Blood in the Shadows

by Stephanie Keyes

  I’m left breathless and confused. Conflicted emotions rush through me while he’s trying to prove his point. This is the man who was sent to kill me. So why is my body betraying me? Why is my heart racing, my blood running wild through my veins? Why am I so consciously aware of his touch, his kiss? It shouldn’t be this way. I can’t think straight. Something’s happening to me, but I don’t understand what.

  I can’t remember my past so this is as new to me as learning how to feed myself was a few years back. Am I supposed to like this? I can’t remember ever being kissed before but it must have happened at some point. Did it ever feel this good? I don’t know. I’m startled beyond thinking. All I can do is feel. Enjoy. Marvel at how such a seemingly innocent act can make me forget my own name or who he is and what he represents.

  “You’re wasting your time, boy,” a high pitch, female voice announces from the other side of the dark, gloomy room.

  Mason releases me and shoots to his feet. He puts some distance between us, but even that doesn’t serve to quell the desire in me to kiss him again. I hate that I enjoyed the feel of his lips on mine. His touch has left me grappling with the need to hurt him as I should have done back in the alley and at the same time, pull him in for a little more kissing.

  “Mika? What is this? All hell has broken lose and I don’t know what’s going on.”

  Free, I’m now able to pay close attention to my surroundings. One quick scan of the room and I’m disgusted to the core by what I see. Judging by the items lying on wooden shelves, tables, and an altar to my left I’m in some kind of witch’s lair. There’s an assortment of enchanted pieces—jewelry, dolls, and a variety of herbs, goblets, bowls the contents of which are questionable, and a few dead chicken hanging from a hook above my head.

  I killed an evil witch less than a week ago and now I’m sitting on what looks like a second altar? Cringing, I can’t help but wonder what this dais has been used for. To make matters worse, I don’t have an enchanted weapon to use for a defense. I glance to my right, spotting the old woman hunched over a large pot, her back to us.

  “You brought me to a witch?”

  “A witch that just saved your life, hunter. It would do you good to remember that,” the woman replies without bothering to face me.

  At her response, my fingers automatically reach for the hem of my shirt and pull it up to reveal smooth and clean skin with no evidence to indicate I was badly hurt and dying not too long ago.

  “What the hell?” I’m a little sore, but that’s the only proof of my brief encounter with Lord Blasius. Aside from the blood stains on my clothes, of course.

  “Mason, you should go have a little talk with your master.”

  I jump off the altar and stand on two shaky legs. My knees wobble and I stumble, stopped from falling flat on my face by a set of strong, sturdy arms. His touch sends a shiver running down my spine. I look up at him and the tension between us spikes. It’s not something I see, but we both definitely feel. I can’t say for sure how I know this, but I do.

  Mason doesn’t let go of me right away. Instead, he helps me stand upright, looking straight into my eyes as I steady myself. I hadn’t realized my lack of strength until I’m forced to use my legs. But that’s quickly forgotten when Mason’s hands slip up my arms to my shoulders. Warmth spreads through me, making me weak-kneed all over again.

  “Are you steady now?” he asks.

  For the first time in...I don’t know how long, I lack words to say something coherent, so I just nod.

  “It looks like you’re not going to be collecting on that bounty any time soon,” the witch adds as if the awkward scene between Mason and I hadn’t just occurred.

  Mason let’s go of me and takes a step back. “Do you know why the leaders of the Underworld want her dead?”

  “I don’t know and I don’t want to know.” The witch reaches for a bowl of diced vegetables and pours them inside the pot in front of her. “The less I know the longer I’ll live.”

  “Mika, Lord Blasius attacked Aty’s home. We barely escaped in time.”

  A pinch of cilantro joins the veggies. “That old bat escaped unscathed?”

  “Atys is fine.” Mason walks around the slab I’d been lying on and approaches the witch, who appears to be cooking a meal. “Why would Lord Blasius command a small army of hound dogs and guards to fetch the girl?”

