Shadow World

by Gaja J. Kos

  I smiled into my coffee.

  I just loved it when people believed trivia couldn’t get them killed.

  As the sky outside darkened and my plan came together down to the last detail, my gaze caught on the ritual set up in my living room. I padded over to the threshold and leaned against the doorframe.

  Chances of me coming back from my little excursion in time to perform the summoning decidedly weren’t in my favor.

  I returned to the kitchen, snatched my cell phone from behind my coffee cup, and texted Lena. While I was moderately sure tomorrow night still fell within my deadline, I didn’t want to push my luck. If she could at least pass the message on to her mother about what I had in mind to secure Vuyasin, the Queen Bitch might not come breathing down my neck before I had my father in my clutches.

  At least that was what I hoped.

  I took consolation in the fact that while, yes, I was throwing Lena a little under the bus by asking her to do this, she did have a lot of experience dealing with our beloved dark overlord. If anyone could reason with Yelena, it was her.

  My phone pinged within seconds. I leaned on the backrest of my chair and swiped open the message.

  I’ll do my best.

  My fingers flew over the keyboard. Once the thank-you note—with a hilarious meme I kept on hand for just this kind of situation—pushed through, I got back to business.

  The rich, heavy beats of Rammstein permeated my apartment as I gathered some of my more inventive weapons, skimmed the info one more time, then dressed for murder.

  The moon hung low and fat in the sky, mocking me for my missed ritual. I pushed the thought aside and breezed over Ljubljana’s streets, all the way to the outskirts where ornate buildings usually depicted on postcards gave way to crude apartment blocks no one in their right mind would ever show off. I veered past the taller ones and continued until the series of cement-colored structures no higher than three floors came into sight—with Albert’s apartment on the second level.

  Light flickered from the TV he had on, a soccer rerun that cast an unappealing green sheen over the man’s slumbering face and reflected off the two beer bottles occupying the low table before him.

  I pressed through the shabby window into the room.

  A quick look assured me he was, indeed, living alone. And, apparently, didn’t give a rat’s ass about security measures.

  Cocky or careless, the result was the exact same.

  I tweaked my position until I was hovering exactly above him, then retook my corporeal form in a blink of an eye. The human didn’t stand a chance.

  With a whoosh, I landed firmly on Albert’s lap. He jerked awake with a gasp, but I kept a steel hold on him—my thighs around his and one arm on his shoulder to pin his torso in place.

  The other I slipped inside my jacket.

  “Hi.” I smiled.

  Then jabbed the slender icepick deep into his flesh.

  Chapter 13

  The skin came off his middle finger smoothly, seamlessly, the scalpel working with utter precision in my steady hand.

  With the way I had Albert wrapped in ropes of power like a sinister present, he couldn’t as much as twitch. Or scream, thanks to the magic-augmented gag. The perfect subject.

  Though his eyes spoke plenty.

  “Ready to spill your secrets, darling?” I purred and brought the scalpel to the next digit in line.

  The blunt terror causing a reflection of my creepy smile in his dilated pupils was answer enough. I patted his sweat-drenched hair and placed my handy tool on the club table I’d turned diagonally for better access once I’d started working on Albert. Just as I trailed a finger along the sleek line of the scalpel to emphasize that I would not tolerate disobedience, one of the teams scored a goal on the TV. Fitting.

  With a strand of amusement still running through me, I undid the gag.

  Albert, the good ol’ boy that he was, didn’t scream.

  Clearly, he’d understood I wasn’t joking when I said this little kitten just might get his tongue if he yelled for help.

  Sidestepping the puddle of blood that had begun to gather on the plastic sheet I’d tucked beneath his ass and draped under his feet, I crouched on the other side of the sharkskin-patterned armchair. I placed my hand just over the worst of the injuries.

  “Start talking and I’ll heal you.”

  But Albert’s conviction in my promises only went so far.

  I rolled my eyes. As if I would lie about that after everything we’d already been through.

  Human minds were so weird sometimes.

  Before annoyance got the better of me and I rescinded my offer, I gifted Albert with a taste of my power. Flesh knitted together on the side of his abdomen, the rhythmical gushes of blood slowing down to a trickle, then rogue droplets that plopped onto the plastic.

  “Now you believe me?” I cocked an eyebrow.

  Albert’s gaze dropped to his flayed fingers I’d deliberately left alone. What little color he’d still had paled from his face, but he forced his haunted eyes to mine and swallowed deeply.

  “An acquaintance approached me just after I started working for ArcaneWings. He said Lebar wanted a leg up on their competition. I’ve been feeding Sacred Skies info for money ever since.”

  Not a lot of it, judging by the dump he lived in.

  Unless Albert was smart enough to store the cash for a rainy day.

  I partially healed another injury on his torso.

  The acquaintance he mentioned was without a doubt the man engaging in covert stairwell meetings with the CEO. Albert was telling the truth.

  But not all of it.

  “What kind of information?” I asked softly, closing the wound entirely as a sign of good will. The bastard knew I could reopen it in less than a heartbeat if he held back.

