“All right. I’ll accompany you.”
Now her smile froze. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Why not?”
“How am I supposed to explain you to Gilead?” She pointed to Anansi. “How am I supposed to explain him?”
The demigod smiled beatifically as he bit into a bite of egg and sausage. “The Shadowchaser has a point.”
“Of course she does. She always does.” Khefar turned back to her. “Anansi will be fine left to his own devices, as most gods are. I will come with you on the MARTA, and see you to Gilead’s doors.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean, ‘why?’ ”
“Why decide to help me and why accompany me to Gilead’s offices? I’m not some wet-behind-the-ears Adept. I’ve been Chasing for a while now. I don’t need a babysitter and yet you insist on playing bodyguard. Why?”
He looked away, and she wondered if he was going to lie to her. If he did, she’d be done with him and the spider god, even if it meant losing out on breakfasts like this.
Finally he looked up at her, his eyes clear with purpose. She realized then that she was still standing while he knelt on the cushion, and it suddenly felt familiar, as if she’d caught a glimpse of something much like this from her time with his dagger. It felt as if it was a scene one of them—or both of them—had played out before.
“Kira Solomon. You did not have to offer your hospitality after the fight with the seeker demon, yet you did. You did not have to return my dagger to me and yet you did. The Avatar who controlled the seeker demon is still out there and no doubt unhappy with the seeker’s destruction. He will come for you and do everything in his power to destroy you. I would return the kindness you have shown me in the only way that I know how, by offering to help you and protect you until this threat passes.”
By the gods, that was eloquent—and effective. Damn it! “All right, you win. This round anyway. Just stay off the Commission’s radar, okay?”
He nodded, then turned to Anansi. “What will you do, old man?”
“A bit of traveling, as I usually do,” he replied with a grin. “Perhaps I’ll ride this MARTA myself. There are bound to be many interesting people there. I dare say I am one of the few demigods who is truly a people person.”
She put her head in her hands. Any other time she would have been fascinated by the presence of a demigod walking around as Anansi did. She began to wonder if the old man just thought he was the spider god. But delusional psychosis wouldn’t explain how he’d managed to conjure up so much food—or the apron or the flowers—and the Nubian vouched for him too. Either Nansee was the demigod he claimed to be or he was a crazy man with magical powers. Either way, the city was screwed.
“This happens all the time,” Khefar assured her. “He’ll be fine.”
“I’m sure he will. It’s the city I’m concerned with.”
She had to trust them. No other options presented themselves and she certainly wasn’t about to let either of her guests have free rein of her house when she was out and about working. Still, the idea of turning Anansi loose on the city made her teeth ache.
“I promise to be on my best behavior.”
“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”
“I simply mean to explore this new town of yours.” He gathered everything off the table, two, three, four hands grabbing. Kira decided to stop counting and not look as he made his way to her kitchen. “As much as I enjoy the islands, this city has such fascinating stories to share. Who knows? I might decide to stay here when all is told and done.”
Khefar’s hand shot out and wrapped around her wrist—the only indication she’d instinctively tried pulling her Lightblade. The Nubian leaned forward, a warning looming in his eyes. “Trickster god, remember?”
Oh yeah. She settled back, dropping her hand from her blade. She could handle whatever the Universe wanted to throw at her, even the overly curious demigod loading her dishwasher. “Is he always like this?”
“Yes. I would say you get used to it, but you don’t.” He eased his hold, then stood. “We should get going before your goodwill is further eroded.”
Chapter 14
Nice ride,” Kira commented, sliding into the leather bucket seat of the Charger. “Did a lot of custom work?”
“A little,” Khefar admitted. “It came with the street performance package, but I called in a couple of favors to do it up right. It’ll pass a cursory look by the police, but it’s got serious horsepower attached to it.”
“You know I have more questions for you, right?” Kira asked, trying to settle into the seat as he pulled away from the curb. She missed her bike, and even the open window and sunroof couldn’t compare. “What have you been doing for the last dozen centuries?”
“Wandering the world,” he said, hands sure on the wheel as he headed for the city proper. “I’ve been everywhere and seen everything. Experienced enough to know most humans are good people as long as they think they have all they need. It’s when they realize that there’s more—that they want more—that troubles begin.”
“So the cause of mankind’s ills is covetousness?”
“Exactly.”
“I suppose I can see that. And it must be hard for you, to see pockets of your homeland devastated.”
“Not all of Africa is devastated, Kira. There’s good to balance the bad. The same is true here and in Europe. There are good and bad people everywhere.”
“Tell me about some of the people you’ve met. I studied ancient civilizations at university with a focus on the Intermediate Period of Egypt. I can’t imagine how much better my papers would have been had I had you as a resource.”
He turned north on Peachtree, following her directions to the Midtown section of Atlanta. “Your professors probably wouldn’t have accepted or believed my version of history. Besides, I’ve forgotten more than I can remember. The first millennium passed in a blur. I spent some of my early immortal life in a cave, venturing out only to forage for food. I do not know how long I did this. Then I met Anansi, who told me that my task could not be completed if it was not begun. So I left my cave and went out into the world.”
