Sun Cursed (Shades of Blood Book 1)

by Megan Blackwood

  "Sorry, I need to speak with Seamus. Don't take too long, please. I have a feeling I'll need to work outside this building very, very soon."

  Nine: Ghost Words

  I found Seamus in the room with the glowing screens that he'd called computers. At first I thought he must have risen very early to beat me to the room—I always wake with the dawn—but then I took a sniff of the air, and realized he had not yet washed, and he was wearing the same clothes from the night before.

  "Did you sleep?"

  He jumped and spun his chair around to face me, dragging a hand through already tousled hair. Dark half-moons marred the shadows beneath his otherwise bright green eyes, and he had the sunken, stricken look of a man who'd pushed himself too far by half.

  "Mags! You startled me. You move so quietly, we're going to have to put a bell on you or something."

  He noticed me then. Not my presence, that had already shaken him, but the fact that I had washed and was wearing little more than a silken robe. His gaze tracked the length of my legs—long and strong, the years had not atrophied me—then halted at my waist. He shook himself and cleared his throat, putting a professional smile back on.

  "Come and sit over here, take Talia's chair. I've got some things you might be interested in seeing. I don't know what they mean yet, but maybe you'll see something I missed."

  I took the offered chair and jumped when it leaned backward. I gripped the armrests, bracing myself for a tumble, but the chair stopped at a rather comfortable angle. Tentatively, I pressed my toes to the ground and gave the chair a little push, spinning in a tight circle. I couldn't help but grin. Seamus laughed.

  "I was so focused on teaching you about computers and the internet I never even thought about the chairs."

  "Do mortal leaders use these as well?" I smiled at the mental image of the world's high kings spinning in their seats during important meetings.

  "They do, but they have to pretend they're not having fun with them."

  "Pity," I said, kicking off for another spin. "The world would be better off if its leaders learned to find joy in their everyday lives."

  "That is so true," he said, tilting his head as he thought. "I'm not sure if I should be comforted or worried that the political observation of a woman who's been out of the world for two hundred years is still relevant."

  I shrugged. "Such things were true even when I was a mortal."

  "Oookay. That's definitely not helping." He grabbed a metal cylinder from the desk, opened the top, and poured dark, steaming liquid into a mug then took a deep gulp. He let out a sigh so profound I felt I should avert my gaze for the sake of his modesty.

  "What is that?"

  "Oh, this?" He held up the mug and swirled it under his nose, inhaling the steam. Hints of cocoa filled the air, along with a sharp berry tang and a bitter, smoky element. I recognized it at once as the Arabic drink that had fueled the intellectuals in my day: coffee. But I could see from the pleasure in his face that he was dying to tell me all about it, so I let him explain.

  Patience is one of my rare virtues. We sunstriders have it in droves, and it's not just to keep us from losing our calm over the centuries. No mortal likes a know-it-all. And as much as we are their protectors, we'd also rather avoid any pitchfork-and-torch scenarios.

  "This is coffee, all robusta, the best bean a plant ever gave us. Adelia keeps a pot going in the break room, but her blend is vile. I like mine single-origin and run through a press pot, so I make it in my flat and bring it in with the thermos—stays hot all day. There's nothing like it. It keeps me going when I haven't slept in..." He squinted at the time in the bottom right of his screen. "Err. Let's just say too long."

  I paused the spinning of my chair. "You have not slept at all."

  "Well, no. Honestly, I was too eager to get to work. Here, let me show you what I found." He reached for the computer controls and froze. "This, uh, might be a little hard to get your head around."

  I smiled reassurance at him and patted him on the shoulder. "We sunstriders are quick learners. A benefit of the species."

  "Right. Good." He pointed to a few devices, explaining their use and purpose in quick, unfettered words. Mouse, keyboard, monitor, tower, speaker. I filed all of these objects away, curious to use them myself, but for now let Seamus guide me through his research. I didn't want to slow him down. I could learn later, after I'd discovered what had happened to my coterie.

