The Shadow Guard

by Diane Whiteside

  “What the hell?” Jake stared at her. “They look like people, not corpses.”

  “Name them,” Astrid said quietly. “Name everyone you can. The more faith you pour into them, the more real they become.”

  She released one of his hands but the magick still wove a golden bracelet between them. Pain clawed its way closer to her skull. Yet no matter what the cost, she needed his link to the earth to bring these men into being.

  Behind Jake, a brute sniggered and started to reloaded his .50 cal machine gun.

  “Stonewall Jackson. It’s an honor to meet you, general.” Jake bowed to the general, who rode out past the ever increasing line of gray-clad men. The spell had summoned the South’s two senior generals, who were buried closest to Enfield House. “And General Longstreet, I’m deeply glad you could join us.”

  How powerful was Jake? The spell’s scarlet and gold tendrils wound deep into the earth, awakening men who were linked only by devotion to the same cause, protecting Virginia’s women and children

  General Stuart flourished his hat in response to his name and General Hood bowed deeply before taking his place, both of them astride beautiful horses.

  Then the blue troopers strode up from the river, led by equally bold colonels and generals. Dear heavens, Jake must have Northern blood in him, to fire up soldiers from the other side of this war.

  Jake whistled softly and saluted the dark-haired, cigarsmoking general in blue. “General Grant, sir.”

  Now sunlight shone summer-bright across the grass, even though the air was crisp where untainted by smoke. The attackers had huddled together and were pointing at the newcomers.

  One more soldier rode up, this one on a beautiful gray horse. Distance meant little to a ghostly mount, when summoned by such strong need.

  Every trooper, both blue and gray, lifted his hat in salute.

  “General Lee, sir, may I welcome you to Enfield House?” Astrid curtsied, as her mother had taught her so many years ago.

  “Thank you, ma’am.” He bowed graciously to her. But he folded his hands on his pommel, his eyes wary when General Grant joined them.

  “General Lee, I would be honored to place myself and my men under your command for this engagement. We served together in Mexico and dealt the enemy many fine knocks, as I remember.”

  The Virginian’s attitude turned gracious. “Indeed we did, Grant, and it is a pleasure to serve together side by side again.”

  Jake let out a soft whoop under his breath. Horses’ tack jangled for the first time, matched by the clatter of rifles and swords being checked.

  The generals rode forward knee to knee, and Lee drew his sword to command attention.

  “Hold your fire, boys, until you see the whites of their eyes. Then I want a steady, rolling volley.”

  “Cold steel after that?” Jackson suggested.

  “Indeed so, general.”

  More than one veteran’s eye met another’s in keen anticipation.

  Fire teased the edges of Astrid’s vision, more agonizing than a volcano’s breath. Yet this army could not march unless she focused Jake’s power.

  “Quick march, now. Hold your formations!” And the voice of Robert E. Lee, the finest soldier Virginia ever produced, rang out once again to defend the homes of her women and children.

  Generals and colonels, both blue and gray, kneed their horses forward to follow the erect figure on the beautiful steed. Soldiers twitched their muskets into position on their shoulders and marched to war, their uniforms brushing against each other.

  Jake erupted into the Rebel yell. The ancient war cry rang out across the field, echoed by every soldier. Their booted feet suddenly shook the ground.

  Astrid’s heart was in her mouth. Jake tugged her forward, half-running to keep up.

  The thugs stopped to look. Some hooted but most went back to burning another house.

  When the small army was only a block away, it stopped and the front rank dropped to one knee.

  The thugs turned a pair of assault rifles on them. The bullets whizzed through the formation and disappeared in the grass.

  “Fire!” shouted General Lee.

  Hundreds of minié balls, larger than most modern bullets, shot out of muskets and thudded into SUVs, jeeps, even the helicopter. They tore apart gas tanks.

  Curses filled the air. The enemy sahir’s army shot again, this time using both guns and the flamethrower.

  “Fire!”

