Nascent Shadow (Temporal Armistice Book 1)

by Matthew S. Cox

  “How―?” I look up again, and he’s gone. I lose a few seconds twisting left and right, searching the alley, but I’m alone with my tits. “Crap.”

  A scuffing sound makes me turn.

  Ashley peeks at me from around the corner, face, and one leg visible. Her straight brown hair hangs down to her knee. Red rings her eyes, and she shivers, but she doesn’t seem frightened. For a second, we stare at each other. The girl steps out into view, a wad of paper towels in her left hand, black cloth in her right. Her flip-flops drag as she tiptoes over to me and offers the clump of towels.

  “I brought you a shirt from your ‘partment. Your door’s open,” says the girl, her voice barely over a whisper.

  I accept the gift and wipe the blood off my chest, somewhat. No sense putting on a shirt now since I’m covered in sticky. Still, I take it. “Thank you.”

  She breaks eye contact, looking down for a moment before sneaking a glance at the char mark. Ashley swallows hard, shudders once, and drags her gaze back up to meet mine. “You killed him.”

  “He’s not going to hurt you.”

  Ashley flings herself into a hug and bursts into tears.

  Shit. I’ve got ‘child’ on me. I grimace, not quite sure how to react to the situation.

  One thing, I do know.

  I need to get inside before someone sees me. Half-naked woman covered in blood with someone else’s little girl? Yeah, that’s going to take some explaining.

  shley’s sobbing wanes to staccato sniffling breaths. She peers up at me and, with a look of total innocence, asks, “Do I have to unsummon you now?”

  I hold back the laugh. “Gimme a sec, kid. I’m not wearing a shirt and I’m covered in blood. Need to go inside.”

  “But I brought your shirt.” She tilts her head.

  “It’s going to take more than a couple paper towels to clean this. I don’t want to ruin one of the few articles of clothing I have, especially after you picked it for me.” I pat her on the head. “Thank you for the towels.”

  Hell with it. She’s already seen me, and thinks I’m a demon.

  “Come on.” I pick her up, sprout wings, and carry her up six stories to the sliding door I smashed.

  Ashley squeals, mostly from shock, but the sound coming out of her shifts to an almost cheer as we land. Ouch. Broken glass plus bare feet stings. I heel-walk into the living room. Thankfully, all the glass is outside on the balcony. After setting the girl down on her feet, I sit and pull tiny shards out of my soles. The fragments are already creeping up, forced away as my skin mends, so the process is quick and painful.

  “Wow. Does that hurt?” Ashley squats nearby to stare at my bleeding foot as the wounds close.

  “Yep. It hurts a lot. You shouldn’t walk over broken glass without shoes on, ‘kay?”

  She looks up at me again. “Frank wanted to do something bad to me, didn’t he?”

  “Yep.” I use the towels she brought me to wipe my feet before standing. No sense tracking blood around the carpet. “Don’t ask what. I’m not going to explain it to you until you’re older.”

  Ashley looks down. “I know. I saw Frank and Mommy together before. She said they were ‘wrestling.’”

  Ugh. This poor kid. Apparently, I’m still in my patrolling my trailer park from creeps in giant white cars mindset. “Where’s your mom?”

  “Work.” She fidgets. “I tried to hide in my room, but he said he’d tell Mom I was bad if I didn’t sit with him.”

  I take her hand. “Come on. I can’t leave you alone.” We head out the broken door (which is stuck in the wall) and go left to my apartment. Once we’re inside, I close the door and lead her to the sofa. “Can you sit there and not break anything while I clean up?”

  She nods and starts to settle in, but twists around to stare at me over the sofa back as I walk off. “Hey, wait. I’m the mage, and you’re the summoned minion. Why are you telling me what to do?”

  “I’m not a demon. I just kinda look like one.”

  Ashley gives me a suspicious squint.

  “Are you scared of me?”

  She shakes her head.

  “There. You know I’m not a demon. If I was a demon, you’d be afraid of me because demons are evil, and little kids can feel that.”

  She blinks, unimpressed.

  “Besides. A demon wouldn’t have stopped Frank.”