  Girl? I’m twenty-three for crying out loud.

  “Nightcrawlers? Guards? Must be some serious problem the leaders are trying to fix. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Stop talking in circles.” Mason stands right next to the witch, hands balled up to his sides. “Do you know or not?”

  “The only thing I know is she isn’t who she thinks she is.”

  I find myself startled by that news. “Tell me what you mean,” I demand.

  The old woman dips her head back and cackles, the action causing her frail looking body to shake. “Hunter, you demand something of me after I saved your life? You have more gall than I thought.” To Mason she says, “Go to your master before the Nightcrawlers track you here. Take this,” she hands over a pair of medallions to Mason, “these will only last a couple of hours so only use them in an emergency situation.”

  I can’t believe I’m now relying on creatures I’ve hunted for years to get me through the next hours. This is beyond absurd. What’s with the charms? She must hold Mason in high regard to part with something as important as the items she gifted him with. I know witches don’t like to share their trade, especially with other supernaturals.

  “I’d like to go home.” Did she provide his magical bow and arrows too? Somehow I doubt that. She doesn’t look powerful enough to craft weapons with that much kick.

  Mason takes the tiny medallions and pockets them. “Thank you, Mika.”

  “One more thing.” The witch finally turns to us. “There’s a thin line between salvation and damnation, Mason.”

  His right eyebrow goes up. “I’ve been damned for far too long already.”

  “Damnation may be your only way out of this mess.”

  I don’t understand what she’s referring to. I couldn’t grasp what Atys meant earlier either.

  “Damned is what my life has been since I was marked and forced into the trade. I have one chance to break free, but I’m no longer sure that’s the way to earn true freedom.”

  Mika’s response is a knowing smile. Behind the gesture I detect there’s more than, perhaps, either of us can truly understand. As Mason turns to leave, reasons fail to matter. I have to find a way to seek answers, and maybe sticking with the Soul Broker will help achieve that.

  Chapter Seven

  Dark streets lead the way to even darker alleyways. Mason works through a shady part of town, filled with the common human criminals and the occasional otherworldly creature of the night.

  “Should we be out in the open like this?” I step closer to him, keeping up so I don’t fall behind. I’m unprotected and the only one that can fight off a horde of Nightcrawlers is him. Wandering around aimlessly makes me nervous. There’s evil hunting me tonight. I find this incredibly ironic considering most nights I’m the one doing the hunting.

  “We don’t have much territory to cover.”

  “You’re headed to your master’s lair?”

  He comes to a complete stop and tosses an annoyed look in my direction. “He’s not my master.” Mason’s backstory is unknown to me, but it’s easy to read the subject is a sensitive one.

  “Fine. So he’s not your master. Is that where we’re headed?”

  “No,” he replies curtly and points to a door a few paces to my right. “My place.”

  I ogle the door, irked by the fact I’m even in this neighborhood. “You live in the shittiest part of town? Figures.”

  “Quit complaining and follow me.” He trudges by me and heads for the door. “Before I go pay Pholos a visit I need to figure out something first.” Opening the door, he steps aside and gestures to a barel
y visible staircase. “After you.”

  “Thanks,” I mutter under my breath and head up the stairs. Once at the top, Mason unlocks the door and ushers me in. Soon I’m standing in one of the smallest living rooms I’ve ever seen in my life. Mason shuts the door and locks it. Turning on the lights, he then removes something from the black leather jacket he’s wearing. He places it above the peephole and murmurs a few words before turning back to me.

  Pointing to a loveseat in front of me, he says, “Sit.”

  “Is that an order or a request?”

  His eyes shoot daggers at me. “You have a funny way of showing gratitude.”

  I blink. “I...uh...am...” I’m behaving like an ungrateful brat. While I’m unsure of what his motives are, it’s true he did more than help me out back there. “Why did you save me?” I take a seat and watch for his reaction.

