Shadow Touch

by Marjorie M. Liu

  “And yet you’re still the same kind of people. Right?” Elena leaned against the wall, watching the men, studying their hair and golden eyes. They looked human, but she could feel that touch of the alien rubbing against her, nagging. She remembered her first encounter: light engulfing fur, forming flesh; the swift shift of dolphin to man. Magic beyond her dreams. Elena wondered at herself for taking it so well, for accepting it as she had. Perhaps the circumstances made it easier—one more crazy, impossible thing to add upon a whole host of the crazy and impossible. Or maybe she was crazy, and this was one giant hallucination; Elena, still back in Wisconsin, was resting on some hospital bed in a coma.

  Either way, she was rolling with it. Acceptance was the only option left to her—especially now, when it felt as though the only thing she could count on in her life was the promise of complete unpredictability. Expect the unexpected. Prepare accordingly. Which meant, of course, no preparation whatsoever. Simply a life spent completely in the moment, riding the course of events like a high-stepping rodeo queen.

  Artur would look good in a cowboy hat.

  The image was so absurd, the thought that accompanied it so unexpected, she nearly laughed out loud. Instead she turned quickly to the window to hide her face from the shape-shifters. It was difficult to conceal her smile, and she did not want to explain what could possibly bring her joy at a time like this. Kidnapped, abused, exhausted … what did she have to smile about?

  And yet she clung to that fleeting happiness, holding it dear and tight like a beautiful line of poetry rolling sweet wonder on her tongue: a recitation of perfect words, perfect meaning. Artur. Artur Loginov.

  You’ve got a crush, she told herself. Elena and Artur, sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G.

  Yeah. Whatever. She couldn’t help it if Artur made her happy, if the thought of him gave her strength. Not that she was becoming needy. Oh, no. This was something different. She just didn’t know quite how to describe it.

  “I bet you guys will be glad to get home,” she said. Rik perched on the edge of the bed at the farthest corner away from the gun. He looked very young; Elena thought he might not be older than eighteen. The realization surprised her. In the facility, out in the wilderness, he had seemed so much older.

  Amiri walked to the other window, bathing in the sunlight that streamed through the dirty glass. His quiet elegance appealed to her. She found him soothing.

  “I am not entirely certain I can return home.” He pressed his fingertips against the glass; his hands were long and tapered. His skin glittered with a subtle sheen of gold. “Have you thought of that, Elena? Nothing of your previous life is safe. If you go home, the Consortium will find you again. That part of you—everything about it—is dead.”

  She had thought of it often, but her heart still hurt. Like a dagger, twisting. Hearing it said out loud, to her face, made it real in a way she had been trying to avoid. Home was dead. The orchard, her grandfather’s legacy, were gone from her touch. Maybe, just maybe, she could find a way to pay the taxes from afar; but she would never be able to walk those green grounds again or dig her hands into the earth, harvest those heirloom fruits, those small, sugary plums and pears, those apples with their singing sweetness.

  Elena swallowed hard, looking away out the window. Seagulls swarmed the skies. She felt a hand, warm, on her shoulder.

  “It is not the end,” Amiri said. “Just another kind of beginning.”

  Elena nodded. Amiri seemed to understand; his hand dropped away. He glanced over his shoulder at Rik.

  “And you?”

  Rik said nothing. He stared at his hands, turning them over, this way and that.

  “The ocean is close,” Elena said, pulled from her sad reverie by the lost expression on his face. She glanced at Amiri, who also watched the young shape-shifter with a hint of concern. “It would be easy for you to leave, I think. I don’t know much about what you need when you’re in your … other form. But the ocean is a big place, right? You could hide there—keep the Consortium from finding you again.”

  “How did they catch you?” Amiri asked.

  Rik never got the chance to answer; Anna opened the door and walked in. She held a jumble of clothes and a small cloth bag. She gave the men hesitant looks before handing everything over to Elena.

  “For you,” she said. She smoothed down her skirt, smiling nervously at Rik—who paid no attention to her at all. “You others, I have nothing you wear. Maybe you ask Mikhail for man clothes. Yes?”