  The child tilts her head at me.

  “Right. Just sit there for a moment, please?”

  Ashley twists back to face forward and flops out of sight. “‘Kay.”

  I hurry another shower to get rid of the blood. So much crimson comes out of my hair, I keep looking up for a wiseass pouring blood on my head from a bottle. Eventually, I’m clean, dry, and dressed. I put on the black shirt she brought me with the same skirt as before, plus black-and-white striped leggings. Also, combat boots. Fuck glass. Ouch.

  Ashley’s still on the sofa where I left her. Amazing. But then again, it only took me about twelve minutes.

  “Do you know your mother’s number?” I pull out my phone.

  “Yeah.” She recites it.

  I dial. It rings ten times and goes to voicemail. Second try, same result. The third time I call, Tracy answers after two rings.

  “Who the hell is this, and where did you get my number?”

  Everyone assumes some secret government agency is listening to cellular phone calls, so I play it vague. “Tracy?”

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “Nice to meet you too. Look, I live next door to you. Found your daughter alone. Your asshole boyfriend threw a chair or something out your patio door. Not sure where he is.”

  Tracy’s quiet for a long few minutes. “Umm. Uhh. Is Ashley okay?”

  “I guess you know there’s a reason she might not be.” I can’t hide the venom in my voice.

  “She’s never liked him. I didn’t want to leave him alone with her, but I didn’t have a choice. Please, tell me he hasn’t hit her?”

  “Ashley’s fine. You’ll need to call the super about your front door. It’s a bit damaged.”

  She coughs. “The front door, too? What happened?”

  “No idea. Found the kid standing in the hallway.” I wink at Ashley, who nods. “You’re at work?”

  “Yeah,” says Tracy. “‘Nother three hours. Look, I can get out.”

  It’s almost noon. Couple hours won’t be that bad. I can still make it to Mom’s. “If it’s gonna cost you money, I can keep an eye on her until you’re done.”

  “Wow… uhh. I don’t even know you, but… Thanks. Can I talk to her?” asks Tracy.

  “Yeah. Sure.” I hand the mobile to the kid and mutter, “I don’t trust phones. We’ll tell her what really happened when she’s here.”

  Ashley nods and grabs the phone. “Hi, Mom.”

  She takes my paranoia to heart. The kid evades questions like a senator. Once she convinces her mother she’s okay with me, she hands the phone back.

  “I’ll try to get out an hour early or so,” says Tracy. “Thanks, I owe you.”

  “We’ll talk when you’re back.”

  Something in my tone makes her hesitate for a few seconds. “Okay.”

  Two and change hours pass. Mostly, we watch TV, and I order pizza for lunch. Poor kid eats half the pie. I revisit my opinion on wanting kids. Hanging out with them past a certain age, not so bad―as long as they’re someone else’s. I can deal with the babysitting thing. Diapers, tantrums, bedtime, sickness? Bleh. Not my job.

  The doorbell rings at 2:49 p.m. Ashley’s still laughing at the last joke I made about the purple cartoon gorilla on the screen, so I leave her to the show and get the door. It’s Tracy. She’s wearing a Starbucks shirt and black pants. Wow. Amazing she’s making rent. Then again, this building’s not exactly high end. Random shootings around here do wonders for making it affordable.

  “Umm, hi,” says Tracy.

  I take a step back. “C’mon in. We need to talk.”

 
She enters, craning her neck while looking around until she spots a bit of light brown hair poking over the top of the sofa back. “Thanks for watching her.”

  “Frank was attempting to rape her,” I mutter.

  Tracy starts to walk past me. “He just yells a lot.”

  I grab the woman by the arm. “You’re not listening to me.”

  My strength shocks her blank-faced. She glances at my hand on her left bicep for a second before lifting her head to make eye contact. “He’s not a bad guy. You just need to know how to handle him. He gets in his moods.”

  “He’s not getting into any more moods. Your front door’s busted because I kicked it in. He had her pinned between his knees. I caught him trying to rip her dress off.”

  She stares at me. “No… He’s not like that. He’s a little short tempered, but…”

  “Tracy.” I glare. My horns come out and I let my eyes change to glowing pools of energy that tint her blonde hair green, her pale face blue. “It’s not angels who answer little kids’ prayers.”

