And found herself on a sun-drenched hillside. The ocean sparkled a brilliant sapphire below, reflecting the clear sky above. A pavilion sat a hundred yards from the cliff’s edge, its gauzy white curtains dancing in the sea air. An elaborate table for two had been set inside and someone waited for her there.
“Balm. I’m trying to sleep, you know.”
The head of the Gilead Commission looked as if she’d just booked first-class passage on the Titanic—one of the many rumors about her past. Others were that she was a handmaiden of Cleopatra, a Maltese princess, illegitimate daughter of Alexander the Great, or Scheherazade herself. Balm was her name and title.
One of the ways she’d gotten a teenage Kira to study was by daring her to discover Balm’s real identity. After all these years, she still didn’t have a clue. No one knew who or what Balm was, only that she had tremendous power and that there had always been a Balm in Gilead.
“Sleep. As if I haven’t lost many a night’s sleep worrying about you.” Balm lifted a sapphire and gilt etched saucer with one gloved hand, a matching bone china cup chased with gold perched atop it. “Have some tea, dear. It’s your favorite.”
Kira’s yoga pants and tank top had been changed into a formal Gibson Girl dress of Wedgwood blue. She didn’t bother to touch her hair to see if the braids had been replaced with something more suitable for the scene. Instead, she suppressed a sigh as she took a seat and accepted the tea. It was Balm’s dream after all and she could only be rude to Balm up to a point. Besides, Kira knew the head of Gilead could make a damn good cup of tea whether in dreamtime or awake.
She looked around the pavilion, trying to place its familiarity. She knew they were in the dream version of Santa Costa, but she’d never seen a pavilion like this on the island. Maybe she’d seen it in a painting or something. “You sure went to a lot of trouble.”
“Why wouldn’t I for my wayward daughter? Since you didn’t return my call, I decided to walk your dreams to make sure you were all right.”
Kira set her jaw. Balm’s chiding tone made her feel guilty and furious and twelve years old at the same time. She lifted her teacup. “Whether I’m all right or not depends on how you define it.”
Balm’s chocolate eyes softened. “I’m so sorry about Mr. Comstock. I know how important he was to you.”
The teacup rattled. Kira set it down, the lace of her gloves stretching as she curled her hands into fists. “Are you going to make me ask the questions?”
Balm sighed. “Comstock has been your handler almost from the moment you met him at the Petrie Museum. And if you must know, he volunteered.”
“Volunteered?” Kira sat back in the woven plantation chair, absorbing the news. “How? How did he even know I’m a Shadowchaser? How did he find out about Gilead?”
“Gilead began a London search for a new handler after you decided to transfer to University. Comstock was at the top of the list of candidates we secretly vetted. We approached him after seeing how well you two got on together. Once he understood Gilead’s mission and your role, he jumped at the chance to be your handler.”
The bitter taste of betrayal clotted on her tongue. She forced herself to choke it down, then spoke. “So you watch me, then get my friends to report on me. Am I a Chaser or a suspect?”
Balm glared at her from beneath the wide brim of her hat. “I worried about you. Why would I not want to know what’s going on with my own daughter?”
“Daughter? I don’t need the subtle reminder that you took me in when no one else would. All that does is remind me of how you mentally deconstructed me and remade me into a walking, talking Shadowchaser Barbie.”
“What I wanted was for you to be my successor,” Balm said calmly, her chin held high. “Unfortunately, you were full of too much rage, especially for one so young. Since your temperament wasn’t suited to the training necessary to become head of the Gilead Commission, I reluctantly went with my second choice for you.”
“Funny, I didn’t see a lot of reluctance back then.”
“Your rage and your powers needed to be channeled somehow. Usually just being here on Santa Costa helps people. Walking the beaches, tending the gardens, even taking tea on this cliff has soothed many a soul. But not yours. Only discipline did that. You are the youngest person ever to undergo that sort of intensive training. Don’t try to deny that you didn’t enjoy it like a fish enjoys water.”
Kira shifted in her chair. “Yeah, well, it’s not like I would have made a good Oracle.”
