In Love with a Shadow

by Carmen Fox

  IN LOVE WITH A SHADOW

  Carmen Fox

  carmen-fox.com

  Copyright © 2017 by Carmen Fox

  Edited by Danielle Fine

  Proofread by Sharon Gibson

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever including Internet usage, without written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  IN LOVE WITH A SHADOW

  Death has a name. She’s called Dabria.

  Dabria is hired to investigate Max Remo’s life expectancy, but Max is unlike any man she’s ever known. His existence is steeped in death—the dark kind of death her dad has always warned her about.

  When her father disappears and the world’s fate falls into her hands, only Max can help. What starts as a friction-filled collaboration soon begins to sizzle as Max’s lifeless eyes and foreign charm wear down Dabria’s defenses.

  Their journey takes them through the scorching heat of Africa into the cool silence of the Darkness, where their final obstacle demands a sacrifice neither of them may be willing to make.

  CHAPTER ONE

  I sensed impending death. The earthy scent of an end without a new beginning formed a bouquet in my nose that appealed as much as it disturbed. Yet the man in the creaky chair on the other side of my desk probably had no idea he was to come face-to-face with his maker. Heart disease. Maybe something else.

  Samuel Gardiner shifted in his seat, his tiny eyes darting from the newspaper articles on my wall to my Danceathon 2015 trophy in the lit display cabinet. The crinkle around his nose was subtle, but not subtle enough for me to miss his disdain.

  “As I said, Ms...”

  “Call me Dabria, please.”

  “Very well, Dabria. As I told you on the phone, the matter is urgent.” He drummed his fingers on the brown leather briefcase in his lap.

  “For rush jobs, payment must be completed within twenty-four hours after I accept the assignment.” My current smile, a routine facial expression I reserved for my clients, held all the warmth of a snake’s.

  “Fine.” He adjusted his glasses. “I expect results by tonight. You’ll have your money before then. Here’s the list of names.” Gardiner slipped his hand into his expensive briefcase and retrieved a folded sheet.

  He’d struck me as a nice enough man when he’d first entered my office. The prominent gold ring on his finger went well with his impeccably tailored suit. The gray around his temples gave him an air of distinction. Forgettable, yet well-mannered.

  That impression had changed when he opened his mouth. “I don’t usually consult people like you,” is so not the way to flatter yourself into my heart. If I’d had any self-respect, I’d have shown him the door.

  I didn’t because the second he told me how much he was willing to pay, the cash registers in my head went cha-ching. My car could do with a new set of tires, my washing machine needed all sorts of encouragement to spin nowadays, and the game I had my eye on, Dragonworld IV—The Final Flight, didn’t come cheap, either.

  I skimmed the list. “Some pretty big names here. May I ask what your plans are for them?”

  “These are five potential clients with multi-million payouts at stake. I’d like to know their life expectancy before we insure their lives.”

  “Makes sense.” I folded the sheet. “How did you find out about me?”

  He glanced at me over the rim of his glasses. “I know your father.”

  Of course he did. Dad had too many hobbies and supported countless charities. Mingling with people was his way of staying grounded, he said. I myself had tried Legs, Bums and Tums, cookery classes, and volunteering at a children’s group, and all I had to show for my efforts were sore muscles, ten more pounds on my hips, and glue in my hair.

  The universe’s message had been clear: I was grounded enough.

  “Okay. If there’s nothing else, Mr. Gardiner, I’ll get started.” I got up from my chair and held out my hand.

  His shake was limp and a little moist.

  With his briefcase clutched to his chest, he made a quick exit without closing the door. Wouldn’t want to catch germs from my door handle, probably.

  I banged my forehead on the keyboard and moaned. My ads were meant to bring in fascinating clients. Instead, I got people interested only in figuring out how much death might be worth to them. People like Jenna David, a young woman about to marry an old movie star; Richard Adler, hoping to become a widower soon; and, of course, corporate men like Mr. Gardiner.

  “Poor Dabria.” My dad’s voice brought me back from my self-pity. “Hard day?”

  He stood by the door with his head tilted to the side. His face sported the trenches of laughter and folds of sorrow that marked a long life. He’d witnessed the deaths of statesmen and the fall of civilizations, yet the world would know no greater compassion than that which lay in his gray eyes.

  I rounded the desk and slung my arms around his neck. “You’re back.”

  “Did you miss me?”

  “So much. And yes, my day’s been very hard, but it’s looking up.” I fluttered my eyelashes at him. “If you took me on as your trainee, I wouldn’t have to earn my living as a psychic.”

  He slowly shook his head. “My world is ugly. But you, you are my light. I need you to stay far away from my work.”

  Always the same answer. Good thing I didn’t take his rejection personally. Much. “How was your conference?”

  He swayed me in his arms. “Believe me, if you met some of my colleagues, you’d understand why so many animals eat their young.”

  I patted his shoulder. “That bad, huh?”

  “The fight for influence is heading for its climax, but I try to stay out of it, and I’m not the only one.”

  “Any gossip?”

  “I don’t know if it qualifies as gossip, but everyone expected the Council to shun the Shadow Walkers, because they were rumored to be consolidating their power.”

