Shadow Blade

by Seressia Glass

  The warrior frowned, clearly unhappy with how chatty the dagger had been with her. She supposed she couldn’t blame him. If what she had read was true, it probably meant the dagger wanted a new master. If so, then how could she possibly give the dagger back? Better to keep it so that she’d know it was in safe hands.

  Something sparked in his eyes, as if he knew the path of her thoughts. “The Dagger of Kheferatum is extremely dangerous. Should it fall into the wrong hands, its destructive capabilities would be unstoppable.”

  “I don’t intend to let it fall into the wrong hands,” she retorted, mocking his melodramatic tone.

  “Nor do you intend to return it to me.”

  “Bingo.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t know you, despite what you and the dagger have told me. I sure as hell don’t trust either you or that old man. He may look like Morgan Freeman, but I sure wouldn’t cast him to play God. Any god. Bernie gave the dagger to me for safekeeping. I won’t fail him.”

  His hand shot across the table, wrapped around her wrist. “Return my dagger to me, Kira Solomon.”

  Her extrasense instinctively activated in self-defense. The whole world seemed to freeze as she waited for his thoughts to bombard her, for his skin to ashen as his life force drained from his body. Neither happened.

  Nothing happened.

  Shock raced through her. “You’re touching me.”

  “I wanted to get your attention.”

  “How are you touching me?”

  He frowned even as he maintained his grip. “What are you talking about?”

  Completely shaken, Kira tried to pull her wrist free of his grip. “Let me go.”

  He frowned as he released her. “I didn’t hurt you.”

  “No, no you didn’t. You just, you shouldn’t be able to touch me like that. But you did. Oh, goddess, you did and I don’t know what the hell that means.”

  It was hard to form coherent sentences. No one had ever been able to touch her like that, especially after she hit puberty. Guardians, humans, Shadow-lings—they all took a toll and paid a price when they touched her.

  Only Nico had been able to touch her one weekend, one beautiful and terrible weekend before he died. Now suddenly here was this Nubian, this immortal warrior whom she might have to try to kill—and he could touch her with impunity?

  She needed air.

  Gulping, she surged to her feet, the chair screeching as she thrust it back. She fumbled in her pocket for a couple of bills, threw them on the table, and grabbed her gloves. “I-I’ve got to go.”

  “We’re not done talking.”

  “We are so done talking. Don’t touch me,” she added when he rose, making another grab for her. “Stay away from me, just stay away.”

  She sprinted for the door, knowing he was going to follow her.

  Chapter 10

  He could touch her. The damned Nubian could actually touch her.

  Shaken to the core, Kira scuttled down the staircase to the parking lot. She jumped aboard her bike just as Khefar reached the bottom of the stairs shouting, “What the hell is going on?”

  Her fingers fumbled with the helmet strap. She was shaking, as if this was the one event to turn her life upside down. “I’m sorry; I have to go.”

  He said something else, but she’d already kicked her bike to life. She had to get home, had to get somewhere she could take a moment and think. Think about the fact that a four-thousand-year-old warrior was the only person on the planet who could touch her without being reduced to a gibbering mess.

  Tires squealed as she pulled out of the parking lot and headed south on Moreland to DeKalb Avenue

  , her mind still reeling. She didn’t get any impressions from his touch either—not his thoughts, his emotions, his past, his energy. She’d learned more from touching the knife than from touching him. What was it supposed to mean? Why was he the only person who could touch her? Was it the knife’s doing, or something else? Was it some kind of trick to divert her attention away from Bernie’s killer? Would Balm know? Did Balm know already?

  Why was this happening now?

  A cold warning skittered down her spine when she was less than half a block from her house. Her training took over instinctively, kicking the chaotic thoughts out of her mind. She palmed her Lightblade a split second before the seeker demon slammed into her, knocking her off the bike.

  Power erupted all around them, neon blue sparking against putrid yellow as she and the demon and her bike rolled and wrestled. Its teeth scraped loudly across the top of her helmet, leaving smears of acidic saliva behind.

