By the time a Shadowchaser completed training, Balm and the Gilead Commissioners had a good idea of what style of blade best suited the Chaser. Each weapon was as individual as the person who wielded it, and the blooding ritual in the Acceptance Hall bonded blade to owner. For Kira, the silver in her Lightblade enabled her to channel her power to the weapon, even to the point of extending its reach. It was truly an extension of her body, as much a part of her as her limbs. She doubted she’d be able to function without her dagger.
She exhaled fully, inhaled deeply, grounding herself before pushing through the Veil.
It took longer to ward the ancient dagger than it had the perimeter of the entire warehouse, simply because the dagger didn’t like being contained, and it certainly didn’t like her own blade. Using her Lightblade enabled her to carve protective sigils into the air surrounding the chest, the safe, the room itself. Only after the final sigil’s glow had faded from the air into an invisible protective presence did she allow herself to relax.
The Dagger of Kheferatum would have to remain locked away until she could figure out what to do with it. Luckily she didn’t need the original to lure the Fallen out into the open. Not when she knew an expert metalworker who’d love the challenge of re-creating an ancient magical weapon.
All I have to do is avoid my Gilead coworkers, an ancient warrior, a seeker demon, and a Shadow Avatar until the dagger is ready. All in a day’s work for a Shadowchaser.
Pushing fatigue away, Kira transferred a few electronic files to a flash drive then shut down her laptop. She gathered her documentation, camera, and a few supplies into a backpack, checked her wards, then left, riding her bike into the Little Five Points area of Atlanta.
Considered an in-town community, the eclectic area—two and a half miles east of downtown proper and the other Five Points—was a magnet for artists, musicians, neohippies, and young professionals. The bohemian mix appealed to her, made her feel like she actually fit in some place.
She pulled her bike into the parking lot sandwiched between the Vortex Bar & Grill and Junkman’s Daughter. The thought of massive amounts of Tater Tots piqued her appetite and almost had her opening the metal gate to the Vortex’s large skull entrance, but she had business to take care of first.
Her thoughts swirled as she headed on foot past the restaurant into the heart of Little Five. Despite the dreamwalk and her late morning research, she felt as if she had more questions than answers. The Dagger of Kheferatum had plenty of power and its seductive lure was dangerous in and of itself, but that still didn’t explain why one of the Fallen wanted it. Shadow Avatars and their kind had plenty of weapons in their destructive arsenal, some of which made atomic bombs look like hot air balloons. What was it about this particular dagger, Kira wondered, that had someone conjure a seeker demon, follow Bernie from London, and kill him to get it?
She turned the corner at Findley Plaza then made a beeline for Charms and Arms, Zoo and Wynne Marlowe’s metaphysical gift shop. As she pushed open the door, she was immediately hit with a wall of energy from the multitude of crystals arrayed in front of the large picture window. Two customers were already in the shop, one in front by the crystals, the other at the jewelry counter being helped by Wynne’s midday assistant.
Once one’s senses got past the excitedly vibrating gems, the soft green of the walls combined with the scent of incense and the sound of a bubbling fountain wrapped visitors in a metaphysical blanket of peace and comfort. Open shelving held a plethora of books on magic, rituals, divination, and religion. One wall held a variety of natural and homeopathic products.
This was all for the fluffy-bunny neopagan clientele. More serious practitioners headed past the cases of jewelry and books on New Age and occult subjects to the back of the store. There, two rooms were set across from each other for divination sessions, flanking a doorway that led to another smaller showroom, where Wynne was likely to be. The area held more serious collections of athames and cups, scrying mirrors and gazing crystals, and upscale period-accurate weaponry Wynne made for Society for Creative Anachronism members.
With a nod to the salesclerk, Kira made her way to the back of the store. A shiver of awareness made her pause. Wynne wasn’t alone.
