Gritting her teeth and shaking her head, Bridget walked forward to the next grate so that she could have enough light to read Twitch’s writing on the napkin. She was not looking forward to attempting to unravel his insanity, but the sooner she completed her search, the sooner she would be able to leave the sewers with the rituals manual in tow.
Three hours later, she was coated in sweat that made her clothes stick to her body and her limited patience was all but exhausted. The trail had led her to a brick wall with a small opening near the floor where a single brick had been knocked loose. Bridget shifted into a rat and crawled through the hole, finding herself in a small walled-off chamber. The only exit was a small drain in the wall across from where she entered. Bridget shifted back into her human form and took out her phone, using it as a flashlight to look around.
One section of the floor was loose and did not match with the rest. Bridget hunched over and grabbed the stone, digging her fingers in and lifting with her legs. It moved a fraction of an inch, so she redoubled her efforts. She let out a growl as she forced her legs to straighten, yanking the loose stone out and revealing a small cavity large enough to hold a book. In her excitement, Bridget stopped caring about the filthy surroundings and dropped to her stomach, groping into the hole and searching for the manual. Her fingers brushed against something light and thin. She pinched it between her fingers and pulled it out.
It was an envelope, damp and so flimsy that it threatened to tear between her fingers. Bridget used her phone to study it and could see the letters through the paper. It was written in a neat steady hand, which meant someone other than Twitch. Bridget eased her nail under the seam of the envelope and opened it, removing the letter with agonizing slowness. Her eyes flew across the paper as she read the cursive handwriting.
“I have retrieved that which does not belong to you, or to your friend who so elegantly removed it from its resting spot. I commend him for his skill to procure things, even if his execution leaves something to be desired. By now you could guess that your comrade could not have accomplished this difficult task on his own. Indeed, while he may be gifted in many ways, calling him a half-wit would be overestimating his capabilities. In that regard I congratulate you on choosing allies who will not have the ambition, nor possess the desire, to supplant you.
“If you are the person that I can only assume will be reading this note, then the item in my possession is of particular importance since it contains the resources to relieve you of your affliction. We shall say that I am a collector, and this item intrigues me for scholastic value. However, I could be persuaded to deliver it into your hands since you require it for a more personal purpose, on a temporary arrangement of course.
“If this offer interests you, know that everything has a price. My price is proportional to the gravity of the situation. You may contact me at the Crescent Court Hotel, at the following address. Leave a note with the desk clerk, and I will retrieve it at my earliest convenience. I don’t know when you will find this, but I’ll check with the clerk for messages until I receive your response.
“A final note to my fellow entrepreneur. I know who you are and what you’re capable of, so please do not expect me to be lackadaisical in my methods of protecting that which is mine.
“Yours truly, Gregory Marks.”
Bridget’s fingers grew white from pressure as she gripped the note tighter with each word she digested. When she finished the message, she crumpled it and threw it against the wall. She let out a wordless scream and pounded the wall with her fists. As her anger grew, her form faded and a black bear pounded the walls in fury. The bear stopped. She sniffed at the air and wrinkled her nose. She clawed at the walls, trying to get free from the enclosed space. She cut large gashes in the stone wall as she attempted to escape.
After a few moments of attempting to get free, the bear’s eyes changed. They grew wider, and lost their primal nature. The beast stopped her senseless struggle, shook her head from side to side, and then curled up on the ground. Her breathing became deeper. When it seemed like the creature was in a deep sleep, she shimmered, and Bridget shifted into a human.
She took several deep breaths with her eyes open before daring to move. When she did, it was slow and deliberate. She tried to stand up, and almost fell over, leaning against the wall for support. Inside, her intestines felt like they were tied in knots and pulled in separate directions in a maddening tug of war. The seconds felt like a lifetime until she was comfortable enough to shuffle to where the paper landed. She folded it neatly before sliding it into her pocket. She just needed a moment to rest, and then at least she would be able to leave the sewers.
Chapter 12
Gregory stepped off the elevator on the top floor of the building. This entire floor belonged to him as leader of the conclave. The only rooms on this floor were part of his suite. He walked down the hallway to the two guards standing at attention outside of his door. They nodded as he approached, never staring at his shadow-cloaked form for too long. They were good soldiers and knew better than to be too curious about their leader. Gregory strode past them and swung open the door to his suite. There was no reason to keep it locked.
As he stepped through and closed the door behind him, Gregory sighed and brought his hand up to his forehead as he leaned against the wall. He had just come from a meeting with Cameron and the report was beyond disappointing. Bridget was a powerful opponent and they were not ready for her intervention. Cameron would try again, this time in force. Twitch’s escape had served its purpose and now he needed to be brought back into the fold by whatever means necessary.
As if ruling the conclave wasn’t taxing enough, he was expected to keep his shroud up at all times to make sure no one saw his face. That effort alone was enough to tax most shifters past the breaking point, even those who showed an affinity for using rituals. He was about to let his armor drop when he noticed that the pile of papers on his coffee table was askew. They were still in a neat stack on the edge of the table, but they weren’t lined up with the corners. Being meticulous had its advantages.