“No, I don’t think the Seers Hall would have appreciated the disruption.” Balm refreshed her tea. “So, as much as it pained me to put you through it, I’m glad I did. It’s what any mother should do for her child.”
“Yeah, you always doled out the tough love, didn’t you, Mother? Like Venice, the night Nico died. Nice of you to show up then. Not.”
“I was in Santa Costa, thinking that you’d listened when I asked you to remain in Budapest.” She tugged on the froth of lace that edged her cuffs. “You defied me, Kira, the only person who’s ever dared ignore a request from the Balm of Gilead. All I wanted was to protect you. I respected Nico, but he had a blind spot where you were concerned. He betrayed my trust and took advantage of you.” Before Kira could object, Balm added, “Regardless of what you may think on the matter. His lapse in judgment cost him his life and scarred yours. For that, I don’t think I can ever forgive him.”
“Balm.” It was hard to see the other woman’s point of view, much less agree with it. Six years ago there was no way that she’d have followed Balm’s order to not go scouting in Venice, a cover for the passionate weekend she and Nico had intended. Now she wondered if Balm had known the outcome and had tried to warn her.
Not that she would have listened. She’d been nineteen and sure of herself and her abilities and in love with her handler. Because of that, she’d gotten him killed. Fast forward a few years, and now Bernie, whom she loved as a father, could be added to the list of those who’d paid a heavy price for being close to her.
She reached for one of the little tea cakes for want of something to do with her hands. “I suppose you already have another handler on the way? I’ve got to say, though, that with my track record, I don’t think anyone’s beating down your door to work with me.”
“Right now I believe another handler would do more harm than good. Given your penchant for thumbing your nose at authority, I think it’s time you learned what it means to be in a position of authority yourself.” Balm gave her a level look. “You have Mr. Comstock to thank for that, by the way. He seemed to think you were more than capable of working on your own.”
“Considering that I thought I was working on my own, yeah, I understand why he would say that.” Good ol’ Bernie, she thought.
“I’ve asked Estrella Sanchez to turn over Mr. Comstock’s personal effects to you. He will be cremated per his wishes and the remains delivered to you. He asked that you take him back to London. Will you do that for him?”
Kira gave a jerky nod. It took her a moment to find words. “There’s something else I need to do first, but yeah. I’ll take him back to London.”
Balm reached out, wrapped a hand around Kira’s hand, a gesture they could only make in these dreamwalks. “I know I don’t have to ask you to be careful, but please, for my sake, take care of yourself. Call on me if you need assistance. And stop antagonizing the section chief. The structure is in place for a reason. Sanchez can be of help to you, even with a seeker demon.”
Kira wasn’t so sure about that but decided to keep her opinions private. “I promise to take care of myself.”
Balm gave her a look over the rim of her delicate teacup, as if she knew Kira’s dodge. She probably did. “I have something for you,” she said then. “A peace offering.”
“What sort of peace offering?”
Balm nodded at something over Kira’s shoulder. She turned around. A man stood at the edge of the cliff, nattily dressed in a beige suit and dark bro
wn vest, a wide brimmed hat. He looked as if he’d been waiting for Howard Carter to get off the train in Cairo.
“Dammit, Balm,” she choked out.
“Go on,” the older woman urged gently. “You don’t have a lot of time.”
The chair almost fell over as she surged out of it. She took an impulsive step forward, then turned back to the woman who’d molded her into what she was. Balm looked as she always did, serenity personified, rich brown curls untarnished by gray and no visible marks of the passage of time, but Kira had learned early on that still waters ran deep.
The weight of leading the Gilead Commission, being responsible for hundreds of Shadowchasers and their handlers the world over—and the politics and bureaucracy that enabled it—couldn’t have been an easy job on the best of days. Kira knew she’d done her fair share of complicating Balm’s life, and she suddenly felt guilty about it. A little.
She reached out, wrapping her fingers around Balm’s. The older woman looked up, surprise widening her eyes.
“Thank you, Balm.” The words weren’t easy, but they were important to say. Especially now. “I’ll try to visit you more often, at least this way.”