  “At first it was just destinations.” He cleared his throat. “Special promotions they had going on, finances. You know, the basics that make a business tick. Then we broadened it to providers, trying to subtly poach them away from ArcaneWings. Everything from catering to manufacturers.”

  I moved on to the first of his raw, skinless fingers. “Only it wasn’t enough.”

  “They wanted me to get plans. Mechanics of the planes.” He cleared his throat, gracing me with a dose of acid-and-beer infused breath. “Sacred Skies employs supes, but they have them working regular jobs, not operating the machines through magic.”

  The exact thing that made ArcaneWings so innovative. Magic not only existing hand in hand with technology, but becoming something more together.

  “Did you get them?” The second finger was already two-thirds healed. “The schematics?”

  Albert shook his head. Blood trickled from his split lip, and he licked the trail of crimson away—out of reflex, I hoped.

  “Couldn’t even find them. And I fucking tried.”

  I paused as he hesitated, keeping my magic just above his skin. Albert looked down at the mangled flesh again and shuddered, his paleness taking on a green hue.

  In all honesty, he was taking this far better than I’d expected. There had been nothing in Albert’s past to indicate an intimate link to a life of crime, but from experience, a regular guy should have been writhing and begging for his life by now. Cooperation or not.

  Bravado or a natural affinity for the darker shades of existence, it was no wonder this yet unnamed acquaintance had singled Albert out for the job. Useful.

  And disposable.

  “So what did you find? Don’t make me undo everything I fixed, Albert.”

  He swallowed and licked his lips again. No blood to enjoy his time. “Security. Loopholes. Weak spots. There wasn’t enough there to recreate the mag-tech nature of the planes…”

  “But enough to sabotage them?”

  “Yes.”

  Fuck. If Sacred Skies couldn’t copy ArcaneWings’s design, the only way they could get rid of the competition was to wreck it. Bringing down an airplane full of people was certainly a
foolproof way of achieving that.

  Leashing the magic that threatened to erupt was a fucking effort.

  The buzz of the TV indicated the match had ended, but the only outcome I was interested in was the one the filth bound before me had yet to divulge.

  “You knew Sacred Skies planned the sabotage?”

  “I suspected.” He shrugged, although the reaction was more nerves than indifference. Progress. “They were getting more specific with their requests after I delivered the second batch of security protocols.”

  “And tomorrow?”

  Albert tried to fake ignorance, but quickly reconsidered as the press of my finger sinking into flesh replaced the healing power. I let go before he could scream. No point in pushing it when he’d already received the message.

  “Schematics for the auxiliary arcane power units. ArcaneWings recruited new mechanics since they’re adding more planes to their fleet. The trainees are bound to silence, but I found out where the classes are taking place. Found the plans they were studying.”

  While I wasn’t some expert on mechanics, it wasn’t hard to venture a guess that with a faulty auxiliary arcane unit, crashing a plane would be a whole lot easier.

  Still, one thing didn’t fit. Obviously, Albert had spoken with his acquaintance recently. So why hadn’t he handed over the info yet?

  I healed the last finger and moved on to his face. “Did you take them?”

  “Tomorrow. Almost got caught the last time.” A bitter laugh. “But I studied the schedule now. Know when there’s an opening.”

  Gods, I loved it when they started to talk.

  Albert flinched when my magic brushed the gash on his temple, though the discomfort was quickly replaced by a display of pain-free bliss. Healing power was a two-way street.

  “You know where Sacred Skies is keeping the info you fed them?” I asked as I straightened, taking the magic with me.

  There were still a few bleeders, but Albert would have to hand over more if he wanted me to finish the job.

  “No. No clue. Never worked with Lebar or anyone else from Sacred Skies directly. But I can tell you nothing’s digital. I hand off the physical papers to my…acquaintance.”

  I snorted and rolled my eyes. “You know I’m going to find out his name sooner rather than later, yeah? Might as well say it.”

  Albert, however, held his tongue.

  Fine. He could have one small victory if it meant so much to him. After all, it would be his last.

  Once all his injuries were healed, I moved away from him and skirted around until his back was to me. The unrolled leather bag where I stored my precision tools rested atop the chest of drawers, the icepick I’d used during my grand entrance already unhooked from its respective little loop.

  Taking my time, I unscrewed its grip, then took the icepick’s twin out and repeated the process. I attached a new hollow double handle on them, then adjusted the distance so that the slender, needle-sharp tips were no more than one point six inches apart. Perfect.

  The clear plastic baggie with its tube came next. I secured it to the handle, then checked over the entire setup once more. A little blood could be written off to carelessness, but having over a gallon of the stuff spilled all over the floor would ruin the desired effect.

  Satisfied, I returned to the bound traitor. With a smile on my lips, and using only one hand to keep the contraption hidden as to not ruin the surprise, I placed the gag back on him, then laced it with magic. Albert’s eyes widened as mistrust seeped back in, but there was nothing on my face for him to read.

  I straightened to my full height and cocked my head to the side. “Did you know that if you allow a murder to happen, you’re just as guilty as the person committing it?”

  He started to shake his head, so I tightened the bonds.