As Kira pushed aside the beaded curtain, she caught sight of a lanky, silver-haired man curiously perusing the private collection. Wynne sat at a small table—her hair was fuchsia this week and plaited, then gathered into pigtails. Across from her sat a dark-skinned man in a white T-shirt with a cascade of braids falling past his shoulders.
Shit.
“Hey, Wynne, I’m sorry for interrupting.” She maintained what she hoped was an easy smile as she pulled her gloves off and then tucked them in her pocket. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”
“Sure.” Wynne, noting her bare hands, immediately stood up. Braided Guy rose to his feet with her as if men still commonly did that these days.
The man with the braids was him. The warrior from her vision. The original owner of the blade, the man who’d gone on to kill and pillage and destroy thousands of lives. Standing, he was just a little taller than Kira, maybe five-ten, thin as a whip and just as dangerous. He must have seemed like a giant to the diminutive ancient Egyptians.
He reached behind him, wrapping long fingers around the dagger lying on the table. Wrong move. Kira called her power. The old man at the display counter straightened, his curious expression sharpening from mild to watchful. Worst move.
She pulled blade and gun, the Lightblade pointed at the old man’s throat and the gun aimed squarely for the younger man’s heart. Wynne moved slightly behind her and out of the line of fire.
“You can’t kill me with that,” the dark-skinned man said, his expression still easy as he held the dagger with an expert grip. “Regular bullets don’t have an effect on me.”
Wynne pulled out her own gun, thumbed off the safety, and chambered a round. “Then I guess it’s a good thing we don’t use regular bullets, huh?” She glanced back at Kira. “So who are these guys and why the hell are they in my shop asking me about magic daggers and rare athames?”
“I don’t know what the old man is, but he’s definitely not human. As for that one, he was human roughly four thousand years ago.”
“Told you she was a smart one,” the elderly looking gentleman said in a musical accent, speaking for the first time. A smile crinkled his open expression as he held his hands up. “Not like the other Shadowchasers we’ve met.”
“Quiet, old man,” the Nubian said, his voice dark but easy. He stared at Kira, his hand steady as he pointed the dagger at her. Thinking he was harmless would be like saying a cheetah was a tabby cat. She knew exactly how ruthless he could be. “Looks like we have a standoff.”
“Standoff?” Kira rolled her eyes. “Age doesn’t mean a thing around here. And whatever you and your grandfather can throw at us, trust me when I say we can throw it right back.”
“Grandfather? To him?” The old man sounded affronted. “Hardly.”
The Nubian’s mouth tightened. “Perhaps we could talk through this? I don’t think there’s any need to disturb your customers with gunfire.”
“You wanna talk? Go ahead then. Tell me why you killed Comstock.”
Wynne gasped. “Comstock’s dead?”
“I didn’t kill the dealer,” the warrior answered. “I know what did, which is why I need my blade back.”
He didn’t stink of seeker demon, but that didn’t mean Kira believed him. Someone with enough power to control a seeker could probably mask the traces a seeker left on the psyche. She knew this guy, with his honed runner’s build, couldn’t have survived as long as he had by being stupid.
“I suppose you were the ones who tried to break into my house before dawn?” She let her amusement break through. “That must have hurt like a bitch.”
“It did,” the old man surprised her by saying. “I underestimated your talent. Something I will not do again. I like being here.”
; The Nubian’s jaw tightened. “If you know how old I am, then you also know that I’m the true owner of that dagger. I must have it back.”
Kira smiled. “And I must tell you no.”
He frowned. “I need my dagger back. You will return it to me.”
“And if I don’t?”
He sighed. “I would prefer that we not get to that stage.”
“You need to learn how to ask, not demand. Not that it matters anyway, because I’m still going to tell you no. You should have protected your possessions better if they’re that precious to you.”
He broke off a word that was obviously not a compliment. Kira bit back a smile. It was apparent the warrior was used to getting his way. Long past time for him to learn that life doesn’t always go your way and I have no problem being the hand of Ma’at in his lesson.
