Nascent Shadow (Temporal Armistice Book 1)

by Matthew S. Cox

  “We’re not here about certificates,” I say. “We’re looking to speak to one of the tenants. He isn’t answering his door, and we’re concerned.”

  “Oh.” The old guy pushes his glasses up again, and smiles. “Not here about the certificates?”

  Lawrence shakes his head. “No. We were hoping to check on a tenant of yours.”

  “Is there any way you could let us take a look around in there? It’s related to an ongoing arson investigation.”

  “Oh, sure. Anything for you guys. My grandson’s with a volunteer brigade over in Ardmore.” George walks out from behind the counter. I half-expect to see an enormous wad of keys, but he’s only carrying a white plastic card.

  How ‘bout that? Guess this building is more modern than it looks.

  Lawrence gives me a ‘careful’ look, which gets me to peek at his head. We ain’t cops. This is thin ice. If there’s anything in there, we could get it tossed by going in without a warrant.

  I nod. “Yeah. If we find something, we back out and you get one of your detective friends on the phone.”

  “This ain’t no television show,” says Lawrence as we follow George to the elevator. “Warrants don’t come down that fast unless there’s like a missing kid in imminent danger, and in those cases, no one waits for warrants anyway.”

  “Well, we’ll wing it.” I wink. This time, I don’t mean that literally.

  When we reach Martin Bradstreet’s apartment, George whips out his master keycard and swipes the door open.

  “Someone pays the rent on this unit, but far as I can tell, ain’t almost never anyone there. Fine by me. Less wear and tear on the property. Y’all go on and do what ya need ta do. I’ll be downstairs if y’all need anything.”

  Lawrence stands there radiating unease while George walks off. I shrug and push the door open.

  “Wow,” I say, my voice bouncing off the bare walls.

  The place has an Ikea sofa, a small throw rug, a coffee-table-on-wheels, and little else. I wander in, looking around. Lawrence’s shoes click on the hardwood, echoing. In the kitchen, I find a tiny table and two chairs that probably came with the place. Martin’s got nothing in his fridge but a box of baking soda.

  “No one lives here,” says Lawrence. “Bet the guy keeps the apartment as a place to meet.”

  I close the fridge and start into the hallway toward the bedroom. “You’re probably right. Fridge’s empty.”

  “We’re out of our league.”

  At the bathroom, I peer in. It smells like dust. “How do you figure that?”

  Lawrence appears at the archway between hall and kitchen. “Organized crime? Arsonists and assassins managed by a guy pretending to be a bartender? This is the sort of crap the FBI ought to be dealing with.”

  “I don’t think we’re going to need that warrant. This place looks empty. Bet the bed’s never even been used.” I nose into an immaculate bedroom that also smells like dust. A quick glance around reveals nothing of interest, but a strange feeling comes over me, like the way I can tell when the stereo is on but playing silence. “Hang on. Something’s off.”

  “What?” Lawrence walks up to the door, but doesn’t enter the bedroom.

  I cross the room to the window, sparing only a brief glance down at the road. The feeling gets stronger as I round the foot of the bed, and weakens when I go left toward the nightstand. Backing up makes it stronger, and the sensation leads me to the closet.

  “There’s something in there I can sense.”

  He moves over to stand beside me. “Any idea what?”

  I put my hand on the door. “No. I’ve never felt this before. I told you I don’t have a lot of experience with magic stuff.”

  “You’re going to open it, aren’t you?” he asks.

  “Yep.” I grab the knob and yank the door aside, revealing a plain closet with a single man’s suit hanging within. I start to frown, but a trace of light on the back wall catches my eye, so I push the suit out of the way to the right.

  Someone drew a sigil on the wall at eye level. A dagger-blade element points downward, with a snake curled around the upper part. Two triangular shapes at the top point off to the sides, giving the mark the overall appearance of the letter T.

  “Nothin’ there,” says Lawrence. “’Cept a cheap suit.”

  “Do you see that?” I point at the sigil.

  “The wall?”

  “You don’t see the glowing mark?”

