Shadow Redeemed

by Megan Blackwood

  "I know you mean to save this woman, miss. I need you to believe me when I say that I mean to save her, too. I'm not experimenting without thought. I really think dialysis could help her. I wish that she were capable of consent, but we're beyond that point now. If what Miss Shelley says is true, then she will not have a chance to voice her opinion before the end. Please. Let me try."

  "I believe it's a good idea," Emeline said.

  Maeve threw her hands up. "Of course you do. You've been sticking your head together with DeShawn, haven't you? Trying to modernize what's worked for centuries."

  "It hasn't worked though, has it?" I didn't realize I'd spoken the thought until all the eyes in the room turned toward me. I pulled my hands back from the writhing woman and ran my right thumb over the metal encircling the opposite wrist.

  "Magdalene?" Emeline prompted.

  I closed my eyes lightly. "I understand your respect for the past, Maeve. Such things are not so far away from me. But the past led us to this point, reeling while the nightwalkers terrorize the streets. I never agreed with Victoria's Veil, but I understand why it was implemented, and after seeing the shadows stir this morning... We cannot continue as we have. Something must give, or we will break."

  Maeve sniffed and crossed her arms over her chest. Charms whispered against one another. "If neither of you will see sense, then I suppose I have no choice. But I will supervise all procedures. Is that clear to you, Dr. Padhi?"

  "Yes, of course. I welcome your specific knowledge and expertise. I am out of my depth."

  Maeve shifted her weight, torn between a scowl and smile at the compliment.

  "I don't suppose they'll let you walk out of your hospital with this equipment, will they?" I asked.

  Padhi shook his head. "In this one thing, we have a surplus, but all equipment is checked in and out for use. I'll have to be... quiet about it, somehow. It's impossible to predict down times, as your ghouls show up on our doorstep at all times of the night, but around 5:00 a.m. is quiet enough that I could slip in and out unnoticed. With some help, if you don't mind?"

  I inclined my head. "Show me what needs taking, and I'll have it out without any of your colleagues being any the wiser."

  Emeline's hand alighted upon my shoulder, and my stomach sank. "Miss Shelley is not available for assignment at the moment. I believe another of our sunstriders, Roisin Quinn, will assist you, doctor."

  "I..." He glanced between us and, possibly recalling Julian's mention of a trial, swallowed back whatever he was about to say next. "That will work just fine, thank you."

  "Good. If you'll follow me, I'll introduce you now. She's in the rose garden."

  Emeline took the doctor and left me there with the ill woman and Maeve, an awkward silence thickening between us. I'd been left behind. I'd brought the doctor here, introduced him and his purpose, and been left to rot while the Sun Guard moved ahead without me.

  Emeline was taking the doctor seriously. That was good. I should feel... Pleased, maybe? I had made the right choice when he confronted me on the streets. The thickening of the shadows was a danger to humanity greater than the nightwalkers, I was sure of that, and getting the ghoul problem under control would do a great deal toward turning that most ancient of beings away from the world.

  And yet, some selfish needle in my heart railed against being left behind. It shouldn't matter. Before the mote of silver took root in my eye, I don't think it would have mattered. I would have been happy to have helped, and followed my orders with pleasure, even if those orders were to sit on the bench.

  Now...

  "She has to, you know," Maeve said.

  "I know," I agreed, squeezing the metal of my shackle between two fingers. The spells fizzed against my skin. I knew. But why did it chafe so much?

  "Mags..." Maeve said, but I had already left, too fast for her to see, the door swinging shut behind. I found myself in the foyer before my thoughts cleared again. I sniffed the air, knowing I shouldn't. Roisin was here, yes, and Julian and the others. But also Seamus and Talia—I'd know the feel of Seamus's blood anywhere—pulling me with the gossamer strength of a spider web. I could say hello. Such things were not forbidden me. I wanted to say hello.

  I slammed my helmet back on and mounted my bike, kicking up gravel behind me as I sped back towards the streets of London.

  If anyone watched my passage, I did not care.

