The Company of Shadows (The Company #1)

by Olsen, Lisa

  Of course he leapt to defend her, he always did. “The hell it’s not.”

  “Cady… you don’t know what happened.”

  “And I don’t care.” They walked in silence until the apartment building came into view. “Look, I’m not about to let you drive yourself into the ground so I can play campus co-ed. I’m saving some money, I might be able to take some classes next year.”

  “You are?”

  “You didn’t think I was blowing all my ill gotten gains on lip gloss and Cheetos, did you?” He did, she could see it on his face, but it didn’t bother her. She didn’t have the best track record when it came to responsibility. Not that she believed she’d be able to go to a school like Stanford, like she’d originally planned. That door was forever closed to her.

  “Come on, I’ll make you some Pizza ala Cady and we’ll see what’s streaming.” Cady was the queen of sprucing up cheap frozen foods, adding spices or the occasional fresh ingredient to keep the cheap staples tasty and interesting. Raised primarily by her father and brother, she’d never learned how to cook properly, but her experiments over the years had turned out some successes and horrible failures (like mixing left over turkey, scrambled eggs and chili, served in crunchy taco shells, blecch), never to be repeated again.

  It was late, nearly four a.m. by the time she rolled into bed, tugging the sheet up to her waist. Was Ethan awake? Her ears strained for some sign that he was even home, but all that came back to her were the street sounds through her open window. Briefly, she considered sending him a text, but she realized she had no idea what his phone number was. It was probably for the best, it was late anyway. Most normal people were asleep long before. Then again, Ethan wasn’t normal, was he?

  Her mind churned, unable to let go and fall asleep with all the unanswered questions. What was the deal with his tattoos appearing so suddenly? Who was Claudio to him, and why had Ethan been worried about him coming back? How had Claudio put her and Penny under his spell in the first place? Why did Ethan carry a rusty dagger, and why had he stabbed himself through his own hand to get to Claudio? Why all the chanting? Why had Claudio killed himself? Why was Ethan so afraid of the police? What exactly was his job, anyway? How had Ethan survived being stabbed so easily? And how had she recovered from the nasty infection on her collarbone so quickly without going to the ER?

  Eventually she drifted off, the unsolved puzzles giving way to the relief of dreams.

  Chapter Eleven

  Dreams.

  Trapped in this world, he’d made it his own. Asherik no longer pined for his natural plane, instead he reveled in the power under his grasp on this world. Here he could feed to his heart’s content. Slowly, savoring the kill, or fast, heart pumping, blood spurting.

  Some nights he wanted more. Some nights he escaped to the release of his own dreams. Dreams where the constant, gnawing desire to rend and tear faded and he could glimpse something more. Something always just out of reach. It teased him, lured him away from his purpose. For how long… he didn’t know.

  But always he awoke.

  And always the need returned.

  And so Ash woke from his own dreams to plunder another’s. It was child’s play to find her. The reaper hadn’t bothered to instruct her in the simplest of protections. She must mean less to him than he’d thought. Floating over her like a gossamer veil caught on the breeze, his power bathed over her skin in the lightest caress, almost feeling the heat of her skin, the supple curves of youth.

  Soon enough he’d taste such delights in the flesh, but for the moment he was content to ride the current of air above her, letting her draw him inside with each breath, only to puff out again. All at once he slid into her mind, taking note of the surroundings with interest.

  She sat in the shade, laying out an elaborate picnic, on a red gingham tablecloth. Dressed in shorts and a skimpy top, he admired her smooth, tanned flesh while she brought out all manner of tasty delights from the voluminous basket. Flexing his will, he changed her clothing to a white sundress, her shoulders bare, hair smoothed away from her brow by a matching strip of white; the epitome of innocent beauty. That pleased him.

  Instead of taking form, he watched while she adjusted everything just so, not so much as taking a bite while she waited. Whom did she wait for? Unable to keep from participating any longer, he took a man’s shape, tall, dark and handsome in his exquisite attire.

