by P. S. Newman
The camera lurched to the left, in time to catch two green Order vans screeching to a halt at the edge of the Plaza. Four hunters jumped out, blades in hand. One had a rifle and the ice-cold eyes of a man who never missed: Vaughn Taylor. From the cover of his vehicle, he took aim and fired.
The smartphone camera was yanked back to the melee just in time to catch Greyson going down and disappearing in a sea of snarling hounds. My chest constricted. I clamped a hand over my mouth to stop the whimper that wanted to escape. I’d hoped that by calling Greyson in, I wouldn’t have to witness his termination. Now here I sat, in a front-row seat. The fact that this wasn’t live footage, that all of this had already happened, didn’t make it any less real.
The Order hunters strode towards the melee from two angles, swords held at attack stance. Taylor had exchanged his rifle for a battle-ax. The hounds turned to face the new threat, the flames on their hides bursting higher in warning, or maybe eagerness. Fighting in tandem, the hunters began to cut down the hounds, taking care not to touch the flames. They made steady headway toward the center of the roiling mass of flaming bodies, under which Greyson was buried. It was difficult to keep track in the chaos, with the camera being yanked left and right. The person filming the whole thing was trying to catch every bit of action.
‘Blondie’s getting up!’ Exclamations from the audience had the cameraman spinning the camera back to Greyson, who was staggering to his feet. He picked up his saber from the ground and straightened.
Get out of there before the hunters see you, I begged him silently. Suddenly I wanted nothing more than for him to escape. Go go go!
Several hellhounds charged into view, slipping past the shade hunters’ circle as they gaped at Greyson. The crowd behind the camera screamed as the hellhounds ran towards them. The cameraman retreated, though he kept filming. The picture shuddered, alternating between sky and the plaza, showing the next few scenes in a jerking frenzy of motion.
Greyson cutting down one of the scattering hellhounds.
The remaining hounds running towards the crowd.
Taylor striding into view, aiming a handgun at Greyson.
A scream from the mass of panicked people. A flame-engulfed hellhound heading right for an old lady holding on to her grocery bags for dear life, her face a hollow mask of fright around her scream.
A sword flying through the air, burying itself in the hound’s back.
The person holding the phone stopped running and steadied the footage, showing exactly what happened next. The hound lay dead and doused at the lady’s feet. Greyson crouched beside it and pulled out his sword just in time to fend off another one heading straight for the old lady. A gun boomed and Greyson reeled as if punched in the shoulder. Taylor bore down on them, pointing a shotgun at Greyson as two more hounds approached, teeth and flames bared.
Greyson picked up the old lady, shopping bags and all. He stared at Taylor, then turned his back and ran for the shelter of the nearby street market, two hounds snapping at his heels. Daring Taylor to shoot him down and leave his precious cargo unprotected.
Two more hunters ran past, after the scattering hounds. Taylor holstered his gun, drew his ax and chased after Greyson, who disappeared around the corner of a building with the woman.
The camera swept the scene. Black canine bodies littered the ground. A blast of green caught the cameraman’s eye.
‘Oh my God.’ He zoomed in on the green. One of the Order hunters lay in a pool of blood at the side of the gazebo.
The film cut back to the studio. ‘One of the Somni Order hunters, Joshua Dobrev, was critically injured during the battle,’ the anchor reported, ‘He was taken to LA Memorial where we hope he will make a full recovery. Meanwhile, Mrs. O'Leary, the lady rescued by the warrior shade, is in good health and would like to thank her savior in person.’
They cut to an interview with the woman, who was still clutching her grocery bags against her chest, strands of gray hair sticking out of her bun at crazy angles. ‘I owe him my life,’ she said, her diction slow but steady, almost monotone. She was probably in shock. ‘If possible, somehow, I would like to thank him in person.’
"Yeah, and that’s how the Order catches him and cuts off his head," Bella said with a snort, dragging me back to the living room and our fast cooling dinner. "Typical bullshit Order ploy."
I had to take a deep breath before I could respond. “Language, please.” I hoped my voice didn’t sound as shaky as it felt.
