Camera Obscura (A Novel of Shadows Book 1)

by Christina Quinn

  “I’m on his computer.”

  “If you go to the folder Acquisitions, it’s the file titled Futures.”

  I doubled clicked the Icon, and glanced over it, someone was a little power hungry. Thorn wanted to rule like a king over the preternatural in the Unites States.

  “Can you copy them and toss them over to the server?”

  “Of course…so what are you going to do about sleeping evil in there?” Beat the shit out of him.

  “Haven’t decided yet.”

  “He can’t harm you with his powers.”

  “I know.” I clicked out of the search and erased every trace of it before I turned off his monitor again, and pushed the chair back in. Anger and frustration built into a knot in my chest.

  “If you play him a little bit longer you might get him to tell you everything.”

  “Yeah…” But beating him to a bloody pulp would be so much more satisfying.

  “Rosie, I know that tone. Repeat after me, I will not kill the Sterling heir, until I get all of the information I can out of him.”

  “I will not kill the Sterling heir, until I get all of the information I can out of him, unless he really pisses me the fuck off.”

  “Close enough.”

  “As close as you’re getting.” I ended the call, and slipped my phone back into my coat pocket.

  Swishing champagne in my mouth, I dumped the oversized bottle down the sink, and took it into the bedroom, placing it on its side beside some of the pillows on the floor. I stared at Thorn’s prone body for a little while, and decided to take out some of my aggression on him. I mauled him with my teeth and nails until his torso was covered in deep scratches, and perfect purple bruises shaped exactly like my dental imprint. Given it wasn’t as much fun as it would have been if he had been awake for it, but it sated me enough to sleep next to him without the worry that I might sleep strangle him.

  ****

  Thorn groaned as light shafts fell across the bed, slicing into my retinas and forcing me awake. I forced myself to smile sweetly I as slipped over Thorn’s lap, pressing my lips to his as my hair veiled us from the sun for a few moments. He ground his hips against mine, and I fought the urge to vomit in his mouth. Instead, I nipped his bottom lip hard before raising.

  “Ouch.” He sucked on the mauled swollen flesh.

  “Sorry, I kind of got carried away.” I slid from across his thighs.

  “I don’t remember anything after opening the bottle of champagne.” He glanced down at his body and raised his eyebrows. “Looks like we had fun, though. If that empty bottle is any indication of how much I drank this headache is just the preamble to the worst hangover ever.” He chuckled and flashed me a million-wat grin that I returned as I put my bra back on.

  “Loads.” I winked at him. “But I have to get to work.”

  “Can’t stay for breakfast? Magda makes the best breakfast smoothies.”

  “Nope. I didn’t get my case reports finished yesterday.” And I have to wash the taste of evil out of my mouth.

  “But it’s Sunday.”

  I clapped. “Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

  “If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were running from me.”

  “Unlike the socialites and interns you’re used to, I work for a living. Sheridan—my boss—will have my head if I don’t get them on her desk before the start of business tomorrow.”

  “You don’t have to work. I know The Order is supposed to foot the bill for you guys.”

  “Would you want to be under their thumb?”

  “No. But I already have one too many masters.” He smoothed his hand over his gym-sculpted pectorals. “And yet I have just the right number of mistresses.” He winked, and I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “How about we do this again tonight after you finish your work? It’d be nice to remember it.” Fat fucking chance, Motherfucker.

  “Sure, if I’m not there too late.”

  “I’ll bring you brunch. Two-ish?”

  “Can’t wait.” I walked out into the great room and started reverse engineering my stripping from the night before, while a middle-aged woman with dark hair in a charcoal and white maid’s uniform watched on in horror. I had almost forgotten about my stitches but the woman’s face said it all, I looked like something from a horror movie—which sounded just about right since I felt like a zombie.