Balm squeezed her fingers, then let go. “That would please me.”
Kira made her way up to the precipice, then stopped a few feet away. He looked like Bernie, but there was a smoothness to his expression, as if a great burden had been lifted. “Is it really you, Bernie?”
“Mostly.” His smile sobered. “I’m sorry you had to find me that way.”
She shuddered, her mind immediately flashing back to the alley. “Me too.”
“I wish I could talk freely with you, Kira,” Bernie said. “There’s so much that I wish I could share, especially with what you now face.”
Which meant even here, in this in-between place, she couldn’t let down her guard. He apparently didn’t want Gilead to know about the dagger. Why? “You accepted my extrasense so quickly and completely that I didn’t think to question it. Now I understand why.”
“I’ve known others with some sort of ability, but not as sharp or reliable as yours. I was amazed by your gift, Kira, and pleased to help you exercise it.”
She asked the only question she dared, the only question she could. “Why didn’t you tell me Gilead had made you my handler?”
Concern washed over his features. “They didn’t make me do anything, Kira. I wasn’t forced. When Balm approached me and asked me to watch over you, I didn’t have to think twice. You were my student, a protégé, but I also felt as if you were the daughter I never had. Of course I’d protect you to the best of my ability. It was my choice to conceal that I was your handler, at least for a while.”
“Why?”
His smile dimmed. “Selfishness, mostly. You trusted me, even looked up to me at times. Even though you didn’t fully confide in me, I could see your anger and your loneliness because of Gilead and what happened in Venice. You would have shut me out if you’d known I was your handler. You’d have considered me one of them, and I didn’t want that. I valued our friendship too much to let that happen.”
Regrets and recriminations welled inside her. His reasons for not telling her he was her handler was the same reason she’d never told him about being a Shadowchaser. Before Wynne and Zoo, he’d been the only Normal in her life.
The anguish tightened as she thought about the access she’d given to her friends. “Are Wynne and Zoo . . . ?”
“No. They are exactly what you think they are: dear friends who care for you very much. They have no connection to the Gilead Commission.”
She closed her eyes, relief sweeping through her. She didn’t know what she’d do if her friends were something else, something other than normal humans. “Thank you.”
“Kira, you must listen to me.” Bernie stepped closer to her, his expression sharpening with concern. “You must not hold on to—to material things. There are those who will help, if you let them. The last thing I want is for you to become a target.”
She nodded to show she understood his code. This wasn’t her dreamwalk, but she could still manipulate it enough to exchange the dress and corset for her more usual Shadowchasing gear. “I already am, Bernie. A seeker demon tracked you from England to the States. I think they can find me without trying very hard.”
“I suppose you’re right.” He looked away briefly, his jaw working silently before he turned back to her. “I’m sorry, so sorry for keeping the truth from you—”
“Bernie.” She held up her hands, an effort to ward off the emotional deluge. “Please, don’t.”
He gathered himself. “All right. On to more practical matters. You should know that I’ve left everything I own to you. My solicitor will probably contact you as soon as he realizes that I’m—no longer here. It’s there—the London flat, the country cottage, my entire collection—when you’re ready for it. I’d like for you to take my ashes back to England, but I also want you to know that you have a home there. Whenever you need it, it will be there for you.”
She was conscious of Balm still sitting in the pavilion. Even in death, Bernie looked out for her, trying to give her a way out of Shadowchasing. Problem was, the time to walk away had been before she’d ever set foot in Gilead.
He coughed. “Well then. Now that there’s no longer any danger of my eyebrows burning off, I’d like a hug from my surrogate daughter.” He held out his arms. “Oblige an old man?”
She gave him a jerky nod then stepped into his embrace, holding tightly as she buried her face into his shoulder. He felt blessedly solid to her, and she wanted to hold him forever. With no knowledge of her birth parents and fuzzy memories of her adoptive caregivers, she’d always considered Bernie Comstock her father in all but blood. “You’d better save a place for me.”
“Of course.” He stepped back slightly, framing her face in his hands. “But you have to promise me that you’ll live a long, happy life first. Don’t think I won’t drop in on you now and again to make sure.”