Whoever was spying on him might still be in his suite. If they were, they would have heard the front door open and close. He decided to play along, acting as if he never noticed the signs of trespass. Gregory walked into his main living area and walked over to the pile of papers, picking the top one up and crossing the room to the large glass doors on the far side that led out to a balcony. He stood there, pretending to read the paper by the fading sunlight, but scanning around the room instead. He didn’t see any signs of movement, so he moved on, curious about who was talented and foolish enough to invade his private space. There were very few Shadows who might have done this. Darien certainly had the ability, but he doubted the young man knew his identity or had the finesse for such an endeavor.
Gregory walked down the hall, not attempting to disguise the sound of his passage. He walked into his bedroom, taking a quick glance at the bed and nightstand before making his way to the dresser. As he pulled open the top drawer, he looked at the closet out of the corner of his eye. The sliding doors were cracked open, another small sign that he might have missed if he was someone else. Perhaps the perpetrator decided to hide in there. Gregory fumbled around in the drawer for a moment before walking back to the front entrance. He opened the door once again, and then closed it, making sure it would be loud enough to be heard in the next room. He inched his way back into the living room, making no noise as he took up watch in a darkened corner of the room. With his ritual active, he would be near impossible to see standing in the darkness.
Within a minute, a slim woman with short cropped hair walked out of the hallway and peered around the room. She moved like a liquid as she glided across the floor and came to the coffee table and stack of papers. She took a quick look around before picking them up with a gloved hand and skimming through them in the limited light available. Gregory recognized her even if he couldn’t see her face. It was Lisa, Cameron’s second i
n command and the only Shadow that Gregory feared might attempt a coup against him. She would not be easily cowed. What he needed to know was if Cameron sent her; did he decide that it was time to move up in the ranks? Or was this something of Lisa’s design?
He took a step to his side so the glass door was behind him and only his silhouette would be visible. She dropped the paper she was holding and snapped her head up while dropping into a combat stance as soon as his shadow fell across the paper.
“How is it that I come to find you in my private chambers, Lisa? What could possibly be an acceptable explanation for this trespass?”
She recovered from her surprise and stood up straight before giving a subtle bow. “I’m sorry, sir. I meant no disrespect. I believed that there was a potential threat.”
“And you believed this threat to be in my chambers, somehow managing to get past the multitude of security measures we have in place to protect our entire conclave? Above and beyond this, you believed that it was not necessary to warn me directly. How loyal and thoughtful of you to place your welfare at risk in order to preserve my safety.”
“I believed the threat to be internal and did not feel the need to disturb you with something so trivial.”
Gregory slid a small blade out from inside his sleeve and threw it at Lisa. She jerked as the metal sliced across her cheek and drew a thin line of blood. She kept her face impassive, and other than her initial reaction, refused to move. She let the blood start to drip down the side of her face.
“Do not lie to me.”
“Of course, sir. I wouldn’t dare lie to you. What I said was the truth.”
“Then elaborate.”
“I’m afraid to talk to you about it, sir. I fear that if I do, it will only make matters worse. These walls have ears. They always do.”
“You’re being vague in an attempt to avoid answering the question.”
Gregory stepped forward, making sure to fill her vision. He was a full head taller than her, something he used to his advantage as he loomed over her. To her credit, she refused to cower, but he did see a slight tremble in her hands when she clenched them into tight fists. No, Lisa was not one to break, which made her both useful and dangerous.
“Rest assured, Cameron will be informed of your indiscretions, and I’ll give explicit instructions as to the proper punishment.”
“Of course, sir. I would expect as much.”
Her answer came too quickly, and without any fear. If anything, the answer seemed to calm her judging by how her hands relaxed. So it was likely that Cameron already knew she was here. It was the most information he would get from her at this time.
“Now be gone. I do not wish to discover that you’ve been in my private chambers again. If I do, I’ll be sure to deliver your punishment myself. I fear that Cameron may be too lenient with you.”
Lisa nodded, and walked out the front door. He watched her go, once again impressed with her composure. It was part of what made her their most accomplished assassin. He would need to find a new target for her to eliminate, if only for an excuse to keep her busy and away from his chambers. The situation with Darien was unfolding perfectly; he just needed more time to bring it to fruition. Any outside influence could disrupt the delicate balance of the show he was putting on.
Gregory let his ritual fade and let out a sigh of contentment as the burden was released from his mind. Now that he was safe in his private chambers again, he no longer needed to maintain it. He reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose. He needed to make sure to spend less time in public areas in the near future. He had to save his energy for other rituals.
After a quick walk around the suite, checking every room and closet, Gregory was confident that Lisa hadn’t left anything behind to spy on him. It was time to continue work on his plan. He could rest later. Gregory walked into his bedroom and activated the hidden catch next to his bed that slid a section of the wall away. No one knew about this secret room, except for his predecessor—whoever that might have been. It was a small room with little more than a writing desk, a single lamp, and a shelf holding up several glass bottles.