  “That means you, Albert, were perfectly fine with having the blood of an entire airplane filled with innocent passengers on your hands.” I sighed. “I trust it won’t be too hard for you to accept that given the circumstances, I certainly won’t mind having yours on mine.”

  He did try to scream then. But the gag did its job.

  Now it was up to me to do mine.

  I jabbed the two needle-like tips into the asshole’s neck.

  Two similar wounds, although a couple of days old, rested just above them, testifying to Albert’s little addiction. Even if it hadn’t been for my utterly informative internet search, the fact that I’d seen a lot more marks like that during my course of torture—the majority in places easily covered with clothes—would have alerted me the man got his rocks off by having vamps suck on him. Several at once, as he’d boasted on one of the boards and outlined in detail on his blog. His crown achievement up to date had apparently been two vamps drinking from his erected dick while the others worked on the rest of him.

  My time with Ilya had certainly proven bites could be orgasmic, but what Albert was doing bordered on obsession.

  And it was the exact kind of practice that could easily get out of hand.

  The small openings at the very tips of my weapons along with their hollowed structure allowed the blood to flow freely. Realization dawned on Albert’s gaunt face once he saw the clear bag fill with crimson, but it was too. Fucking. Late.

  I slipped a thin film of magic beneath the steel points when I drew them out, controlling the air so that the blood wouldn’t gush, only drip, then carried on to the next location on his body once I replaced the bag.

  Although bleeding him took a fuckload of time, I didn’t rush my work. Once the cops found him, they would pin his death on his choice of lifestyle. Case closed.

  Besides, should the discovery happen before I managed to stop the assholes from Sacred Skies, this way, there would be no reason for anyone to suspect that Breccan was behind Albert’s death. Win fucking win.

  Once there were no more than a few drops trickling from the numerous wounds I inflicted on him, all bearing different bite widths, I undid the bindings, healed any bruising they might have left behind, and let Albert fall back on the armchair.

  I didn’t bother planting samples of saliva around the bite marks. Too much work to find and frame creeps without alibies, especially when one look at the scene would be all the police needed to slide the case among the rest of the files that weren’t worth wasting their resources on.

  I did, however, set one of his group-feed films in the DVD player and sent it over to the screen. The cops were in for an appetite-killer of a surprise once they turned the damn thing on.

  Last but not least, I unlocked the door from the inside to give the appearance Albert’s hungry—well, sated, more likely—guests had run off after they realized their host wasn’t among the living any longer.

  I scooped up my weapons and the bags of blood, made sure no trace of my presence remained, then reached for my alternate form and left the same way I came.

  After enough distance had passed and I found a discreet location deep within Tivoli’s trees, I burned the bags with my fire until they were less than ash. I checked the time on my cell, then called Simon. One last thing to tick off the itinerary.

  “You ready?” I asked in the way of greeting.

  “Ready, love. You’ll have your sweet little blackout in T-8 minutes.”

  Just enough time to get my ass over to Sacred Skies.

  “I owe you big time.”

  “My account will be waiting,” Simon drawled and hung up.

  Chuckling, I stuffed the cell back in the pocket of my jacket, then shifted shape again. Ljubljana’s numerous lights blurred beneath me as I sped towards the south. I wouldn’t have much time once Simon killed the grid, so I hurried into the building and positioned myself in front of the safe, ready to slip in the instant the airlock whizzed its dying breath.

  I didn’t have to wait long.

  Not only did I hear the telltale whoosh, but I actually felt a puff of slightly stale air stir my atoms. In less than a heartbeat, I was inside.

  With n
o wards and no infrared, I took corporeal form, set my rolled-up bag of tools on the ground, and started searching. Demon fire flickered around me and cast soft spills of shadows throughout the claustrophobic space. There were more folders here than I expected, but a quick scan unearthed the ones pertaining to ArcaneWings.

  Since this was supposed to be an incognito job through and through, I couldn’t just take the damn things, so I photographed every sheet of paper to send to Breccan later on. He’d know what to do next. Mindful of putting the files back exactly as they’d been, I opened the next drawer with my gloved hand. While I thought I got everything Albert had confessed to stealing, I wasn’t about to trust his word on blind faith.

  Or believe Sacred Skies didn’t have another source somewhere inside ArcaneWings.

  Not at the level they were playing at.

  I pulled out the first of the fat little folders and flipped it open. A photograph of a man stared back at me. Light brown hair, bloodshot eyes, and a hard, scowling mouth.

  I did a double take, but the image didn’t change.

  The world really was fucking small.

  Sacred Skies wasn’t only interested in a rival company. The fucks were keeping tabs on my father.

  Chapter 14

  Sacred Skies had an interest in my father.

  It took a while for the information to register.

  I turned the page, but before I could even begin to read, another photograph fluttered from between the sheets of paper. My gloved nails scraped against the steel floor as I picked it up.

  Hieraven.

  Someone had taken a shot of the demon while he was in the mortal realm, a cafe just outside Ljubljana I knew by name but had never been too visible in the background.

  What the fuck?

  I sank to the cold floor, folded my legs beneath me, then went through the information. The pages took on a soft blue hue as I brought my demon fire closer—as if better illuminating the black letters would make it easier to understand the words and sentences they formed.