Touched with Sight (Shadow Thane)

by Nenia Campbell

  Her heart froze. That voice. It was the same as the voice on David's message. The one that had said, “Take him out.” Mr. Bordello was a Slayer…and he had killed David. She knew this without a doubt.

  Revenge. Predator's voice was a caress in her ear. He killed our pride member. Now he must die.

  She went taut with restraint, her fingers going white as she clenched her hands on the desk. And then what? By killing, she'd sink down to their level. Plus, she was in a room full of his devout followers. Even Chase was looking at him with an expression akin to love. Whatever brainwashing technique he used had worked. She didn't think the members would let her kill him and live.

  Her brain filled with a wordless growl of fury; a beast who has scented a trail of blood, only to find a dead end. Predator thought she was a spineless wimp. Maybe she was. But at least she was still alive.

  Alex leaned closer, putting his hand on her desk. Close, so close to her own. There were two bands around his fingers, both black. Pride members. Shape-shifters.

  Don't let him touch you! Prey cried out. Don't let him smell the fear!

  Catherine quickly and obediently moved her hands to her lap.

  “What's wrong with your eyes?”

  She blinked and looked away. “Eyelash.”

  “I could swear they just …” He trailed off and shook his head. “Must have imagined it,” he said lightly. “It doesn't matter. Hope you enjoy the meeting.”

  Predator growled. Catherine gave a slight nod. Shit.

  Other students started to arrive as the big hand on the clock swept closer to six, Ashley and Sharon among them. They greeted her and the witch effusively, putting an end to the interrogation. Alex greeted the new arrivals with enthusiasm, forgetting all about Catherine and the witch. For the moment. Ryan gave them an odd look before he, too, turned to speak to the others.

  The panther and the lion were not easily fooled.

  Catherine spent the entirety of the meeting doodling in her notebook. She was afraid that the moment the instructor met her eyes he would see her for what she was. He had found David. David was smart—far smarter than she. How hard would it be for Mr. Bordello to see right through her poorly-constructed facade?

  Not that he would do anything in a room full of witnesses. Human witnesses, at that. Slayers weren't stupid. But how easy would it be for him to go into the office and check her records. To find out where she lived. Who her friends were. He would immediately see that she wasn't a good student. A story could be constructed about how she ran away from home. Perhaps with her “new boyfriend,” who would also disappear. The other students would believe it. Her parents wouldn't, of course, but they could easily be silenced.

  She looked down, letting her long hair slide forward in two dark sheaves, concealing her face. Gods, she could already see it happening.

  But it won't, said Predator. You have the advantage. You already know what they are and what to do. Enemies are still trying to decide.

  Were they? Catherine hazarded another look at Ryan through the screen of her hair. He was still watching. She sucked in air and lowered her eyes. Beside her, the witch grabbed her hand. Squeezing too hard to be affectionate. An electrifying jolt pulsed through her body, setting her nerves ablaze, as it battered into her mind with the force of a bursting dam.

  —dark alley—somewhere colder than California, thick fog rolling into the scummy alcove—footsteps, frantically pounding against the cement. Too big, from the floppy sound. A spark of flame lit up the alley, slicing the fog and illuminating the face of the running man.

  Younger. With a different haircut. But still recognizable. The lion. Alex.

  As she watched, his terror gave way to a dark satisfaction. Another man was in the alley. Tall, lissome. Deadly. A predator. He was wearing leather pants, heavy with silver chains, and a leather jacket fastened to the throat with silver buckles. In his hand, an iron athamé, lined with silver, with a black bog-wood handle. He turned slowly, his lips parted into a savage sneer. Mr. Bordello.

  “Slit their throats.”

  She was looking into someone's memories. The witch's memories. In a back-alley in London.

  Catherine jerked her now-sweaty hand out of his grip. Mercifully the connection faded. The witch didn't look at her, but she saw him stiffen; the only sign of his unease. She wondered if he had felt it, too. If he suspected. If he even knew what had just happened.