  Screeching turned to crunching as her bike stopped hard against a telephone pole. She ignored it, calling on all her rage and sorrow to power her magic. The seeker demon wouldn’t stop its attack until Kira was dead or she had destroyed it. Here was a target she could take on, something she could attack, hurt, annihilate—unless it killed her. This was a fight to the finish. No stopping.

  Screaming a curse, she shoved the heel of her left hand hard against its lower jaw, bringing up her blade to slash at its throat. Claws swung, knocking the blade from her hand.

  Crap. At least we’ve stopped rolling on the pavement.

  The seeker demon eluded her efforts to immobilize it, its superior strength pinning her to the asphalt instead. The sound of squealing brakes scraped through her ears, but she ignored it. She couldn’t worry about who it might be or if anyone was witnessing something that shouldn’t be witnessed. Kira was too busy trying to stay alive and kill the seeker to care.

  Her extrasense glowed the steady sapphire sheen of a shield, protecting her from the seeker demon’s attempts to scratch and bite. She had to reclaim her Lightblade and stop the seeker quickly before her strength ran out. Its master had to be somewhere nearby to control it, and that worried her far more than finishing off the demon.

  Something barreled into the demon, knocking it off her. She rolled upright, then pulled off her helmet. Khefar. The Nubian drew in his legs, then pushed, jettisoning the seeker a good fifteen feet. He sprung upright in a graceful, fluid motion. Amazingly he held her Lightblade, its length still glowing purple-blue with her power.

  How was that possible?

  The seeker demon swung its head from the Nubian to her as if trying to decide which one to pursue. She drew her gun but Khefar took the choice away, charging the demon with her blade ready to strike.

  Blurred motion, the scramble of claws, the meaty thud of bodies colliding. “Don’t let it bite or scratch you,” she called, scanning the area for the Shadow Avatar that controlled the demon. Nothing vibrated through her extrasense. Either the controller wasn’t around—unlikely—or he was powerful enough to control the seeker and conceal his presence—disconcerting.

  “This would be easier if I had my own blade,” he yelled back. “Yours is slow.”

  “Slow? I’ll show you slow. Keep that damned thing busy.” He shouldn’t be able to use her Lightblade in the first place, but she shoved that thought aside. She limped to her bike, righting it with an effort. It wasn’t ruined, but it would definitely take more than a paint job to put it back on the street.

  Incensed anew, she opened the side panel to extract a sawed-off shotgun, jacked a couple of shells into it, then charged it with her extrasense. Khefar was still holding his own against the seeker demon in an impressive display of skill, but the seeker had speed, strength, and energy on its side. The Nubian wouldn’t last much longer.

  “Come on, come on, give me a shot,” Kira muttered. She tracked them, but getting a clear shot of just the demon would be tricky. Then again, Khefar said he was more or less immortal. She had to hope he wasn’t delusional, and that the bullet wouldn’t hurt him.

  She fired a round from her handgun, hitting the Nubian in the shoulder. He spun enough to give her an opening to use the shotgun. In less than a heartbeat she swung it up, charged it with her power, aimed, fired.

  The heavy round hit the demon in the
forehead. Taking off the top of its head wouldn’t be enough to keep it down, she knew, stalking forward to pump the second round into its muzzle.

  Still the beast writhed and snarled. Khefar dragged her blade, still burning with power, across the demon’s throat, then shoved it into the left side of its chest for good measure. Its shriek cut the air, leaving Kira’s ears ringing. The death throes quickly subsided until the only sounds left were Khefar’s labored breathing and the sizzle of the demon’s yellow blood burning into the concrete.

  Khefar regained his feet, slinging his braids back over his shoulder, her blade still glowing in his hand. “Are you all right?”

  “Don’t worry about me—”

  He turned on her. “Are you hurt?”

  “Hey, easy there. My ankle’s twisted and it’s going to hurt like a bitch in the morning, but I’ll live. You got it off of me before he could do any real damage. What about you?”

  “You shot me.”

