Then there were the times when Khefar quietly watched her, when she felt very much as if he were her jailer. Those times were the ones she hated the most, and they seemed to come more frequently of late.
She pulled on the matching jacket and grabbed her gloves. Ready to go—
Damn! She’d left her Lightblade upstairs. If she went up to get it, she ran the risk of waking Khefar. If she left home without it, she ran the risk of being vulnerable to a Shadow attack.
Frustration growled through her. She had no choice. It had been quiet for a while, with a minor skirmish or disagreement here and there to break up the monotony. That only meant a storm was on the way. Shadowlings still wanted the Dagger of Kheferatum. Someone needed to step in and fill the power vacuum that had appeared after she’d sent the Fallen called Enig back to Shadow. Then there was Marit, the Shadow Adept she’d tussled with in Cairo. She was out there somewhere, no doubt still incensed over the hand Kira had sliced off.
Kira shook her head. Yeah, it would be suicidal to leave home without her Lightblade. Whatever the state of her mind, suicidal she was not.
Three nights straight.
Khefar folded his hands behind his head, debating. Three nights in a row. This was not the first time Kira had awakened, carefully extricated herself from the bed, and gone downstairs until sunrise. For three consecutive nights, he’d feigned sleep, keeping his breathing regular and even as she’d stealthily left the bedroom. These nights weren’t isolated: Kira had gotten up early several times since they’d returned from London three weeks ago.
At first, his ego had assumed that Kira simply wasn’t used to sharing a bed with anyone or anything, not even a pet, since her touch ability could drain the life out of any living thing. But with Khefar, Kira couldn’t siphon off his energy or read his thoughts and emotions. Besides, she’d slept well enough beside him in London and Cairo. So sleeping next to him wasn’t the problem.
He sighed, sat up, and flipped on the light on his side of the bed. He knew Kira was troubled. She had enough on her mind—beyond her “day job” as an antiquarian and her duties as a Shadowchaser, she was dealing with her mentor’s death and memorial service, inheriting his estate … and what she’d learned during their journey behind the Veil. And those were the things she’d talked about.
Unspoken were her thoughts about her foster mother, the Balm of Gilead, also known as the Lady of Light. Kira had discovered that Balm was one of three “sisters” who embodied the order of the universe. Kira had met Solis, the Lady of Balance, the place between Light and Shadow. There was a Lady of Shadow, and Khefar could only hope that Kira never crossed paths with the Dark One. Khefar knew from experience that dealing with any of the ladies was an exercise in frustration, and even fear.
And, despite their mutual knowledge that she had Shadow within her, beyond his pledge to use the dagger to unmake her if she ever succumbed, they had never discussed it. It was the elephant in the room that they both intentionally ignored.
Kira also refused to elaborate on the revelation of her origins. She’d painfully admitted that she wasn’t fully human once they’d returned from behind the Veil, but she hadn’t spoken of it since. Instead she’d buried it, buried it deep, buried it like she’d buried her emotions, her grief and losses and anger. Perhaps even her heart.
Khefar swung his legs over the side of the bed. Something weighed heavily on Kira, heavily enough to disturb her sleep. He did what he could to ease her burden—partner her on patrols, assist with research, put the seat back down every time—anything to give her one less thing to worry about. And yet, she went to bed exhausted only to rouse from sleep and quit their bed a few hours later.
Something made her leave the bed in the middle of the night. It was time to discover what that something was.
He slipped on a pair of jeans, found a dark green sweater to pull on. Grabbing both their blades, he made his way out of the bedroom, traversing the open walkway over to the metal switchback stairs and down to the dimly lit main level. He’d memorized the layout of the converted warehouse a few weeks ago, though Kira had made some changes. The storeroom in the short hallway past the kitchen had been changed into an exercise room in which they practiced their knife-fighting and hand-to-hand-combat skills. The high-top table had regained its true purpose as a dining table, though books still balanced beside each place setting. More shelves and cabinets had been installed around the perimeter of the great room, to further organize Kira’s collection and incorporate the artifacts and treasures her late handler had bequeathed to her. Changes without, neat and orderly. The changes within, Khefar believed, were anything but tidy.
The weathered box still sat where he’d placed it earlier. It didn’t appear that Kira had opened it yet. Why not? She’d told him she’d searched for answers her entire life. Now that she had those answers literally at her fingertips, she seemed strangely reluctant to literally pull the lid off.
He heard a thump from the garage and went to investigate, his dagger at the ready. Kira stood near the metal supply cabinets, hurriedly pulling on black and blue bike leathers. Going for a ride and not bothering to tell him. She was running from something. He was determined that it wouldn’t be him.
He stepped through the doorway. She spun, helmet raised high over her head, ready to do serious damage. “Easy,” he said. “I brought your Lightblade to you. You left it upstairs.”
She made no move to take it, staring at him with those now-hazel eyes of hers. When she spoke, her voice had a dark edge to it. “Are you spying on me?”
“Spying would imply that I’m reporting my findings to someone. I’m not.”
She faced him fully. “And what are your findings?”
“I don’t have any yet.”
A faint smile pushed the shadows from her eyes. “Liar.”