  The second volley blew up the flamethrower, killing several men. Others turned to run, but every vehicle now had at least one flat tire. The helicopter crashed onto the meadow like a shattered buzzard and blew up an instant later.

  “Woot, woot!” cheered Jake.

  “Fix bayonets!”

  Steel locked into place with lethal clicks and a thousand veterans smiled in anticipation. The vandals scattered faster to find cover.

  “Charge!”

  The Rebel yell ripped into the air once again and the army raced forward, just as one more vandal appeared on a cottage’s porch.

  The thugs turned to fight. But even modern weapons did little good against far superior numbers, especially when their opponents laughed off any wound. Worse, any shots from their compatriots’ weapons sailed through the ghosts but decimated the thugs.

  “You bastards!” The one remaining vandal raced toward Astrid and Jake, the only two people not wearing uniforms. “You’re ruining everything.”

  He held a very ugly Steyr assault rifle steadily on Jake. One twitch of his finger and they’d both be dead.

  “You killed Melinda Williams,” Astrid accused, trying to catch his attention.

  “Yeah, so what if I did? You won’t be around long enough to do anything about it or to help me spend her big price tag.” His flat gaze didn’t flicker toward her.

  Astrid’s blood ran cold. Jake only had one hand free, since she needed the other to power her magick. Her heart said his pistol was no match for that assault rifle.

  She started to tease her fingers loose but he tightened his grip.

  Think logically, Astrid, remember what you know about guns. No—better yet, trust Jake.

  “Viper,” said Jake, a wealth of recognition in his voice. “How many hits have you made in this country? Twelve—or is it fifteen? Plus the seven in Europe and three in Argentina, of course.”

  The enemy’s eyebrows shot up.

  “You’re good, cop. There’s only one photo of me around.”

  “Two,” Jake corrected him. “Every homicide cop on this continent has memorized them.”

  “I must be clumsier than I thought. But you’ll be dead, so my mistakes don’t matter.”

  “Yes, they do.” Jake pulled the trigger.

  Viper stared at them for a moment, a startled expression on his face below the small red hole in his forehead. Then he slowly crumpled to the ground, his rifle in his hands for the last time.

  General Lee rode up, closely followed by Generals Jackson and Grant. “Good day to you, ma’am.” He raised his hat and Astrid curtsied again.

  “I perceive that all of our enemies are accounted for, Hammond?”

  Astrid glanced past the officers and found corpses amid the shelter’s burning wreckage. Numerous law enforcement agencies would undoubtedly be very happy.

  Now, at last, she could hear sirens beyond the military base, adding their clamor to the hell wracking her brains.

  The blue and gray soldiers’ outlines wavered slightly.

  “Precisely so, general.” Jake reached up to shake General Lee’s hand. “May I say what a pleasure it has been to serve with you today?”

  “And mine as well, sir. If you’ll forgive us for departing a bit precipitately, I do believe my men would be best released from duty under quieter conditions.”

  He winced slightly when another siren added to the oncoming cacophony. A silent plea lurked behind his eyes.

  “Of course, general,” she said quietly. “I assure you the shade will offer yo
u every comfort you could desire.”

  “My thanks, Miss Carlsen. I wish you both the best of luck in all your future endeavors.” He bowed deeply to her and rode off through the grass, his army behind him. It was time to end the spell and let them find peace again.

  The soldiers entered the woodlands and faded into mist, to vanish within a few paces like melting filmstrips, the way the old armies always had in the Virginia wilderness.

  Astrid closed the spell and released Jake’s hand. Now they could go back to being guildies again. Maybe fuck buddies, too.

  It didn’t feel like enough, not for her magick, especially when her legs were barely strong enough to support her and hell’s bells pounded inside her skull. Why the hell did her heart want even more than that?

  Jake’s BlackBerry rang. He glanced at the number, and his face lit up. “What’s up, little bro?”

  “You won’t call me that when you hear what I’ve been through.” Logan’s voice came through the tiny speaker loud and clear. “But we bought back the mortgage. Enfield House is free and clear.”

