Shadow Blade

by Seressia Glass

  “So much for your passing knowledge about Shadowchasers,” Kira noted.

  “Like I said, I’ve been around for a while.” He regarded her. “How long have you been with Gilead?”

  “I bonded with my Lightblade when I was eighteen, so I’ve been a chaser just over seven years now.” She hesitated. “I don’t suppose on your travels you’ve ever met anyone with abilities like mine?”

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry to say, but no. Are you looking for relatives?”

  “Not really looking.” She shrugged away an ancient hurt. “Never knew my birth parents and never found out anything about them either. I guess if you haven’t met anyone with a gift of touch quite like mine, I must be one of a kind.”

  “We are each unique. Your skills have made you good at what you do.”

  “Yep, that’s what I tell myself to get through.” She finally edged around the counter, crossing to the coffee table to retrieve her bottle of water. “Where do you stay when you’re not camping out on people’s doorways?”

  “I have a couple of places I like to stay. I have a small place in London, but the place in Cairo feels the most like home.”

  Cairo. Spitting distance from the Giza Plateau, and the Egyptian Museum in Cairo was home to the most extensive collection of ancient Egyptian artifacts on the planet. “I guess it makes you feel close to your family, your past.”

  “It does.” He glanced down at his blade. “Cairo helps me remember.”

  “Remembering is important.” It must have been hard for him, to have lived as long as he had, trying to remember a family he’d loved and lost so long ago. He didn’t have family photos, videos, digital albums, or YouTube postings to help. All he had was his memory.

  Kira was sure that part of the reason Anansi, the keeper of stories, accompanied Khefar was so that someone could remember when he couldn’t. The spider god would keep the memories safe, as he had kept the stories of West Africa safe for centuries.

  “You know what I think? I think a good way to remember is by telling stories. So how about when the pizza gets here, I’ll pick a place and if you’ve been there, you’ll tell me a story about your experiences there.”

  He stared at her with eyes darkened by memory. “As long as you return the favor and tell me of your experiences in the places you’ve been.”

  She felt her smile freeze. Kira realized her effort to make him feel better—and she had to acknowledge his history fascinated her and she wanted to know more—had given him the opportunity to turn the tables on her. It would also limit her probing for more information.

  All she had to do was avoid the dark blotches of her past. There were good stories in there; she just had to find them.

  “You’ve got a deal.”

  Chapter 18

  Are you out of your mind?”

  “Will you quit saying that, Wynne? It’s getting a little old.”

  “But you’re letting this guy stay with you. Staying in your house with you, Kira.” Wynne shook her head. “How does someone who doesn’t like people invading her space go from holding a gun to someone’s head to inviting him in for a long-term sleepover?”

  Kira looked over at Khefar, talking to Zoo at the shop’s herb counter. Wynne’s husband looked like he should have been behind the counter of a tattoo parlor, not a metaphysical store. He leaned over; his tattoo of a large owl clutching a gleaming crystal point stood out in brilliant color against the light olive of his shaved head. Both beefy arms were covered in tattoos, complicated patterns that only he knew the meaning of. He’d once told Kira the ink helped his magic and she saw no reason to disbelieve him. Having been the beneficiary of many of Zoo’s spells, Kira knew the natural-born witch had great skill.

  Despite his intimidating size and appearance and former duties as an Army sniper, Zoo had a warm soul, reflected in his soft green eyes. He was the kind of person who never met a stranger and he was a perfect foil for Wynne’s frenetic personality. Knowing they had her back was a comfort, especially with Bernie gone.

  The Nubian, at a seeming disadvantage of a couple of inches and thirty or so pounds, couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than a fighter even in his long-sleeved black shirt and jeans. It was just the way he carried himself, the way he moved, with a leopard’s grace and stealth. They’d shared a few stories last night, mostly positive stories of the lives he’d saved and the Shadows she’d chased.