  Rik did not respond. Amiri politely said, “Thank you for your consideration.”

  Anna’s smile faded slightly, but she nodded. She did not look at Rik on her way out. When she was gone, Elena dumped the clothes on the bed and said, “What’s wrong with you? I can’t say I know you all that well, but up until now you’ve certainly been more talkative than this.”

  Rik shook his head, pressing his hands together so that his fingers formed a steeple at his chin. “Silence isn’t a crime, is it?”

  Amiri’s mouth thinned. “I believe you are too old for petulance. I also believe you should be more considerate of the fact that none of us know one another very well at all. Words are all we have for comfort.”

  Elena tried not to smile. “Are you a lawyer? A psychologist?”

  “A teacher. The jobs are often quite similar.”

  Rik did not look at them. He was so engrossed by his hands, Elena wanted to look at them herself to see what was so interesting. “I’m sorry for being rude. It’s just that I haven’t had time to think since I escaped. Do you know how long I was there? Three months. Three months in that tank, living in dirty water, completely restrained. The only reason I was able to break the glass was that they had started getting sloppy with my buckles. And then, when I saw Amiri—” He stopped, still staring at his hands. “I haven’t had time to think, that’s all. Okay? I need time.”

  “Sure,” Elena whispered, trying to recognize what he had suffered. She knew only what she had gone through, and that was bad enough. “Is there anyone you should contact? Family?” Did his family even live on land?

  Rik shook his head. “No. I … I don’t think I could reach them. Don’t see much point, if I don’t even have to warn them. The Consortium didn’t capture me near my home. I could return there. It’s not so easy, though. Home.”

  “It’s better than nothing,” Elena said, thinking about the farm. She gathered up the clothes and makeup and went into the bathroom. The clothes were obviously Anna’s things, which Elena felt reluctant to borrow. The chances of her actually being able to return them were slim to none. She just hoped Mikhail was generous about compensating his employees.

  Elena looked into the mirror—scared herself.

  She took a very quick shower. There was almost no hot water, but the soap felt good, as did the privacy. She dried off and dressed in tight jeans and a lightweight green turtleneck that hid the finger marks on her neck. It was a relief to know her injuries were no longer visible. The rest of Anna’s makeup, a thick foundation she smeared over her bruised cheek, did the rest. She looked better, healthier. She did not look like a victim.

  She left the bathroom. Amiri and Rik had not moved at all during her absence. She wondered if they had even shared words.

  “You look better,” Rik said, obviously trying to make up for Amiri’s “petulant” comment. “I don’t mean that in a rude way, but you do.”

  “Thanks,” Elena said. She wondered how much longer Artur would be, and whether he was all right.

  You could check on him, a part of her whispered. You’re still linked. Kind of.

  She tried to reach him. She tried very hard, but felt nothing. The only times she had traveled the link were during emergencies or unconsciousness, or while touching—and the driving force behind her had been instinct. No thought, just action.

  Elena gave up. Irritated at herself for thinking she was capable of another kind of miracle, she pressed her forehead against the window, staring at the
foot traffic, car traffic, soaking in the scents and sounds of a Russian port city.

  And then she noticed someone staring back. Brown hair, green eyes.

  The Quiet Man smiled.

  Artur felt Elena’s fear slice through his heart like the fine wire of a garrote: strangling, cutting off the breath of his soul. He jumped to his feet, knocking over the chair, spilling vodka on the desk, his pants. Mikhail cried out, shocked. Artur said nothing. He ran from the room.

  The American tourists were gone. Anna sat behind the front desk, still filing her nails. Artur grabbed the girl’s arm and hauled her up. Her mouth dropped open; she stared at him with the same horror reserved for death. Artur did not care.

  “Where are they?” he shouted in her face, desperate. “Where did you take Elena?”

  “Artur!” Mikhail roared, stumbling down the hall after him. “What is the meaning of this?”

  “Elena!” Artur shouted, shaking Anna. “Tell me!”