"Sorry. Bullshizzle. But they were feeding her those lines. If Greyson falls for that, they'll catch him."
"We don't know it was a shade of Greyson Deynar." I hated misleading her like this, but it was necessary. If she thought Greyson was somewhere in the vicinity of La Plaza Park, she'd go looking for him, no matter who had dreamed him into being.
"What are you talking about?" she asked. "With the hellhounds? And the banishing?” She imitated Greyson reaching for the hounds with his nonexistent banishing powers. “It fits. He looked exactly like I always imagined him. Acted like it, too. Always the hero. It's as if I dreamed him up myself.”
“I think you may have, in a roundabout way.” Aunt Vy’s voice was dry.
Bella looked at me. Really looked at me. "He's yours?"
It took everything I had to stop myself from doing exactly what I was hoping to prevent Bella from doing - jumping into my car and going to find him. Outright lying was beyond me. "Yes."
Bella’s enthusiasm dimmed. "And you called him in to be eliminated?"
"Yes."
"Why would you do that?" She looked at me as if she’d caught me beating a puppy. "You need to go find him.”
“No, dear,” Aunt Vy said, her voice gentle. “That way lays misery for all of us.”
It felt surreal, Aunt Vy agreeing with me on something like this. Maybe she’d be able to convince Bella I’d done the right thing. But Bella wasn’t convinced, not by a sword and least of all by the truth. “You miss him,” she told me in her best imperious-Aunt-Vy impersonation, “I know you do!"
"He's not the real Grey, Bells."
Disbelief turned to derision in a flash. "I can't believe you just said that. You, of all people."
She stood up, dropped her half-eaten plate on the coffee table with a dramatic bang and swept out of the room. Or tried to. Her stiff knee wouldn’t allow a coordinated sweep. She almost crashed into her big sister, who was on her way into the living room. Cecelia dodged so fast, she banged her arm against the wall.
“Ow.” Cecelia rubbed her elbow as we listened to Bella stomping up the stairs to her bedroom. “What was that about?"
I leaned my head on the back of the couch and closed my eyes. "It's been a long, stressful day. She's tired."
Cecelia sat down beside me. She looked pale beneath her olive complexion and her shoulder-length brown hair fell uncharacteristically flat as if it were exhausted, too. “Bella’s always tired. That's what happens when you either take sleeping pills that would knock out a horse or refuse to sleep entirely.”
“You’ll have to watch her tonight. She might go out and look for… someone.”
“One of her shades?”
I didn’t want to tell her; I didn’t want anyone to know. It was embarrassing and she’d pity me. But Bella’s safety was at stake. I opened my eyes and sat up. “One of mine, actually. Greyson.”
“Oh, Eden.”
The expected spark of pity in her deep brown eyes made me defensive. “I called him in with the Order, but he escaped. It was all over the news.”
“I thought shades manifesting shades wasn’t possible?”
I shook my head. “It has never been proven either way. I think that’s just a rumor spread by the authorities to keep people from worrying even more.”
“You told Bella that going after him isn’t an option, verdad?”
Had I said it in those terms?
Cecelia sighed. “You've got to stop coddling her."
"I know."
C
ecelia laid a hand on my arm. “Thanks for telling me. I know it was hard for you. We’ll watch her tonight. David's coming over, so we’ll have two sets of eyes and ears in case she tries to sneak out.”
“Thanks.”
“Did she tell you what happened at school?” Cecelia changed the subject. “It had to be more than a panic attack. I have half a dozen messages from Mrs. Sievers on my mailbox."
"She stood up for herself."
Cecelia's eyes widened. “That's a first."
I couldn’t help the smile creeping up on me. “I know. To be honest, I'm proud of her. I think she is, too. She rode that high all the way to the Pit. She even tried to make me take her to your crime scene."
Cecelia blinked. “My crime scene? At the Pit?"
"We saw the yellow tape and your car, and put two and two together. The news confirmed. Do you know what happened?"
Cecelia shook her head. "We have no idea."