  Two cop cars charged out of the military base’s woods and across the field, sirens roaring and lights flashing.

  The cavalry was here and the enemy was defeated. Jake could go back to work. Hurrah.

  Yuck.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Astrid stuck out her tongue at her perfect condominium. She’d had three interior designers in, but none of their suggestions for redecorating had satisfied her. She’d gone shopping in New York but bought only one pair of shoes, instead of a full spring wardrobe.

  She’d translated dozens of documents for the FBI so fast that her boss asked her to retake her competency test, in case she should be given a higher rank. Now she’d have to act stupid for a while to become invisible again, which was always a pain.

  She and Elswyth had started searching for missing Nazi sahirs who might have entered the U.S. after World War II. The Shadow Council swore their immigration controls made it impossible for such a sahir to get into this country. Nobody believed them.

  None of it took her mind off Jake and his absence from texting. Heck, he hadn’t even made an appearance on the Argos boards.

  He was busy. Of course, he was busy. Dude did busy the way bees did—to the single-minded exclusion of everything else, like her.

  Maybe if she bought furniture that looked like his, it’d be a comfort. Yeah, right.

  No, go for the real stuff—chocolate. She headed for the kitchen. She had some triple fudge ice cream, which might just do the trick.

  The doorbell rang.

  Oh, crap, not another well-meaning neighbor with some bright ideas on how to perk her up.

  She yanked the door open. Her jaw dropped with a thud that could be heard all the way to the Milan fashion runways.

  Jake stood there, dressed in casual jeans, T-shirt, and jacket. Even more bizarre, he held a big bunch of daffodils.

  “Hi.” His lips twitched, like he didn’t know if a smile was acceptable or not.

  “Hello.” She could only stare at him. He wasn’t even wearing boots, just normal shoes.

  He thrust the flowers at her and she accepted them.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t call or text you. But I’ve been locked up, doing the paperwork for all the criminals who died at Enfield House,” he said in a rush, as if he’d memorized the words days ago.

  “Okay. I figured that.” She sniffed the bouquet. He’d really brought a lot.

  “I took a day off today.”

  “You what?” The totally unexpected news brought her head up to see if he’d turned red with fever.

  “The cherry blossom trees are in bloom at the Tidal Basin.”

  “I know.” Didn’t everybody in D.C.?

  “I thought maybe you might want to walk around down there and have a picnic lunch with me. I brought the fixings.” He pointed to the floor at his feet, where a very fancy basket rested.

  Her jaw dived toward her chest again. Hope started to beat in her heart.

  “That’s a very frivolous thing to do, Jake,” she ventured.

  “I love you, Astrid. That means spending time together, starting by going on dates,” he added in a rush.

  She took his hand to give him courage. His smile this time was more genuine.

  “I’ll always be a homicide cop, but you hold my heart.”

  “I’m Shadow Guard,” she reminded him.

  “Are we going to have fights?”

  “Probably. But I love you.”

  “Yes!” He yanked her into his arms and kissed her. She was flushed and laughing by the time he released her.

  “Bed?” she asked and dragged her finger down his jaw.

  “No, cherry blossoms first. Bedroom is easy but dates are hard. I need more practice.”

  “Plus, I can always port into your bedroom whenever I want to,” she mused.

  “Sounds like a great plan.”

  He linked hands with her, the same way they’d fought a rogue sahir’s minions. They could talk about hunting down Viper’s master tomorrow.

  Be sure to catch A SENSE OF SIN,

  the second book from Elizabeth Essex,

  out this month!

  The Ravishing Miss Celia Burke. A well-known, and even more well-liked, local beauty. She made her serene, graceful way down the short set of stairs into the ballroom as effortlessly as clear water flowed over rocks in a hillside stream. She nodded and smiled in a benign but uninvolved way at all who approached her, but she never stopped to converse. She processed on, following her mother through the parting sea of mere mortals, those lesser human beings who were nothing and nobody to her but playthings.