  The girl smiled politely as he approached, placing a green apple in his hand when he stretched it out to her, but declining the invitation in his eyes. Puzzled, Ash took another form. Younger, closer to her age, with less formal attire. Again, she smiled when he approached, offering a piece of fruit, but nothing more. Kneeling before her, he caught her gaze, bending her to his will. But instead of the passion clouded swoon of acceptance he expected, her brows twitched together in annoyance.

  “Sorry, buddy, I’m not interested.”

  Ash let the construct go, too shocked to reply. The girl gave no sign that she was disturbed by the sudden disappearance, the nature of dreams suppressing suspicions of unreality. Instead she turned her gaze to the horizon, waiting in her white dress, surrounded by her bounty.

  Desperate to exert his control, Ash dissolved their surroundings. The peaceful setting shimmered away, replaced by the more romantic setting of a silken bower, a roaring fire crackling in the background. Before the image could completely solidify, they were back in the park and she began unpacking the picnic basket again.

  She fought him. She’d actually fought him.

  In all the dreams he’d entered, no one had ever so much as questioned his manipulations. They all came to him, whether willing or screaming, but none ever challenged his construct. Content to watch for a while, he waited to see who she brought into the dream, but no one ever came. Instead her shoulders slowly bowed, the eager light of anticipation dimming as the feast around her wilted in the heat of the day.

  It confused him. Why, with such power at her disposal, did she choose a reality where she was disappointed? Gathering his will, he spoke at her ear without revealing himself.

  “Show me,” he whispered. “Show me what you yearn for. Show me what you want.”

  A man approached, dressed casually in a t-shirt and jeans. Muscular arms -- a punishing strength there -- but there was no menace in his stance. The closer he got, the more details were revealed. Short hair, neither blonde, nor brown, but somewhere in between. Tattoos visible on his arms and neck, and a scar that creased his brow. The tattoos surprised him. A tenderness in his blue eyes and the hint of a smile to his lips that stretched into a slightly crooked smile. He was glad to see her.

  Not a beautiful man as he’d come to understand by usual definition, but powerful, compelling to behold. Of all the men she could desire, she’d chosen this form. Why?

  “Why do you choose someone so flawed?” he asked, a voice on the wind.

  “Sometimes the beauty is in the flaws,” she spoke aloud, taking the offered hand. The dream man pulled her up, and they strolled away from the picnic, out of the shadows and into the sunlight.

  “Now, we’re getting somewhere.” Asherik withdrew to consider what he’d learned. It was time to choose a new body. One with flaws.

  * * *

  It was a sometime after noon when Cady woke. She lay in bed until nearly one, chasing after the remnants of the dream she couldn’t quite hold onto. There was a man… that much she knew. She only wished she could remember more about him.

  Ian still snored like a buzz saw, and she knew from past experience she could blast the TV and not disturb him, but Cady was feeling reflective, not at all in the mood for loud music or television. Instead, she made herself a cup of coffee (mountain grown) with milk and a squirt of Hershey’s Special Dark syrup while she woke up her laptop.

  The poor machine had seen better days, and it was slower than she liked. Still, it got her to the internet if she was patient, piggybacking onto someone stupid enough not to secure their wireless rou
ter. A quick glance over email, Facebook notifications, Twitter -- none of it caught her interest. There was only one thing on her mind. Make that a lot of little somethings, but it amounted to one major topic. Trying to make sense of what Ethan was mixed up in.

  It was obvious he didn’t plan on clueing her in on any of the big stuff, so Cady did what she’d always done, relying on her own resourcefulness to find the answers she wanted. Starting with the news sites, she found a story about the dead guy. He was identified as Claudio Rinaldo, a gallery owner from North Beach. His car had been found in the Mission district, completely stripped; police hinted that the two crimes were related, seeing as how he’d been found in a parking lot. There was an anonymous tip line where witnesses were encouraged to come forward with information.

