, classical features from handsome into something more.

  My own heartbeat drowned out the rapping of rain.

  I could still flee. Break down into particles and get the fuck away. But that would only postpone the inevitable. Lords tended to get what they wanted.

  Not to mention possessed the patience to wait.

  Still, when he took a step forward, my back pressed tighter against the wall nonetheless—a useless response, given there was nowhere left to go.

  A closed door to my right. Shelves to my left. Nothing but the protruding end of the counter separating me from Breccan’s looming form occupying the very center of my shop.

  If my throat weren’t as closed off as it was, I might have whimpered.

  Thank the gods for small mercies.

  At least I’d go to my death with most of my dignity intact.

  Breccan’s gaze dropped to the dagger. Or maybe my bone-white knuckles, because what left his mouth was definitely not what I expected.

  “I’m not here to harm you, Crina.”

  His voice was razor-edged velvet, and the way he rolled the r in my name made me momentarily forget about the danger. Twisted it into another kind of tightness that my body ached to explore.

  “Then why are you here?” I asked, but the words were nothing more than a husky whisper, barely audible as thunder blasted outside. Furious with myself, I peeled off the wall regardless of the diminishing distance between us and tried again. “You can’t honestly think I’ll believe your visit here is over a gun.”

  His unguarded laugh surprised me. The cascading melody slithered down my skin, teasing parts that had no right to react to his presence.

  Breccan’s silken spill of white-blond hair shifted as he strode past the locked display cases, the long strands brushing against his muscular arms the traditional demonic tunic with its short sleeves did zero to hide.

  Mirth briefly touched his mismatched eyes, but disappeared when he said, “I want to hire you for a case.”

  It took me a second to recover from the shock. Then another to find the words I had to say.

  I stepped over to my usual perch by the cashier and braced my hands on the reinforced glass, the dagger still resting in my palm.

  “I’m sworn to my liege, blood and soul. I can’t work for anyone else within the Shadow World, even another lord.”

  Especially another lord.

  “It’s not Shadow World business.” He walked slowly around the edge of the counter, offering me a side view of his powerful back and damn touchable ass. “My…problem…is tied to this world.”

  I swallowed, but at least speaking about my job was a familiarity that grounded me. I even managed to pry my fingers from the knife. “That’s irrelevant. You belong to the Shadow World. I trust you’re well aware of how much demons like to gossip. It wouldn’t matter if I hunted down a dog for you in the mortal realm. They would sniff it out, twist it into something that would catch Yelena’s attention.”

  “You fear her.”

  Not a question. Just a hint of tenderness. Perhaps surprise.

  “I’d be a fool not to,” I said sincerely. He was towering over me now, standing close enough to touch—yet, oddly, not pressing me into a corner.

  Though condensation built up where my palm lay against the glass anyway.

  “There are others you can hire,” I offered. “Quality people who’ll get the job done, whatever it is.”

  “Quality people…” His knuckles brushed against my cheek. “But, Crina, I only want the best.”

  My shuddering exhale met thin air.

  Breccan was gone.

  Unable to concentrate on much yet dreading to stay idle with nothing but my thoughts to keep me company, I closed Crina’s Cache early. As if this deviation wasn’t telling enough all on its own, the proof of my desperation became even more painfully evident once needle-sharp rain prickled my atoms.

  If possible, I avoided non-corporeal travel in bad weather like the plague, as humans would put it. Actually, I preferred to avoid anything outdoorsy when Ljubljana was having yet another one of its typical waterworks displays.

  Yet here I was, floating above the cars that teemed on Dunajska street, a thousand curses firing off in my head as the pollution of afternoon traffic mixed with the early April rain. I had a suspicion the icky feeling would remain even once I changed shap
e. I sighed and pushed on.

  The file had told me the fence, Viktor, lived in one of those parts of town that had undergone thorough remodeling after the War, encircling the restored old town. Thankfully, his place was on the northern side of the ring rather than anywhere else, which meant I at least didn’t have to cover some great amount of distance. A shitty consolation, but I’d take it.

