nightrise

by Nell Stark

“No.”

  “Then what happened to you?”

  I looked from her to my glass and back again, trying to calm the pounding of my heart and thinking through how much I should say. As distressing as it was to be sitting across from an attorney asking pointed questions about the wereshifter community, it also felt liberating to tell the truth for once.

  “I’m not going to answer that question until I know who’s asking: Olivia, or the DA’s office?”

  “I told you, I don’t work there anymore.”

  I sat back and crossed my arms beneath my breasts, determined not to say another word until she decided to be more forthcoming. After staring me down for a full minute, she threw back the rest of her drink and braced her palms on the table.

  “Fine. Last month, I was asked to take a leave of absence.”

  “Why?”

  Olivia’s eyes narrowed and the small muscles along her jaw flexed. Volatile and uncompromising, she reminded me in that moment of Valentine. They looked nothing alike—Olivia’s hair and eyes were dark and her clothing and mannerisms decidedly feminine—but she shared with Val an effortless confidence and seething impatience. I wondered if those qualities had been bred into them by the wealthy and powerful generations of which they were now the scions.

  “My superiors thought I was unhealthily preoccupied with an unsolved case,” she said when I continued to hold my ground. “Your turn.”

  What happened to you? There were a dozen ways to answer that question with some semblance of truth, but I found myself wanting Olivia to know everything—for her own protection as much as for my own peace of mind. She was an accomplished investigator, and if she sensed that I was holding back, she would only continue to search for answers. Answers that could get her hurt, or worse.

  “When Valentine was turned into a vampire, I had myself deliberately infected with the lycanthropy virus so I could feed her forever. So I could save her soul.” As her expression shifted from determination to shock, I allowed myself a bitter smile. “It didn’t work.”

  “Vampires…exist?”

  “Is it really so hard to believe, after what you saw?”

  “You’re seriously trying to tell me that Val is a vampire.” Her voice was laced with bravado, but the last word trembled on the air.

  “She was turned by the same man who attacked you.” When Olivia paled, I reached for her hand again. “Don’t worry. You haven’t been infected. You were lucky.”

  In another moment, she had pulled back and was gripping the sides of the table hard enough to whiten her knuckles. “Damn it, Alexa. Start making some sense!”

  My temper flared and the panther surged back into the fore of my consciousness. She was always so close to the surface these days, and my fatigue grew stronger as I reined her in yet again.

  “I’m sorry,” Olivia said, and I wondered whether she had guessed at the nature of my struggle. “I just…”

  “It’s a lot to take in. I know.” I finished off my drink, hoping it would help me relax. The walls of the bar seemed closer now, and I fought off the sense of suffocation that tightened my chest. Not my claustrophobia—the panther’s. She wanted to run, despite our spontaneous jag through Central Park last night. Or maybe because of it. Was my control slowly crumbling? Could she sense it?

  “So the man who attacked me is a vampire.” Olivia stuttered on the last word.

  “Was. He’s dead now.” I had feasted on his corpse without regret, and still felt none.

  “Dead?”

  “Dead. I swear it.” Only then did I realize Olivia had been living in fear of the Missionary all this time. Was he the “unsolved case” she’d been benched for obsessing about? Or had Helen and Malcolm found the influence to derail her career so she would stop poking into their business? Had she been suffering the same nightmares that had plagued Valentine’s sleep almost every night until we finally had closure?

  She folded her arms on the table and lowered her head to rest against them. The thin wool of her sweater grew taut over her shoulder blades, and I couldn’t help but compare her more delicate physique to the tight, prominent muscles of Val’s shoulders and back. I was debating whether or not to reach out to her when my phone buzzed. Karma.

  “Are you all right?” she said when I answered.

  “Yes, fine.”

  “I need you to come to the museum right now. There’s something I have to show you.”

  I glanced at Olivia; she hadn’t moved. She may have brought this shellshock on herself, but I hated to leave her when she clearly felt so vulnerable. “Can it wait?”

