by Hall, Linsey
“Where am I?” Diana asked.
“I’ll be with you in a moment.” The woman waved a hand at her, but didn’t turn. Her voice was as musical as wind chimes, but not so sweet as to be silly. “Have a look about. Entertain yourself.”
Diana glanced around. Entertain herself? Where should she start? She settled on examining the bookshelf full of old marble busts. Books were stacked behind them and she peered through a gap between one of an old man and another of a young woman. The History of the Immortal University: From Warriors to Scholars, a large, leather-bound tome sat next to Great Mytheans of Our Time.
Though her fingers itched to pull one out and learn more about this place, she was too polite a scholar to touch such an old-looking book without asking. Bad form and all that.
Diana shifted her gaze to the bust of the young woman. She wasn’t beautiful, precisely. Nothing so bland as that. She was striking, with a noble profile that spoke of wisdom. Diana read the small inscription below the bust.
Emily the Wise, founder of the Immortal University, created a haven for those who were persecuted by mortals for their supernatural powers and abilities. Her dedication and bravery have created a home for us all. May her soul rest in her afterworld, for she died too young.
Very impressive and very weird. Impressive for such a young woman to create something so grand, presumably far in the past, yet downright freaky that this place was supposedly filled with supernatural beings like the transparent Gramophone fan who was puttering around on the other side of the room.
Her gaze shifted to the bust of the older man, but rather than focus on his face, her gaze was dragged down to the plaque beneath.
Benjamin Tuckaway, inventor of the spell that would cloak the Immortal University from the eyes of mortals and remove it from their consciousness. Mytheans everywhere owe him a debt of gratitude for the freedom that concealment from mortals brings us all.
Huh, that must be why the car had been able to drive through a tree onto a road she hadn’t seen until they were actually on it. It was all an illusion created by the clever Mr. Tuckaway.
But Mytheans were what, exactly? Probably the same supernatural beings that Emily’s bust referenced, but what did that mean beyond the monsters she’d seen? Witches, warlocks? Ghosts?
“All right, sorry for the delay.”
Diana whirled at the sound of the other woman’s voice. She’d come to stand behind the large, cluttered desk that stood between them. Despite the woman’s near translucence, or perhaps because of it, she had an ethereal beauty, with her silver blond hair and flowing moss-green robes. The sharp green eyes peering out from behind gilt-framed glasses were the only truly bright color to her.
“Are you a ghost?” Diana asked. She couldn’t believe she could be so rude as to blurt it out, but she couldn’t help but ask.
“No.” The woman smiled.
Had she become slightly less transparent? Diana squinted. Yes, she was definitely more opaque now. “But why are you...” Diana gestured to her.
“Don’t you know it’s not polite to comment on someone’s opacity?”
“Oh, sorry.”
“Just kidding. Well, not really. But I’m not a ghost—they’re creepy. All that oooohhh and chain rattling.” The woman shuddered. “I’m just...fading.”
“Why?”
“That’s a story for another time. I’m Lea, by the way. Resident historian. Reincarnates often have a hard time accepting what they are, so Aerten thought it would be best if I talked with you as soon as you arrived, since my profession makes me at least a little bit familiar to you.”
A fellow historian. Someone who spoke her language, except that she couldn’t understand most of what was coming out of her mouth.
“Reincarnates? And who’s Aerten?” Diana asked.
“A friend of mine—the Celtic goddess of fate. She’s the one who prophesied the return of your soul to Earth. But she’s not allowed to leave Otherworld often, so she comes to earth only if she’s had a particularly interesting vision. I’m filling in just for this bit of convincing.”
The ground felt like it had dropped out from beneath Diana’s feet. Panic began to claw at her frayed, and hard-won, control. It pushed aside the fear that had been lingering at the corner of her mind and demanded answers to the ten things in Lea’s statement that she didn’t understand.
“Convincing? What, that I’m a reincarnate? As in, I’ve lived before?” That was ridiculous, but even so, her legs began to tremble.
The woman drifted to a plush chair behind the broad dining table that served as her desk, indicating that Diana should sit in the chair opposite. “Exactly. You were born Diana Laughton, twenty-nine years ago this past August. But long before that, your soul was born for the first time into another body.”
Diana was glad she’d taken the seat. “You’re joking.”
“Of course I’m not. You, Diana Laughton, are a reborn soul. A reincarnate. There are very few people like you. I’ve only met one other in my three thousand years of life.”
She had to be exaggerating. This was madness. She didn’t look a day over thirty. “Three thousand years?”
“Well, yes, but that’s enough about me. You’re the person of interest here. How could it be impossible that you are a reincarnate? Look at the tattoo on your wrist. You can feel it and see it with your own eyes, and it led you to this place, in a roundabout way.” Lea’s brow furrowed; her tone suggested she was thinking of the attacks on Diana, which were still a sore subject due to the fact that the bruises were beginning to appear on her arms.
“You sent those monsters?”
“Of course not. We sent your rescuer. Tea? You look a bit worn out, and a bit of tea helps everything.” A silver tea service appeared to her left. No poof of magic, noise, or light had accompanied its arrival, making Diana wonder if she’d just missed it sitting there all along.