“All right.” He folded his arms across his chest, prepared to argue with her if necessary. “I find that you have bags under your eyes. I find that you’ve lost weight. And I find your temper frayed.”
“My temper was never all that finely woven to begin with.”
“True.” He waited a moment, but she didn’t attempt to correct his observations or offer excuses for them. Instead she reached for the Lightblade.
“Thanks for bringing this down,” she said, sounding sheepish and on edge at the same time. Made sense, given the nightmares and the literal Pandora’s box in the next room. She had a right to be on edge. “I was about to come back upstairs for it.”
“No problem,” he said, handing the dagger over. He strapped his dagger on, situating it into the side rigging under his left arm, the hilt across his chest. “Did we get a call?”
“No. Still have the night off.”
Unease slithered through him. So it wasn’t Gilead’s business that had her suited up. If she thought he’d go back to bed and let her head out by herself, she was going to be disappointed. “You want to ride double or should I take my car?”
Irritation drew her eyebrows down. “What if I want to be alone?”
“You can be alone. On the bike. I can follow you in my car.”
She put her Lightblade on the shelf, then unzipped and removed her jacket. “You know, this is getting old. What do you think is going to happen if I go off by myself?”
With everything that had happened to her since he’d known her, he didn’t want to take any chances. “Maybe nothing.” He stepped farther into the garage. “Maybe something. I don’t know, which is why I’d rather go with you.”
“Like you’re leaving me with any choice.” She thrust her arms through the leather straps that allowed her to wear the Lightblade sling style across her chest so that the short racing jacket would cover it. Khefar knew from his brief stint as a motorcycle racer in Europe that the body armor and protective padding in her pants prevented her from strapping the blade to her leg in any usable fashion.
“Hey.” He dropped a hand on her shoulder, halting her movements. “If it seems like I’m
taking your choices away, I’m sorry. I certainly didn’t intend that. I know you can handle yourself and you did fine before I came along. My problem is that I’ve seen what comes after you, so I’m going to be concerned every time you step out that door. So yeah, I’m either coming with you or I’m coming after you.”
Discomfort crossed her features, as if she’d smelled sour milk. She usually reacted that way whenever he expressed any sort of sentiment or care for her. She shrugged his hands away. “I don’t need a babysitter. Stop treating me like I’m a toddler clutching at firecrackers.”
The woman could try the patience of Job. “Hair of Isis, I’m not trying to nanny you, and I certainly don’t want to treat you like a baby. Besides, it’s not about you.”
“What do you mean it’s not about me? This whole conversation is about me!”
Not this time, and he hated admitting it to her. “You wanting to go off by yourself is about you. Me not wanting to let you is about me.”
“Huh? What the hell does that even mean?”
He cursed under his breath, took a couple of steps back from her. “It means my concern for you … upsets my equilibrium. I could not rest here while you’re out there with who knows what lurking. So I’m coming with you or following you for my own damn peace of mind.”
A grin split her face, reminding him of a mad scientist or a hungry were-hyena. Neither were good. He scowled at her. “What’s that look for?”
Instead of answering, she cupped his face between her palms and planted a big, sloppy kiss on his lips. “Thank you. That makes perfect sense now.”
She broke away before he could reciprocate, leaving him feeling decidedly off-balance. A usual occurrence around her. “I’m glad one of us understands what just happened.”
“Maybe I’ll explain later.” She zipped back into her jacket, pulled on her gloves, and handed him her spare helmet. “You man enough to ride behind a woman?”
“Yes.” He took the helmet. “And man enough to look cool doing it.”
Chap†er 9
The temperature had dropped considerably while they’d slept, which suited Kira fine. Nothing like thirty-degree temperatures to bring cold clarity.
With the half-moon high in the sky, she headed for the interstate, Khefar riding pillion. She was glad he didn’t have some male ego problem with sitting behind her. If he did, he’d be trying to keep up with her in his Charger instead of having his hands on her waist. As a four-thousand-year-old man, misogyny should have been second nature to him. Apparently he’d managed to learn a thing or two about women over the centuries.
Or maybe he’d learned the right things to say to get his way.
A couple of nights a week, bikers and a few car aficionados gathered in one of the parking lots near Turner Field. While a few of the young men showed off their skills, others gathered to watch, hang out, and occasionally exchange information. Despite the late hour and low temps, a sizable crowd still occupied the parking lot. Guess the police were too busy to bother with loiterers.
The groups of bikers and spectators were a disparate crowd, drawn together by their love of fast machines. One mixed clutch of bikers stood apart from the others, either by their own choice or because the others subconsciously recognized them as different. Other.
Kira eased her bike in among a large pack of other motorcycles while spectators watched as a guy on a red and yellow Ducati did a combo wheelie down the open swath of asphalt. A line of stunt bikers waiting their turn snaked to the left. She stopped the bike, then dropped the kickstand. Khefar hopped off the back as she pulled off her helmet and shook out her braids.
Conversation ebbed. A wave of recognition passed over the hybrids gathered nearby, a ripple of uneasy curiosity. Kira realized she hadn’t been out to the gathering since before Bernie’s death. Or, more importantly to the hybrids, since she’d brought down the Fallen at Demoz’s club.