  ****

  They say sleep driving is worse than drunk driving, and I can attest to that. I’ve never driven drunk but trying to stay awake while driving in late November is definitely tough. After leaving Thorn’s, I went to the hotel room I had checked into, took a shower, changed into clean clothes and made use of that free continental breakfast before heading to the office which was only a few blocks away. It had stopped raining, but that didn’t stop the weather from being gross. It was misting, that thing that happened when it really wanted to snow desperately, but it just wasn’t cold enough—it was number three on my top ten list of things I hate about fall.

  The 820 building was a ghost town on a Sunday morning. It was pretty much just me and the cleaning crew. The only sound was the hum of the heating and the distant muted whirr of a vacuum somewhere.

  Some might have called it spooky, I had a clairvoyant client go on and on about the ghosts they saw walking the halls. I couldn’t see nor feel ghosts, so it didn’t bother me in the slightest. Supposedly, a minus null could zap them out of existence, so I was pretty sure they kept a wide birth of me regardless. In a way, I was the alpha predator, immune to all the big nasties out there. The thought made me smile as I pushed passed the doors and headed for my office.

  I wasn’t looking forward to the paperwork, but the mindless typing would help clear my mind to focus on other things—like what to do about Thorn. He had to die, there was no doubt in my mind about that. It was the when and how that things got muddied. My phone rang. Please let it be anyone other than Thorn.

  “Hello?”

  “I have phenomenal news!” It was Davy. Thank sweet fucking all.

  “Do you?” I practically beamed as I paused in my typing.

  “Mhm. I’ve been up all night going through those files, and I found the names and banking information of the Shadows that were under his employ.”

  “Did you find anything about the Cult?”

  “No. I think it’s just a smoke screen at this point. Something just meant to mislead anyone who came after him.”

  “It’s that extra screw left over after you finish putting together Ikea furniture.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Davy, I’m so tired.”

  “Get some sleep?”

  “I can’t. I have to finish typing this shit up for Sheridan.”

  “See, that’s why I don’t get the whole working thing.”

  “What you’re doing right now is a job.”

  “So, by your own admission you have two jobs.”

  “I like working…sometimes. You know it’s usually not this bad. Watch the Shadows and see if they any of them group up.”

  “You’ve killed five of the dozen already.”

  “Dozen?”

  “Wow, that’s whiny.”

  “I’ve earned the right to whine, Motherfucker.” I hung up on him and continued my typing.

  After I was done with everything, I had a vacation in my future. Tradition be damned, I was going to spend a week someplace warm where I could get massages. I wonder if the hotel I picked has a spa?

  At some point I had fallen asleep, my phone buzzing against my keyboard woke me up. I sat up with a start, wiping the drool from the corner of my mouth with a groan. Nothing sucks quite like falling asleep with your head on a desk. My neck ached like it had been wrung through a mangle. I rubbed my nape and the sore muscles there as I check my phone.

  - Can’t make lunch. So sorry, something horrible happened. I’ll tell you later though you’ll find out about it out before then.

  I stared at the text from Thorn and for a moment th
ought he might have figured out that I was playing him. Nah, he’s not that smart. I went to the bathroom and splashed some cold water on my face. While I stood before the mirror, my phone buzzed again.

  - Sorry to hear about Thorn’s dad. Tabs sent me.

  Grumbling, I put my earpiece in.

  “Cameo, news Thornton Sterling III.”

  “Associated Press article summary: Thornton Sterling III CEO for Sterling Enterprises committed suicide today, jumping from the top of Sterling Tower One onto the street below. Thornton Sterling IV will be instated as CEO first thing Monday morning.” Looks like someone is wiping the deck of his other masters. I couldn’t get the image of Thorn making Jonas pull the trigger out of my head.

  “Cameo, send the article to Davy.”

  “Sending article.”

  I took my earpiece out and pursed my lips looking at my reflection. If I had killed Thorn the night before, his father would still be alive. I felt somewhat sick, but not quite guilty. Thorn was no longer the Sterling heir, he was the head of House Sterling. The upside was his family would put up a stink about him seeing me, giving me the freedom to purge the bad apples from The Shadows without tripping over the overzealous puppy that their employer turned into around me.