  Aloof, perfect Celia Burke. Fuck you.

  By God, he would take his revenge and Emily would have justice. Maybe then he could sleep at night.

  Maybe then he could learn to live with himself.

  But he couldn’t exact the kind of revenge one takes on another man—straightforward, violent, and bloody. He couldn’t call Miss Burke out on the middle of the dance floor and put a bullet between her eyes or a sword blade between her ribs at dawn.

  His justice would have to be more subtle, but no less thorough. And no less ruthless.

  “You were the one who insisted we attend this august gathering. So what’s it to be, Delacorte?” Commander Hugh McAlden, friend, naval officer and resident cynic, prompted again.

  McAlden was one of the few people who never addressed Del by his courtesy title, Viscount Darling, as they’d know each other long before he’d come into the bloody title and far too long for Del to give himself airs in front of such an old friend. With such familiarity came ease. With McAlden, Del could afford the luxury of being blunt.

  “Dancing or thrashing? The latter, I think.”

  McAlden’s usually grim mouth crooked up in half a smile. “A thrashing, right here in the marchioness’s ballroom? I’d pay good money to see that.”

  “Would you? Shall we have a private bet, then?”

  “Del, I always like it when you’ve got that look in your eye. I’d like nothing more than a good wager.”

  “A bet, Colonel Delacorte? What’s the wager? I’ve money to burn these days, thanks to you two.” Another naval officer, Lieutenant Ian James, known from their time together when Del had been an officer of His Majesty’s Marine Forces aboard the frigate Resolute, broke into the conversation from behind.

  “A private wager only, James.” Del would need to be more circumspect. James was a bit of a puppy, happy and eager, but untried in the more manipulative ways of society. There was no telling what he might let slip. Del had no intention of getting caught in the net he was about to cast. “Save your fortune in prize money for another time.”

  “A gentleman’s bet then, Colonel?”

  A gentleman’s bet. Del felt his mouth curve up in a scornful smile. What he was about to do violated every code of gentlemanly behavior. “No. More of a challenge.”

  “He’s Visco
unt Darling now, Mr. James.” McAlden gave Del a mocking smile. “We have to address him with all the deference he’s due.”

  Unholy glee lit the young man’s face. “I had no idea. Congratulations, Colonel. What a bloody fine name. I can hear the ladies now: my dearest, darling Darling. How will they resist you?”

  Del merely smiled and took another drink. It was true. None of them resisted: high-born ladies, low-living trollops, barmaids, island girls, or señoritas. They never had, bless their lascivious hearts.

  And neither would she, despite her remote facade. Celia Burke was nothing but a hothouse flower just waiting to be plucked.

  “Go on, then. What’s your challenge?” McAlden’s face housed a dubious smirk as several more navy men, Lieutenants Thomas Gardener and Robert Scott joined them.

  “I propose I can openly court, seduce, and ruin an untried, virtuous woman”—Del paused to give them a moment to remark upon the condition he was about to attach—“without ever once touching her.”

  McAlden gave a huff of cynical laughter. “Too easy in one sense, too hard in another,” he stated flatly.

  “How can you possibly ruin someone without touching them?” Ian James protested.

  Del felt his mouth twist. He had forgotten what it was like to be that young. While he was only six and twenty, he’d grown older since Emily’s death. Vengeance was singularly aging.

  “Find us a drink would you, gentlemen? A real drink. None of the lukewarm swill they’re passing out on trays.” Del pushed the young lieutenants off in the direction of a footman.

  “Too easy to ruin a reputation with only a rumor,” McAlden repeated in his unhurried, determined way. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

  Trust McAlden to get right to the heart of the matter. Like Del, McAlden had never been young, and he was older in years, as well.

  “With your reputation,” McAlden continued as they turned to follow the others, “well deserved, I might add, you’ll not get within a sea mile of a virtuous woman.”

  “That, old man, shows how little you know of women.”

  “That, my darling Viscount, shows how little you know of their mamas.”