  No. If the witch suspected she could read his thoughts, it would be over before she could even explain herself. He would kill her. He had made it quite clear that her circumstances depended entirely on whether or not she became a liability. And what greater danger was there than someone who could listen in on every thought? Every move? Anticipate every action in advance?

  He'd be Prey, Predator said, whispering the words that had eluded her. Easy Prey.

  Maybe she'd imagined it. Maybe what she'd thought had just happened hadn't actually happened. She could hope so.

  Hysteria had given rise to stranger things.

  Ryan was watching. She narrowed her eyes at him, staring hard until he looked away.

  And then the meeting ended.

  “That was so cool,” Sharon squealed. “Everyone there was so friendly! And pizza parties every month. Thank God they stay so active.” She grinned. “What did you think of Mr. Bordello?”

  The pain came unexpectedly: acute and sudden. She flinched, her hand going to her arm.

  “Catherine?” Ashley frowned. “Is something wrong with your arm?”

  A wave of nausea hit her like a tidal wave. She swayed dangerously. Sharon backed away from her as she fell, giving Catherine time to speculate how badly it would hurt when her face slammed against the floor. She sucked in a breath for a scream that never came. Her body braced itself; but she never hit the ground. The witch had caught her.

  Her clammy hands slipped against his skin, which felt strange. Waxy, almost. Like a leaf. And cold. Too cold. Not like ice but notably cooler than a normal human. As if he'd been standing out on a cold, dark night long enough to absorb some of the chill.

  A frisson of distaste rippled over her skin, eliciting goosebumps.

  She felt his hand lifting her arm, slinging it around his neck. To support her weight better. But also giving her a good glimpse of her hand. There was a small, circular red mark on the back of it, about the size and circumference of a nickel.

  “What,” she whispered, “But only silver could—” She stopped.

  A small crowd had gathered around them, Mr. Bordello included. Alex was speaking to him in an urgent aside and he was nodding, without taking his eyes of them. Off the witch. Off her.

  They knew.

  “Do you need some water?” Ashley asked, looking worried and helpless.

  “Water would be nice.” Her voice sounded just scratchy enough to be convincing.

  Sharon was beginning to look uneasy. “Should we call a doctor?”

  “Let her be,” Mr. Bordello said. “It was probably just an allergic reaction to something in the classroom.”

  He wouldn't want her going to a doctor and risk slipping through his clutches.

  All the voices faded, as if she was listening with a receiver that had a bad connection. Her concentration narrowed, until all she could think about was Ryan. Ryan, who had been watching her all night, like a scientist studying a new and particularly dangerous breed of animal. Ryan, who had been walking close behind her as they left the classroom.

  And now that she thought about it—thought hard—she had felt someone brush against her arm before the nausea set in. Oh no. She told herself not to look, not to be ridiculous. But she looked anyway.

  Ryan was still there. Still watching. He glanced at her, with those dark blue eyes, before slipping his hand into his coat pocket. And just before his hand disappeared, she caught the flash of metal. Because he'd wanted her to see he'd been wearing a silver ring.

  She sank back against the witch, feeling light-headed with panic.r />
  “Let me send one of my students with you to accompany you to your car,” Mr. Bordello was saying. “Alex, would you be willing to go with Catherine and her friends? Make sure they're all right?”

  She hadn't told him her name.

  “Sure, Mr. B.,” he said. “Where did you park your car?”

  “She parked up front,” answered the witch, when she did not.

  How were they doing it? How were they killing the Others? It had to be somewhere on campus. There were shades here. And they only occupied places associated with death. But…she would have smelled the blood, and none of the classrooms she'd been in had carried that distinctive—

  Wait.

  None of the classrooms she had ever been in.

  What was the one class she couldn't take?

  Gym.

  They were killing Others in the school gym.

  She was remarkably calm, even managing to joke and laugh with her friends as they walked through the dark parking lot with Alex shadowing them like a wraith. It was as if all the blood in her veins had been replaced with Novocaine. She felt like she was floating—and right below were dozens of spikes waiting to lance her through if she fell.