  Tracy about faints.

  I go back to normal. “I’m kidding, but now that I have your attention.” I explain again about barging in, and tell her exactly what happened to Frank. (Without the gory details.)

  “Y-you’re serious?” Tracy trembles. “He really…?”

  “Yeah. The walls are thin. You need to start thinking more about that daughter of yours.” Surprise radiates from her. She never imagined he’d try to attack Ashley like that, but she did expect some physical violence. “You left her there with him figuring you’d come home to what? Broken arm? Broken jaw?”

  Tracy stares at the floor. “What am I supposed to do? I can’t bring her to work. I can’t leave her alone.”

  “You’re her mother. You’ll figure something out.” I soften my tone. “Look, if you ever get stuck in a situation like that again, tell me. I’ll send the bastard on his way.”

  She looks at me like a deer stranded in the middle of a six-lane highway.

  Hey girl, you’re the one who had a kid at eighteen or nineteen or whatever. Sure, I rolled those dice too (at sixteen) but got lucky and didn’t wind up preggo. Guess I shouldn’t hold it against her. But hell, if I’d had a kid? I think Mom would’ve exploded from disappointment… then peeled herself off the walls and taken care of both of us. Mom. Yeah. She’s superhumanly patient.

  “I suppose I can watch her if I’m here, but I work, too.”

  Tracy rubs her hands up and down her arms. “I guess I can figure something out. Uhh, thanks.”

  “Mom!” yells Ashley, finally noticing her here. She runs over and clings.

  The woman sinks to her knees and breaks down crying, arms wrapped around her daughter. Ashley holds on, also sniffling, but looks happy.

  “She saved me,” says Ashley. “He was gonna ‘wrestle’ me, but Brook stopped him.”

  Tracy cringes, but can’t stop crying.

  “I’ll… call the super for you.” I wander over to the kitchen to give them some privacy.

  All my threats both veiled and pointy didn’t do as much to Tracy as when Ashley said she’d rather stay in my place than go home. I guess no mother wants to hear their kid say they don’t feel safe around them and prefer the company of a total stranger. Fortunately, the kid didn’t put up too much of an argument after I assured her that everyone makes mistakes, and this time, her mother learned from it.

  Those two need some serious mother-daughter time.

  As do I.

  It is, admittedly, tempting to fly myself up to Allentown, but not during the day. At best, I wind up getting classified as a ‘magical creature,’ and have to register… which brings into question a lot of things like, would I be allowed to have a job at all, much less be part of the fire department? At worst, some religious wingnut thinks I’m really a demon and tries to kill me. I laugh at the idea of a wild-eyed hillbilly waving a cross at me as if it would do something.

  Maybe I could claim to have a magical trinket that makes wings. That’s not completely unheard of, but it’s still hassle I don’t need to deal with. So, a little after six, Saturday evening, I take a Lyft to a PEPTA station and drop twelve bucks on a portal service to Allentown. While stepping through a hole in reality is instant, I get stuck in a waiting area until there’s ‘enough customers’ ready to go before the portal mage bothers to get off his ass.

  I almost snicker at his outfit, a strange marriage of blue ‘conductor’s uniform’ with wizard’s robes. The hat like a little round cake is the perfect touch of ridiculous. As long as I live, I will never understand why some mages insist on the whole robes thing. It’s 2017, for shit’s sake. So what if they wore robes when magic was discovered? We used to murder each other with flintlocks and muskets, and they’ve been upgraded.

  Sometimes, it’s fun to think about what the world might’ve been like without magic. How would we travel long distances or create giant buildings? I suppose doctors would have to do more than treat minor injuries and sicknesses. The Lifemages can fix almost anything, but most are kinda full of themselves and don’t want to be bothered for problems that aren’t deadly, severe, or outside the ability of a mundane to handle. They’re also rare enough that a society with as many people as we’ve produced couldn’t effectively rely on them alone.