  Twenty-One

  THERE WAS SOMETHING about waking up in a hotel room on fresh sheets that just makes me smile. The hotel was a new one and semi-expensive, so I wasn’t too worried about the possibility of nasty things like bed bugs or what a black light would reveal. For a change, I had woken up before my alarm, so I stretched, threw on some workout clothes and went down to the gym.

  A man working with free weights had the news on so I was forced to listen to an anchor drone on and on about Thornton Sterling III and how unexpected his suicide was. No shit, his son made him take a leap off the building.

  I climbed on the tread mill, and started running at a full sprint as I listened to the news cast. Supposedly, there was a suicide note left on Thornton Sterling III’s desk that mentioned he was the reason his son had been kidnapped. It also said that his guilt drove him to kill himself. The news anchor mentioned some bullshit about worrying that those who took Thorn would come back. It took a while but I eventually reached the point where I was about to put a free weight through the television if I heard anymore, so I did the smart thing and went back to my room.

  I showered, dressed in my signature hey-look-everyone-I’m-a-Shadow attire, black leather jacket, black tank top, black jeggings, and steel toe boots. I put my makeup on and slipped my Glock 19 in my inner pants holster, and my Pico in my flashbang middle of the bra holster. Yes, I’d look indecent drawing it, but I had reached the point where I was all out of fucks to give. I took out my phone and called Davy.

  “Taxidermy and butchery by Charlie, you slice ‘em, we dice ‘em.”

  “That one doesn’t even make any sense.”

  “I was just about to lay down, sorry for my lack of creativity.”

  “Pick a name from the list of Shadows you pulled from Thorn’s computer and ping them. I’ll do the rest.”

  “You know I can’t let you do this stuff on your own.” He yawned. “No matter how much a very large part of myself would like to right now. Okay… let’s see who’s near you. Sarah, twenty-two, is supposedly on contract to take out some fellow in New York, but she hasn’t left yet. She’s staying at the hotel you’re in, and—unless someone messed with the feed in the hall—is still in her room.”

  “She’s just a baby.” It wasn’t like I was much older, but being twenty-two meant she had only been an Executioner for four years and had yet to have all the shiny newness buffed off. Six years ago I was damn near happy-go-lucky. Well not quite, but I wasn’t half as jaded or cynical yet. I didn’t understand humanity, but I didn’t yet assume the worst in every situation.

  “Most of them are, there are only two or three who have been out of the program for more than a handful of years. One was Jonas and the other Emmanuelle.” I groaned at the name, she’d give me problems.

  “It’s not who I think it is, right?”

  “If you mean the one who came up with Fiona it is.”

  “Two words, sniper rifle.”

  “How about morning coffee?”

  “It’s not that bad of an idea.”

  “I mean spiking her morning coffee. She goes to that coffee shop on Euclid—that independent one—The Mean Bean, every day around seven o’ five.”

  “Maybe I do need more coffee because that’s usually the type of shit I come up with. Any of the others scheduled to leave the area anytime soon?”

  “Nope.”

  “Good.” I knew how I’d get Sarah. It wouldn’t be flashy; it wouldn’t even be exceptionally violent. I walked over to my suitcase and opened the little bag that contained a few vials of drugs and syringes. Insulin can be stored up to almost a month at room temperature if unopened—it also makes a very effective murder weapon. I filled the smallest gauge syringe I had with insulin and tossed the vial into the mini fridge. I placed the cap on the needle and headed out. “What’s her room number?”

  “382. Want me to stay on the line?”

  “Yeah, watch her door.” It was only two floors from me, so I decided to take the stairs.

  “Do you feel weird about this?”

  “About what?”

  “Killing one of our own.”

  “For the sake of fuck, Davy, don’t do this now,” I grumbled exiting out onto Sarah’s floor.

  “Do what? Have a concern for taking the life of one of our own?”

  “Yeah, something like that. Unlock her door.”