She couldn’t stop a small sound of dismay. “Surely you kept a journal, artifacts, something! The amount of history you’ve witnessed—the Library of Alexandria, Cleopatra taking on Rome, the Kandakes of Meroë—surely there’s something you can tell me!”
“I was Medjay, a soldier. Not a scribe. I had no need of reading or writing. Nubia didn’t have a written language at that time. I don’t think I needed to learn how to read or write until long after Rome came to power. Even then, sometimes you don’t know history is happening until after it occurs. History is just ordinary people trying to live their lives and take care of their families and then something bad happens.”
“But—”
“Do you remember what you had for supper two years ago on August twenty-seventh? Do you remember who you talked to, what they wore, what the area looked and felt and smelled like? Did you think that was an ordinary day, or something that should be recorded for posterity?”
“Okay, I see what you mean.” She settled back into the seat. “Still, you’re a living, breathing treasure trove of history.”
“I am a man focused on saving people. I saved as many people as I could, from accidents, from burning dwellings, from hungry beasts, from drowning in floodwaters, from enemy troops. And so the centuries have passed.”
“Do you remember the first life you saved for the Light?”
“What I mostly remember are the ones I failed to save, whether they would reduce my total or not,” Khefar said, his eyes clouded over as he stared into the past. “I do not know if the lives I have saved have gone on to do things great or small. All I know is it is a burden that has been unending, like Atlas bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders.” He raised his head. “I am not proud to say I am weary of this burden, but it is the truth. Yet I know I cannot and will not relinquish it
.”
“That I understand. I’m a Shadowchaser. No matter how I might wish otherwise, that’s what I’ll always be.”
“What made you become a Chaser?”
“My adoptive parents dumped me on Gilead’s doorstep after I accidentally put their daughter in a coma.” She held up her gloved hands. “What else was I supposed to do? Massage therapy?”
“I don’t suppose so.” A smile curled his lips, then faded. “What happened to your birth parents?”
“I never knew them. No one could find any records. I don’t even know what country I’m originally from. My adoptive parents raised me in British Columbia, then a brief stint in Greece before puberty hit and ruined my life. After that, all I knew was Gilead and Shadowchasing. Luckily for me, I took to Shadowchaser training like a crocodile to a zebra crossing. I’m good at my job. Sure, the hours suck and most of us die before we can take advantage of the retirement plan, but there are benefits. Besides, I like what I do. I like maintaining the Balance in this city.”
Her hand dropped to the hilt of her blade. “You could even say it’s a form of therapy. If I didn’t have the Chase to relieve the pressure . . . well, I’d feel really bad for whatever city I’d call home. If they’d even let me out of Gilead, that is.”
“Good thing you enjoy your calling, then.”
She did enjoy it. More than that, she needed it. Needed the thrill of facing off with a skilled opponent, the thrill of the chase, the adrenaline rush of combat. The satisfaction of removing danger and pushing the Balance back to the Light. Of knowing that her presence made a difference in the world. If she didn’t have this Chase, she’d probably turn Atlanta upside down until she found one.
She sighed. The perks that came with being a Shadowchaser—faster healing, speed, strength, using her extrasense as a weapon—would only last so long. Eventually her reflexes would slow, healing would be harder, fatigue would come sooner. As much as she dreamed of one day returning to the Petrie Museum or Comstock’s antiques shop, she knew the odds were heavily against her living out her thirties. Any Shadowchaser who lasted longer than that probably wasn’t doing their job.
“Is this it?” Khefar asked, breaking into her thoughts. He slowed the car. “Impressive lack of understatement.”
Kira peered out the window. “That’s Gilead East for you.”
Midtown was a typical Atlanta mix of new and old buildings. The section offices took up most of the floors of the glass and steel midrise not far from the Arts Center complex. It housed some four hundred support and field personnel operating under the guise of a megacompany named Light International.
“Pull up about half a block down and I’ll get out.”
He eased over, then stopped. “Are you sure?”
“It’s bureaucratic hell, but I’m sure I’ll survive a couple of hours inside.” She opened the car door. “You don’t have to hang around.”
He hesitated, clearly torn. He was being so . . . protective. It made her wonder if she was one of the last two souls he had to save before he could die and rejoin his family.
The honk of a car horn solved the dilemma for them. He thrust a card at her. “My cell number. Call me when you’re done, and I’ll come get you.”
She took the card, thinking it strange that someone who was around when the Twelfth Dynasty pyramids were being constructed had a cell phone. “Thanks.”
“Be careful.”
“Don’t worry, cowboy,” she said, hopping out. “I make it a habit never to trust anyone farther than I can throw them.”
Chapter 15
Kira walked down the block to Gilead’s headquarters, strengthening her mental shields as she went. Sanchez already knew she was coming to retrieve Bernie’s effects. Still, she never liked entering the cold glass-and-steel edifice if she could help it. Too much bureaucracy, too many people—human and otherwise—just too much, period.
She felt the hum of the full body scanner as she pushed through the revolving doors. Part of the reason she hadn’t wanted the Nubian to accompany her was because Gilead had all manner of sensors raking the lobby. Even if the revolving door didn’t identify someone as friend or foe or Other before it completed its revolution, the other tracking devices would. She wasn’t sure what they’d identify Khefar as nor what sort of reaction the dagger would set off, but she doubted he’d get very far.