  “I may have found a way to help Val.”

  Her words knocked the breath from me. Even my panther was shocked into stillness; poised for flight or battle, her presence trembled on the edge of action. Hope rose from the ashes of my despair to scorch the aching hollow in my chest. “I’ll be there as soon as I can get uptown.”

  Olivia raised her head as I hung up. “You have to go, obviously. But let me buy you breakfast tomorrow. Please. There’s still so much I need to know.”

  Her plea was slightly garbled to my ears, as though she were speaking from behind a waterfall. I nodded dumbly, unable to process anything but Karma’s declaration. Everything I had read about full vampires indicated that the transition was irreversible—that whatever part of Val’s essential self that had been lost was beyond all recovery. Had Karma managed to discover some way to reverse the vampire parasite’s hostile takeover of Val’s bloodstream? And more importantly, to restore her soul?

  “Alexa?”

  “Breakfast. Tomorrow.” My tongue felt thick in my mouth. “All right.”

  “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  She wasn’t far off the mark, and I willed myself to focus even as the panther paced the circumference of my psyche in agitation. “Just some surprising news.”

  Olivia started to reach for my hand, but apparently thought the better of it. “I want you to know that I heard about you and Val. And I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks.”

  “She’s an idiot.”

  I spun toward the door to hide my reaction. The woman in me was in danger of betraying tears. The panther in me thrashed at the insult to our mate. No matter what Valentine did or said, she would always be rightfully ours. I had impressed that fact as deeply into the psyche of my feline half as she was imprinted into my DNA.

  “It’s not that simple.”

  Chapter Four

  Karma was waiting outside a nondescript door along the south wall of the Met. I ran across the street, not to avoid traffic but because the burst of activity felt good. As I approached, she swiped her ID card and entered a code at the keypad.

  “Hi.” I brushed past her and she followed me inside, pausing to double-check that the door had locked.

  “Hi.” Her eyes glittered in the dim light of the hall, and the fine hairs on my arms rose as I realized just how close to the surface her jackal was. I had never witnessed any kind of breakdown of Karma’s control, and the sight was unnerving. My panther shoved hard at the doors of my brain, and I braced one hand against the wall to steady myself under her onslaught. We stood facing each other for several fraught seconds until, with a shuddering sigh, Karma lowered her head.

  “What on earth was that?” I asked, hearing the breathlessness in my own voice.

  “I’m sorry.” Karma moved down the hall, gesturing for me to follow. “I need to carve out some time to meditate. It’s been such a crazy week, and I’m especially on edge tonight.” She used a key to activate an elevator at the end of the corridor and we stepped inside.

  “I know the feeling.” As the doors closed behind us, I leaned against the far corner, wanting to give her as much space as possible. “Are you worried about getting in trouble for bringing me up?”

  She waved the suggestion away. “That’s not it at all. I’ve been on edge ever since Malcolm, and now…” She closed her eyes briefly before refocusing on me. “Today�
��s discovery has implications. Large ones, for many fields. And people.”

  I tried to stay calm. Rational. “You found something in the shipment you’re cataloging?”

  “Yes.” She looked me up and down. “I’m glad you’re all right. Olivia didn’t try to cart you off?”

  “The DA’s office sidelined her.”

  Karma’s expression turned thoughtful. “I wonder whether Malcolm and Helen had anything to do with that.”

  “Me, too. But they couldn’t shut her up before. What’s changed?”

  “Foster.”

  Detective Devon Foster had died trying to apprehend the vampire who had turned Valentine. Or so I’d thought at the time. It had been a shock to discover Foster alive and well as a vampire several months ago. And not just any vampire—the hand-picked head of security for Helen’s new task force.

  “You think they didn’t have someone in the NYPD before?” That possibility seemed unlikely to me. The Consortium had infiltrated most human institutions at least to some degree.

  “I think they may not have had someone in the police force who could stand up to Olivia’s connections.”