  “Did they change their mind?”

  “Worse. Before the Council could call for a vote, a Shadow Walker appeared and tendered the resignation of his kind.”

  I leaned my head back. “You’re kidding. They resigned? Strike that. You saw a Shadow Walker?”

  “Saw is an overstatement. He was a man in a black robe. Young or old, I couldn’t say. A large hood covered his face.”

  “But you’re sure he was a Shadow Walker?”

  “That he was. Wrapped in black despair like the rest of them.” He gathered me close, so his words reached my ears more by way of his chest than the air.

  “But he wasn’t...”

  “Family? Your mother was hardly family to us. The rest of them sure aren’t.”

  A touchy subject even on good days. After all, my mother had committed that gravest of sins—she’d died on him.

  I pushed the top button of his shirt through its hole, avoiding his gaze. “She had parents though, right? I could have uncles or aunts or cousins six-times removed among the Shadows.”

  “Her family passed away long before she did. But look what she left behind.” He squeezed me. “My little star.”

  “Dad,” I said in a deliberately thoughtful tone. “What does a Shadow Walker’s black despair look like?”

  He pushed me to arm’s length by my shoulders. “It doesn’t look like anything. But it feels like nothing.”

  “Uh huh.” I closed an eye and placed my palm against his forehead. “Are you ill? You’re talking nonsense.”

  He tousled my hair and went t
o stand by the window. “And you’re making fun of me.”

  The sun caught the scar on his temple—not the only one on his dark skin, but the most noticeable by far.

  “Always.” My gaze fell on his dust-covered boots and the frayed hem of his coat. He could do with a shower, a change of clothes, and lots of TLC. “Can I expect to be making fun of you tonight over lasagna, say around nine? We could open a bottle of wine and watch a movie.”

  “Wish I could. I’m off to Africa tonight. The terrorists’ stronghold is growing, and the forces of the Bohari government are planning a pushback today. The people need my help.”

  “You’re leaving again?” More death. Always more death. No matter how fast Mother Earth churned out new life, humans extinguished it even faster.

  “I’ll be back soon.” He opened his arms. “Three, four days. No longer than a week, I hope.”

  I rushed into his embrace. “I’ll miss you.”

  “I’ll miss you too, Dabria.”

  I released him and stroked his weathered cheek. “Fine. Go. Do good work.”

  “I try.”

  With a wave and a smile, he left.

  I’d learned long ago not to monopolize my dad’s time. His sense of responsibility and strong moral compass were unshakable, even by me. If that meant that this week, I’d share him with the many Africans who’d die over the coming days, I had to accept it. Their need was greater.

  Babies found their way into the Glory like metal filings found a magnet. But, plagued with cynicism and distrust, many adults had lost that ability over time. To them, the process of dying could prove unbearable. It was Dad’s job to ease their pain and guide them to the Glory. Through his power, their deaths would be gentle.

  Mot, Maweth, Azrael, Yama—Dad had many names. Here in America, they called him the Grim Reaper. Yet there was nothing grim about the way he reaped souls.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The third name from the bottom on Gardiner’s list led me to the premier address of a Hollywood tycoon. A house so grand, it couldn’t be seen for all the walls and guards surrounding the property. Luckily, I’d inherited more than a wicked sense of humor from my dad, so I dissipated from inside my car and materialized—or “focalized,” as my dad called it—behind a large palm tree on the grounds, with the swimming pool in direct line of sight.

  In a stupendous re-enactment of every rich-man stereotype imaginable, Maximus Remo had assembled a flock of slim, bikini-clad beauties whose only job was to show off their wet bodies and smile when spoken to. Blondes, brunettes, and fake redheads writhed on sun loungers or took sensuous strokes across the length of the pool. Some might’ve been college graduates, maybe even Ivy Leaguers with PhDs in Mathematics, but men like Remo were more interested in their figures than their number skills.

  Remo lay on a lounger, dark glasses covering a third of his face, and his tattooed arm draped over another third. His full lips were the only feature that showed, and they weren’t smiling. Not hard to imagine that the ladies’ display of naked skin and white teeth had lost its shine over time.

  I dissipated from behind my cover and focalized in a black bikini inside the doorframe of his mansion. My gaze remained on the pool as I slinked on bare feet to a padded chair near him, like one of the girls.

  The smell of death hit me within two steps, but something else lurked inside his cloud of earthiness and florals—a devastating darkness that brought goosebumps to my skin.

  Despite the heat from the sun, a chill clung to Remo’s frame.

  I lowered myself into the chair, which screeched under my weight.

  He shifted his head a fraction in my direction.

  Sitting mere feet from him was like standing by an open freezer. His heavily inked pectorals bulged over an impossibly flat stomach. Not a six-pack in sight, but his lean strength more than made up for it. His legs were long, his thighs powerful. For the first time in, like, ever, I yearned for the days when speedos were in fashion, because his black shorts left far too much to the imagination.

  Sure, death held a familiarity that made me seek it out, but never before had it come with the sweet promise of sex.

  Still, I had a deadline, and mama needed a new washing machine.