Heads turned her way as she walked across the lobby. Her tan cargo pants and brown bomber jacket didn’t fit in with the dark suits and black skirts of most of the people there, but then neither did the Lightblade strapped to her thigh. Most of the people walking across the marble expanse had handguns under their suit jackets. The man behind the welcome kiosk probably had something with a little more firepower.
He gave her a smile as she approached. “Welcome, Ms. Solomon. I’ve notified the chief of your arrival and called a car for you. The second elevator to the right.”
“Thanks.”
She turned, catching a few staffers averting their eyes as she headed for the elevator. It made her wonder what Sanchez had spread about her. Maybe the clone brothers had talked about her bike stunt with the hybrids. Maybe they just hadn’t ever seen an actual Shadowchaser before. Maybe she really shouldn’t give a damn what they thought.
She steeled herself on the ride up the elevator. It chafed her to know that Balm had spoken to the section chief about her. True, Gilead had to send directives concerning access to Bernie’s files, but Kira doubted either Balm or Sanchez kept it to that. They’d probably been thick as thieves since she’d been assigned to the area. Why else would the section chief feel the need to criticize her at every turn?
The elevator slowed to a stop, then the doors slid open. A youngish suit took a step forward, got a good look at her, gulped, then immediately stepped back. The doors slid closed. Kira shook her head, disgusted. “Gods, people—we’re on the same side!”
If people were afraid of her, she figured that was their problem, not hers. Shadowchasers were badass for a reason. The Special Response Teams handled run of the mill hybrids and Shadowling disturbances. Anything involving higher Shadow magic—Adepts or those practitioners strong enough to become Avatars, hosts of the Fallen—those cases were left to Shadowchasers. The specialized teams were consummate tactical professionals, but you didn’t send mere humans up against someone who could make you turn on your teammates with just a whispered word.
The elevator slid open again, this time on the executive floor. She stepped out into another high-tech reception area, complete with circular desk and nattily dressed attendant. She was scanned again as she approached the gleaming chunk of metal. Good thing I dissuaded Khefar and Anansi from tagging along. She’d already considered the effect Khefar might have if he’d entered the building. Now just thinking about the response Anansi might receive strolling into the lobby almost made her break into a cold sweat.
“Welcome, Chaser Solomon. Section Chief Sanchez is waiting for you.”
The attendant waved her toward the imposing dark double doors, which swung open as she approached. It wasn’t quite akin to entering the lion’s den, but it wasn’t that far off from it either.
Sleek tinted glass and gleaming chrome dominated the section chief’s office, along with a bank of monitors and a kick-ass view of Atlanta’s skyline. It was an impressive display of power, if you were into that sort of thing. Kira personally preferred power that was a bit more organic.
The section chief rose and tugged on her smart navy blue jacket to straighten it to perfection. The severe bun of night before last had been somewhat relaxed into a tight ponytail. Obviously Sanchez felt comfortable here. The desk bore the usual accessories of an executive’s office: monitor, multiline phone, high-end pen angled from a black onyx base all precisely placed. A digital picture frame was the only incongruous detail.
Kira gestured to the photo of a smiling girl, no more than seven, sitting on the steps of a cabin. “Is this your daughter?”
“My niece.�
�
“She’s beautiful.”
“She’s dead. Killed twelve years ago by a hybrid during summer camp.”
“Gods, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” The section chief reached out a hand, fingers stroking the edge of the frame. “Every day her beautiful face reminds me of my purpose, my duty.”
She smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle from her trousers. “I received your email that the seeker demon was eliminated last night. Good work.”
“Thanks.” It was far easier to be civil than not, and sending the preliminary report via email last night had kept her from focusing too much on the demigod or the dead Nubian. “Luckily it didn’t do too much damage before I managed to send it back to Shadow.”
Sanchez nodded, came around her desk. “Any ideas yet on what it was seeking?”
Kira shrugged, not ready to be completely buddy-buddy with the section chief despite what she’d just learned about her. “I figured it tagged Comstock for some reason, something he had, which is why it came to my door. The good news is, it picked the wrong door to come to. The bad news is, its controller is still out there. I’ll make sure to file my complete report before I leave.”
“What do you need Gilead to do to help you find the controller?”
Kira blinked in surprise. This was a completely different tack from the conversation two days ago. What the hell had Balm told her?
Sanchez smiled. “Comstock was one of us, Kira, and we always do for one of our own. He was a good man and I have no doubt that even if you weren’t a Shadowchaser, you’d stop at nothing to find the person responsible.”
“You’re right. It’s the least I owe him.” Because she owed him, she’d dip into the bureaucracy that was Gilead. She didn’t like the Commission’s style, but that didn’t mean that she was unfamiliar with it—or unable to work it to her benefit. Balm had taught her more than how to fight.
“Section Chief, my bike took some damage during the altercation with the seeker demon. I need to requisition temporary transport. I also need a new DataPhone.”
Shadow Blade Page 13