  “I had to get you out of the way of my kill shot,” she explained, holstering her gun. The seeker demon sank in on itself with a crackling noise, then imploded. If they were lucky, the mental backlash from its demise would kill its master. If they were lucky.

  “By shooting me?”

  “No one told you to follow me or jump into the fight,” she reminded him. “Besides, you said you were immortal and regular bullets don’t hurt you.”

  “I said it was more complicated than that.” He winced, then slumped against the building, pressing his hand against his rib cage. “Damn, he must have got me.”

  “Crap.” She reached for him, then hesitated. Nothing might happen if he casually touched her, but what if touching his wound ignited some sort of extrasense chain reaction? With the seeker demon’s poison worming its way into his bloodstream, her touch could just hasten it along.

  “My house is close. Can you make it?”

  He pushed his back along the wall, getting his feet solidly beneath him. “I can.”

  She had her doubts. Thankful that she’d worn the padded bike jacket, she quickly pulled out her gloves and jerked them on, then thrust her shoulder beneath his, helping him along a couple of feet. “So did you lie to me about the whole immortal thing?”

  “No lies, just not the whole truth. Besides, being immortal doesn’t make me Superman.” He winced. “Bullets don’t bounce off and they hurt. I’d rather be run down by a rhino than take on another seeker. Nansee.”

  The old man just materialized out of the darkness. Rather quickly too, Kira noted. “Where were you during the fight? Thanks—not—for having our backs. I for one really would have appreciated the help.”

  “He can’t directly interfere,” Khefar gasped, handing her Lightblade back. The power enveloping the blade immediately winked out. “It’s against the rules.”

  Rules? “Well, can he help you into my house or is that against the rules too?”

  The old man thrust his shoulder beneath Khefar’s, all but lifting the warrior off his feet. “You will have to release or ease your wards enough to allow me entry.”

  That brought a cold dose of reality back. “This isn’t some sort of trick to get me to lower my guard so you can get the dagger, is it? Even if I remove the wards, there are other protections in place.”

  “We’re not your enemy, Kira,” Nansee said. “Surely we’ve proven that by now?”

  “I don’t profess to know how one of the Fallen or their Avatars would think,” she replied, wiping her Lightblade against her pants leg. The pants were ruined anyway, a little demon blood wouldn’t make it worse. “If it would serve your purpose or trick me into trusting you, then I believe you would do whatever it takes, even destroying one of your brethren. There’s little love among the Fallen.”

  “True.” The warrior caught her gaze, held it. “I am a servant of the Light, Kira, a warrior like yourself. It is a duty I have performed for the last four thousand years.”

  “I don’t know of any Shadowchasers who are immortal, with or without complications, despite the array of beings serving the Light.”

  Khefar gave her a small smile. “And how many Chasers do you know?”

  “Personally? A few. It’s not like Gilead holds conventions.”

  “True.” He grimaced. “I give you my word that I will not try any funny business while I’m bleeding to death.”

  “Right.” She quickly hobbled over to her bike, got it moving. The front fender scraped against the tire, the seat all but hanging off. If it was just a regular bike, she’d have scrapped it and bought another. “Nansee, can you tell if the seeker’s controller is anywhere nearby?”

  “He is not.”

  “Well, that’s something, at least.” She led them a couple of doors down to her converted home, disarmed the alarm, then ushered them quickly through the roll-up door then, as the metal door rolled back down, opened the door to her living area. “You can put him on the couch in the living room,” she told the old man as she propped her bike up, then went back to re-engage the alarm. “I’ve got some medical supplies in the pantry.”

  Nansee stopped just inside the doorway to the main room. “There are no windows that face east in this room.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “If you want to damn his soul, then no.”

  She wanted to ask, needed to ask, but forced the questions back. Khefar didn’t look good at all. The questions could be saved for later. He needed to be saved now.

  She grabbed her general purpose first aid kit, then led Nansee and Khefar to the elevator she seldom used except for moving artifacts or heavy objects. There was no way they could use the stairs to get to her loft bedroom while nearly carrying Khefar.