“Shadowchaser . . . ” The old man shifted.
“Uh-uh, old man.” The air popped as her power flared along the Lightblade. “I don’t know what you are, but I promise I can separate you from that shell without breaking a sweat.”
The old man tried for charm, hands lifted in a placating gesture. “Young lady, I have no doubt that you would indeed try. I, for one, have no interest in crossing you. I have no desire for this tale to end with my death. Not when it has become so entertaining.”
“Flattery won’t save your life, or distract my attention away from Mr. Braided Guy. Dude. Move again and I will shoot you.”
The Nubian raised his hands, the tip of the dagger pointed at the floor. Not that it meant anything to someone so skilled. “I mean you no harm.”
“I’m sure you don’t. You’ll have to forgive me for not taking your word for it, though.”
“We need to talk. Seriously, and without weapons pointed at each other.”
Kira looked to Wynne, who shrugged. She didn’t see the harm in talking, especially if she could gather information to track down the seeker demon and its master. “Did you see the giant skull around the corner on the main road?”
He nodded. “It’s hard to miss.”
“That’s the entrance to the Vortex restaurant. I’ll meet you there on the deck at five o’clock.”
Black eyes bored into her, his suspicion clear. “Do not think to trick me.”
She gave him a wide smile. “Don’t worry. I’m definitely coming after you.”
Chapter 8
The old gentleman dipped his head at her, then strolled out grinning. He was a sharp contrast to the warrior, who took his time returning the dagger to the table, then stared at Kira as he backed his way out of the room. Kira crossed to the doorway, making sure both men left the shop before calling back her power and sheathing her blade and gun.
Wynne secured her own weapon, then crossed to the display table and picked up the athame. “Mind telling me why we just got into a Mexican standoff in my store?”
“That was the owner of an Egyptian dagger and his nonhuman sidekick,” Kira explained, pulling her gloves free of her pocket and putting them back on. “The dagger’s four thousand years old. So is he.”
“He’s mighty fine-looking for a mummy.” Wynne scooted around the counter to return the blade to its place in the display case. “And he obviously wants his dagger back.”
“He was never a mummy. And I don’t give a rat’s ass what he wants.” She shouldered off her backpack, then placed it on the table. “Comstock gave his life to get that dagger to me, and I’m not turning it over anytime soon to anyone.”
“Comstock’s really dead?”
She gave a short nod, forced the words out. “Seeker demon, last night.”
“Oh my God, Kira, I’m so sorry.” Wynne sank into the chair. “Are you certain the mummy didn’t do it? You should have let me shoot him!”
“It wasn’t him. I don’t think. The guy may be immortal, but I don’t think he’s got a lot of extrasense in him otherwise. Controlling a seeker demon is serious business. I don’t know about the old man, if he really is an old man. He probably could have done it, especially since he tried to break in last night and lived to tell about it.”
Wynne shoved her hands through her fuchsia hair. “Wait. This is going way too fast. Comstock was killed by a seeker demon because of an old knife and you just met a four-thousand-year-old guy who claims he owns it. Why the hell aren’t you flipping out?”
“Can’t afford to. It won’t change what happened, what I have to do. What Bernie wants me to do. Turns out Bernie was also my handler.”
“Are you kidding me? And no one told you this, all this time?” Wynne shot from her chair. Kira took a step back before her friend did something truly insane, like try to hug her. As fragile as her control was then, breaking it would leave them both worse for wear. “This is all Gilead’s fault, isn’t it? Damn the Commission and all the jerkwads in it, treating you like this!” Wynne began to pace, her hot pink ponytails swinging as she spun about in the narrow space between the display cases. “They’d better hope that I never meet one of them face-to-face!”
Despite Kira’s mood, Wynne’s hyper attitude kicked a smile out of her. Seeing her friend’s outrage went a long way to making Kira believe Bernie’s words—that Wynne and Zoo weren’t affiliated with Gilead.