  As I traveled farther down south along Dunajska, the old repaired buildings—much like my weapons shop—gave way to elegant, if a touch more soulless, structures. I’d still been too tied to the Shadow World to remember much of how the town had looked before the magic unleashed during the War had gone on its wrecking rampage. But in the five years since my sixteenth birthday, when I gifted myself a semblance of freedom, I’d seen enough photos to recognize the adjustments.

  A series of high-rises pierced the sky opposite the central train station. Some of the sleek wall-to-wall windows dimmed to reflect the light while others offered a shameless insight into people’s lives. To each their own. But while I’d never choose to live in something so “out there,” I couldn’t deny there was something about the buildings’ edginess that appealed to me nonetheless.

  Progressing through the somewhat lighter rain, I rose higher, seeking the top floor of the second high-rise. Viktor Maselnik obviously wasn’t afraid to show off his wealth. His sprawling apartment overlooked Ljubljana in every possible direction, the spacious rooms I spotted through the glass as I drifted by furnished sparsely, but in a way that highlighted every item’s exuberant worth—and the fact that nobody was home.

  Perfect.

  I studied the layout for a moment longer, then got to work.

  My particles rubbed against the glass—standard, if odd, procedure when there were no straightforward points of entry. Even a hole invisible to the eye would be enough for me to squeeze through. I slid along the cool—and disgustingly wet—windows, devoting additional attention to the seams.

  Damn, whoever built this place knew what they were doing.

  No shoddy craftsmanship. No wear over the years.

  No opportunity to slip in.

  I circled around the entire floor once again to make sure, but my effort changed nothing.

  Frustration surged through me, atoms buzzing in response. So much for getting inside quickly.

  My options were either to make the drop back to the ground floor and worm my way through the front entrance then up the ghastly number of floors or—

  I rose higher and scanned the roof.

  A plain metal door greeted me, the slight dents and gleaming handle indicating it was used often. I sped towards it, then let a laugh flutter through my mental tones when I slipped through the crack thanks to the loosened hinges. No more than a few seconds passed before I stumbled onto a dingy-looking stairwell that was painfully at odds with the rest of the posh building. Ugly. But efficient. I swept through the dusk, squeezed myself through a tiny vent, and emerged in Viktor’s apartment.

  It held the scent of a man who enjoyed a fine glass of cognac in the evening, but aside from the ticking of a grandfather clock, the place was utterly quiet. Empty, just as I’d suspected.

  A cursory swipe revealed Victor’s alarm system was connected only to the main door, so I switched shape without fearing repercussions. My damp state became infinitely more pronounced the instant I regained corporeal form, but at least it wasn’t bad enough to leave tracks on Viktor’s Persian rug. Without wasting another second, I drew the demonic shadows around me.

  With the apartment’s open plan, a curious onlooker from the neighboring high-rises could spot me slinking about far too easily. The dimmed lights cast a sufficient amount of darkness for me to blend into, and once I was confident about my concealment, I snapped on my gloves and started to explore.

  The Victorian mahogany desk and sleek chrome computer were my first target. Mindful not to fall straight in the line of the screen’s glare, I left-clicked on the mouse. There was a short delay before the damn thing came to life, and when it did, a low curse slipped from my lips.

  Password protected.

  Lovely.

  I’d expected as much, but still, it would have been nice if life threw me a bone every now and then.

  Given my hacking skills weren’t exactly top-notch, I left the computer alone and devoted my attention to the drawers. The first one held nothing but serious quality stationery, including pens crusted with enough gemstones to make my eyebrows rise. Briefly, I entertained the notion of pocketing one, but in the end, only sighed and closed the drawer. Just as I moved on to the next one, a quick, almost imperceptible flash of light whipped my head up.

  Perfectly still, I stared at the spot where I thought the flash had originated. Seconds passed—more than I cared to waste—but there it was again. A quick blink of red.

  Excitement stirred. Pressing my gloved knuckles against the dark wood of the drawer, I slid it shut, then prowled towards the inner wall. I studied it through narrowed eyes, my mind churning over dozens of calculations.

  If I wasn’t mistaken and Viktor’s apartment was, indeed, two separate units reworked into one, then this blend of office and living room was a bit on the small side of what one would expect. Especially since the bedroom I spied on the other end—a supposed mirror image in regard to the layout—was at least a third larger in size.