  Still smiling, she leaned close to the witch and whispered, “They're doing it in the gym.”

  “Are you sure?” he said in response, keeping his voice low enough that only she could hear it.

  “Almost positive.” Catherine kept her eyes straight ahead. “It's the only classroom I never go near. And I know they're doing it on campus because of the shades.”

  The witch gave a small nod.

  “Goodnight,” Sharon said, with a hearty wave. “See you tomorrow Catherine—Finn.”

  Catherine almost laughed.

  “I hope you feel better,” said Ashley.

  “She's in good hands,” said Alex, and that wiped the smile clean off Catherine's face.

  And then, when they could no longer hear the chatter of her friends, Alex turned back. All the friendliness immediately left him. “Right. Let's drop the charade. I know you aren't human.”

  Both of them took a step forward at the same time.

  Alex pulled out an athamé similar to the one she'd seen in that vision. “So why don't you both tell me who—and what—you really are, and what your business is here, before things get difficult?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The witch had been supporting Catherine's weight all this time but he released her the moment the Slayer pulled the knife on the two of them.

  She was still feeling queasy from the effects of the silver—it must have been very pure, to have such a terrible effect. With effort, she steeled herself and stood her ground. Don't look weak, she told herself.

  “I'm waiting,” Alex said. “You—” he pointed at her with the knife, and her attention snapped rigidly to the blade. She felt foolish for thinking they could pull off this ridiculous heist without getting into some kind of fight. It was as inescapable as her blood.

  She looked away from the knife long enough to meet his eyes. Still feeling too sick to speak, she arched an eyebrow and opted for strong silence.

  “You're a shape-shifter.” His voice buzzed in the darkness. “Back there your eyes shifted over for a moment. Went all crazy yellow and shit. You're some kind of giant cat.”

  Catherine said nothing. He was wrong, of course, but there was no point in correcting him. She glanced at the witch, hoping he wouldn't betray her secret.

  “It doesn't matter, anyway,” Alex was saying. “Your blood is worthless. You're just an ordinary, run-of-the-mill shifter. Vampire bait. I don't understand why Mr. Bordello has any interest in you at all.”

  Mr. Bordello had an interest in her? Catherine repressed a shudder. Why? What did he know?

  What if he got to the Trans and they betrayed me?

  Alex didn't elaborate on his threat. He had turned to face the witch. “As for you—I've seen you before.”

  “Have you?” the witch asked. A strange lilt seeped into his voice. Some kind of accent she couldn't place.

  Alex tensed, but he wasn't provoked into attacking. Unlike me, she thought sourly, remembering the duel in her bedroom that had gotten her into this mess.

  She shifted her weight and Alex glared at her with wary readiness, tightening his grip on the knife.

  Formidable, Predator said. Not easily distracted.

  So much for running.

  “One of our men went missing.” The dagger pointed back to the witch. “Was that your doing?”

  The witch, too, opted for silence, staring at the Slayer as unblinkingly as his familiar.

  Alex looked discomfited by the silence, no doubt used to insults and pleas. His eyes flicked from her to the witch. Searching for the weakest target, she thought. And deep down, she knew who he was going to choose even before he lunged at her with the blade. She was not weak, but people persisted in seeing her this way for reasons beyond her control, constantly forcing her to prove herself time and again. Fuck.

  Silver gleamed in the light of the gibbous moon as the clouds parted to shed silvery beams of light over the parking lot. Catherine had already half-Changed.

  By the time the Slayer's dagger reached the space where her human heart had been seconds before, his target had moved several feet lower.

  Changing was instinctive, like flinching. Shape-shifters automatically shifted whenever they found themselves in a dangerous situation. One of the first lessons shape-shifter children learned when adapting themselves to society was to curb these impulses.

  Maybe, thought Catherine, that's a bad thing.

  Predator took over, hijacking Catherine's brain with the mountain lion's consciousness as she and the Slayer struggled. A wise choice on her part, even if it was subconscious: the Slayer was expecting a big cat. She couldn't let him find out that she wasn't settled.

