Blood in the Shadows

by Stephanie Keyes

  I might be in over my head. He’s definitely not a lower level demon. I would’ve been able to throw him off otherwise. Things don’t look good.

  “Give it up, hunter.”

  I struggle to glance behind me at the man holding me in place, but all I can make out in the darkness is a set of glowing blue eyes.

  “I’ll never go down without a fight. Of course, you should know that by now since you’re so good at observing your prey.” I couldn’t stop the sarcasm dripping past my lips.

  He actually has the nerve to scoff. “You’re an untrained newbie. Therefore, you are not a threat to me. How unfortunate for you.”

  The warmth from his breath caresses the side of my cheek, and for a very brief moment, I am consciously aware of my predicament. If he plans to kill me, it will take one measly second for him to get the job done.

  “Oh, please. Just get it over with already,” I quip. I’m worried, yes, but I’ll be damned if I let him know how much I want to live.

  “Anxious to die, are we?”

  “Like I said before...you’re too much bark and no bite.” Spurring into action, I stomp on his right foot and whip my head back as hard as I can, head-butting him right on the face. As soon as his hold slackens, I lift my other arm and elbow his cheekbone. That’s all it takes. I’m free.

  Very aware that I’m now fighting for my life, I turn on the balls of my feet and shove him aside as hard as I can. His hands come up to assess the damage to his face and I scurry to the floor, blindly feeling along the cold surface for the dagger that’s lying somewhere in the area.

  “You’re far more astute than I thought you were,” he says behind me. “You caught me by surprise. I see your daily training has improved your skills.”

  I crawl to the opposite side of the hallway, looking for the dagger. My persistence pays off when the tips of my fingers slide along the blade, slicing my index finger open in the process. I don’t allow it to slow me down. I can always take care of my injury later. I locate the handle and pick it up.

  Wielding it in front of me, I stand up to face my attacker when I notice something in the air has shifted. And it’s not coming from him. He’s still standing three feet to my left, immobile. His glowing blue eyes are no longer focused on me, but at something behind me.

  Unable to fight the curiosity, I take a peek back and my breath hitches in my throat the second I spot the large, shadow-like creature standing in the entrance of the doorway behind me. Its large frame fills the space, providing no way of escape by means of the entryway.

  Panic settles in the moment I see its spherical red eyes glaring at me. The figure is hunched over, its claws scraping against the concrete as it moves menacingly toward us. Unusually long arms stretch out in front of it, menacing in their bulkiness with protruding muscles that stretch from the forearms to the shoulders. Its tiny waist seems miniscule in comparison with the rest of its body. Even its hindquarters is large, supported by two equally impressive, albeit, shorter legs equipped with sharp talons meant to drag even the heaviest of its opponents to the Underworld without any hope of escaping.

  Nightcrawler. The name echoes inside my head at the same time confusion sets in. Is this Underworld hound dog here for me? Or my would-be attacker?

  If I’m its target, I’m going to need something more powerful than a magic-laced dagger meant to kill lower level demons. And luck. Lots of luck and about a hundred Hail Mary’s to see me come out of this one alive.

  “Just who did you piss off?” Had he not spoken, I wouldn’t have remembered my original attacker was even present.

  “I don’t suppose he’s here for you, huh?” Now I’m not sure who I’d rather face. The faceless stranger or hell’s version of a guard dog.

  “No. You’re its target.”

  “How do you know that? He could be here for you. You’re the demon not me,” I argue.

  He grabs my arm and pulls me back against his chest. “For starters, I’m not a demon. And second, I know he’s after you because I was sent here for the same reason.”

  The Nightcrawler growls. The roar reverberates against the walls with the force of an oncoming freight train. My ears are on the verge of imploding. So is my heart. There’s no doubt in my mind now. I’m going to die tonight. Either my would-be attacker is going to finish the job or that shadow beast is. The only thing that worries me now is which will be the least painful way to die.