  After a deep breath, I closed my eyes and followed the strands of Remo’s personality into the depths of the gray liquid Dad called the essence. The thick fibers went on and on, looping one way, curving the other. His core was somewhere within his essence; all I had to do was locate it.

  Finally, a spark of light. This had to be it. I headed for it—only to come back out at the surface.

  Crap. Finding my way shouldn’t have been that hard. Cores might be the size of grains, but they glowed brighter than LEDs. Also, they were warm, which made them even easier to detect. Except, in Remo’s case, I wasn’t so sure I could rely on heat as a guide. That was the problem. Not everyone was the same. Some wore their souls close to their skin, and with others, it took more digging to unearth it. Good thing I was the stubborn sort.

  I dove back in, pushing aside the fibers of his personality, searching through the thick, smooth mass inside. The strands twisted and merged like a weird M.C. Escher print of impossible objects, and no matter how much I concentrated, his core remained out of reach.

  Had I lost my touch? A thin layer of sweat covered my forehead despite the chill that surrounded me. Maroon spots danced in front of my closed eyelids, but sight would be too distracting a sense, especially with him looking the way he did. I inhaled deeply and rolled my shoulders.

  This guy needed a methodical approach. No biggie. No biggie at all.

  The whispered conversations and quiet splashes once again faded under my concentration. I picked a thick and sturdy ribbon of his personality, and rode it past thousands of other paths, took care at the crossings not to lose my way, and—got spat back out at the surface.

  Seriously? What the hell was wrong with this guy?

  I opened my eyes.

  Remo stood in front of me, all six foot and change of him. His face was more handsome than it showed in any of the few photographs I’d found online during my research into the reclusive millionaire. He had his arms crossed over his tattooed chest, and his lips disappeared in a tight line.

  “Hi there.” I gave him my snake smile and shielded my gaze against the sun.

  “Who are you? How did you get here?” His rough accent edged around a voice as smooth as hazelnut cream.

  “The door. You know. The usual way.”

  “I have not seen you before.”

  As if he’d notice me in this sea of estrogen. What would one of the other girls do in my situation? Send him a vacuous stare and pretend not to understand so many words at once? Or pounce on him catlike and hope he’d take me to his bedroom?

  I dropped my gaze and played with a strand of my hair. “Really? I saw you when I got here.” Of course I had. After all, the premise of my lie was that he’d invited me to his house like the other women. “I mean I noticed you, because you’re very attractive.”

  Smooth, Dab, very smooth.

  “Aha. Who are you again?”

  I might’ve been reading him wrong, but something about me set him on edge. “I’m Dab.”

  “Deb?” The sound of his B was full and bulbous.

  “Dab. As in Yabba dabba do.” I grinned. “It’s short for Dabria.”

  His dark lenses concealed his eyes, and his mouth didn’t find a smile either. Who was I kidding? My material wasn’t the best, and my form clearly sucked. Time for an early curtain call.

  I swung my legs to the side and got up. Remo was a hand taller than me, and the chill he exuded seeped through my skin to my bones. As tempting as peeling this man-shaped onion might be, I was on a clock. If I couldn’t determine whether his demise was imminent, I’d have to tell my client that Remo might be too much of a risk. No harm done.

  He cocked his head and regarded me silently.

  “I’m getting an odd vibe from you, so I think I�
�d better see myself out.” I quickly angled away from him and marched toward the house. “Thanks for your hospitality.”

  Five seconds later, I stepped into the shaded interior, which was a lot warmer than Remo’s welcome.

  “You. Come back,” he called out.

  But, for the moment, I was out of his sight and alone, so I dissipated.

  Fully clothed, I focalized inside my car and crossed his name off the list. Shame I couldn’t be sure about Remo’s life expectancy, but Gardiner wouldn’t miss him. By my reckoning, two of the names on his list were marked for the chopping block.

  Margo Callo, soprano-turned-actress, was going to face death in less than a year. Gabe Grinder, teen heartthrob and a singer of sorts, would lose his life much sooner, but his cocaine habit was an open secret. Why would Gardiner even consider insuring him?

  I turned on the radio and motored down the street. According to my clock, it was late afternoon already. Remo had definitely slowed me down, and Gardiner’s deadline was beginning to look unrealistic. That didn’t mean impossible, of course. My car engine complained as I forced down the accelerator, but one way or another, I’d cross the last two names off my list in time.

  Maximus Remo remained a mystery. Had some childhood trauma made him clam up too tightly to allow me to access to his core? Even psychopaths had souls, and typically they weren’t all that difficult to find, mostly because they weren’t connected in any way to the fabric of their personality.

  Maybe I should ask Dad about this.

  He kept urging me to pick interesting case studies, and Remo could be mine. Of course, I’d have to hurry. He could drop dead ten years from now or sometime this week. The chill of his personality had been a new experience for me, but could well be a symptom of a disease I hadn’t yet come across.

  Yes, he’d make a fine test subject. It helped that he was easy on the eye, although my father would be less impressed with that fact.

  The news came on. Even though I’d been forewarned, the early death toll in Bohari hit me hard. Two hundred, and rising. Large enough for the newsreader to report in a strained voice, but not enough for anyone in the Western hemisphere to get overly concerned.