  Four: Watch-lights

  Though I could shape my finger to fit any lock, DeShawn had given me a key to his flat just in case his neighbors saw me doing that particular trick. As soon as metal met metal, I heard the scuffle of too-long claws across the kitchen tile. Mr. Pips, the tuxedo cat, scurrying to greet me. And, probably, demand food.

  I swung the door open slowly to avoid conking the little guy on the head, and sure enough there he was, purring and meowing as he head-butted my ankles in that please-notice-me-I'm-starving way that all cats had mastered. I gave him a scratch on the head and inspected his food bowl—an old cereal bowl DeShawn had committed to the cause—expecting it to be partially full. For once, it was empty.

  "You poor dear," I said. He leapt to the counter and strode back and forth, pawing at me as I pulled the Tupperware full of kibble out from under the counter. "You must be wasting away."

  He gave a little chirrup as the kibble clattered into the bowl and jumped down, head butting my hand away before I'd even finished pouring out the cup. Kibble spilled across the floor. Typical.

  "Where's your human?" I asked the happily munching cat. He gave a swish of the tail in response, tickling my ankles but otherwise unhelpful.

  This time of day DeShawn should be home, sleeping before his night shift with the Sun Guard began. The man's schedule wasn't any of my business, but something about his absence didn't sit right. He never let Mr. Pips's food bowl get properly empty, as much as the cat might claim otherwise.

  A red light flickered on his answering machine on the counter. Strange, as no one used his landline. Everyone used mobiles now. Though I'd slept through the technological transition, I gathered that landlines were the purview of telemarketers and pensioners. DeShawn claimed he only kept it around because of some deal with the television. I'd never seen him watch that television.

  Expecting someone trying to sell me something, I hit play on the machine. A snippy woman's voice followed the announcing beep.

  "Inspector Culver. This is Mrs. Maisel at High Street Storage. Again. I understand your schedule is unusual, but that doesn't give you the right to leave your lights on at all hours. They're on timers for a reason, you know, and if I discover you've broken the timer then that repair will be included in your next month's rent. Good day."

  Mr. Pips made the leap to the counter and head butted me until I scratched behind his ears, avoiding the bits of kibble dust stuck in his whiskers as his raspy purr rattled my fingertips.

  "What's your human doing with a storage unit, hmm?" I asked the cat. He kept on purring.

  Odd that he should rent out another place when I knew from the way he ate his finances were tight. No one could enjoy eating that much pot noodle. I hoped. What would be so important that he couldn't keep it here, in his flat? Something he didn't want me to see, perhaps.

  Roisin had told me once, before we'd done away with Ragnar, that DeShawn had spent far more time in Ragnar's hive than he'd originally told us. She had sensed his arrival while she had been a prisoner of Ragnar's.

  At the time, she'd suspected him of discovering the whereabouts of the other sleeping sunstriders, keeping those kin of ours in his back pocket for a coup of the Sun Guard. I hadn't seen any evidence to support that theory since I'd lived with the man, but then... I hadn't been to this storage unit he was, apparently, spending a great deal of time in, had I?

  "What do you think, kitten?"

  Mr. Pips gave me a sidelong look, as if he knew he was twelve and calling him a kitten was silly human nonsense. He burped once, then kept on purring.

  "I'd better g
o have a look."

  Mr. Pips sat and swished his tail. He was right. I was restless, grasping at straws. In reality the storage shed probably held something totally innocuous. The simple, private matters of a life.

  But I'd felt wrong when I'd discovered Mr. Pip's bowl empty, hadn't I? If I were to learn to trust my instincts again, I couldn't ignore them.

  "That's nonsense," I told the cat, continuing to scratch his chin. "I'm justifying paranoia. That shed is none of my business."

  Mr. Pips cocked an ear at me.

  "You're right. I don't believe myself either. Hold the fort down, won't you?"

  I shoved my key in my pocket and was out the door again, Mr. Pips letting out a yowl of protest. Thanks to Talia's tutelage, I pulled up a map to the storage place on my phone and memorized it, then shoved my helmet on and hit the streets again.

  Maybe DeShawn's shed was perfectly innocent. But if it wasn't... if there was the slimmest chance Roisin was right, and he knew where the missing sunstriders were being held... I had to know. I just had to.

