by J. S. Morin
Judy closed the door behind her and stood staring at us. “I thought you weren’t coming home for dinner tonight?”
Tim glanced up from our plan outline. “Oh, yeah. Change of plans. Me and Matty-boy gonna save the world.” He grinned as he swung his beer bottle into mine with a clink. I winced, expecting them to shatter.
Crossing her arms, Judy glared at me. “What have you told him?”
“Everything,” Tim replied before I could say anything. “It’s all cool. Listen to this plan we’ve got. Matt, explain it.” He waved his beer in Judy’s direction.
“What sort of plan?”
I squeezed my eyes shut. “We’re… sorta going to break into Harvard.”
“Again?” Judy asked. “I thought you were joking before. Strike that… I ought to have known better.”
“Whaddaya mean, ‘again’? What does she mean, ‘again’?” Tim asked me.
“I tried once on my own. Botched attempt. Not important right now. This time, though, we’ve got a legit shot of finding whatever she hid from her murderer.”
“Assassin,” Tim clarified. “Sounds cooler. She was sure important enough to qualify.”
It would have sounded like a ludicrous argument when Patricia Martinez was alive but not anymore. “I guess ‘Herald of the Shadow War’ is probably a better term for her than ‘bestselling author.’”
Judy had watched us like a tennis match. “Tim… tell me right now what you two are planning.”
Grabbing my laptop, Tim swung it around and handed it to her. “We’re going to search Patricia Martinez’s office. The Baker Center staff is going to let us do it. And you’re going to make it all happen.”
“Me?” Judy took a step back. Glancing down at the laptop screen, she scanned the plan Tim and I had hammered out while getting hammered. “You need me to break into Harvard’s network?”
Tim wagged a finger. “You told me you had a password, remember? Root access. Remember that security audit…?”
“That was confidential. We do it annually for all the local universities.”
I cleared my throat. “If Earth survives to this time next year, mention this loophole in your security audit.”
“The Seldon Institute operates on trust. I can’t besmirch the company’s name for a prank.”
“It’s not a prank. We’re saving the world.” Tim held up his bottle, and I dutifully clinked mine against it. Turning Tim into a zealot had proven remarkably easy. His world had turned upside down on the revelation that magic worked outside a CPU. Saving the world was a reflex response for a gamer, even if it was possibly exaggerating our importance a little. Whatever it took to get him on board, it was worth it.
“Crazy but true,” I added. Damn, I realized I needed that on a tattoo.
“I can’t do it,” Judy said, handing back the laptop and folding her arms.
I looked her in the eye. “Acolyte, this is the moment we trained you for. Did you think the vast power we have shown you was for your personal use? Did you imagine we could sit idly by and watch the world fall around us? No. The time has come to unleash you. Go forth and battle the minions of the shadowlord.”
Judy had a haunted look in her eye. The arms folded across her chest hugged close. “Tammon Hane said that to Denster Malcalus when he balked at leaving the Starlit Fortress.”
“I’m not even asking you to fight anyone. Hell, we’re doing Harvard a favor, cleaning up the office pro bono. All I need is for you to create the work order. Think you can do that?”
“When are you planning on doing this?”
“Tonight,” Tim replied with a wink. “World’s at stake, remember? Can’t sit on our thumbs and plan forever.”
Judy nodded, then stepped forward and in one smooth motion swiped the bottles from both of us. “Fine. But you’re both on coffee for the rest of the night. Sober up. Work out any details you need to. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right.”
She disappeared into the kitchen, and a plaintive fizz sounded—beer being poured down a drain.
Tim and I shared a look. “Man, sucking the fun out of it already,” Tim commented, keeping his voice conspiratorially low. “And you just know she doesn’t have one of those leather ninja-girl outfits for burglar jobs. You know, like Cat Girl or Scarlett Widow. That’d make up for the beer.”
I could forgive the comic book mix-ups—Tim knew better when he was sober—but I didn’t need to be picturing Judy dressed as Black Widow right then. “I’ll go put on some coffee.”