  The Nightcrawler stands on its hind legs and throws his shoulders backward. Like a raging bull hell bent on revenge, it charges toward us. Four, maybe five small leaps, and it's right in front of us, mouth gaping open in the most sinister smirk I’ve ever seen on any being, much less a shadow creature.

  This can’t be my end. This is not how I thought I’d go by any means.

  It’s do or die. I either act or let the Nightcrawler drag me to its master. In a spur of the moment act of self-preservation, I lift my arm, pointing the blade of my dagger toward the hound dog’s head with the full intent of getting at least one good stab in before my life is cut short, but as I bring it down the creature disappears.

  So does the rest of the world.

  Chapter Three

  Slowly, awareness begins to set in. My entire body feels heavy, like dead weight. And my brain thuds mercilessly against my skull. I’m still not entirely certain what happened back at the building, but every single ache in my body right now is just a reminder that for the time being I’m still alive.

  Although, I might not be for long.

  “So you’re finally awake.” That excruciatingly annoying voice seems to surround me, engulf me really. I open my eyes only to realize I’m tied down to a chair in the middle of a small, concealed room. I’ve been stripped down to my work uniform—a simple white t-shirt with big, bold, black letters depicting the company’s name, a pair of black jeans, and my running shoes. My backpack and dagger are gone. So is my sweatshirt, which would have made me feel a tad bit more comfortable since it’s freezing in here.

  “How did I get here?” I glance around the room, trying to pinpoint my captor’s location, but it’s hard to compete with the ringing in my ears. I can hear him, but I don’t know where his voice is coming from.

  “I brought you here. Just in time to save you from the Nightcrawler’s clutches.” A set of round, glowing blue eyes appear to my left. I focus on them.

  “What do you have to gain by saving me?”

  “Gain?” A bark of unamused laughter escapes his lips. “Now that’s a good one. I don’t stand to gain anything by keeping you alive.”

  Oh, so he brought me here to finish the job. How professional of him. “Nice to know.”

  “Is it?” A light bulb comes on just above my head and for the first time since he walked out of the coffee house I’m able to see his face clearly, glowing blue eyes and all.

  “What are you?”

  As if to answer my question, he takes several steps forward and kneels down so that his chest is leveled with the armrest of the chair I’m tied to. One hand goes up, and five gloved fingers are jiggled in front of me. I remember him putting the gloves on before he exited the coffee house earlier. I’m still wondering what they are for.

  “Let’s just say you should be grateful I’m still wearing these,” he says as his mouth creeps up into a mocking smile.

  “Soul collector?”

  I hadn’t paid much attention to his features before, but this up close it’s impossible not to notice the scar that runs from his right eyebrow down to his cheek. He must have been in serious hands down action to have gotten that nasty reminder.

  “Close, but not quite.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me. “Guess again.”

  “Soul Broker?”

  His jaw dips into his chest. “Now we’re fully acquainted.” His smile broadens as he says; “I wouldn’t need these gloves otherwise. The only way I can lay a hand on you without taking your life is if I have a protective barrier between us.”

  “I really don’t
see the difference between a Soul Broker and a soul collector. You both fall into the same pathetic, low class level of Underworld manure.”

  The smile on his face falters as he glances up to meet my gaze. “And now you’re insulting me?”

  “Comes with the territory.”

  “You’ve got a lot of spunk for someone who barely escaped the claws of a Nightcrawler. Don’t you have the slightest bit of curiosity as to why someone would go through so much trouble to make sure you don’t live to breathe another day?”

  Truth is I’m trying not to bring it to mind at all. I don’t know what’s going on. Who would consider me such a threat they’d send a Nightcrawler of all things. I’m human, and although a hunter, I have no magical gifts of my own. Why unleash a killing machine? A lower level demon, with minimal powers, would have probably gotten the job done if he was witty enough to outsmart me.