  It had been a natural thing to ask him to patrol with her, Khefar driving while she used her extrasense like radar, searching for any minute Shadow disturbances. There were precious few surges, not even Adepts raising power, making her wonder if the whole world waited for this one Fallen to reappear. Or, perhaps Gilead’s suits were being some help with policing the paranormal populace, as Sanchez had promised.

  Back at Kira’s, Khefar had taken the sofa while she went upstairs to sleep in her own bed—after making it up with fresh sheets. All in all, not a bad way to end a day, though she had spent a good half hour trying to forget that the Nubian had died in her bed.

  “A lot has happened in the last two days, Wynne. He helped me take down a seeker demon. And he really is the owner of the dagger. He’s been a wealth of information that I desperately need. Besides, Comstock vouched for him from beyond.”

  “Which again has me questioning your sanity.” Wynne’s worried look hadn’t lightened up.

  “We stopped the seeker, not the Avatar. I need all the help I can get on that score and he’s got four thousand years of experience.”

  It was, Kira had to admit to herself, weird to have the Nubian in her house. Luckily he seemed to realize that and did his best to minimize his impact on her space. She’d been able to finish reviewing all of Comstock’s items earlier that morning in her office without a bunch of interruptions. Though she had several new memories to hold close, no other clues about the Avatar had presented themselves.

  Wynne leaned closer to her. “Are you sure you’re okay? Comstock, a seeker demon, then this Nubian? And that old man is sorta strange.”

  Kira wasn’t going to reveal Nansee’s true identity. It was the demigod’s business who he chose to reveal himself to. If she told Wynne the truth, her friend would probably see it as a reason to be even more concerned, not less.

  “Come on, Wynne, it’s a tactical arrangement, in place only until we can bring the Avatar down. Then life will go back to as close to normal as it can for me. Speaking of getting rid of the Avatar, how much longer do you think you’ll need with that blade? Since I gave Khefar his dagger back, I’ll really need to use yours as a decoy.”

  Wynne took one of the athames out of its display case to polish, even though it gleamed already. “One more day, two at the max. I want to make sure the magic is balanced inside it, so it’s going to take some careful work with Zoo to put that down in the metal.”

  “We’re going to have to make some sort of move,” Kira said, trying to not let worry creep into her voice. “It’s been almost two full days and no hits on the Avatar at all.”

  “Do you think it left?”

  Kira shook her head. “We wouldn’t be that lucky. Not after he took the time to track the dagger from Europe. He’s still here, still wanting the dagger. The fact that Gilead hasn’t turned up anything yet bothers me too.”

  It more than bothered her. It was like the sword of Damocles hanging over her head, sure to fall at any moment.

  Wynne sidled closer. “So, what’s he like?”

  “What do you mean, what’s he like?”

  “Oh come on. He’s a guy; you’re a girl. He’s kinda easy on the eyes. And you said that you can touch him with no problem. You can say it’s a tactical decision all you want, but you can’t tell me you don’t want the opportunity to get up close and personal with history.”

  “Gods, Wynne!” She had to force her voice down. Trust Wynne to be completely inappropriate. She had thought about getting up close and personal with Khefar—to pick his brain and corroborate her vie
w of history, but that was far from Wynne’s idea. “This isn’t the time to be thinking about stuff like that!”

  “There’s never going to be a right time, Kira.” The metalworker returned the athame to the display case, then looked up at Kira with earnest concern lighting her expression. “You have to make the time. I think even Comstock would want that for you.”

  She bristled. “Just had to go for the jugular, didn’t you?”

  Wynne didn’t seem to care. “I’m your friend. I care and I worry. You need to have some fun in the middle of all the Shadowchasing. You know, the whole Balance thing?” A mischievous glint lit her eyes, combining with the bright pink hair to give her a pixielike look. “Besides, if I can’t verbally slap you upside the head, who can? You need to think about what I said. A girl’s got needs. I’m betting a four-thousand-year-old hottie does too.”

  Khefar and Zoo chose that moment to join them. The Nubian held up a paper bag. “The witch has an impressive array of herbs and knows how to use them. I look forward to trying some of these out.”