  The space had originally been two offices and a bathroom before she’d turned it into a large bedroom with a walk-in closet and spa bathroom with separate shower and soaking tub. Her bedroom had a king-size low-profile bed and oversized windows that faced east. The only other furniture in the room was a mahogany nightstand beside the bed and a matching six-drawer chest with a statue of winged Ma’at atop it, unless you counted the punching bag and yoga balls.

  “This will work well.” The old man helped Khefar sit on the edge of the bed. Kira could easily see the rips in the white T-shirt, and knew they didn’t bode well. A seeker demon’s claws were just as dangerous as their jaws, the talons loaded with a virulent and fast-acting poison. A Normal would die in less than five minutes. Would be dead by now.

  “You mind telling me why this works? What the importance of east is?”

  “Kira.” Khefar’s voice had thinned with pain. “This might freak you out.”

  “I’m a Shadowchaser. I don’t freak out.” But that was before she had two not-quite-human men in her house, touching her stuff.

  “Good.” He managed to pull the remnants of his T-shirt over his head, then lay back, grimacing in pain. The bullet, still lodged inside him, had made a slightly ragged quarter-sized hole in his shoulder. Furrows were etched deep into his right side, along his rib cage. Blood welled up from them, dark and thick and tinged with yellow.

  Kira knew what that meant—demon poison mixing with his blood—but still decided to go through the motions with the first aid kit. She forced brightness into her tone. “You might be good, but that wound’s not.”

  She handed one of Zoo’s extrastrength charms to Nansee. “It’s a healing charm. It might help.”

  The old man silently pressed the charm against Khefar’s chest just above the demon wound. Kira tried not to stare at the amount of his skin displayed. The charm wouldn’t counteract the poison but it would make him feel better. “The seeker’s poison got into your system. It’s corrosive and burns through your red blood cells, destroying them.”

  “I know.” His breathing roughened. “I’m going to die in the next minute or two. But don’t worry. I’ll awaken as soon as the morning sunlight hits my body.”

  “What?” She looked to Nansee, who nodded. “What the hell kind of screwed-up
immortality has you dying like some sort of Highlander rip-off?”

  “It’s part of the rules. Told you it was complicated.”

  “Your rules suck, big-time.”

  Khefar started to laugh, but it faded to a groan. She concentrated on pulling supplies out of her enhanced emergency kit so she could avoid staring at the wide expanse of skin showing above his dark denims. So much skin, skin she could touch. Except now he was dying, and while he and Nansee were sure that he’d come back to life, she had her doubts.

  “I will take care of this,” Nansee said as he took the box from her, his voice and eyes kind. “You took a nasty tumble. Perhaps you should refresh yourself, get off that ankle.”

  “I’m all right.” That was a lie. Two days, two people dying on her watch.

  “Kira.” Khefar opened his eyes with effort, and focused on her. “I know you have more questions. So do I. I promise we’ll both have our answers when the morning comes.”

  She gave him a jerky nod. Questions, yes, thousands of those. They’ll have to wait until after he dies and, I hope, lives again.

  “I need to go clean my Lightblade.”

  Chapter 11

  Kira grabbed a change of clothes from her dresser, then used the elevator to escape to the ground floor. Her ankle would have made her limp down the stairs and shown she did need more attention than she was admitting. Already her body was protesting the simple demands she made of it, but she couldn’t stop. If she stopped moving, she’d start thinking and she wasn’t ready for that.

  She quickly cleaned up in the half bath on the main floor, changing into soft cotton pants and a T-shirt and wrapping her ankle in a flexible bandage. After dumping her ruined clothes in the kitchen garbage, she began gathering the supplies to clean and purify her Lightblade and sheath.

  The mundane chore of finding cleaning supplies couldn’t keep her mind from whirling. Why was this happening, and why hadn’t the Universe given her a head’s up about it? Balm’s extrasense was prescience; Kira couldn’t understand why the head of Gilead didn’t warn her about Comstock, the seeker demon, or the not-really-immortal warrior dying upstairs. Was it possible that Balm didn’t know?