Tim caught me by the arm. “Oh, hey. You never said where we’re getting the cleaning equipment.”
“I know a guy.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The sign out front said “Incident Scene Services.” Out back, there was just a loading dock, a parked company van, and a short set of concrete steps up to a metal door with an intercom buzzer.
With Judy and Tim waiting at the bottom of the stairs, I hopped up to the door. My heartbeat was drumming heavy metal. This was my first time assembling a heist.
I hit the button and put my mouth in front of the speaker. “Greg? It’s me, Matt.”
“Someone’s pranking you, Matt. Nobody ordered a pizza,” the voice on the back door intercom replied to my buzz.
I pressed the talk button again. “Yeah, but this is important. I need to talk to Greg.”
“This is a bad idea,” Judy muttered.
Tim had an arm wrapped around her shoulders. The channel between buildings amplified the wind, making it colder than most of town. “It’s all good. If these guys don’t play ball, Matt can incinerate them with shadowflame.”
I hoped he was joking. My power was limited to three-dimensional shadow puppetry. The thing still had a mind of its own, too.
Half a minute later, the industrial steel door opened. Greg held it and let us all in out of the cold. “What’s up, Matt? Your friends want a tour or something?”
Greg was my size, with dark brown eyes and long, curly hair that always looked damp—at least when I saw him. Cooped up in a hazmat suit all day, it was probably sweat.
“Greg, did you see the finale yet?” I didn’t need to specify what show.
Greg shrugged. “Yeah. Watched it live.”
“And then Patricia Martinez was murdered just like in the show.”
Greg grinned. “Can’t say I haven’t been hoping the cops would tag us for the job. Northeast HazMat already bagged the job cleaning up after Bowles.”
“How do you think they got her?” I asked.
Greg shrugged. “Inside job. Someone locked it behind her. Where you going with this?”
“Want your mind blown?” Tim asked.
I cleared my throat. “Greg, this is Tim, and that’s Judy—my roommates. Tim, Judy, this is Greg Demmers; his dad owns this place.”
Tim and Greg shook hands. Judy twitched a smile but kept Tim between her and Greg.
“Seriously, Matt. What’s up?”
“The shadows call.”
Greg just chuckled and shook his head. “You’re not buying that Internet crap, are you? Man, I see more real crime scenes than you do on television. People are fucked up. You don’t need shadowblood assassins to murder someone, even if it would be a bitchin’ way to go. World’s going to hell, but it’s us doing it, not a TV show.”
“What if I could prove to you that the rumors are real?”
“Sleep it off, Matt.”
The service entrance to Incident Scene Services was right by the loading dock. Concrete, metal shelving and diffuse overhead light made for muddy shadows. Not much to work with. Then again, it made it harder to claim it was a trick if it worked. Hey, punk. Show this guy, too. We need him. I envisioned a shape, indistinct but bear-like, just a mass with clawed arms and a snout.
“Look behind you.”
Giving me a puzzled frown, Greg complied, glancing over his shoulder. “Ho! Shit!” He stumbled over his own feet scrambling for cover behind Tim.
A
voice called out from farther inside the building. “Everything OK back there?”
“Simon, everyone, you gotta come see this!”
I grinned. That wasn’t the reaction of a skeptic.
Greg’s coworkers filtered out to the loading dock, each pausing by the door to the break room and gaping in turn. Simon cleaned his glasses and took another look, still transfixed by the sight of the free-floating shadow. Kelly opened her mouth to say something, but no words came out. Javy came out with a sub in one hand and the straw of a fountain soda in his mouth. The traitors had ordered from Downtown Deli.
Javy was the first to find his voice. “Dude, who’s doing this? It’s fucking amazing.” He edged closer and poked his sub through the insubstantial shadow creature. The scent of shaved steak and peppers made me wish we’d stopped for dinner on the way.
“I am.” I’d never been big on smug, but I was feeling it right then. Crossing my arms, I let the crime scene cleaners gawk at me.