"Do you think it was a shade that killed the guard?" I asked.
"You know I can't talk to you about my open cases,” Cecelia said with a shake of her head. “Even if they're shade-related."
“I know,” I said instead. “But please be careful.”
Cecelia’s smile was tired but genuine. She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. “I will.”
“Okay.” I smiled back. I trusted her to come to me if she needed my help. “Are you in for the night?"
"Yes. I’ll keep an eye on Bella, I promise. You go work. Happy hunting."
CHAPTER NINE
I called Sean before I headed out to start my shift and find the doppelgänger. Sergeant Taylor’s information had been interesting, to say the least, but I still needed a place to start my search. It was also a good way to avoid the inevitable conversation with Aunt Vy about Greyson. The fact that she hadn’t broached the subject as soon as we left Cecelia’s house meant she was just waiting for the best moment to catch me off guard.
Sean picked up on the first ring. "Did you find him?"
"What's the safe word?" I asked. We'd agreed on one so I could be sure I was speaking to the real Sean. Since we came up with it after he had created the doppelgänger, he was the only version who would know it.
"Moon Walk," Sean said.
Correct. I relaxed. "No, I haven't found your doppelgänger. I need you to tell me your favorite haunts in the city.”
“Haunts?” He sounded amused.
“Places you could imagine this shade would go to eat or rest,” I explained. “Assuming he needs to do both and that he manifested with your memories intact.”
“It’s likely he has my memories,” he said. “I knew I was me during the entire dream. What sort of places are you looking for?”
“I’ll start with your home, your favorite restaurant, the Griffith Observatory... I remember you like to hang out there. You haven't spotted him at your office, have you?"
"No. He isn't here; I've been tapped into our security feeds all day. I wouldn't have missed him. But two more places come to mind. David's house, for one."
I wanted to smack my forehead in exasperation. I should have thought of his brother's home myself. "Would he know the passcode to the house?"
"I know it, so it’s likely.”
"What's the second location?"
"Um... your house." He sounded as embarrassed as I suddenly felt.
“He wasn’t there when I left,” I said quickly. “But I'll check out David’s house. By the way, the Order hunter he got away from said he was pretty evil. A ‘pyrokinetic psychopath’, as he put it. Does that coincide with your dream?" He hadn’t mentioned having any evil notions during his dreams. That would put a different twist on things and explain why he was so adamant that I hunt down his doppelgänger before it acted on its malice and did something evil.
He hesitated before answering. "It's possible."
"What does that mean?"
Silence.
"Sean? Did you lie to me about the dream?"
"No," he finally said. "I just left a few things out. Things I didn't think mattered."
"You need to tell me what they were.” Right now, before I reach through the phone and wring your neck.
"Like I told you, I dreamed I was in the Jacuzzi. But I wasn't alone. There was another me in the hot tub with me. Like… an evil twin. He attacked me."
"Your evil dream-twin attacked you?"
"Yes. He tried to burn me."
"Was he trying to kill you?"
"I think so. Until I woke up."
This was how the shade was different enough from him to manifest.
"A dream-version of you tried to fry you in your dream. You understand this means your doppelgänger is probably without scruples," I said. It would have been good to know from the start. Taylor’s insistence that this doppelgänger was evil suddenly seemed less excessive. I swallowed the impulse to yell at Sean. I didn’t want him to shut down now. "Coupled with cunning, that's a dangerous combination in a shade."
"I get it, I should have told you. But it shook me up. The dream seemed so real. I woke up thinking I was burning alive."
I knew only too well what that felt like. It had shaken me up, too. Maybe I should cut Sean some slack. "Talk to me about the fire-wielding." Taylor had told me all about it, but I wanted to hear it from Sean, too. Comparing the two narratives would help me determine if there was more information he was trying to hide.
"He can conjure fire out of thin air.” There was a strain in Sean’s voice that could have been fear. It might have been awe. "It obeys his command. Pretty flame patterns, balls of lava, or jets of fire... he’s got it all at his fingertips. Literally."