  He shakes his head. “Nope. There’s a mark there?”

  “Yeah.” I snap a picture of it with my phone, but the mark doesn’t register. A miniscule smear shows up where it is, an imperfection of the picture that I wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t seen the mark. “It’s got to be magic.”

  “Why are you seeing it and I’m not?”

  I can’t help myself. “I’m psychic.”

  He laughs. “I walked into that one, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah, just a little.” I wonder…

  As soon as my fingertip touches the sigil, the back wall becomes an opening into a forest. At first, I think it’s a super high-definition screen and someone is messing with me, but a cool breeze laced with hyacinth blows in.

  “How ‘bout that?” Lawrence scratches behind his ear. “A damn private portal. Where’s this go, ya figure?”

  “One way to find out.”

  “Not sure that’s a good idea.” He puts a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t trust portals.”

  I look at him. “You never use the PEPTA? They don’t feel like anything.”

  “No, ma’am. I drive.” He smiles. “Don’t trust magic.”

  “All right. Wait here then. I’ll be right back.” I step through.

  “Aww hell.” He closes his eyes and jumps, landing on the soft dirt behind me with a thump. “Is everything still where it ought ta be?”

  “Yeah.” I turn in place, looking around. The portal hangs like a towel on a clothesline behind us, between a pair of trees the same width apart as the closet. A matching blue sigil adorns one, which reassures me we won’t be trapped if it closes. “Now this, I wasn’t expecting.”

  advance, still looking around at the trees.

  “We’re in the Coventry Woods Preserve, ‘bout fifty or so miles west and a bit north.”

  “Wow,” I say. “You got that from looking at trees?”

  Lawrence laughs. “No, from my GPS app.”

  His phone screen shows a massive blot of green south of Douglassville, with a pin damn near in the center. We’ve got at least a full mile of dense woods in every direction, much more than that to our west. At least we’re not stuck here. The portal is two-way.

  “So why on Earth would someone make a portal out here to the middle of nowhere?” I ask.

  “For him, it’s not the middle of nowhere.”

  Good point.

  “Sec.” I head over to a tree and sneak my claws out. Pulling myself up is pretty easy considering I can drag a Honda Civic around. I weigh a bit less than a car. From my new vantage point, I spot a squarish house fairly close by, due west from the portal. It’s got two stories, a giant skylight, a deck, and a pool. Wow. Our guy’s living nice, even if he is so far from civilization, he could set off an Implosion Crystal and no one would notice. Fortunately, no one’s invoked one of those things since Nagasaki.

  It’s so tempting to glide down, but I haven’t let Lawrence in on that yet, plus I’d have to take the department polo off. Can’t really do that while clinging to a tree trunk. So, down I climb. Lawrence braces my hips when I get low enough to reach in case I fall. Aww. That’s nice of him. Fortunately, his gentlemanly approach keeps his eyes away from my claws until I can put them away.

  “Anything?” he asks.

  “Yeah. House. Over here.” I point and start walking.

  There’s no trail or any obvious sign of frequent travel, but I think I’m going the right way. A few minutes later, Lawrence shouts from a ways behind.

  “Brooklyn? Where’d
you go?”

  “I’m here!” I yell.

  He steps into view out, over a hundred yards back. White polo shirts are pretty easy to spot in a forest.

  “Lawrence!” I wave.

  He turns toward me but doesn’t react and keeps going.

  Grr.

  I trot back to him. “Hey.”

  He emerges from the trees. “Oh, there you are.”

  “You’re not that old.” I wink. “It’s this way.”

  Again, I stride off toward the house, but within a minute, his rustling diverts off to the side.

  “Lawrence. You’re going the wrong way.”

  He stops, turning in place. “I lost you again. One second you were there, and the next, you disappeared.”

  “Stand still.” I walk over to him. When I’m about six paces away, he jumps back and yelps.

  “Gah! Don’t do that to an old man.”

  I narrow my eyes. “I didn’t do anything.”

  He points. “You appeared out of thin air.”