  Wynne nudged Kira, then waggled her eyebrows. “Speaking of trying something out . . . ”

  Zoo grinned, clearly in on his wife’s scheming. Khefar looked confused. “What?”

  “Never mind. I need to drop a couple of specimens off at the Carlos Museum at Emory,” Kira said. “You might like to check out their exhibits—it’s the museum that returned the mummy of Ramesses I to Egypt and right now is working to expand its Nubian collection. I thought while we were there we could get a workout in at the faculty fitness center. The university allows me to use the facilities. You think you’re up to sparring with me?”

  Khefar smiled. “A sparring match sounds like an excellent idea.”

  Wynne nodded. “It’s a great way to work off a little extra tension—”

  Kira cut her off. “Let’s get going while it’s still early. I don’t want to have to deal with traffic if we leave there too late.”

  Kira deliberately ignored Wynne’s smug expression as they left. Getting a good hand-to-hand workout in with a warrior of Khefar’s skill and incredible experience was something she welcomed, but she didn’t want to think about the Nubian as anything other than a fellow fighter helping her eliminate a threat. She certainly didn’t want to think about him in any sort of intimate way. She also knew that once the Avatar was taken care of, Khefar would be on his way to save his next soul and she’d be planning a trip to London with Bernie’s ashes.

  The drive from Little Five Points to the Emory campus was less than ten minutes, winding them through the tree-laden community of Druid Hills. Situated on a beautiful six-hundred-acre campus dominated by pink and gray Georgia marble, the university was known as much for its wide-ranging health care system as its research and education. The private university counted Salman Rushdie and His Holiness the XIV Dalai Lama among members of its faculty.

  “It won’t take me long to drop this off,” Kira said as she turned off North Decatur Road

  toward the Fishburne parking deck. “The museum’s just off the quad across the bridge. Then we can head to the faculty and staff fitness center in the Blomeyer. It’s a pretty good distance down Clifton, so we may want to come back for the SUV after we leave the museum.”

  His expression soured. “Perhaps it will be better if I drop you at the museum’s front door and wait with the truck since it won’t take long.”

  She stopped the vehicle, turned to him. First he wanted to stick closer than her shadow, and now he didn’t want to follow her into the museum? “You don’t want to come in?”

  “There’s no point in me walking through relics of lives long gone,” he said tightly. “Like viewing the remnants of a human zoo.”

  She blinked in surprise, then had to tamp down a sudden burst of anger. Given his history, she could understand his reluctance to view artifacts that might remind him of the life he used to have. That didn’t explain the heat in his words, though.

  “There’s nothing wrong with museums or zoos. Archaeologists dig through the past in order to preserve it.”

  “If they wanted to preserve it, they should just leave it where they found it. Let the dead stay buried.”

  “But there’s so much we can learn! For all that we know, there’s so much more that we can only guess at. You yourself said that few people are aware of history as they live it. When archaeologists come along and discover these things, it’s treasure to us. More than treasure, it’s almost sacred. We get down on our hands and knees and scratch through decades and centuries of dirt and muck not because we want to put these things on display, but because we want to understand, because these things matter to us, these lives matter to us.”

  He sighed. “Look, I’m not trying to belittle your profession—”

  “And I’m not trying to belittle your history. Most of which is lost to us, if you don’t mind me saying so.” She reached behind him for the silver transport case and pulled it into her lap. “Some of us think it’s important to understand who we were and where we came from. To learn from the past in order to understand and face the future. Even those who have no clue what their past is.”

  “Kira—”

  “I understand that it’s hard for you. I just thought you might appreciate the museum’s efforts at preserving your history. Just wait here; I’ll be back in about fifteen minutes.”

  She got out of the SUV quickly, crossing the walk to the bridge that would take her to the Carlos. Embarrassment and a little hurt burned her cheeks. She thought she was doing a nice thing for him and he’d snapped at her instead. Last time she’d try to be nice to the Nubian.