  When the elevator doors slid open, my next question died on my lips. We were in the most pristine warehouse facility I’d ever seen. The room was organized by dividers into discrete cubes of space, most of which were filled with an assortment of objects. Karma led me down the main avenue that bisected the room, then turned right.

  “Here.” We entered a spacious enclosure that held a collection of large rectangular stone sculptures. They ringed the space like stoic sentries, and I paused in the doorway to take them all in.

  “What are they?”

  Karma stood by the leftmost stone and reached toward it, checking her fingers only an inch from the surface. “Ancient Egyptian stelae. Boundary markers from the Nile delta.” She gestured toward the human figure with a jackal’s head that dominated the bas relief. “Anubis, god of the dead.”

  I wondered if she felt some glimmer of affinity with the deity who shared her beast. “Is that text above and below him?”

  “In Hieratic, yes.” At my look of confusion, she added, “Adapted hieroglyphs for faster writing. Egyptian cursive.”

  I moved forward to inspect it. The dusky gold stone was shot through with white highlights, and in some places, the sculptor had used the gleaming veins to artistic effect. I wondered at how the stelae must have looked in their natural habitat, rising up out of the earth like the fingers of a god laying claim to the land. Breathtaking, certainly. But Karma hadn’t led me here to show off impressive artifacts.

  “What do they say?”

  “Combined, the inscriptions on these stelae create a narrative—one that scholars have believed to be lost. Until today.”

  “I don’t understand. How could it be lost if they knew about its existence?”

  Karma gestured in a broad arc encompassing all of the markers. “The story is alluded to in many cultures, much like the ‘myth’ of werewolves and vampires.” She flashed me a wry smile. “But until these stones were discovered, the actual text had never been found.”

  I squinted at the elaborate spirals and angles of the Egyptian script, as though staring at it hard enough would unlock its secrets. “And this story...it has something to do with Valentine?”

  “I think so.” She retrieved two small folding chairs from the far corner. “Let’s sit. This will take a while.”

  My panther didn’t want to sit; she craved action. But before we could hunt, we had to know our prey. I tried to soothe her with that thought as I settled into the chair facing Karma. Anubis loomed over us, equal parts vigilant and menacing, and I crossed my legs to keep from fidgeting.

  “Each major ancient civilization tells the story a different way, but fundamentally—archetypally—it is the same.” As she spoke, Karma half-turned toward the stelae, as though they, too, were her audience. “In ancient Egypt, it is told as the tale of Isis and Osiris. Do you know it?”

  “I’ve heard of them, but I don’t know the details.”

  “Isis was the sister-wife of Osiris, a popular and well-beloved king. But Osiris’s brother, Set, grew jealous and plotted treason. He had a coffin prepared to fit Osiris precisely and coerced his brother into it under false pretenses. Set then sealed the coffin and threw it into the Nile. Distraught, Isis searched until she found its resting place beneath the roots of a massive tree. She returned it to Egypt for a proper burial, but Set intercepted the coffin and dismembered Osiris’s body into fourteen pieces. He scattered the pieces all over the world.

  “Isis spent years searching for the pieces of her husband. Whenever she found part of his body, she wept for the space of a day and night. Wherever her tears watered the earth, a beautiful white flower sprang up under the light of the moon, only to wither away at sunrise.” Karma leaned forward, holding my gaze. “The legend suggests that the flower has exceptional healing abilities. That consuming it can bring a person back even from death—or perhaps the brink of death. That part of the text is corrupted, and I can’t be sure of the exact meaning.”

  My heart hammered into my throat at the implications. “What are you saying? That this flower can cure Valentine? Restore her...her soul?”

  “I don’t know. But this is the best lead I’ve found. The only lead, really.”

  I battled back the hope that was threatening to override my reason. “Even if the flower would work, and I could preserve it long enough to get it to Valentine, how would we find it?”