  “Oh.” I biff myself in the forehead. “There’s a ward on this area. Somehow, I can see through it, but it’s fooling you and making you walk in random directions.”

  “Once more in English?”

  I take his hand. “I think the guy who lives here is a mage. He’s put magic around his house that makes most people subconsciously walk around his property without realizing they’re avoiding it. For whatever reason, it’s not working on me.”

  “Oh.” He fidgets like a frightened boy. “Did I mention I don’t like magic? Nothin’ against mages, you understand. I wouldn’t much like anyone jugglin’ lit Molotov cocktails either.”

  “That’s fair,” I say. “Come on.”

  “Wait a minute. This could be a mage, and the guy who burned the place. We’re not cops.”

  I keep going, tugging him along. “If that’s true and this guy’s a Pyromancer, I wouldn’t be too worried.”

  “Aww, dammit. You kids think you’re untouchable.”

  “I’ve got more going on than I look like.” I stop and glance up at him. “If you want to wait out here, that’s fine.”

  He gives me a frown of resigned acceptance. “I’m not letting you go in there alone. We have no idea what to expect. We’re out in the middle of nowhere. If he thinks we’re a threat to him, no one will find our smoking bodies.”

  “If he does anything worse than talk to us, he’ll regret it. He’s going to know someone used his portal and disappear. By the time the police show up, this whole house could be gone.”

  He hangs his head for a few seconds, but winds up nodding. I take his hand, and walk him over the ward.

  Once I’m sure we’ve passed the perimeter of the enchantment, I let him loose and trot off. The thrum of a pool filter breaks the silence soon after, and the trees give way to a clearing around the house. There’s no garage, and no car in the gravel driveway. I’m pretty sure he either created this house out of thin air or moved it from some suburb. Short of a dirt bike or an ATV, no motorized vehicle is coming anywhere near this place, at least not without a shitload of trees being cut down.

  Being ballsy usually puts people off guard, so I stroll right up to the front porch and knock.

  A man in his thirties with neat, light brown hair and green eyes opens the door a moment later. His pink button-down and khaki pants are the furthest thing from what I expected to see. He looks at us, baffled, an expression that’s probably mirrored on my face. A Girl Scout cookie line comes to mind, but I’m supposed to be professional, so I swallow it.

  “Can I help you?” he asks.

  “Are you Ronald Harris?”

  He tilts his head. “No. And you are?”

  Lawrence introduces himself. “We discovered an enchanted object responsible for a fire, and the trail leads us here.”

  The man in the pink shirt flashes a smug smile that makes me fight the urge to punch it. “Tell me, Lieutenant Ellis, if an individual purchases a firearm legally, and then uses said firearm to commit a crime, do you often harass the man who owns the gun store? I may or may not have enchanted an object, but I can no more control what my customers do with things than a proprietor of a weapons store.”

  “The object in question was enchanted to release a bunch of spells all at once. It makes no sense to do that because it’s a useless spellstore. You had to know the person planned to use it as a weapon,” I say.

  “What else does anyone use guns for, dear?” asks the mage.

  “Bombs are not guns.” I make an explosion gesture. “What you made is legally considered a ‘destructive device.’”

  Lawrence fidgets at his pockets. “I’m not entirely familiar with how the law handles issues of a magical nature, but if your comparison holds water, then you would not be held criminally liable for what was done with your product. However, if you fail to assist us in locating the individual responsible, you may be committing obstruction.”

  Ronald Harris is not long for this world. The man’s eyes harden. This is why I do not work for cretins. My privacy is paramount. These two have overstayed their welcome. “I am not at liberty to discuss who seeks my services. Confidentiality is one of the reasons my clients do business with me. And as I am sure you know, betraying certain organized individuals is bad for my health.”

  This guy’s itch to dismiss us like peons lights a fuse in my temper. I loom at him. “You know what else is bad for your health? Pissing me off. Where’s Harris?”

  “Whoa, Amari.” Lawrence grasps my arm. “Calm down.”

  I know he means well, but his patronizing tone only irks my inner demon more, powering a blast of mental energy that leaves the mage blinking and disoriented. Information floods into my awareness.