  Sliding the bowstring off his shoulder, he lays the bow gently on the coffee table in front of me. A quiver of arrows identical to the one he used to kill the Nightcrawler joins the bow on the table before he straightens up to remove his jacket and drape it over a matching chair to my left.

  “What do you mean?” He’s buying time, I notice. He doesn’t have an answer, at least not one he wants to share with me, and by stalling he thinks I’ll move to a different subject. If he was paying close attention to me as he studied my weaknesses, he should know by now I’m not one to overlook things.

  Running my hands down my thighs, I say, “Whether or not your touch can kill me, you can still collect the bounty. My soul means freedom to you. A knife to the heart, a push over a two-story balcony, you name it. Why not get the job done and have that mark on your neck removed forever and live as mortal again?”

  His eyes begin to glow with intensity as he focuses on me. “I want to know why the leaders of the Underworld want you dead. It’s that simple.”

  “Is it?” I challenge. “Why is that even so important to you? It’s none of your concern. Being a soul broker you should want to collect on the bounty first since you have such a big reward to gain by it.” My voice raises an octave as I address him without even being aware of it. “Why get involved to the point of becoming a target yourself? Your answer makes no sense whatsoever!”

  “Daya...”

  “Why? Why the interest?” My temper gets the best of me and I explode. “Don’t tell me you care because I know supernaturals like you only care about the prizes they can reap out of others’ miseries. Explain it so it makes sense to me because I don’t understand where you stand or why.”

  “I couldn’t!” he shouts back. “I couldn’t do it. Are you happy now? For the first time in hundreds of years, I couldn't carry out a hit. For three months, I watched your every move, studying your weaknesses. Making sure I knew every little thing about you, but aside from the fact that you’re human, I was bothered by the sense...I feel like I know you.”

  Three months? He said he’d been watching me for a week. “I don’t ever recall meeting you.”

  “I know that. I figured it out the first night I walked into the coffee house. You didn’t recognize me. And I don’t remember seeing you before I was assigned to collect your soul, but I had this sense of déjà vu the first moment I saw you. Like there was a sense of familiarity between us.”

  Weird, he’s not even a distant memory. Then again, I don’t know what my real name is. Daya is the name given to me. How am I to know whether or not I met him before? “You didn’t kill me based on this?”

  He marches by me to what passes as a bedroom in this tiny living space he calls home. It’s a studio apartment, so small it might all fit in my single bedroom back at my place.

  “I couldn’t finish the job, okay?” I hear him opening drawers and then shutting them with a slam behind me. “I’ve never killed a human before. Not one who hadn’t sold her soul in exchange for millions of dollars, vanity, or any other myriad of reason humans give up the one pure thing they have for something they don’t need. Faultless, with no true crime to your name, I couldn’t understand why Pholos wanted your soul.” He strolls back to where I’m sitting and hands over what looks like a t-shirt. “I don’t have a choice when it comes to who I serve and the life I’m forced to lead, but I’m not going to destroy a person who has done nothing wrong. Who has no debt to be paid.”

  I take the t-shirt and lay it out on my thighs. “Say I believe you, what now? Are you just going to take the brunt for opting against harvesting my soul?”

  “It looks that way, doesn’t it?”

  I shake my head. “We’re both going to die then. No one goes against the leaders of the Underworld and lives to tell how they did it.”

  “Take that shirt and change out of the one you’re wearing. I don’t have women’s clothing lying around, but that should do for now while we figure out what to do.”

  Standing, I look around the room for a private place to exchange one shirt for the other. “Do you have a bathroom in this place?”

  He points to my right, across the living room to a single white door. “It’s small, but serves its purpose.”

  “Thanks.” I get to my feet and saunter toward the bathroom, closing the door once I’m inside. Locating the light switch next to the door, I flip it on and inspect my surroundings. True to his word, the bathroom is tiny and feels cramped, but it’s clean and well organized. “For a guy his place sure is nice and tidy,” I murmur.