“You’d better.”
A kiss to her forehead, then he moved back completely. “Time for me to go. I have more adventures ahead, and so do you. Thank you for your prayers to Ma’at on my behalf.”
Not yet. She stretched a hand toward him. “Bernie, wait.”
“Think of me, but don’t mourn for me. I’ve had a full and happy life and I can’t regret one moment of it, especially the moments spent with you. Not a one.” He slowly faded, his shape blending, then disappearing into the sunlight.
Kira awakened to the sound of her own crying, her pillow clutched to her chest, knowing it would never be enough.
Chapter 7
The Dagger of Kheferatum.
The longer Kira stared at the blade, the surer she became. Carefully coded searches through Gilead’s online database had yielded little useful information. She hadn’t dared to do a thorough online search outside of the Chasers network in case it triggered the notice of Gilead or the Fallen. Instead she’d plowed through her stacks of ancient books and ran a couple of query strings on her personal arcane server, and come back with the same result: the Dagger of Kheferatum.
Khefer, a bastardization of Keper, or the Egyptian-Greek hybrid Xeper, meaning “I have come into being.” Symbolized by the scarab. Atum, also known as Temu, the primal creator god of gods.
No wonder the dagger was nearly sentient and coveted by mystics the way alchemists hungered for the philosopher’s stone. It had been named and imbued with the power of creation. According to some of the ancient texts, the dagger was rumored to not only physically take life, but magically destroy it as well. One nick, one jab, and the blade would claim the soul. Did that mean that the dagger could transfer souls? Was that how it “created” life?
She looked down at her notes. She’d taken as much care as possible cataloging the blade, using archival gloves and sterilized equipment to measure and weigh it before taking photos. Even through the gloves, she could feel the dagger’s power. If t
he dagger could give and take life, she had even more reason to keep it locked away. Just keep it, period. Even through the display screen of her digital camera, the blade’s beauty and pristine condition shone through. So ancient and so deadly, its very existence was a miracle that needed to be protected at all costs.
Of course, the best way to protect it would be to keep it with her, to carry it always. It called to her, whispering at her, coaxing her to wield it. Only I can vanquish your enemies, only I can take the blood of the one who’d harmed you. Ma’at will bless you, make you the embodiment of justice. Together we will bring Order to Chaos—
“No!”
She blinked, startled to discover she’d set the camera down and stripped off her gloves, her hand centimeters from grasping the blade. Quickly she jerked on her everyday gloves, slammed down the lid, fumbled the lock closed, then stepped back. Her body swayed toward the dagger and she stepped back again, acid churning in her stomach as she shook the sensation out of her hands.
She wanted the blade. Worse than that—she craved the dagger, wanted to hold it and feel its power with the intense gut-wrenching need of a junkie jonesing for another high. If just holding it for mere moments or being near it caused that sort of reaction, she couldn’t trust herself to actually try to draw on its magic.
The dagger was one of the most dangerous artifacts she’d come across in a long time. No wonder one of the Fallen coveted it. Wielding that sort of power would do more than upset the Universal Balance: it could obliterate it.
Fighting for calm, she put the chest back into the wall safe, then drew her Lightblade. Feeling the weight of it in her hands chased back the pull of the ancient dagger. She’d earned her dagger after five hardscrabble years of training and then surviving a final exam that required every bit of mental, magical, and physical strength she possessed. At that time, limping into the Acceptance Hall, she’d only had eyes for the silver blade lying on a pale silk cloth and bathed in blue-white light.
Awe had filled her the first time she’d seen her blade. The top of the pommel bore radiating lines carved into the silver, to symbolize Light coming to the world to chase away Shadow. The grip was specially cured leather, dyed black and braided with silver wire, light piercing Dark. Silverwork continued in the guard, twin curves symbolizing the protecting embrace of order. The notched ricasso was engraved with Ma’at’s feather on one side and an ankh on the other, personal totems she’d added after claiming the dagger. The blade itself swept another nine inches on a slight curve and was etched in a flowing pattern resembling sunlight rippling on water.
Shadow Blade Page 7