Kelly edged along the wall, not getting too close as she checked out the shadow from all angles. “How are you doing this, Matt?”
“Magic.”
“Liar,” my shadow whispered.
“Shut the fuck up,” I snapped back at it, not realizing for a split second that I’d been the only one to hear that. There was no playing it off; I’d looked right at the thing when I said it.
“Um, Matt…” Tim said warily. “Is it talking to you?”
What was I going to say? I just shrugged and spread my hands.
“Holy shit!” Tim shouted. “You didn’t say it talked.”
Greg stepped slowly from behind Tim, crouching low. “Matt, you know what that means, right? This thing is stalking you.”
“It won’t hound me into serving. I broke it.”
“You command,” my shadow whispered, but I heard the mockery.
“Um, Matt…” Greg said. He looked skeptical, and I couldn’t blame him.
Tim clapped me on the back. “Big guy’s got this. But we’ve got a world to save.”
“Us?” Javy asked through a mouthful of sub. “You mean you, right?”
“How?” Kelly asked. “I’m down with anything if we’re getting shadow-haunted. I always wanted to be a shadowblood since I first read Door of Shadows.”
Simon stared at the shadow, shaking his head. “I don’t like any of this.”
With a slashing gesture, I dismissed the shadow. It swirled into nothingness. “Better?”
Greg chuckled silently, shoulders shaking. A manic look in his eyes spoke of wonderment. “What do you need from us, shadow-Matt?”
I laid out my plan. Spreading the Chinese documents on the table of Incident Scene Service’s break room made it seem like a game. I’d gamed with Greg and his crew for years, and that table had seen castles stormed and dragons slain. Plotting a simple break-in at Harvard seemed like child’s play.
Except that this time, it was for real.
Once I’d explained the plan for getting in and searching the place, Greg gave Tim an appraising look. “Your buddy here seems gung-ho. Think he can handle a murder scene?”
Tim didn’t need me answering for him. “Hey man, I’m no pussy. If Matt can handle it, so can I.”
Greg cast me a curious look.
“I was in there looking around once already,” I admitted.
“That was you?” Javy asked with a belly laugh. “Man, you… are… crazy.”
“What’re you offering?” Kelly asked. She cocked her head to the side. Her ponytail made of innumerable short braids bounced like a koosh ball.
“A chance to be heroes,” Tim replied.
“A grand apiece,” I added. This was no time to play tightwad. My dad’s safety net was meant for fleeing the coming trouble, not starting it. But seriously… fuck Li Zhujiu. This was my call. I was tempted to offer more but wanted to see whether my gaming friends were heroes or mercenaries.
The four of them watched as I dealt out hundred-dollar bills like a hand of poker until they each had ten bills in front of them. Kelly scooped up her cut without a second’s hesitation. Greg and Javy followed suit.
Simon looked around at everyone else, then down at his lonely pile of bills. “I guess I’ve got no choice. I’d be a loose end, right?” He picked up his share and stuffed it in a pocket.
“What’s your quiet friend’s part in this?” Greg asked.
Taking Judy by the arm, I guided her front and center. “Judy is the one who’s hiring us on Harvard’s behalf.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
The blue plastic hazmat suit fit like a trash bag. Designed to keep pathogens from getting in, it also kept heat from escaping. Even sitting quietly in the van while we prepped, I was sweating.
Greg pressed a water bottle into my hand. “Keep hydrated, bro. Can’t just pop your mask off in there to take a drink.”
Tim reached past me. “Gimme one of those. I’m dying in here.”
To be honest, I was surprised they had a suit that fit Tim. No one on Greg’s crew was even close to his size, but they had a XXL disposable suit kicking around the shop just in case.
“How much longer?” I called up front.
Judy was in the passenger’s seat, typing furiously on her laptop. We were parked and waiting on Mt. Auburn Street until she had the work order for the cleaning job polished and bulletproof.