  Her step slowed as she crossed the bridge to South Kilgo Circle

  and the pale marble buildings that ran along the southeast side of the quadrangle green space. The Michael C. Carlos Museum sat between Carlos and Bowden Halls, with the Woodruff and Candler libraries forming the top of a T. Usually she loved the old trees and rolling hills, especially in afternoon sunlight, but Khefar’s reaction bothered her more than she wanted to think.

  She supposed she should be more understanding. His whole purpose for existing was to rejoin his family in the afterlife. Until then, he probably wanted no reminders of his former life. Seeing the Carlos’s collection of Egyptian mummies and funerary objects as well as Nubian artifacts would only remind him of how far from his own world he really was. When he’d mentioned feeling at home in Cairo, she’d jumped to the wrong conclusion—ancient artifacts weren’t a comfort to him.

  Kira hadn’t been back to Venice since Nico died. She’d told herself it was because her Shadowchaser duties kept her from returning. The truth was, it was too painful, even all these years later. Especially now, with the wound of Bernie’s death still raw. No photos, no TV shows, no movies—anything that mentioned Venice had been excised from her life. If Venice was like that for her, what was seeing lifeless exhibits of preserved relics and remains like for Khefar?

  She quickly dropped off the cleansed pre-

  Columbian artifacts with the assistant curator, then returned to the main floor. She thought about doing a quick run through the African and Egyptian sections to see if there was anything in the collection that might pique the Nubian’s interest, then changed her mind. She didn’t like being pushed; she was sure Khefar wouldn’t like it either. Instead she headed for the door.

  Something caught her eye, a flash of dark movement. She turned away from the entrance, making her way through the Greek and Roman sections and up the ramp that showed the path of the Nile. Veering right, into the Egyptian coffin room, she found Khefar staring at an ornate wooden sarcophagus from the Ptolemaic period. He’d dressed all in black today but the color suited him, just as he seemed to fit this place.

  Kira stopped beside him, remaining silent for a moment. “I’m sorry for pushing you into something you didn’t want to do.”

  He smiled at her. “Do you really think either one of us can push the other into doing something the other
doesn’t want to do?”

  “Good point.” She relaxed, ridiculously pleased that the strained awkwardness between them had passed.

  “You were right, Kira,” he said then. “It’s a nice collection. I’m glad I came in.”

  “Me too.”

  Khefar gestured around the room. “Is this where you work?”

  “No. They already have a very established Egyptology department. I just do freelance stuff for the Carlos and other museums and private collectors, along with some independent research. Did you make it up to the top level where the Nubian and sub–Saharan Africa exhibits are?”

  “I did.” For a moment his lips thinned. When he turned back to her, his expression was carefully neutral. “You promised me a workout. You’re not trying to get out of it, are you?”

  She could have gotten whiplash from the abrupt change of topics. “ ’Course not. I’m ready if you are.”

  They stepped back out into the afternoon sunlight. He started out down the quad back the way she’d originally come. As they reached the bridge, she asked, “Was that painful for you, seeing the exhibits?”

  Khefar stopped, hands gripping the bridge railing. “Not as much as I thought it would be. It could be because my hindsight is extremely clouded and many of my memories have looped back onto each other and are no longer clear. Some, however, are as sharp as the day they happened.”

  Kira didn’t have to ask which memories he meant. “Do you still remember them?”

  He grimaced, staring over the side of the bridge to the creek below. “I’ve tried to remember their faces so I could have them painted and carry them with me always, but their images have been lost to me. Merire was my wife and she gave to me Henku, my firstborn, and Seneb, my youngest son, and Meri, my daughter and just as precious. Seneb was but three when they were taken from this life.”

  She didn’t think about it. Kira just reached out, wrapping her gloved hand around his biceps, stopping him. He turned to her, surprise filling his eyes. She wondered if her expression mirrored his. She never impulsively touched anyone, but he needed the comfort and she felt driven to give it to him.