  “Artur!” Elena’s voice was distant. Artur released the girl and ran to the stairs, listening to the hard pounding of footfalls. Elena appeared, followed closely by Amiri and Rik. Her eyes were huge, cheeks flushed. She held the gun in her right hand.

  “He’s here,” she hissed, grabbing Artur’s arm. She glanced over her shoulder at the hotel lobby doors. “We can’t leave through the front.”

  Artur touched Elena’s hand to take the gun and saw instantly what had frightened her so much: Charles Darling had found them. Charles Darling had looked straight up into her eyes and smiled.

  “Mikhail,” Artur said, staring down into Elena’s eyes. “I am going to require what we discussed, and I am going to insist you give it to me now, without question.”

  “That bad?”

  “Worse.” Artur let go of Elena, taking the gun with him. He moved carefully to the front door of the hotel, peering through the glass at the street. He did not see Charles, but that meant very little. The killer might already be inside the building. Artur locked the door.

  “Artur,” Mikhail said, and his voice was low, hard. Artur expected questions, demands, but instead he heard, “What do you need?”

  Artur moved back to the others. Amiri had already begun unbuttoning his shirt. His eyes were bright, sharp like his teeth, glimpsed behind his parted lips. Artur shook his head. Not yet. Not unless there was no other way.

  “Same. Money, papers, passports. A safe place to hide.”

  “You ask for so little,” Mikhail drawled, holding out his hand for the gun. Artur gave it to him. “Come, follow me.”

  Artur gestured for Anna to follow her boss. He did not bother asking if there were guests in this building. If there were, he had no time to round them up to safety—not that there was a safe place, where Charles Darling was concerned. Artur’s only consolation was that Charles was here for a specific purpose. Diversions were unlikely until he got what he wanted.

  Which was probably Elena.

  They ran down the hall after Mikhail. Artur savored the heft of the gun. It felt good to hold a weapon again. Elena bumped against him; he grabbed her wrist, stroking skin with his thumb. He felt her fear, felt her think—What are we going to do?—and then he was fully inside her head, and he said, We will fight, Elena.

  Of course, she replied, her thoughts scattering like hummingbirds. But there’s more than just fighting. If the Quiet Man is here, there will be others.

  Maybe. Though I do not believe Charles Darling enjoys hunting with a pack. I think it is possible he came here alone.

  One man for the four of us, including two shape-shifters? That would be incredibly stupid.

  Unless he does not plan on returning with all of us.

  “Oh, God,” Elena said. “You had to say that.”

  “Excuse me?” Mikhail glanced over his shoulder.

  “Nothing,” Elena said. Mikhail gave her a hard look, but did not ask. He stopped in front of a narrow steel door locked with a digital security bolt. He punched a code into a keypad and the bolt slid back. Mikhail hauled open the door.

  “In,” Mikhail said.

  In, forward through darkness, down a series of wide stairs, deeper and deeper, the air growing cool with a moist scent that was ocean and rock and the crusty remains of sea life. Behind them Artur heard a click; the door locking.

  “There are only two ways in and out of this place,” Mikhail said. “And the exit you will be using is perfectly secure. No one will hurt you down here.”

  “I am not just worried about us.” Artur’s voice, though quiet, echoed dully off the cavernous walls around them. Low-level lights, set in the stairs, kept him from falling. The technology used in this bolt-hole was impressive. “I am afraid I have put you and your family in danger, Mikhail.”

  “Of course. So typical.”

  “I will make it up to you.”

  “Nothing within your power could ever make up for that.”

  They reached the bottom of the stairs; Anna switched on the lights. The room in front of them was small, filled to bursting with equipment, gun racks, tall metal cabinets, and a long center table covered by translucent plastic bins. The walls were made out of rough-hewn rock.

  “Anna, get the camera.” Mikhail walked to nearest cabinet and pulled out four blue books: American passports. He tossed them on the table and pulled up a stool. Elena peered over his shoulder.

  “Those look real.”

  “That is because they are.” He waved his hand in her face. “Do not ask.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” she muttered.