  “So, you’re Craig Eaves?” I turn toward Lawrence. “He’s afraid someone named Ernesto is going to kill him. Who’s Ernesto?”

  Eaves gawks at me in shock for a second before flinging his right arm up. A serpent of flame lances outward from his fingertip and strikes me between the breasts, vaporizing a five-inch hole in my shirt and melting my bra, which snaps around behind my back under my shirt. Damn, that’s annoying! The flame is awkward-hot, like initial groin-to-water contact when lowering myself into a fresh bath.

  I glance down at the hole, and sigh. “You really shouldn’t have done that.”

  The mage tilts his head, his arm still pointing at me.

  Lawrence’s eyes practically bug out of his skull. His head does a little side-side wag between the woods and me. He clearly wants to run before another firebolt has his name on it, but doesn’t want to leave me.

  Aww. He’s so sweet.

  I snarl and take a step closer to Eaves. “I’m going to try that one more time before it’ll take a Necromancer to get any information out of you. Who. Is. Ernesto?”

  aves stares at the hole in my shirt. My boobs are nice, but I wouldn’t go so far as to call them ‘shock and awe’ nice. He’s trying to wrap his brain around the lack of burn.

  “I’m getting impatient,” I say.

  He darts back into the house. Figuring he’s either going for a bigger weapon to kill us with, or another portal to escape through, I chase. Lawrence yells something I don’t catch. Eaves jumps over a couch in the lavish living room and grabs the doorjamb on the other side to take a hard right turn into a corridor without falling over. I leap the sofa as well, and tear after him.

  The mage reaches the end a few strides before me and slams a door in my face. I don’t slow down, ramming my shoulder into it hard enough to pop it clear off its hinges and send it flying into a large room with a skylight ceiling two stories up. The slab of wood bounces off a crude life-sized statue approximating a human figure, and crashes to the floor.

  Eaves rushes around behind a desk near the back wall, which is mostly window with a sliding glass door that looks out over the pool area. Two long tables, made of the same light-stained wood as the walls and ceiling, run along both walls to my right and left, full of mage p
araphernalia. Bottles, scrolls, candles, the kind of strange glassware I haven’t seen since chemistry class, and jars of powders.

  “What’s the matter, Craig?” I growl. “Are you involved a bit more than a gun store owner?”

  He points at me and says, “Drazh.”

  The statue tilts its head forward and its eyes glow yellow.

  Something tells me that ‘Drazh’ means ‘kill.’

  That’s a golem.

  And I’m squishy.

  Fuck.

  I start to grab my shirt to pull it off, but the golem takes a step far faster than I’d like. No choice. Intent (and a little panic to help it along) call out my Shaar’Nath side. I go from looking up at the golem’s face to looking down at it. My wings stretch out, my horns erupt, and I sprout claws. The main reason I decided to shift, the interlocking armor plates, are a damn sight better than learning what happens when stone golem fist meets unprotected flesh.

  Eaves lets off a shriek like a little boy.

  The golem swings its arm at me. I duck, and it comes around with a left. That, too, I avoid with a backward lean. When I pop back up, I punch it in the chest as hard as I can, knocking the thing off its feet. It goes sliding into Eaves’ desk with a loud slam, bumping several things off the top. I glance at my knuckles, noting the lack of a broken hand. It didn’t even hurt.

  Awesome.

  Eaves tosses another firebolt at me, but I make no effort to avoid it. The flames wash over me like a warm summer breeze. I snarl at him while stomping closer.

  “Oh, hell no,” says Lawrence from behind me. “I’m out.”

  I glance over my shoulder at him as he steps in, whirls, and goes right back into the hallway. He spins again and creeps into the room. “Amari? Is that… you?”

  “Yeah. I’ll explain later.”

  The golem breaks apart as whatever animating force held it together quits. I’m about to feel like a badass, but individual stones tumble over each other and slide upward, allowing the ponderous thing to stand back up by reconstructing itself. Damn. Guess those are more difficult to destroy than I thought.