  Continuing to search, she found a couple of articles on the guy, pictures of his gallery. He hardly seemed like the type of man to drag a woman off the streets. Smart, attractive, well off, he could have easily gone home with a dozen girls in that bar. His handsome face smiled for the camera, but there was something… off. Cady wasn’t sure what it was, the smile maybe… but she didn’t feel like the same person was looking back at her. If she closed her eyes, she could remember the devastating effect of that dark gaze, the knowing tilt of his lips. A shiver rolled down the back of her arms, and she clicked out of the article.

  Letting her fingers go slack over the keys, she tried to recall the words Ethan had used in the alley. Something spiritus… the words all jumbled together in her memory and she wasn’t able to recall any other specific words. Wikipedia came up with the definition right away. Spiritus: Latin for spirit or breathing. Spirit or breathing… and in Latin. What the hell was Ethan up to?

  Curious about the tattoos, she searched under images for tattoo symbols, and could tell in an instant they weren’t Chinese or Japanese script. Nor were they reminiscent of any other written language. They didn’t match astrological symbols or tribal motifs, they were unlike anything she’d seen before. Without being able to articulate what they were called, Cady realized she could search the web for hours and not come across anything similar.

  On a whim she searched under “sudden appearance of tattoos”, but all she got were ads for specific tattoo parlors and a reference to an episode of The Vampire Diaries. Figuring she could rule out anything from a TV show about vampires applying to real life, Cady gave up. What did she think she could find out there anyway? As much as she hated to admit it, she had to have just missed the tattoos in all the fuss over taking care of his stab wounds. It was the only logical explanation.

  Sipping her now cold coffee, she considered what to do with the rest of her day. She could go up the roof and catch a few hours of sun with a pitcher of ice water, or she could call Kelli or Penny and see if they wanted to meet up anywhere.

  Or, she could always pop next door to see if she could shake loose any more answers from her mysterious neighbor…

  Chapter Twelve

  A fine sheen of sweat covered his torso as Ethan bobbed in the doorway. Up and down -- the movement steady, not at all jerky or uncontrolled. Itching for some kind of physical exertion, his usual strenuous exercise routine was out of the question with the stab wound just a couple of days behind him. Pull-ups provided a safe enough challenge to his upper body. Once his muscles were properly warmed up, he planned on attacking the stairs. A few circuits of five flights up and down in the relatively cool stairwell should give him the cardio he needed without straining his newly healed side.

  The knock at the door had him instantly on guard, catching up a small towel to dry his hands before pulling a 9mm from the desk drawer. Light on the balls of his feet, Ethan approached the door without a sound, careful to keep the bulk of his body to the side as he checked the peep hole.

  Cady stood in the hallway, a glass covered dish in her hands.

  His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, unsure if his pulse still raced because of the adrenaline pumping over the unexpected knock, or if he was glad to see her in particular. While he watched, she reached out to knock again, and he pressed the towel to his sweaty brow. “Just a minute,” he called through the flimsy door, backing away to stick the gun away in a kitchen drawer.

  Swabbing himself with the towel, Ethan tugged on a t-shirt, running a hand through his hair before he unlocked the door. “Hi,” he said awkwardly, in unfamiliar territory to find a pretty girl with a care package at his door.

  “Hi,” she smiled brightly. “I made you some soup.”

  Soup? In the middle of summer? It seemed an odd choice. “I… um…”

  “Nothing fancy, just ramen noodles. Should I bring it in here? It’s kinda hot.” Before he could get out another word, she’d brushed past him to set the dish down on the counter, chattering the whole while. “I thought you might still be too sick to eat solid foods, and soup would hit the spot. I promise it’s way better than regular ramen, wait until you taste it. Are you hungry?”

  “No, thank you,” he answered truthfully. At seeing her crestfallen expression, Ethan almost wished he was hungry. “But it was nice of you to think of me, I’ll have some later.”

  Cady’s eyes made a circuit of the small apartment before landing back on him again. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m good.”

  “Really? Because you look kind of sweaty. Have you checked to see if you have a fever?” She started towards him with a hand outstretched to his brow and he side stepped her.

  “It’s fine.”