  The bike purred beneath me as I tore out onto the streets of London. My oath tugged at me, drumbeats heavy, sensing the scent of nightwalker ghoul on the air nearby. I'd been sensing that everywhere lately, and Emeline had made my position clear enough. I could not act on official Sun Guard business.

  But that was all right. Because now I had something to do. And if it made me ride a little faster, a little more aggressively, well, that was just the urgent feeling I had about the shed, wasn't it?

  Five: Dust and Dreams

  Mrs. Maisel peered at me over a set of horn-rimmed glasses and snorted.

  "Friend of Inspector Culver's, you say?"

  "Yes. His roommate. I got the message about the light and wanted to check to see if everything was all right."

  She pursed her lips. "Not supposed to let anyone but the owner in, you see."

  "But the light's been on all day, hasn't it?"

  She squirmed in her seat, glaring at a row of small bulbs along the wall next to her. A map, I realized, though rudimentary. Each bulb must represent a storage shed and the lights being on inside it. She glared at one in particular.

  "It has. That friend of yours is very irresponsible."

  "His job makes him absent-minded sometimes. He sent me to make sure it got turned off."

  "Much as I'd like to let you fix it up, Miss, the rules are the rules. Can't let anyone in who's not on the lease, and you're not on the lease."

  "He... gave me a key?" I said lamely, holding up the key to his flat.

  She narrowed her eyes. "Not one of ours."

  "It's to his flat. He trusts me very much, you see."

  She raised both eyebrows. "Good for you. Now scamper before I have to call the coppers, if you please."

  I did not please, but I forced a friendly smile and put the key away. "Sorry to have bothered you. Was just trying to help, honest."

  "Tell him to get down here hisself!" she called out as the door slapped shut behind me with a jangle of rusted cowbells.

  I was not made for this type of operation, sneaking around and lying my way into places. When I was first turned to the sunstriders, a certain amount of finesse was expected from us, but we were known entities. Respected and feared. A name not being on a lease wouldn't bar a door to us. Actual bars on doors were rarely impediments to me.

  I strolled to the end of the lot, out of view of the windows in the kiosk from which Mrs. Maisel oversaw her hoard, and pulled out my phone, thumbing through the contacts. I could call DeShawn, tell him I was here and see how things shook out, but I doubted I'd see inside the storage unit if I did that. More than likely I'd get some lecture about personal property and trespassing. The man loved to trot out modern law to thwart me every chance he got.

  Talia... Talia was still so fragile. Something had solidified in her, that night she put a knife in her old school friend's chest. But solid things were brittle, easy to break. Best to leave her alone, working on her spreadsheets out at the Durfort-Civrac estate.

  My only other ally was Seamus, and he'd gotten himself into enough trouble helping me out when I'd been hiding from the Sun Guard while I tracked Ragnar. He hadn't lost his job but, to hear Emeline tell it, that had been a near thing indeed.

  I didn't believe she'd fire him, but her 'little chat' with him afterwards had been enough to make him jump at shadows whenever I was around. Still, my thumb hovered over his name, some deep impulse wanting to make that connection, to call upon him to help me break into the storage unit as he had helped me at the hospital. Maybe it was the taste of his blood, lingering in my memory, that urged me to push that button.

  Maybe it was the silver in my eye.

  Fuck it. I shoved the phone back in my jeans pocket and wrapped what little light remained around myself, obscuring my body to all but the most determined observers. Seamus may not be here, but he'd taught me enough about modern cameras to know I'd vanish from whatever digital eyes the astute Mrs. Maisel had watching over this place. So long as I held the light, no one would see me or be able to prove I'd been here.

  How long I could hold the light was the question, though. My body tensed under the strain, the cuffs around my wrists that were only supposed to block nightwalker powers heating up as I called upon my domain of power—the sun.

  Maeve had promised me my sunstrider powers would remain intact. The way my body trembled, struggling to hold on to a thin mantle of light, she'd been mistaken. Maybe there were adjustments to be made, new sigils to forge into metal... But I hadn't told her.