  I took a step back, examining the view ahead at a wider angle. A smile cupped my lips.

  In my experience, there was only one thing a fence loved more than space to show off their valuables.

  A place to store them.

  Between one breath and the next, I broke down into particles. The red light blinked again, right next to a concealed thermostat. I was willing to bet a month’s supply of Irish coffee that the device regulated more than just the temperature in the room. But like with hacking, there were some things best left to professionals.

  I, on the other hand, had my own means of getting past security—if somewhat less dignified.

  Rubbing my atoms against every inch of the wall like a creep, it wasn’t too hard to find the invisible seam. The crack ran along almost the entire length just below the ceiling, hidden behind an ornamental slat. I floated closer.

  Magic licked at my essence—a protective ward, judging by the feel of it. My particles adapted, transforming into what the power wanted to sense in order to allow me passage. I waded through the energy molasses, the sensation turning syrupier the closer I got to the safe and making my progress slower since I had to morph yet again when I hit the second layer of the barrier.

  Viktor certainly spared no expenses.

  Multi-layered wards didn’t come cheap. Especially when purchasing a blood-bound non-disclosure agreement with the service—which someone who had as much to lose as Viktor if his security detail went out, would definitely do.

  Through the crack ahead, I caught a glimpse of the safe. Shelves not unlike the ones at my shop lined the reinforced walls, but the pooling darkness made it next to impossible to make out the specifics of the objects placed upon them. Straining my sight, I pushed closer—then backpedaled with such speed an inaudible yelp ripped from my atomized lips when I tore myself free from the ward and exploded into the living room.

  Fuck.

  The clever bastard had installed infrared.

  Magic, I could fool. But I couldn’t keep my atoms from emanating heat pure technology could sense. Sure, I would show up as nothing more than a smudge, but I’d still set off the alarm.

  Needing a moment to pull myself together, I hovered in the living room. Gods, I’d been so eager to escape Crina’s Cache and Breccan’s lingering presence that I hadn’t thought everything through. Of course someone as high-profile as Viktor went all the way to make sure his merchandise was secure. The layered ward had been a clear enough testimony of that.

  If I weren’t still disembodied, I’d kick myself in the ass.

  Rookie mistakes were something I stopped making when I was nine ye
ars old. This—having a demon lord ruffle me into carelessness… It was fucking unacceptable.

  A key slid into a lock in the adjacent room just as I floated back towards the desk. The gentle sound of the door swinging open sent a buzz of tension swirling through me. This definitely wasn’t my day.

  Cursing under my breath, I made a maddening dash towards my minute exit. Although I was confident Viktor wouldn’t be able to sense me, I wasn’t so sure that I wouldn’t make another mistake while he was here.

  Just recon, I reminded myself as I sped up the dingy stairwell and emerged into the drizzle. Despite my errors, I had the info I needed to make the next move.

  Leaving the high-rise behind, I turned north. Traffic hummed below me, a spill of blurred white and red lights, but my attention was on the slightly less posh building that had a pretty good view of Viktor’s apartment. I landed on the roof among the washed-out pigeon shit, reformed, then peered at the illuminated flat.

  Viktor was there, a cognac in one hand and his shirt unbuttoned to reveal a honed, waxed chest. As he strode closer to the windows and glanced in my direction, I instinctively moved back.

  Something crunched beneath my feet. I looked down, barely glimpsing the snapped bird bone, when strong hands wrapped around my torso and whisked me into the dark.

  Chapter 4

  “Now this is how feisty little demons wind up dead,” a gruff voice said into my ear, the arms tightening, pinning me against a rock-hard muscular torso.

  I snorted. “Dead, my ass.” I lashed back with my head and spun around, a dagger already under my assailant’s neck. “And rusty old werewolves shouldn’t be so cocky.”

  Reiner’s blue eyes flashed before his mouth met mine. I eased the dagger away as he deepened the kiss, the smoky taste of him spreading across my tongue. His hands traveled down my back, my ass, but as his fingers wanted to slip between my thighs, I pushed him away.