The arrival of any Chaser would grab the interest of hybrids; Kira showing up demanded even more attention.
Gilead grouped the denizens of Shadow and Light along the same scale. Hybrids were the mixed-blood offspring of humans and the lesser children of Light and Shadow who came through the Veil when the first battle between Light and Shadow nearly ripped existence apart. Most had a human form that enabled them to blend into society undetected.
By association, determination, and dedication, humans could eventually become Adepts, wielders of magic, or Avatars, hosts for the non-corporeal beings known as the Fallen. The Fallen were the offspring of Chaos, as old as the first battle between Light and Shadow when the balance of the universe was at stake. They got their name from being on the losing end of that first battle: they “fell” through the various dimensions to this plane of existence. The only way they could assume physical form was by taking over willing or corrupted humans as their Avatars. Though they promised the human power and riches in return, humans simply weren’t able to contain that much power. Human hosts eventually rejected the Fallen, but lost their lives in the process.
Fallen, as the top of the Shadow food chain, were extremely tough to kill. They also tended to bully the other hybrids in their area, coercing them through threat to join the Fallen’s cause. The only problem was, any hybrids who chose to back a losing Fallen also lost their lives when that Fallen was sent back to Shadow. And the only one who could take out a Fallen was a Shadowchaser. Their existence necessitated the Shadowchasers’ existence. In head-to-head combat, Chasers lost as many times as they won, if not more. It was part of the reason why Chasers didn’t have a long life expectancy, and why they needed to be extra tough.
That Kira had brought down one of the Fallen and lived to tell about it had elevated her status in the hybrid community. It meant that the city had stayed relatively quiet while she’d handled her business in London. That quiet wouldn’t last, however. It never did.
“Look what the cat dragged in!”
Kira watched as one of the young men separated himself from the rest of the pack. She recognized D’Aurius Amoye, one of two sons of the matriarch of the Westside were-hyena pack. “Don’t you mean dog?”
Were-hyena, who called themselves bultungin from their ancestral home in northeast Nigeria, were matriarchal like their natural counterparts. D’Aurius, whom Kira had seen at various bike events around town, had left the pack early on, though he still kept in contact. He looked to be about nineteen in human years with his close-cropped tight curls fading into the dark chocolate of his skin, though Kira knew were-hyenas aged differently.
“What’s up, Chaser?” he asked, after a quick glance at his friends for support. “Ain’t seen you around here in a hot minute.”
“I know, but I’m here now.” She tapped his gloved fist with her own. “How’s it been so far tonight?”
“Oh, you know how it goes,” he said. Even with the black and red Atlanta Falcons leather jacket covering him, one could see he had the medium build of most male were-hyenas, and an open, kind-hearted nature that would set him at odds with almost every type of were-family. He would have been an omega in his mother’s clan, but males were ranked even lower than the lowest female.
“Most of the good riders have already packed up and headed out,” he told her. “Are you gonna get out there and show us some stuff? I heard you pulled a rolling stoppie on North Avenue.”
“I’m only hanging out tonight,” Kira told him. “And you can’t believe everything you hear. But if I had done it, you can bet it was epic.”
“Sweet.” D’Aurius gave Khefar a once-over glance. “You gonna introduce me?”
“Sure.” Kira turned to Khefar, standing silently behind her. He seemed even more tense than usual, and she wondered if he wasn’t used to riding on the back of a motorcycle. Surely the opportunity had come up once or twice in the last century. “Khefar, D’Aurius Amoye. D’Aurius, Khefar.”
“That’s all I get?” D’Aurius asked, eyes wide. “You reach back to the motherland and claim a guy for the back of yo
ur bike, and all we get is a name? He don’t even smell all the way human.”
“‘He’ can speak for himself, bultungin,” Khefar said, making the word sound like an epithet. The permanent scowl deepened to antagonistic. “Ask me what you want to know, pup, if you dare.”
D’Aurius bared his teeth. It was an instinctive move, but instinctive didn’t equal smart. “Yo, man, who you calling pup?”
Crap. Khefar had to have spent a couple hundred centuries traveling around Africa during his four millennia. Aside from spending time with Kandake Amanirenas in Meroë, it made sense that he’d journeyed all over the continent and encountered were-hyenas during that time. Apparently, that encounter hadn’t been all hearts and flowers. Whatever Khefar did or didn’t know about were-hyenas, he had to know that males weren’t intimidated by other males.
She’d noticed at least one banaranjan in the cluster of hybrids. Of course they’d be drawn to all the human adrenaline soaking the air. That didn’t mean she wanted them drawn to her little group, which was certain to happen if the two men kept up their intimidation attempts.
“Guys. We’re in a public place, the hybrids are staring and no doubt hearing everything you’re saying. I’d rather not have the police shut down this gathering because two guys who should know better decided to show their asses. Stand the fuck down.”
D’Aurius, used to taking orders from women, immediately dropped his gaze. Khefar took a few seconds longer to comply. Kira pushed between them, shoving Khefar back as she grabbed the were-hyena by the elbow. “What the hell, D’Aurius?”
Shadow Fall Page 8