Lea didn’t wait for a response, but poured the tea, adding a drop of milk and one of the smaller, broken sugar cubes, exactly as Diana liked it. She didn’t have the strength to dwell on how the odd fading figure sitting across from her knew about that little tidbit, and instead sipped her tea.
“My rescuer?” The caveman who had all but thrown her over his shoulder and kidnapped her? “That madman is the good guy?”
In which case this ghostlike figure was the good gal, which seemed a bit of a leap at the moment. She didn’t look like a monster, but she did look crafty.
“Of course. Cadan is your guardian, assigned to watch over you.”
“Watch over me? Why? And why am I even here?” Frustration was quickly being replaced by exhaustion. She just wanted a nap. No. Buck up, buttercup. This is not the time to be napping.
“To remember who you were and to accomplish what you must.”
“What I must?”
“Precisely. Whatever you were reborn for. You’ve already experienced catalyzing events back in America. Soon, something will jog your memory and you’ll remember your past and the task that you were reborn to accomplish. But enough of that. Go on now—Cadan will meet you in the morning so that he can keep you safe while you do so.”
“Cadan? The bodyguard?” The thought exhausted her even more. She didn’t want to see him again.
“Guardian. Cadan is a Mythean Guardian. He works for the Praesidium, the department that protects us. Now off to bed with you—that tea is beginning to make you drowsy and it is best if you’re in bed before it takes full effect.”
It was the last thing Diana heard before she collapsed back into her chair.
CHAPTER SIX
Esha opened her eyes in her flat at the university, shaking so hard that her knees felt like they’d give out. Thank the gods for her ability to aetherwalk with the Chairman. Traveling through the aether that filled the space between earth and the afterworlds normally didn’t take so much out of her, but after what she’d witnessed down there, it was no surprise.
“Oh, Chairman, what the fuck wa
s that?” Her voice was unnaturally high, frightened even. She hated hearing it. How was she supposed to be tough if she sounded like a scared little girl? Shameful.
The Chairman didn’t respond. What could he say, after all? Meow? The familiar earthy scent of the plants she kept throughout the room didn’t soothe her as it usually did, and though the moonlight that shone through the windows on every wall banished some of the gloom, her terror lingered, crawling over her skin with sharp little claws.
Hell. Oh, hell. She’d never seen shadows that big. Shadows always accompanied a soul or a body or a ghost. But there had been nothing but the writhing, snaking, endless black of evil.
She stalked to the southeast window and yanked it open so that she could lean out and squint toward Edinburgh. The city was barely visible from her tower, perched high above the university to the northwest of the bustling metropolis. Sparkling lights in the distance revealed nothing out of the ordinary.
She imagined the many people going about their business, blissfully unaware of what lay under their feet. Stupid, happy, smiling people opened their doors to friends invited over for dinner parties, welcoming them into the light and brightness of their homes. Children sprinted through the streets, desperate to make it in before curfew, while others loitered with friends around parks and shops without a care. Stupid, happy people with no idea what was going on beneath them.
But nothing looked out of the ordinary, at least from what she could see. It wasn’t like there was a great cloud of evil shadows billowing up from the sewers, power flickering out and the screams of the damned echoing as hell reached its greedy talons up to drag them down. She huffed out a breath, then whirled away from the window. Damn it.
She glared at the cat, who lounged in the center of the room, deeply unconcerned as always. “Couldn’t you be a little worried?”
Not that it would make a difference. She didn’t know what was going on in the underground and the Chairman didn’t know or care, which left only one option.
She’d have to tell somebody, and she knew just the person. Somebody she didn’t particularly want to talk to because she always put her foot in her mouth around him, but whom she’d be quite happy to stare at for a while.
Decided, she headed out the door in pursuit of her prey. It took her less than five minutes to run down the narrow, spiral staircase that led from her tower and across the rolling, oak-studded lawn that surrounded the university buildings to reach the main section of the campus.
Esha drew her jacket closer; the night had grown colder and the heavy rainclouds that had hovered over Edinburgh threatening to unleash their burden had finally started to spit minuscule drops of rain. She passed a lone figure in the distance, hunched and draped in flowing robes and digging a large hole beneath an oak. Weirdos.
Soon, she arrived at Warren’s office door. She gripped the knob, took a deep breath, and silently called the Chairman to her. He appeared as shadow, and since he seemed inclined to stay that way, she swung open the door without knocking.
And there, jerked out of a nap on the couch, was the man she’d wanted since the first time she’d set foot on the university’s campus ten years ago. She saw him around campus rarely and spoke to him less. He avoided her like everyone else did, but she wondered if it was for a different reason.
From what she could tell, he kept to himself and focused almost all of his energy on work. Whereas her isolation was forced on her by others—their loss—his was self-imposed. He was the only person she knew who was more isolated than herself, and it intrigued her.
“What the hell?” Warren’s voice was rough from sleep, his shirt only partially buttoned and disheveled. He rose to his feet and his startled gaze met hers. “Do you no’ know how to knock?”
His sandy hair was mussed, there were dark circles under his eyes, and the hand that he dragged through his hair only made the problem worse.