She relaxed slightly, shoving her hands into her pockets. Once Wynne got wound up, it was hard to get her to calm back down. Not that Kira minded. Since she couldn’t afford to fall apart, having Wynne do it for her was the next best thing.
Wynne whirled to face Kira. “Whoever did this—you’re going to hunt him down, aren’t you?”
“You already know the answer to that.”
“Bring in somebody else. I’m serious. You said seeker demon. Seeker demon, Kira. You can’t go up against something like that. And you need to take a break, to take care of everything with Comstock . . .”
“Wynne.” She waited until she was sure she could speak calmly. “Because it’s a seeker demon, I have to be the one to stop it. It’s going to find out soon enough that I have the dagger, so the crap’s coming straight to my door whether I want it to or not. More than that, I owe Bernie. He didn’t deserve to die like that.”
Wynne just stared at her a moment, hazel eyes bright with care and concern. Then she nodded. “Fine. What do you need us to do?” She held up a hand before Kira could protest. “You know we’re going to help you anyway. It’ll be smoother if you go along with it from the jump.”
Kira sighed, exasperation and affection spiraling through her. This was why she’d come to Charms and Arms, why she needed Wynne and Zoo. Their tactical support was only surpassed by the unconditional emotional support they offered.
She opened her backpack, extracted a flash drive and a sheaf of papers. “I’d like you to make a copy of the dagger. I made a drawing to scale, both sides. There’s a couple of photos of it from multiple angles on my camera, and I’ve included all the stats on the drive.”
Wynne let out a low whistle as she flipped through the printouts. “Aren’t you just about the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen? Bronze blade, ivory handle—I think I’m in love!”
“I did a little research before I came over,” Kira explained as Wynne drooled over her specs. “And by little I mean several hours’ worth. I think it’s the Dagger of Kheferatum. Apparently it’s been coveted by mystics and occultists for centuries, in hopes of mastering its power. I can testify that it’s got a lot of power. So much power . . . ”
Kira knew she could handle the ancient weapon. She had enough strength, enough skill. Enough will. Controlling it would be no problem. If she traded her Lightblade for the dagger, no Shadowlings, not even the Fallen themselves, would be able to stand against her . . .
“Kira!”
She blinked, surprised to find Wynne waving her hand in front of her face. “What?”
“Man, where did you go?”
“Just . . . planning. Did you ask me something?”
“Wow, that must be one helluva plan. This is what that guy was look
ing for?”
“Yeah.”
“If he’s what you say he is, there’s no way I’m going to be able to fool him into thinking my replica is his blade. He’s spent a gazillion years with it. He’ll know. I’m good, but I’m not that good.”
“He’s not the one I’m trying to fool.” She crossed to the open doorway, peered out. Everything in the shop seemed normal, on both levels. “He doesn’t have that oily feel that a seeker demon leaves on its controllers. I just need your version to distract the demon’s master long enough for me to take out the seeker and neutralize him.”
Wynne got a worried look in her eyes again. “You know I’m going to do better than my best, but it would help if I could see it firsthand. You know, test the weight and balance, get a sense—”
“Uh-uh. Blade’s too dangerous.”
“Too dangerous. Like our soul-sucking scrying mirror dangerous?”
“Sucking out people’s souls may be the least this blade can do.” She crossed to the table and touched one of the photos. “I think its name is the clue. Khefer means to come into being. Atum is one of the primeval gods of Egypt. He is creation. Everything exists because he exists. On the flip side, he also un-creates. In the Book of the Dead he tells Osiris that he will annihilate creation, returning everything to nonexistence swallowed up by the primordial waters of Nun.”
“Nice.” Wynne twirled one of her bright pink ponytails. “So by naming this dagger Kheferatum, they’re basically making it a tool of both creation and destruction.”
Shadow Blade Page 8