  I couldn't admit to her that the shackles meant to bind only my darker nature stifled my other abilities. Because what if there weren't new sigils to forge? What if those powers were inextricably tangled, never to be unwoven? What if I had become a creature not of dual nature, but one merged being?

  I could hardly see Julian and the other sunstriders voting to allow me to live if that was the case. He may have told me off for not preparing for my trial, but he'd been wrong. The judgment of my peers filled my every waking thought.

  For now, the strain of maintaining the light mantle was not so bad. I hurried down the rows upon rows of storage units, stucco shoe boxes lined up next to one another with dark green rolling doors and slanted red roofs to keep the rain at bay.

  Mrs. Maisel may not have told me which one was DeShawn's, but her row of lights had, and when I sidled up to the one she'd cast a weathered glare at, a small strip of yellow light bled out from under the imperfect seal of the door.

  I sniffed the air. DeShawn lingered within, his body cold and still, as if he were sleeping. I couldn't pick up his usual low, rumbling snore. I reached to knock, then thought better. What if he was unconscious? I didn't sense blood or nightwalker on the air, but if he had been in there unmoving all this time... Something wasn't right.

  I pressed my claw into the lock, straining as I drew upon the power of my blood to shape it into a key. The lock clicked over. I crouched down to grip the bottom and rolled it halfway up.

  "Freeze," DeShawn said.

  Well, at least he was alive. I froze, half in a crouch, holding the door up just enough to reveal my knees to the man within, my claws curled around the metal door. DeShawn's shadow was cut off by the door, but I knew the stance he was in. He had a gun pointed at me. Probably his sidearm—the one the other officers in his station looked at him askance for carrying everywhere. DeShawn's panache for firearms confirmed every suspicion his colleagues had about Americans and weapons, never mind that his Freak Squad needed them to stand a chance against supernatural forces.

  "It's Mags," I said.

  He puffed out a breath and his arms dropped, the weapon snapping back into the holster. "Almost blew your damned head off, girl."

  "Sorry." I pushed up the door enough to crab walk underneath, and DeShawn offered me a hand to help me to my feet. I didn't need it, but this was the kind of thing human friendships were built on. Little give-and-takes. I took his hand an
d let him haul me up.

  "What in the hell are you doing here?"

  "Mrs. Maisel called the flat, rather cross about the light." I put my hands on my hips. "And Mr. Pips believed he was starving to death."

  "That cat could be sitting on a mountain of kibble and cry like he was starving." DeShawn scoffed, but had a warm smile. "Mrs. Maisel doesn't quite answer why you decided to go stealth and break in, though."

  He waved a hand at me. Right. I was still holding the light around myself. I dropped the cloak that blurred my body and offered him a small smile that didn't include my fangs. It took a great deal of restraint not to look relieved as the strain on my body dropped away.

  "I've never met a locked door I didn't open."

  "Riddles aren't answers, Mags." He crossed his arms and shifted his weight to his back foot, eyeing me in the way I knew he gave suspects a once-over. It shook most humans, but it wasn't about to do anything to me.

  Besides, I had a lot of other places to look.

  DeShawn had been sitting on a tatty old loveseat when I'd opened the door, his spot still slightly crushed and radiating a warmth that only my dead skin could pick up from this distance. A crocheted blanket in desperate need of a wash was crumpled next to the spot, a book bound in reddish leather left open on top of it.

  Wood crates, the slatted type I'd seen grocers transport produce in, crowded the walls and towered over the love seat, each one packed full with similar books and loose sheets of yellowed paper. Well, not every one of them. A few carried dark amber jars packed in wool batting. I swallowed. I didn't need to see into those bottles to know what was in them.

  "You took the samples from Ragnar's hive," I said.

  DeShawn pulled off his frameless reading glasses and tucked them into a pocket. "I understand why Emeline wanted to cleanse that place with fire. But the research hidden in those caves couldn't be destroyed."

  "We cataloged it. All of it."

  He glanced sideways toward a particular crate full of books and papers. "Not all of it. Some I... I found before you all arrived. When your people were making a record of everything in there, I sent my team in to move a few things out. Things the Sun Guard didn't need to see."