  Alex was not a small man, but a ninety-eight pound mass of jagged teeth and claws was difficult to fend off even when prepared and she had caught the Slayer off-guard with her sudden pounce. She'd had to, because if he managed to cut her with that knife she would revert to her human form.

  She knocked him to the ground, breathing sour breath into his face. The Slayer's mouth and eyes screwed into an expression of fear and disgust. Mostly fear, she thought. His pulse throbbed in her head, clashing with her own. His knife, she noticed, was now several feet away. Useless. He was Prey.

  Predator eyed his throat with interest. Easy to tear. But it might be fun to bat him around a little, he was squirming in such an interesting way. How easily would his limbs detach with a little encouraging? He would be easier to eat if he was in pieces.

  The phantom taste of meat and hot, gushing blood filled the mountain lion's maw, and she snapped and snarled, filled with the desire to sate her empty belly.

  No, Catherine said. Don't eat him!

  That was a foolish thought, and the mountain lion wasn't about to pay it any mind. If she didn't kill the creature now, he would go after her pride members.

  He had to die.

  Not by your hand.

  The mountain lion paused. Hand?

  Paw. Whatever. Don't do it. Don't kill him.

  Sensing her hesitation, the Slayer sneered. The delay had given him a false sense of confidence. “What's this? A shape-shifter who can't kill?”

  “I wouldn't provoke her,” the witch said. “You took one of her kind. It's made her…touchy.”

  He was standing on the sidelines, watching the proceedings, and had made no move to intervene. Catherine was furious with him, but the mountain lion was pleased. This was her territory. Hers. Not his.

  “Let me guess,” Alex said. “The chink shape-shifter. What was his name? Daniel? No. David?”

  She growled warningly, letting her paw press harder against his throat. His skin yielded temptingly. All it would take was one tear to feel the blood. Taste it, hot and salty and vital, filling her mouth in quick gushes. The perfect complement to warm, raw meat.
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br />   No.

  “Don't waste your breath,” Alex said. “David's vampire bait, if he isn't dead already. He wasn't very cooperative. Forced us to get rougher than usual.”

  Her eyes flared. No, Catherine thought. Please, no.

  “We didn't want to put him down.”

  Put him down. As if he were a rabid dog.

  “He was very well connected, your David. But he drove us to it by going psychotic when we asked him about you. He wounded several people in the car. One of them is in the emergency ward. The doctors aren't sure he'll ever be able to see again.”

  Alex said this as if he expected a show of remorse. He didn't get one. He shook his head.

  “The others had to get rabies shots. I'm sure you think it was unfortunate what happened to him. But really, this is exactly why your kind needs to be destroyed. You're blood-thirsty menaces.”

  The witch said something under his breath. Something that sounded like, “Amen.”

  A high, keening sound came out of the mountain lion's mouth. David. Dead. Killed. Because of her.

  Predator cried with her, just as distraught as Catherine. But it was a different kind of sorrow, tinged with anger, vengeance, and the price of blood.

  He has to die.

  “You'll see him soon,” Alex promise, struggling anew. “In whatever afterlife it is that you heathens believe in. You and your family and your witch.”

  The mountain lion's eyes narrowed. Saw his hand, as if in slow motion, close around the athamé, which he had been stretching towards this whole time. She dug her teeth into his arm, sinking them in deep, severing muscle tissue and nerve endings, and with a jerk of her head, sent arm and knife alike flying off to the side. The human screamed, an irritating sound, as blood spurted from the arteries and dangling veins. The white knob of bone was a startling white amidst all that red, and the yellow patches of fat.

  All she could smell or taste was hot, coppery blood. She snarled again, and sank her fangs into his throat, silencing him for good. More blood spurted out from his severed jugular, splashing her muzzle. He gurgled, trying to speak—or perhaps just to scream—and more blood seeped out. She shook him violently until she heard the snap of his neck.