“Give it a rest, Matt,” Judy mumbled as if us hearing was an afterthought. “You want this done right.”
“Wouldn’t doing it right not involve coffee-shop grade Wi-Fi?” Tim asked between gulps of his water. Ours was probably the first heist that had ever logged in from Starbucks.
Judy didn’t stop typing as she talked. “They have a sysadmin who regularly accesses the network from this IP address. I’m using his ID for all my transactions in case someone gets nosy before I can cover our tracks.”
I wanted a board game or a deck of cards. At least playing poker we would have been acting like gangsters—hard, tough, nonplussed about getting arrested. Al Capone probably never worried about puking before a job.
Some 90s boy band music wafted softly through the van. Greg drummed absently on the steering wheel.
Judy typed.
Tim squeezed his empty water bottle, making a grating, plastic crinkle.
Judy muttered softly to herself.
Tim breathed through his mouth.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to concentrate.
You can’t see the shadow of anything but your eyelids, that way.
Drook had said that to Muin of Vys when he was first struggling with the shadows.
Watch them. Study them. Find peace in them.
It was easy for Drook to say, having mastered his own shadow; Muin was losing control to his. But wasn’t that my situation exactly? More and more my own shadow was twisting me around. How long had it been gnawing at the edge of my sanity? Now it was out in the open, acting subservient, waiting for a chance to pounce.
I opened my eyes.
There was scant light and plenty of shadow.
I kept my eyes focused on the darkness, letting the sounds around me fade into a dull droning.
The van contained so many shadows, once I let my eyes adjust. One stacked atop another, piled and overlapping. Greg’s shadow; Judy’s shadow; the shadow from the headrest; one from the rearview mirror; a shadow of the steering wheel.
The streetlights weren’t moving, so those shadows hardly budged.
I picked out my own shadow, slithering among the others, a piece of dark topiary that moved among the hedgerows. It was never gone, just invisible to casual observation.
The van lurched.
“What’s going on?”
“Stay awake, Matt,” Tim chided me. “This is your baby. Judy got everything lined up for us. Barker Center’s expecting us any minute.”
I cast a glare at my shadow, and it scurried for the darkest corner of the van. Probably the only thing in the world that feared me was that incor
poreal blob of darkness.
“I’m ready,” I lied.
The truth would have derailed everything.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Greg pulled the van around the side of Barker Center. There were spaces free in the lot. Per my direction, he took one in line with Martinez’s office window and backed in.
“You guys wait here,” Greg warned us as he hopped out of the van. “I’ll do the client glad-handing and get the staff to unlock the office. Hang tight. This is gonna be awesome.” The crime scene cleaner was giggling as he closed the van door behind him.
Tim reached up and put a hand on Judy’s shoulder. There was a squeak of plastic fabric rubbing. “You OK, babe?”
Without turning, Judy brushed the hand away. “I’m fine. Keep your eyes on the mission. Sound check. Testing… one… two.”
Her voice came over the Bluetooth earpiece, loud and clear. The four of us were all hooked together on the same conference call while Judy had a separate line open with Simon, Kelly, and Javy, who were acting as lookouts on the surrounding streets.
“Gotcha,” Tim said.
“I don’t remember seeing this work order,” a woman’s voice came over the line, distant.
“I got the paperwork right here,” Greg said, his voice coming through clear over his open mic. “Rush job. They want the place clean and us out before the early bird professors get in around dawn. If you can just sign here, ma’am, we’ll get going.”
There was a long pause. I couldn’t have been happier that it wasn’t me in there, sweating the check-and-verify that any good bureaucrat loved.
“Looks like Dean Smythwicke authorized the cleaning a couple hours ago. Fine. Just try to be discreet.”
“Course we will, ma’am. Just show me to the crime scene, and I’ll bring my team in.”
Tim pumped a fist but remained silent. None of us dared spook Greg.
A couple minutes later, the rear doors of the van opened. I jumped, scrambling toward the front seats. But it wasn’t the cops; it was just Greg.