  "Now," he said, "this computer is hooked up to the internet. Pretty much everything worth having these days is online—that means connected to the internet—but we'll get to other devices, cars, and things like that later. For now, what you need to know is that the internet allows this computer to talk to other computers very far away."

  I frowned, considering. "Like telepathy?"

  He blinked, then cracked a grin. "Pretty much, actually, yeah. That's a pretty good comparison. So, using the internet—actually a private version of the 'net for the guard, but, well, that's irrelevant. The point is this computer can talk to every other Sun Guard computer. And it does, often.

  "We're spread out, so we don't interact much in person, but we have scheduled check-ins and exchanges of information to make sure everything is running in the green at the other facilities. Like, once a year we all get together for tea and donuts—man, you will love donuts—but mostly our communication is through text via these computers, a system called e-mail."

  "And the other compounds have reported no problems to you over the course of the last few weeks via e-mail?"

  "Oooh." He shot me an approving smile. "You are quick. That's right. I haven't heard a peep of strangeness out of our usual contacts. It's all the same ol', same ol'. Things are quiet, the crypts are cold, everyone's bored, but the tea is grand. That type of thing. But now that I'm looking at them I've noticed some odd patterns. This is where you might just have to trust me, this will be a little hard to understand."

  "Try me."

  "Right. So. Uhhh. All the things I do on the computer, all the actions I make it take? Those are controlled by things called programs—or apps, I guess if you want to be modern about it, but I don't, so we're going with programs—and these programs are created using something called code. It's like, text lines that tell the program what it can and can't do."

  "Like a written spell?"

  "Yeah! Why the hell not? I'm coding magic. So, programs run the world. But in the last couple years there's been a big surge in artificial intelligence, AI for short. These are programs designed to fool humans into thinking they're human, too. There are a lot of good reasons for this—customer support, medical care, and, well, most of them don't act like humans at all. They do things like analyze massive amounts of data in special ways. But I think, for the last week or so, that the thing that's been responding to the regular check-ins isn't human. I think we're dealing with an AI now."

  I cocked my head to the side, considering. He grabbed his mug and took a long gulp, then topped it off with the thermos.

  "How can you be sure?"

  "I can't, honestly. There's a few repeated words here and there that caught my eye, shared across offices. I've been chatting with these people for a long time, and I know the feel of the language they use. This doesn't feel right, it's too sames-y. And I started calling around this morning. No one's picking up their phone."

  "What is a phone, exactly?"

  "Oh. Right. Like the internet, but just for voice. So, if I called your phone from my phone, and you were in France and I was here in London, we could talk just as easily as we are now. Phones came before computers, actually. Talking on the phone is kinda old-school now, hence the e-mails."

  "I see. Is it unusual for people not to pick up their phones?"

  "Yes and no. Most people prefer text for personal interaction—like a small version of e-mail—but businesses always pick up their phones. Something's going on here. I don't know what it is, but I think these offices have been compromised. Real information isn't getti
ng in or out."

  "Then we must go to them in person to discover what has happened."

  "My thoughts exactly."

  "Good. You will take me to the nearest." I moved for the door. Seamus sprung from his chair and grabbed me by the elbow.

  "Whoa. No offense, Mags, but you should probably wait for Talia to get back with your new clothes. She should only be a few more minutes, and..." He trailed off, cheeks turning bright red as he dropped my arm and stepped back. "Let's just say it's daylight out there, and you aren't exactly incognito, okay?"

  Ten: The Road Ahead

  Talia brought me a wardrobe large enough to satisfy a queen. She and Emeline laid the clothes out across my bed, sorting them into like piles, then gathered a few items and thrust them upon me. They only blushed a little when I dropped my robe and began to dress in front of them.

  It was funny, to me, that while these clothes would have been scandalous on the streets of my London, these girls who were serving in the role of my attendants—and as such, should have been accustomed to seeing women naked—were easily abashed. This was one point on which I would not adapt. I could be naked in my own bedroom. Anyone displeased by this was welcomed to leave and wait for me in the hall.