“Hello, vampire.” She knew she poked at him, but he made her feel awkward, and feeling awkward always led to her mouth running away from her.
“I’m no’ a damn vampire, and you know it.” He eyed the cat circling her ankles; the Chairman ignored him.
“I figure if I keep guessing, I’ll hit the nail on the head eventually.” Actually, she was almost sure even he didn’t know what species he was. Mythean, for sure. But exactly which kind...
“What do you want, witch?” His tone was acid on her skin and she ignored the jab. She didn’t flinch, but it was close. Practice made perfect.
Anyway, she’d started flinging barbs first, even if she did regret it now. The instinct to push people away before they could do it to her—which they inevitably did because of her species—was deeply ingrained. Sometimes she even observed herself doing it, as if she were standing outside of her body and watching herself do the porcupine routine, all while screaming No, stop! Act normal!
Warren crossed the room to his desk, its vast surface covered with books, papers, small weapons, and various odds and ends that she couldn’t identify. He quickly buttoned the rest of his shirt as he walked and she mourned the lost view of the muscles that played subtly beneath his skin.
Only his strong throat and the delta-shaped hollow beneath remained uncovered. She dragged her eyes from it, meeting his slate-blue ones—eyes the color of the stones she’d collected as a girl on long, solo beach walks. The look in them was about as soft as the stones had been.
“There’s a problem. In the underground.” Her voice was harsh, like that of an angry outcast high school girl who had a crush on a jock but didn’t know how to talk to him. Gods, who was she kidding? She was that girl. She felt a scowl scrunch her face.
The black mist that snaked around his ankles drew her eye. They were the shadows of evil deeds, visible only to a soulceress. Normally, she’d only see them on rogues or other evil beings. On them, the shadows hovered like a black mist. But on Warren, they hovered around his ankles, like they couldn’t stick to him.
Why? Was it because she couldn’t see his soul? She’d heard of some Mytheans who used magic to hide theirs. Because a Mythean’s power originated from his soul, it was closely guarded, even hidden at times. The whys of his shadows intrigued her.
“What kind?” He rested a hip on the side of his desk, crossing his arms. His eyes had grown alert at the mention of a threat.
“Well...” She tried to think of a way to describe what she’d seen, what it had made her feel, but came up short. “Honestly, I don’t know what it was. Neither did the Chairman.”
“Your cat dinna know what it was?” He arched a brow.
“I’d suggest that you not underestimate him.” She left it at that, knowing that the Chairman would handle the slight to his honor if he were so inclined. It was doubtful that he cared anyway, what with being a cat. “I was in the underground beneath New Town. Around Princess Park, specifically.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “The dead zone? You shouldn’t be there. Why did you go?”
Mytheans rarely went to the dead zone unless they had an inclination to break the laws of both the mortal and the supernatural realms. She went there to hunt rogues or to steal the soul power of those she didn’t have to feel guilty taking it from, generally demons and other unsavory elements of their society. But Warren didn’t have to know that.
Warren watched Esha, unable to look away. What was it about this American soulceress that got to him? She was all contrasts. Light and dark, soft and hard. An enigma as always, with her damn cat constantly at her heels.
Her abilities intrigued him. She intrigued him, with her couldn’t-give-a-shite attitude, and the heaviness that occasionally crept into her amber eyes. He’d made a point to look for it on the rare occasions he saw her. What put the shadows in those haunting eyes?
She was hell on his celibacy and peace of mind. Most things in life he could pack into neat boxes in his head so he could get a moment of peace. But Esha defied boxes. He did his damnedest to avoid her because of it. He’d been pretty succes
sful, until now.
It was one thing to change his route when he saw her from afar or to avoid places he knew she’d be. But standing right across from her, so close that he could breathe her soap-clean scent, made keeping his eyes off her an impossible task.
She dragged a hand through her midnight hair, mussing the utilitarian ponytail she forced it into. “I went to the underground because I was hunting rogues. That’s what the university hired me to do, remember? But I felt something off. So we went to check it out.”
Alone? With a house cat for company?
The irritable animal hissed at him as if it sensed his thoughts. Esha had never been afraid of anything in the decade he’d known her. She wouldn’t have hesitated before heading into the underground. The woman had a shell as hard as granite and balked at nothing.
“We looked around for a while, went through most of the tunnels on the north side, until we reached a huge chamber, the one located under the statue of Sir Walter Scott in the park. There was an enormous group of shadows. Fucking huge evil shadows. But there was no one, alive or dead, in the area. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Was that fear in her voice? Not possible. Not from what he knew of Esha. “What do you mean, evil shadows?”
“Come on. Don’t give me that. You know what I can do.”
He did. She could see the evil in people’s souls as shadows.
What did she see in the blank space where his soul should be? He knew she could see the shadows of the evil that he’d committed. It made him wary as hell and was another of the reasons he avoided her. Although she didn’t care what anyone thought of her, he did. He’d worked hard to regain his honor. To do right in the world. He hadn’t yet succeeded and probably never would, but he didn’t know how to deal with the fact that she saw the truth of him. It made him itchy.
“If there were no people—or ghosts—in the area, where did the shadows come from?” he asked.