  “Yeah, but that wound was hella nasty, I think I should take another look at it. What if it’s infected?” She drove him backwards relentlessly, until the back of his heels came up against the wall.

  “No, thank you.”

  “Don’t be such a baby, I’m not going to hurt you,” she teased, reaching for his shirt. Ethan caught her hands easily, even as she twisted to avoid him. Her delicate wrists slipped out of his grasp and he chased after them. Her hip brushed against his as they grappled, hands sliding intimately. A bubble of laughter came from her parted lips, and Ethan found himself smiling back, lacing his fingers firmly between hers to pin them down. Cady relaxed against him, accepting his dominant hold -- or was that intimacy her intent all along?

  “What about your shoulder?” he changed the subject, but didn’t let go of her hands, enjoying the subtle press of her skin against his. “Did you see a doctor about that?”

  “No, it’s much better. You can hardly see it at all.”

  Ethan released his grip to ease her neckline aside, fingers tracing over the faint line. It looked normal enough, but he wasn’t sure what to check for if any infection lingered.

  “Okay, now I showed you mine, time for you to show me yours.” She tugged at his shirt again, and Ethan let out a breath.

  “I told you, it’s fine.”

  “And I told you, I want to see it for myself.”

  Instead of fighting, he let her lift the bottom of his t-shirt to see that his side was un-bandaged, the skin completely knit together in a puffy, pink pucker of flesh.

  “Amazing…” she breathed, her fingers cool against his skin, making his muscles clench tightly with something akin to pain, but he didn’t make a single move to stop her. Until he noticed the dark designs on the inside of her arm.

  “What is this?” he demanded, jerking her arm to the side to get a better look at it.

  “Ah… I was just doodling at work,” Cady replied, clearly puzzled by his outburst.

  Ethan knew she must think he was nuts, but he dragged her to the kitchen sink all the same, thrusting her arm under the tap. “These are not the sort of things you should be doodling,” he scolded, squirting her arm liberally with dishwashing soap. “These are… how did you even…?” Words failed him as he scrubbed her arm, almost frantic for the inky black stains to fade.

  “Ow… careful,” she winced, adjusting her stance to get closer to the sink. “What’s the big deal? I noticed the symbols on your back and I thought they
were cool.”

  “They’re…” What could he say? “Trust me when I say they’re not something you want to be drawing on your body.”

  “Why not?”

  “Just… trust me,” he pleaded, gentling his touch when the designs began to pale.

  “How about if you trust me instead?” Cady fired back, and he had to shake his head. Definitely not one to give up without a fight.

  “It’s not that simple. They’re not all my secrets to tell.”

  “Then you do admit there are secrets,” she smiled.

  Ethan opened his mouth to reply, but for the second time that afternoon, a knock sounded at his door. Without skipping a beat, he dropped her arm, opening the kitchen drawer to retrieve his gun. Cady’s eyes widened at the sight of the weapon, but he held a finger to his lips and she stayed quiet. Following the same protocol, he checked the peep hole.

  Rikard.

  Without hesitation, Ethan grabbed Cady by the arm and shoved her into the hall closet. “Don't move a muscle,” he breathed.

  “But…”

  “I mean it, Cady. Silence.” He tried to ignore the way her pretty eyes stretched wider, fear clouding their depths as he shut the door in her face. Whatever she was afraid of, shutting her in the closet was the lesser of two evils. Tucking the gun back into the kitchen drawer, he answered the door.

  “Rikard,” he nodded. “Sorry, I wanted to finish the set before I answered the door.”

  The man standing in the hall smiled wide when he saw him. His reddish brown curls had long since resisted whatever styling product he’d used that morning, and pointed every which way. Even in the heat of the day, he wore a brown leather jacket, to conceal the weapons Ethan knew he had strapped to his body.

  “Shaw, you always were a machine,” he grinned. “I thought you might have company.” His blue eyes scanned the apartment, cataloguing.

  “No… I had the TV on.” Ethan stood back to let him in. “You didn't have to come all the way up here. I said I was fine in my report.”