  I tugged on a pair of dark blue jeans, the fabric stiff but flexible enough to allow me to kick to my full ability, then tugged a sleeveless crimson tank top on and topped it all with a black leather jacket. The jacket was covered with far too many zippers to be practical, but the thick material would, I hoped, deaden some blows and make stabbing me a touch more difficult. I held no illusions regarding its strength against bullets.

  Though I was suspicious that the clothes weren't much of an improvement from my time, I found the boots a marvelous leap forward. They were thick, supple black leather with heavy soles, and they laced snugly halfway up my calves. The soles gripped the slick hardwood floor, and the toes were inset with steel caps. Talia pointed out a small pocket on the side of each in which I could stash a knife, which I promptly did. I was no clotheshorse, but a girl did like to accessorize.

  "You are freakin' gorgeous," Talia crooned, and grabbed my hand to drag me in front of the room's full-length mirror. I frowned.

  "Where will I hide my sword?"

  "Oh!" Emeline grabbed a discarded bag and rustled through it. "We had to go to a weeb shop to find this, but I think it'll work."

  "Weeb?"

  Talia grimaced. "Believe me, you're better off not knowing."

  Emeline removed a tangled contraption of black straps that reminded me of a desiccated octopus out of the bag. Talia peeled the jacket off my shoulders while Emeline went about fastening the straps over my arms.

  "It's nylon," she said, "a kind of newish fabric. Not the comfiest, but it should work until we get you something custom."

  Talia helped me shrug the jacket back on, then fetched my blade from where I'd left it leaning against the nightstand and handed it to me.

  "The sheath is here," she said, and pressed along the length of it so that I could feel its position on my back. I sheathed the blade effortlessly, and then Emeline arranged my hair to cover the basket hilt which peeked out over the collar of my jacket. After her fussing the blade all but disappeared.

  "How does it feel?" Talia asked.

  The nylon straps rubbed the tops of my shoulders as I moved through a basic offensive maneuver, but despite the slight discomfort the weight felt solid and centered, the blade easy enough to reach in a hurry.

  "I dislike this nylon, but it will do for now."

  "We'll get that fixed ASAP." Talia pulled her phone from her pocket and made a note.

  "A-S-A-P?"

  "As soon as possible." Emeline tugged on my jacket lapels, straightening them. "The modern world is full of fluffy jargon like that."

  Emeline went to see to her other tasks while Talia and I met Seamus in the foyer. He had a pack slung over his shoulder, and the second he saw me he sparked a grin and handed me a thin, metal rectangle with a glass screen. Another phone.

  "All of our numbers are already programmed into it. Here, let me show you." He stood with his side pressed lightly to mine and flicked through the phone's programs to demonstrate how I could call them, and how to answer if they were to call me.

  "It will ring whenever you call me?" I asked.

  "Yep!"

  "What if I'm infiltrating a hostile hive?"

  "Oh, uh..." He snatched it back and showed me how to silence it, and set the phone to vibrate. Satisfied, I placed it in my jacket pocket and zipped it shut. At least some of the zippers were more than decorative.

  Talia jangled her keys at the two of us. "Let's go!"

  "A moment." Adelia rushed after us down the steps. I clenched my jaw, trying to remain patient. Between the need for rest, and clothes, we had wasted too much time. If Seamus was right, and something was wrong at the other compounds, I needed to be there. Now.

  "You are not driving, my dear." Adelia cut Talia a look as she foisted on a pout.

  "I am head of logistics."

  "And you retain that title despite what happened last time you drove. I've called a car. The driver is discreet and understands the nature of our work. He will be reliable, and responsive to your requests. But..." She fixed her gaze on me. "Try not to do anything that would alarm the local populace."

  I inclined my head. "I will do my best to be circumspect."

  But if someone was messing with the bodies of my kin, there would be hell to pay, veil be damned. Adelia must have seen the flash in my eyes—sunstrider irises were frustratingly emotive—but whatever she thought about my streak of anger, she was wise enough to keep that opinion to herself.