  Anna returned holding a Polaroid camera. She gave them a tremulous smile and Artur felt guilty for frightening her. “Who first?”

  They all lined up against a white screen for their passport photos. Anna set each one out to dry, and then set about cutting them with careful precision. Mikhail prepared the passports, and handed them back to the young woman.

  “My niece,” he said proudly. “Smart girl. Multitalented.”

  “You should take her with you,” Artur said. “You need to get your family, Mikhail. Load them and yourself on the nearest ship to Japan. There is always one leaving from the port, yes? No waiting, no good-byes. From there, fly to America. I assume you have everything you need down here or close by? Passports, money, your bags packed for emergency?”

  “One might almost think you read my mind.”

  Artur smiled grimly. “You are a survivor. You do what it takes and always plan ahead.”

  “It is that or die. Despite the fact that I already planned for the possibility, I just wish it did not have to be this way. So unexpected. We were all finally getting settled in.” Mikhail reached into another cabinet and removed four small packs. He passed them out. “There is money in each bag. One thousand U.S. cash, with matching amounts in rubles. American-brand cigarettes, too. Marlboro.”

  “I don’t smoke,” Elena said.

  Mikhail shook his head. “So naive. Those are bribes. Little bribes, for little men. It is amazing what one pack can get you nowadays.”

  Anna set aside one passport. In Russian she said, “I am doing my best, but without more time, I cannot guarantee these will stand up under close scrutiny.”

  “Do your best. Artur, is there anything else you need?”

  “A three-band cell phone, if you have one. Something that will let me make international calls.”

  “Done, but I recommend waiting to make your calls until you are well out of the city. The encryption is good, but no need to risk smart eavesdroppers.”

  “Where are we going?” Rik asked, adjusting his pack. “They’ll find us, won’t they? If we go too far? They’ve tracked us here, after all.”

  “We cannot stay,” Artur said.

  “No, we cannot,” Amiri said, “but the boy is right. We need more information. I assume you want us to keep trusting you.”

  “Hey,” Elena said. Artur nudged her gently—ever gentle—because now required a soft touch, a quiet hand.

  “What I
want has very little to do with anything. I am not trying to keep you here, Amiri. If you or Rik … or even Elena wishes to go, you may. Just wait for the passports. You will need them.” Or rather, Amiri and Elena would. Rik might just turn into a dolphin and swim away.

  Amiri shook his head. “I am not threatening to leave. Only, I am not a man who walks blind. I have never given my life wholly over to any person. Do not ask me to begin now.”

  Do not ask me, do not force me, not when so much has already been taken from me. Leave me choice, leave me the illusion.

  Artur slipped on his right glove. He extended his hand to Amiri. In the hush, the expectant quiet, the shape-shifter contemplated that gesture with a great deal of seriousness. He clasped Artur’s arm.

  Artur’s gaze traveled slowly from Amiri to Rik, and finally to Elena. “I need to go to Moscow. Before Charles Darling appeared I would have suggested the three of you stay behind, perhaps take a ship to Japan. I no longer believe that will be safe.”

  “Why Moscow?” Elena asked.

  Artur glanced at Mikhail, who made no effort to hide his curiosity. No doubt he wondered how this little circus fit together. “Beatrix Weave is planning to unite, under her leadership, all the crime syndicates in Russia. She will be meeting with them eight days from now. I must stop her. I am sure you all can appreciate why.”

  Rik shook his head. “This just gets better and better. If we go with you, we’re not escaping—we’re going right back to her. I won’t take that risk.”

  “I agree. Which is why I am not suggesting you come with me. You have options the others do not.”

  Rik’s eyes flashed gold. “Sure. Done.”

  “Well, I’m not,” Elena said. “I’m going with you, and not because it’s my only option. You need help.”

  “Tell me about it,” Rik muttered.

  “We will talk about this later,” Artur said to Elena. He looked at Mikhail. “How are the passports?”

  “Done,” said Anna. “Um, but this is four-day work I do in four minutes. Do not show to many, yes? If you do, maybe screwed.”

  “That’s good to remember.” Elena took her passport. “And … this is not my name.”