  “Done.”

  When I entered, I found the room neat and tidy like every Shadow was taught to keep any place they stayed. On the dresser was a wig stand with long blonde wig attached. Sarah wasn’t in bed like I hoped, and the shower was on. I pressed myself flush to the wall beside the bathroom door and waited. Standing there, I almost wished I had brought a knife and decided to do it the messy way—take my frustrations out on Sarah, the traitor. Even as on edge as I was, I knew I had chosen the smarter route.

  The door opened, and Sarah took two steps out, she was as fresh-faced as I had pictured her. A redhead with pale skin and freckles. She was also slow like I expected her to be. I barely had to fight to get my arm around her throat from behind. Instead of responding with her training, she panicked, clawing at my leather jacket. She had a few inches on me, which meant I stood on my toes as I applied that measured pressure to her throat. After a handful of panicked seconds, she jerked backward, sending us to the ground and knocking the air out of my lungs, but it was kind of like bull riding, and the buzzer was about to go off—I only had to survive about ten seconds. Her struggling grew weaker and then she went limp, and I released her.

  “You okay there?”

  “Shut up, Davy,” I snapped through my panting as I took the syringe out of my pocket and injected it between her toes. I could have killed her with the choke hold, but last time I held it for the two minutes required my hand actually fell asleep and I hated that pins and needles feeling. “It’s done. Five to go?”

  “Yeah, Five.” His voice seemed a little sad. “Sometimes I forget that you have this inability to feel.”

  “It’s not that I don’t feel. I do.”

  “But not to the same degree that most do. I don’t think anyone else could really do this like you just did. Sarah did nothing to you directly, we only have the file as confirmation that she’s part of this.”

  Grumbling, I looked around the hotel room, something felt off—there were too many suitcases. One meant a quick trip, two was an extended stay, but five?

  Ignoring most of what Davy had said, I continued searching the room.

  “Where did you say her contract was?” A passport and plane ticket sat out by the wig on the dresser. The name on the passport and ticket didn’t read Sarah Black, but Jane Walker. The picture was the woman I killed, but not as a red head and the passport even ha
d her as a blonde. The plane ticket was to Paris, and there was no return.

  “New York.”

  “Sarah was going to Paris, not New York. With five suitcases.” I decided to dig around. The suitcases were filled with designer crap from requisitions; dresses, jewelry, shoes, and handbags. “Looks like she tried to clean out The Warehouse. Can’t really blame her, if I were to go on the run I’d stock up too.”

  “Bugger all.”

  “Secretly hoping I had just murdered an innocent caught up in this?”

  “It’s more comforting for me to think that someone is framing us than it is to contemplate that it’s not five traitors sitting here all this time, it’s been twelve. Twelve out of one hundred and nine. That’s… eleven percent. Five is negligible, but twelve? What’s to say there aren’t more working for other ends? How can I live with these people? Eat with them, drink with them, sleep eight feet from them?”

  “Lock your door?” I hung the do not disturb sign and left back down to my room. Once down there I tossed the needle in the little red biohazard thing I always took with me. I guess I did have a few things in common with Thorn—I was a considerate monster.

  “Ha. Ha! So funny you are. Want another name?”

  “Sure. I’ll do Emmanuelle tomorrow morning.”

  “Let’s see who else is near you.”

  There was a lot of noise coming from Davy’s end. The normal hums, clicks, and clacks of him thinking and searching. They were almost comforting. Other than those noises he hadn’t said anything else even by the time I made it out to my car in the parking garage.

  “If it makes you feel any better, Sarah was smart to try and get out. She knew something was coming down, let’s hope it isn’t the same for the others. That being said, can you deal with her Sybil?”

  “Deal with? You mean murder?” If I didn’t know better, I’d say Davy was grumpy.

  “Yes.”

  “No. We both know I suck at that sort of thing, but I’ll ring up the Anubis. He gave me his direct line after having a very intense, very uncomfortable conversation with me last night.”