  Seamus led me to a sleek, black vehicle at the curb, not far from the bushes I'd lurked in the night before. It was a testament to my ability to adapt that, when Seamus opened the back door for me, I was not taken aback by the opulence I found inside. Smooth, sienna-leather seats greeted me, and a faint but pleasant smell. The man in the driver's seat wore gloves to match the upholstery, and glanced into a mirror that faced the backseat as I entered. He caught my strange eyes and gave me a professional nod.

  "I've been instructed to take you wherever you wish to go, ma'am. Full authority."

  "What is your name?"

  "Basil Heywood, ma'am."

  "Please, call me Mags." I scooted over as Talia slipped in beside me and Seamus climbed into the front seat. "Seamus has the address. Approach discreetly."

  "Understood, Mags."

  Seamus showed the man the location on his tablet, and after a quick conference on the best method of approach using a large, zoom-able map of London, the car slid out into the road, gravel crunching beneath its tires. The grounds of Somerset House slid past through the tinted windows, and I watched this new world slip by as I prepared to face whatever awaited me at the next Sun Guard compound. I hoped that my people were safe. If this were to be my future, I could get used to it. But I wanted my family with me.

  Eleven: One More Crypt

  As the car crept through traffic, I sought any landmarks that might still be standing. Something vaguely familiar about the area teased my senses, but it was so swaddled in the trappings of modernity that I couldn't quite figure out where I was.

  Seamus craned around to face me and said, "This is Charing Cross. The original Eleanor cross from your time was torn down and replaced by a Victorian replica—you should be able to see it over there. The compound we're going to is in a hidden catacomb nearby. Here—" He braced himself with one arm as he handed me the tablet with the map and pointed. "St. Martin-in-the-Fields has a graveyard with a door disguised as a crypt. That door has the same lock function you're used to at Somerset House. Shape your fingertip into the usual arrangement and enter."

  "Understood," I said and leaned forward, watching St. Martin's appear. The old church was mostly unchanged. An anchor of sameness in the center of my city's heart.

  Its presence comforted me. Tourists flooded the grounds
, and if I recalled correctly what Seamus had taught me about my cell phone they seemed preoccupied with taking pictures of the church, and of themselves in front of it. And, strangely, of what appeared to be drink containers sitting on tables. Sometimes I suspected mortals took more pleasure from their food than I did.

  Basil brought the car around to the quietest side of the church, a road shadowed by a copse of trees, and pulled to the curb to let us out.

  "Circle," Seamus ordered, and Basil nodded before we piled out.

  The two of us affected a false stroll as we approached the church's graveyard. Clouds coalesced over London, darkening the streets and throwing hazy shadows across the yard. Few tourists bothered with this area, and those who did were young and clothed all in black, too busy smoking cigarettes to pay us any mind. At the edge of the yard, I spotted a young woman with a pair of dark glasses over her eyes, much like the windows on the car. I could not see her eyes behind them.

  "What are those?" I asked, pointing.

  Seamus squinted after my finger. "Her sunglasses? They keep the sun from straining your eyes."

  "A good idea for me, wouldn't you think?" I gave him a long look. Sunstrider eyes were sure to be noticed eventually. I wondered if Victoria had thought about that when she'd enacted the veil.

  "Good idea. I'll text Talia, maybe she and Basil can find a shop nearby to grab some from."

  Seamus stood with his back to me, hiding me from sight as I pulled upon my inner strength to shape my fingertip to the key I knew so well. The St. Martin's door clicked over with no resistance and, glancing over my shoulder to be certain we weren't watched, I pressed my palm against the cold stone and swung it inward. A single set of stairs lead down into the dark belly of the compound. Sweet decay and stringent iron perfumed the air. Seamus gagged and brought an arm up to cover his nose and mouth with the sleeve of his jacket.

  I drew my blade as I stepped into the shadow of the hallway. The cold kept some of the stench from being overpowering, but I had to suffer through the stink with my senses fully heightened. It wouldn't do to miss something important just because I did not wish for any discomfort.