  “You don’t know, do you?” He scrutinizes me with interest. “See, that’s the problem I’m faced with now. I get paid my dues once I bring the souls back to the client, but from the moment I found out you were just a human, I couldn’t help but wonder why would I be offered my eternal freedom in exchange for turning you in?”

  Soul Brokers are like the assassins of the Underworld. Normally, they are hired to finish off demons, witches, vampires, and other creatures that go bump in the night, and are paid to bring back the dark souls to whomever might have wanted one of those things dead. Occasionally, they also pick up the souls of greedy humans who exchange theirs for something less important like millions of dollars or a hot, new sexy wife.

  Through my lessons, I learned that Soul Brokers absorb the souls via direct contact with the victim. They carry a mark on the base of the neck, which is the brand they are enslaved by once they are trapped and forced to carry out these orders. They are immortal, but not free.

  If this Soul Broker is being offered his freedom in exchange for my soul that means I’m seriously fucked. No Underworld Lord would offer such a high price for a human soul. At least, not for one as meaningless as mine appeared to be as of an hour ago.

  “Daya, someone wants you dead.” He taps his wrist as if he wore a watch. “And time is running out.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means, the Nightcrawler and I are not the only ones looking for you. Chances are there are other Death Callers out there looking to collect the bounty on you.”

  Things are looking bleak.

  “Right, but I shouldn’t worry about them since you brought me here to collect it yourself.” I can’t keep the sarcasm out of my reply.

  He doesn’t seem influenced by the derision in my tone. “I’ve been following you for a week. I’ve observed your ever-waking moments, and still I can’t figure out why they want you gone so badly. I’m busting my head trying to come up with an explanation that makes sense.”

  So I wasn’t imagining things when I thought I spotted someone staring at me through the window in my bedroom that leads to the fire escape. Or whenever I could feel someone walking behind me on the streets. He hadn’t just been coming to my job at night to sit and read.

  He sneers. “Your skills are lacking. Your combat needs a little work and you’re incredibly distracted. I don’t see the threat.” His gaze runs down my face to my lap and then back up again. There’s prejudice in his eyes, it matches the condescending tone of his, which tells me he has no respect for me whatsoever.

  “So I get that you’re not a fan,” I quip in an effort to save what’s left of my pride. The fact that I’m tied to a chair does little to put any defense I might come up with to good use. The only thing I’m going to achieve by arguing with him is buying myself some much needed time.

  “To be fair...” his eyebrows pinch together as he ogles me, “...you’re a fast thinker. I’m wondering how you’re going to get out of this one.”

  Funny, I was thinking the same thing. “Bastard,” I murmur in irritation.

  “Spunk, you have plenty of it. Too bad it’s doing you no good now. Nor will it do you any good if the others get their hands on you.”

  I shake my head in frustration. “What does it matter? You got to me first.” Comprehension dawns. He just confessed to watching me for some time. He had plenty of chances to kill me and take my soul while I was blissfully unaware of him. So why didn’t he attack? Why wait this long?

  He stands. “Oh, don’t get me wrong. I plan to collect that bounty. You just sit tight there. I’ll be right back.” And, without another word, he walks away, opens a door at the other side of the room, and saunters out, leaving me alone with my gloomy thoughts.

  Needless to say, I’m beyond confused. I don’t know who would want me dead or why. As far as I know I haven’t done anything wrong. Aside from kicking the occasional demon ass, that is. If that’s the reason, then my hunting days were bound to catch up with me eventually.

  Unless this event has something to do with the past I can’t remember. For five years I’ve had to contend with the fact that I have no real identity. The one I carry now is the one given to me by the man who took me in and gave me a home after I was found half dead in an alley.

  He was the one who woke me up to the world of the paranormal and prepared me from day one to fight back to protect myself. Training had been slow since I was so badly injured. I had to learn how to feed myself, walk, and stand. Basically I was as defenseless as a baby.