  The gold flecks that peppered Karma’s eyes grew brighter, and again I sensed her jackal near the surface. “That’s where these stelae come in. They describe thirteen resting places of Osiris.”

  I surged to my feet, no longer able to contain the quivering of my muscles. “The closest.” I forced the words through a dry throat. “Where is it?”

  Karma shook her head. “These descriptions aren’t exactly GPS coordinates. They’re more like riddles. Tomorrow, I’ll send translations to colleagues around the world to see whether they can identify the locations.”

  Disappointment lanced through me. Despite the significance of this discovery, there was still nothing I could do but wait and hope. I looked past Karma to the half-ring of stelae, absurdly wishing for some kind of Pentecostal miracle. It was agonizing to be in the presence of the location without being able to interpret the text. But I was so much closer than I had been mere hours ago. I had to stay focused on the positive.

  “All right. I understand. Will you send the translation to Constantine, too? He might have some thoughts.”

  “I will.” Karma squeezed my shoulder. “We’ll figure this out, Alexa. I swear to you.”

  She couldn’t make that promise, but I wanted to believe her. The Consortium’s worldwide network would allow her to tap into centuries of lived experience and wisdom. Someone, somewhere would be able to help us connect these puzzle pieces. Even as my rational brain protested that I was allowing emotion to overthrow all logic, I was already planning my next steps. As soon as the first location was discovered, I would travel there immediately and study the plant. Once I had learned enough about its properties, I would return to New York and reclaim my mate. It didn’t matter that I couldn’t work out any of the details right now. I would make it happen. I had to.

  “Shall we go?” Karma turned toward the corridor, but I couldn’t seem to pull myself away from the stelae.

  “What ended up happening to Osiris? Was Isis able to give him a proper burial?”

  “Even better. She found thirteen of the fourteen pieces—everything except, of course, his phallus. So she ordered one to be made of gold, and then sang a song around his reconstituted body. Her song was so powerful that it raised him from the dead.”

  My breath caught at the picture Karma painted. The scene unfolded before my mind’s eye: Isis pacing around her husband’s bier, distraught but focused on her mission; her long, dark hair moist with the tears she’d wiped away; the r
ise and fall of her bare breasts as she began to sing—softly at first, then louder and more confidently until even death itself bowed to her will and Osiris raised his head.

  I would be that for Valentine. Her Isis. I would search the heights and depths of the world until I discovered the flower and learned to harness its restorative powers. I would return love and joy and compassion to the empty shell of her that prowled the nighttime streets. I would be the one to lead her back into the sunlight.

  Whatever it took. I had eternity, after all.

  *

  We caught our first break several days later from one of Karma’s colleagues in India. The news was also our first major disappointment. Apparently, the fourth location alluded to in the combined text of the stelae was a reference to Lohachara Island, located in the Hooghly River between Bangladesh and India. Several years ago, however, Lohachara had sunk into the river, displacing its thousands of residents. Karma and I had debated whether the “Tear of Isis” flower might still bloom beneath the water, but she had convinced me to wait for more information about the other locations before I went haring off on what was probably a fool’s errand.

  The next morning, I sat across the table from Olivia in the Starbucks on Washington Square, gingerly sipping at my scalding coffee and debating whether to confide in her about the flower. Sharing a breakfast table had become an impromptu tradition ever since the morning after our rendezvous at White Star. On that first day, she had peppered me with questions about wereshifters and vampires, and I’d done my best to answer without giving away too many secrets. I had even told her the truth behind my split with Valentine. Gradually, we had settled into a companionable silence broken only when one or the other of us had a story to share. I would review my class notes and she would read the paper, and whenever I stood to leave for class she would look up at me and ask, “Same time tomorrow?”

  And I would say yes. I had no idea what I was doing, but it felt nice. Normal, almost. Healthier, too. For the first time in months, I was regularly eating breakfast. But when my phone buzzed to life displaying Karma’s photograph, my appetite disappeared on a surge of adrenaline.