Fire, the new theme of the week. First my own dream, then Cecelia's murder case at the Pit, now Sean's pyrokinetic doppelgänger... My pulse spiked. "Sean, I have a question and I need an honest answer: does the doppelgänger have any connection to the Pit?" If he did, I would have to let Cecelia know, confidentiality clause in my contract with Sean be damned; there might be a connection. And if the doppelgänger was indeed the murderer, I had to double my efforts to eliminate him before he targeted someone else.
"You're asking because of the murdered guard and the burned cameras. I saw it on the news."
"It's not so far-fetched. You can see right into the Pit from your office, which means it's on your mind, at least subconsciously. Maybe that's what triggered this fire-wielding shade."
"It's possible," he said. "I also have a fireplace at home, one I hardly ever light because it's too damn hot in this city. That could just as easily have been a trigger."
He was answering my question as vaguely as I'd asked it. Time to be more direct.
"Did the Pit make an appearance in your dream?"
He sighed. "I know it looks suspicious and I can't fully exclude the possibility that the doppelgänger murdered that guard because I haven't seen him since he manifested. But why do you think I hired you in the first place?"
"To cover something up."
"Cover up what? You know the law. The dreamer isn't responsible for his shade's actions. I just want to make sure he doesn't hurt anybody and that I don't end up on the news as that rich guy who dreams of psychopathic killer versions of himself."
"I get that," I said. "But you didn't answer my question."
"For the love of…" He took a deep breath. "The answer is no. The Pit wasn't part of my dream, nor anything else fire-related. Except for the shade itself. Just find him, okay?”
“I will.” I couldn’t tell if I’d pushed him too hard or if he was acting defensively to make me feel guilty. But if I came across concrete evidence that this doppelgänger was connected to the Pit, I could still take it to Cecelia. In the meantime, I'd give Sean the benefit of the doubt and do my job.
No shade could escape me forever.
CHAPTER TEN
David lived in an ocean-view villa on the coast of Santa Monica. The building sprawled on top of a cliff, with a driveway half a mile long and an EnerShield g
ate blocking access to it. Only the rich could afford the newest in shade-repelling technology and this force field was the latest craze. A single touch would slice your hand to ribbons. If you ran into it… pouf!
Too bad not all shades were dumb enough to do so. The walls surrounding the property were high, but made of stone and thus not insurmountable. With the right motivation, most people could scale to the top. Whatever his purpose may be, the doppelgänger sounded plenty motivated.
I stopped the van in front of the silver shimmer of the energy shield and lowered the window. I’d called David after I hung up with Sean to get his permission to go hunt a shade on his property. He’d given me the passcodes to all entrances and I now punched the one for the gate into the keypad. The shield flickered out of existence. I drove through and watched it reactivate in my rearview mirror ten seconds later.
I stopped the car halfway up the drive in a dip in the ground that hid it from view of the house. If the doppelgänger was here, I didn’t want to warn him of my presence. I slipped my favorite sidearm, a Walther PPT, into my shoulder holster. I preferred to fight with blades; even in the graphic novels, my alter ego Elysia wasn’t the best of shots. But a long-range weapon was never a bad idea when facing a shade with literal fire powers of its own. I also grabbed my backpack with other assorted knick-knacks. A hunter never knew when binoculars, rope or smoke grenades would come in handy.
I slid Aunt Vy into her sheath between my back and the backpack, her hilt sticking out above my right shoulder in easy drawing position. She still hadn’t said a single word about my manifesting Greyson, so I knew that was coming. She was probably preparing her speech of reprimands right now, to let me know in no uncertain terms how I’d mishandled the situation.
I left the van, making my way through the dry bushes that covered David's property. I wanted to approach the villa from the side because that would be least expected. I also had a better vantage point from there, as I knew from my two visits to David's property twice before. He’d invited Cecelia, Bella, and me for dinner once, and another time for a weekend getaway. I knew my way around enough to be aware of the best spots to watch the house from. Hopefully, one of them would help me get the drop on the doppelgänger. If he was here.