  My reflection in the mirror catches my attention and I stop to gape at the pale figure staring back. My shoulder length, wavy brown hair could use a good brushing, my green eyes look tired, and I could really go for a nice, long, good night’s sleep. Unfortunately, it doesn’t look like I’ll be getting rest any time soon.

  Pulling my soiled shirt over my head, I dump it inside the trash bin. Stained with blood and with two rips, one in the back and the other in the front, it’s now useless. Briefly, I inspect the area where the wounds were and am surprised to find that aside from a little soreness, there’s no marks, no bruises, nothing. The witch did a great job at reviving me even if I’ll never admit my appreciation out loud.

  Donning on the shirt provided by Mason, I take a step back to inspect the results. It’s a little big on me but at least I’m not walking around looking like I’m a cast member of the Walking Dead. I need a little freshening up and splash my face with cold water, which I dry with my shirt since there’s no towel in the bathroom.

  Half way decent, I exit the bathroom to find Mason sitting on the loveseat, engrossed on an open book on his lap. It’s similar to the one he had with him back at the coffee house, except this one’s cover is black though the dimensions appear to be about the same. I wonder about his belongings, questioning where he left them since I don’t see the messenger bag anywhere and I don’t remember whether or not he had it back in the alley, but I set aside these thoughts to focus on the present. There are more important things to discuss now.

  I make my way to him and take a seat to his right.

  “What are you doing?”

  He doesn’t acknowledge me. “Looking for answers.”

  “Is there something specific you’re prying for?”

  “Yes.” He turns the page and continues reading.

  “Um, okay.” Not much of a conversationalist when he’s not in the mood. Actually, he looks like he could get a good night's rest himself. It’s been an odd night for the both of us and some space might help loosen the tension between us. “Maybe I should head on home. I don’t think I’m any safer here than I was at Atys’ place. I can see I’m just in the way so I should...get going...” I pick myself off the couch, but as quick as a striking rattler, Mason’s hand snakes out and grips my wrist.

  “You’re safe. The emblem I placed on the door is meant to keep evil out. Now sit.” He pulls me back down again. “Stay put a moment.”

  I wiggle my hand free, eying him with curiosity. “You’re taking this guardian job way too seriously.”

  His gaze finally leaves the b
ook to bestow upon me a look of irritation. “I’m not complaining so neither should you.”

  “I wasn’t complaining. And that’s beside the point. You look a little rattled yourself. I’m guessing you’re as frustrated as I am.”

  “I don’t want to die any more than you do.”

  Right. I don’t want to die. Not this soon. I feel as if there’s still so much for me to do. “So, are you going to fill me in?” I gesture to the book on his lap.

  He sits back, releasing some air. “Like you probably have, I’ve researched demons. I’m familiar with most of them—their powers and weaknesses. I’m trying to determine under what circumstances a demon, even one in the hierarchy, would want a human soul with no attachments.”

  “And?”

  “Some demons, like those looking for a spot in the ranks, will occasionally covet a human soul, usually one with high importance, but I haven’t heard of any case of them having the power to command Nightcrawlers to go on the hunt and bring this particular person of interest back.” He pauses for a moment, a thoughtful expression taking over his features. “Then there is the incubus. They go after human women all the time, but that isn’t your case.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Incubus go after the ones they want themselves. That and they use seduction to get ahead.”

  “Definitely not my situation. I’m pretty sure those demons were trying to kill me not seduce me.”

  “Right. So I was reading through this because I recalled having read a passage a while back that might help steer us in the right direction.”

  “Like?”

  “It says here the only reason a leader, or the leaders of the Underworld will target a human with indiscriminating fervor is when that person, be it male or female, represents a direct or indirect threat to their existence.”

  I snort. “Please, that can’t be the reason. How could I possibly be a threat to the leaders of the Underworld? They have powers I will, never in a million years, posses.” Unless my monster hunting has something to do with their decision. But I doubt that. Mason has more abilities than I do, so that should have made him a target instead of me if that was the case. Besides, I’m not the only monster hunter out there.