A large tome rested on the writing desk, propped open to a page about three quarters of the way through. The writing was a work of art, and each page had pictures painted in the margins by a long-dead scribe. This was one of several ritual manuals from their vault. Each conclave had a copy of the ritual manuals. It was quite fortuitous that Twitch managed to steal one as he fled the conclave. The only difficulty was making sure the elderly shifter stole the correct one. Now, everyone expected it to be missing and the last place they would look was Gregory’s private chambers.
This manual did not have the supposed Sheynan cure, but it did have a way to create dreams and trap others in them, painting a specific scene like a play. With just a little more pressure, Gregory believed Darien would see how the Shadows were the voice of reason and the force he should ally with.
And if that didn’t work, he had a final trump card. Gregory grinned as he tapped a small folder on the corner of the desk. It was a report from one of his superiors and contained a full analysis of Bridget’s physical and psychological health. She’d do anything to find the cure, even if it meant turning over the only other Sheynan in existence.
Chapter 13
Bridget sat down on the carpeted floor of the empty house she was borrowing. The house was a three bedroom, two bathroom home currently on the market. The previous owners moved out already but had trouble selling the real estate in a struggling market. She smiled to herself as she thought about the first day she found the house for sale by owner. It truly was the epitome of one person’s tragedy being another’s triumph. In the few weeks that she’d been here, only one family came to inspect the property. She easily avoided them by pretending to be one of several spiders living in the attic.
She walked into the bathroom on the ground floor and turned on the hot water in the shower. She stripped off her clothes, leaving them in a haphazard pile on the tile floor. The cupboards underneath the sink contained a minimal amount of cleaning supplies. One of the plastic bottles held a yellow liquid soap. Bridget took it out of the cupboard and carried it into the shower with her. The water soothed her muscles as it ran down her skin in tiny rivers. She took the soap and pumped some into her open hand. It was only hand soap, but it sufficed. She scrubbed every inch of her body, trying to get the scent of the sewers off. When she was done, she turned off the water. With a deep breath, she shifted into a dog, and shook her damp coat several times. Satisfied that she was dry, she shifted back into her human form and used her fingers to brush her dark red hair back. Looking in the mirror, she saw that her gray eyes were bloodshot and she had more wrinkles around them than she remembered. The strain was getting worse, and it showed.
The entire house was silent as she stood there. Her shifting was running wild more often, and it was more painful to maintain her stability. She didn’t know how much time she had, but she felt the oppressive weight of her own personal doomsday clock. It wasn’t fair. The more her powers grew, the tougher they were to control.
With a sigh, she turned away. Her feet carried her to the master bedroom on the second floor. Collapsing in the center of the floor, her body relaxed. She felt buoyed by the carpet, and it willed her body to lose its tension. Her eyes closed, and a wide smile spread across her face as she squirmed on the ground and arched her back, stretching like a cat.
After the stretch was finished she pulled her arms against her body and slowed her breathing. The smile faded from her face and she forced her focus within herself. Her fingers clenched and released once, then lay flat against the carpet with the palms down.
“I will find you.”
Her whisper sounded loud in the empty house, bare walls bouncing the sound back at her. Bridget faded into the realm of dreams with the name Gregory Marks burned in her mind.
It was like groping in the dark for a flashlight that you know should be in the house, but
you don’t know if you are in the right room or what it should feel like. With her mind, she reached out, trying to touch something, without knowing what she was searching for. It was a general drawing in of everything she could find, like casting a net into the ocean and pulling it back to sift through the treasures.
With each pass, Bridget extended her reach further, but she was unable to find what she was looking for. She knew this was a nearly impossible task, but that thought alone drove her to search harder and further. At one point, she found Darien in the dream world. Her curiosity distracted her from the task at hand. She pushed herself against the barriers of his mind and found an unanticipated resistance. She could always enter his dreams before without a second thought. She reached out with one hand and touched the barrier. It was cold and made her snap her fingers back.
Focusing her will into a pinprick, she pushed it forward, trying to pierce the barrier without causing any significant damage. The resistance was formidable, and Bridget found herself needing to increase the strength of her mind as she tried to punch a hole into the dream. This was more than mere willpower. This was a deliberate cage constructed to isolate his dream. She didn’t think Darien was capable of this yet. Perhaps his powers were growing even faster than hers.
The point of her will pierced through the cage and she was sucked into the dream before she realized what was happening. One moment she was in the ether between dreams, and the next, she was staring at a dense forest growing in size as she plummeted towards it. Bridget stayed calm and imagined herself slowing her descent like a leaf.
It didn’t work.
Bridget screamed in surprise and pain as she broke through the top branches of the trees at full speed. They slowed her descent to a non-lethal rate, but many broke against her body, leaving her bruised and battered on the dirt. She could feel her skin damp with blood where the wood scraped against her. A groan escaped her lips and she rolled onto her back to stare at the sky.
The Bringer of War (The Sheynan Trilogy Book 2) Page 9