  The mage approaches a rounded platform with three tiers, each about the height of a staircase step. He faces the waiting room, calls “Allentown,” and turns toward the platform. While my fellow travelers grab bags and shuffle about to stand, he windmills his arms about and chants in a language I can’t understand. Two tiny dots of glowing blue light rise up out of the topmost section of the platform, tracing lines in the air as they climb in the shape of an archway. The instant they touch, the space between them ripples like a soap bubble before melting away to a view inside the Allentown PEPTA station.

  He continues muttering, one hand poised in a gesture reminiscent of Kung Fu. I guess he’s holding it open or something.

  I follow the group of about twenty into a mostly single-file line. Crossing the portal feels no different from stepping through a door into another room, though we aren’t traveling that far. It must be strange to traverse great distances, walking out of heat into cold or the other way around. Ugh, it would take forever to get used to the time shift.

  Anyway, once in Allentown, I hurry for the station doors, scurrying under a huge vaulted ceiling covered in moving paintings. This month, they’ve gone with a superhero theme. Last time I visited, it had a bunch of old-looking Renaissance style art. Made the station feel more like a cathedral than a public transit hub.

  A long flight of stairs later, I’m at the curb, surrounded by food vendors and new arrivals waiting for taxis, friends, or whatever ride they’ve scrounged up. I do the same, and stand there people-watching for about fifteen minutes until an older guy with a white brush cut pulls up in a minivan. His face matches the portrait of the driver in my Uber app, so I hop in.

  “Hey. I’m Andy. How are you doing?” he asks, smiling.

  “Not bad.” I fidget, trying to get comfortable in a back seat that smells like kids―a mixture of body scent no human can pick up, plus candy, soda, something fruity, and a touch of fart. Must be a boy.

  Nothing in Andy’s intentions sets me on edge, so I relax. Actually, he’s giving off rather comforting vibes. Someone started a rumor awhile back about these private drive startups hiring nutjobs, but really, it’s not like I’ve got to worry about a random perv.

  Andy’s already got Mom’s address from the service, so he starts driving right away. He makes random small talk for a while, and I reply at an almost subconscious level, not really paying attention. Noise to fill the space.

  “Ahh, spring break or something?” He grins.

  I think that came right after I mentioned I was going to see my mother. “Thanks, but I’m not that young.”

  “Oh, sorry.” He chuckles. “You kinda look it, plus no car. Assumed.”

 
“Never got around to buying one. I don’t usually leave Philly, and my job drives me wherever I need to go.”

  “No kidding. That’s handy. Mind if I ask what you do?” White eyebrows tick up a notch in the rearview mirror.

  “I’d ask what you do, but you’re obviously an Uber driver.” I wink. “I work for the city. Firefighter.”

  “No kidding.” He blinks. “Wow. I’d never have guessed that.”

  Yeah of course not. No one does. I’m too ‘pretty’ or too ‘delicate’ or too ‘female’ to possibly be a firefighter, right? Female firefighters are all butch or something. Oh, and probably also lesbians. Since Andy didn’t come off as condescending, I stifle my irritation and keep a pleasant expression.

  “There’s something about fire. Lost my house when I was a kid, and I guess I wanted to help others that sorta thing happened to.”

  He nods. “Nice. Nice. Better that than a cop. No one ever hates seeing firemen show up.”

  “Right.” I glance out the side window at trees blurring by.

  “Oh. Sorry. Firepeople? Didn’t mean to, uhh, you know.” He beats a drum solo on the steering wheel. Awkwardness wafts off him in sheets. “Duh. Firefighters.”

  “Something like that. Look, I’m not one of those women who gets bent out of shape over gender-charged words. Unless you’re trying to say that only men belong slinging hose.”

  He slows for a red light and stops behind a flatbed truck full of logs. It makes him nervous for some reason. What, does he expect one to come flying at us and take his head off? “No, no, not at all. You don’t look like the type of girl to do that sorta thing is all.”

  “What exactly do you expect ‘that type of girl’ to look like?” I ask, eyebrow up.

  Andy laughs. “Ehh. Suppose I’m gonna stick my foot in my mouth if I answer that. I’ll play it safe and say they would look ‘older.’”

  “Wise man.” I grin.