  Once the first year ended, I was moving around with a noticeable limp, but I could read, write, eat without assistance, dress, and bathe myself. However, I couldn’t remember who I was or where I came from. My mind had been swiped clean. As far as I knew, I had no identity so Fergus gave me one. He named me Daya Myers and used his abilities to teach me how to become a hunter. So far I had been successful. I’d never been caught. Never came close to being killed.

  Until today that is.

  My fate’s uncertain, left to be decided by the immortal creature in the other room. Oddly enough, the thing that bothers me the most is not that he has me at his mercy, but the awareness that he hasn’t killed me nor has he tried to yet. Looks like the mystery that is my life has broadened even more. What I don’t understand is why.

  At the sound of approaching footsteps, I come to terms with the possibility of facing death yet again. Fergus had once told me I was full of luck; let’s see how lucky I’m really going to get today.

  Chapter Four

  The door opens and the blue-eyed stranger strolls in with a look of bewilderment on his face. He doesn’t seem comfortable having me as a prisoner and quite frankly, I’m less than pleased to be here, but I’m wondering how things will play out so I stay mute as he comes near me and pulls out a four inch knife.

  I don’t blink. Don’t breathe, but what he doesn’t know is that I’m trying very hard to not quiver in fear. I don’t want to die. Not like this. Not right now.

  “Listen very carefully because I’m only going to say this once.” Bending at the waist, he practically shoves his face into mine. I can feel the warmth of his breath on my cheek. “I’m going to cut you lose. You are to follow me, quietly. If you do anything to jeopardize this momentary freedom I will not only tie you to that chair for the rest of the night, but I will make sure you don’t sleep a wink for the remainder of the evening. Do I make myself clear?” He waves the knife in front of me for a moment as if to emphasize his statement.

  Why is he freeing me? Should I be worried? “Can I ask where you’re taking me?”

  “No, you may not.” He cuts through the bonds on my ankles and then my wrists, backing up a step once I’m freed. “Get up, Daya.”

  I rub my sore wrists for a moment before pushing myself off the chair. “How do you know my name?”

  “I keep tabs on my would-be victims, remember?” He points to the door with the knife. “Go ahead of me.”

  Lifting my chin, I look him squarely in the eye. “You do know that if I get the chance to send you packing to the Underworld, I wil
l. Right?”

  The most unexpected thing happens next. His lips curve up in what seems like a completely amused gesture rather than out of anger or frustration. He actually smiles. “Let’s just say I wouldn’t want you catching me unawares at any point in time.”

  So what was all that talk about me being an incompetent hunter and all? His statement contradicts his demeaning comments about my lack of abilities. I bite down on my lower lip to keep from tossing a few insults his direction.

  Maybe he’s toying with me or trying to prove something but I decide not to test him just in case and start for the door. “I’m glad we have an understanding then.” Two can play this game. I go out and am met with a dark and narrow hallway. “Where to?”

  “Turn to your left.” He’s right behind me, following closely as I march down the hall, holding the knife at my back. There’s another door at the end, left ajar to reveal a small figure moving around inside the room beyond.

  “You have company?” I ask, ruled by the anxiety I’m keeping bottled up inside. One on one combat I’m used to and expect. This scenario, however, is new and utterly troubling for me. It’s unpredictable. I don’t know what to expect and it’s unnerving. On a hunt, I know what’s going down even if things don’t go exactly as planned, but nothing happening now is foreseeable. This is scarier than an actual battle with a large pissed off werewolf twice my size and three times as strong.

  Out on the street, I know how to handle myself. Here, I’m a sitting duck waiting to be roasted. I don’t like that analogy any more than I do the probability of it coming true.

  “You’ll meet him soon enough.”

  Understanding that my captor won’t provide any details for now, I continue to the door and once it’s within reach, I push through, stopping when the figure of what appears to be a bald man, about five feet tall with unusually long fingers and sharp looking nails closely resembling claws, comes into full view standing above me in a loft.