Nascent Shadow (Temporal Armistice Book 1)

by Matthew S. Cox

  Once he falls asleep again, I decide to let him rest.

  Eaves’ face hovers in my thoughts on the way along the corridor. Part of me wants to hunt him down and rip him in half, but the other part that Mom’s responsible for recoils at the idea of simply killing everyone who pisses me off. Yeah, that’s probably not a good idea―except in cases like Frank. Guess I’ll do the cat thing… chase the rat and bring him back alive as a present for Philadelphia’s finest.

  A little after five that evening, I’m squatting at the front end of our pump truck giving the chrome bits some love with a rag and polish. It’s not like I’ve been here for years, but the stationhouse feels like home. The arson investigation unit is tempting and scary all at once, an unusual sensation for me as I usually plunge into things with little care. At least I’ve come to understand why fire calls to me. Maybe I should tell Mom how I really survived when our trailer burned. Nah. She hates even thinking about that night since she believes I almost died. Would it help her handle it if I explained it’s not possible for me to die by fire? Meh, hell with it. No sense picking that scab.

  Someone walks up behind me, not an uncommon occurrence at the stationhouse, so I don’t give it much attention save for a quick glance back at a set of man’s legs in black BDU pants. Another dab of polish on the cloth, I attack the feed pipe cap right in the middle of the truck’s nose.

  “Hey,” says Jason.

  I freeze.

  “I’m really sorry about the other night. I… can’t even explain what happened.”

  “Jason…” I grab the bumper for balance and stand out of my squat.

  He’s got his hands stuffed in his pockets and stares down like a scolded puppy. “I keep seeing that weird dude, and there’s all this light around him, and… I remember being so fucking scared. Worse than I’d ever felt about my father.”

  So, David Graf, bartender at Niflheim, did whammy him with some kind of fear spell. Being able to feel others’ intentions is awesome for avoiding unnecessary arguments. It’s a giant stone weight off my heart to learn he wasn’t afraid of me.

  I step closer and take his hand. “It’s not your fault. That guy used magic to make you go away. And no, he’s not a rival. His looks are perfect, but he’s a complete asshole.”

  Jason laughs, smiles, and stumbles over a word or five. Guess he wasn’t expecting me to forgive him so easily. Really, he didn’t do anything but get victimized by an Elestari with magic.

  “And yes. I’d love to go out again with you. Maybe Friday night?”

  “You’re amazing.” He leans in closer, going for a kiss.

  Hell with it. I grab on, and we kiss like the world no longer exists, right there in front of the truck. It doesn’t take long for a few wiseasses to clap. Having an audience kills the mood for him, but I ignore them. He pulls back, blushing and trying to play it off like he’s not embarrassed.

  “I’ve gotta do something tonight for that investigation, but I’ll call you as soon as I can, okay?” I grin.

  I love the way his eyes light up in reaction to my smile.

  He caresses my cheek, gives me a light peck on the lips, and gestures at the pumper. “Want a little help?”

  “Heh sure.” I toss him a spare rag from the box. Cleaning a fire truck together isn’t what most girls think of as romantic, but I’m not most girls.

  It’s a few minutes past eleven that night when I glide down out of the sky and land by the wreckage of the exploded house. My racer-back shirt gives my wings plenty of space, but it does crap against a cold breeze. I wonder if my Shaar’Nath nipples could cut steel right now. As soon as I’m down, I put the wings away and pull on the sweat-jacket I carried.

  No need for a full shift as combat boots handle walking around busted up house just fine, but I think my work BDU pants are loose enough to survive my armor coming out without too much damage except for where the tail breaks free. At least, unless some idiot Pyromancer tries to kill me with a giant explosion again.

  Wandering around the wreckage hunting for clues is a lot more boring than I thought it would be. Flying is safer at night (harder to see me) but one thing my supernatural heritage lacks is night vision. I should’ve brought a damn flashlight.

  Frustrated, I stand in the middle of the carnage, arms folded. I need to learn more about being what I am. Hmm. On a whim, I close my eyes and try to mentally call out to my father. He did say he’d watched me my whole life, so―I blink. Did I kill that guy in the car when I was ten? Or was that dad?

  “You’re welcome,” says Dad.

  He appears out of thin air behind me, still wearing an expensive black suit, the collar of his white shirt open. I love the way he’s not-quite-smiling, like he got away with something illegal. Great. I have the most interesting dad in the world.

  “You did that?”

  He nods. “Though, you did give the bastard a headache.”

  “Can I kill people like that? I mean… whatever that was?”

  “With enough practice, if you should choose.” He walks up and puts an arm around me. “The same way you use your mind to lift things. It’s like a hand reaching into the skull and crushing the brain. You have plenty of strength to do it, but the difficult part is the control.”

  Oh, wow. I grew up thinking I’d killed a guy when I was ten years old, but I’d been more freaked out that doing it didn’t freak me out. Guess my kill count is down to one. By the way, bus guy survived. And you know what’s really messed up? His pal died during the commission of a crime, so they’re charging him with murder. Is it bad of me to find that hilarious?

  “You’re about to ask for help, yes?” asks Dad.

  I gesture around at the rubble. “I want to find a mage.” I explain what happened, the fire, the Mob, and this guy almost killing Lawrence.

  “Hunting a mage, hmm? Usually, they are the ones who summon us.” He winks.

  “Are you serious?” I stare at him. “I thought you said we weren’t demons?”

  Dad paces around, nudging bits of wood or drywall with his foot. “We’re not. At least not in the sense that humans believe in demons. However, some magic is capable of summoning beings like us who are not native to the Armistice.”

  “An armistice is a truce.”

  “It’s also what we call the mortal world.” He winks. “The energy that was poured into creating it ties us all to it. Some mages have learned how to tap into that and pull our strings.”

  A shiver takes me. “So… they can control us?”

  “Not in the sense you’re fearing. Some can drag us out of our world into this one or create barriers we cannot cross, but they are incapable of dominating our minds or turning us into slaves.”

  “Oh, whew.” When that fear fades, I grin. “Eaves had no idea what I am. He kept trying to burn me.”

  Dad throws back his head and laughs, spooking something off in the woods. Probably a deer.

  Anger strikes me out of nowhere, at the Elestari for keeping him out of my life so long. Before the ‘I want to kill them all’ urge takes hold, the thought of Laniah (as irritating as she was at first) dispels it. Maybe they’re not all sanctimonious assholes.

  “Something bothering you, Brooklyn?” asks Dad.

  “Only wishing I’d met you years ago.” I kick at debris. “Would’ve helped a lot. Explained things.”

  He squeezes my shoulder. “Childhood is but a camera flash for us. We have plenty of time.”

  Huh what? “Wait? You’re saying we’re immortal?”

  “Not totally. Most of us make it about ten thousand years or so. I don’t know what effect your being part human will have on that.”

  “Wow. So I could stick around for anywhere from eighty years to holy shit.”

  Dad laughs again.

  “So…” I guess I really can’t let this go. “Mages can really summon us?”

  “Not exactly… Think about it this way, if anyone speaks your true name, you will know it. Most of the time, those who believe they
‘summon’ us aren’t doing anything more than asking us to come check out what they’re up to.”

  “Oh. Wow, that makes so much sense. As a kid, I always knew when Mom was calling me.”

  “That’s part of being a kid.”

  I glance at him. “No, I mean it. I like really felt something.”

  “Interesting. You consider Brooklyn your true name… it’s not a usual Shaar’Nath name.”

  “I’m not a usual Shaar’Nath.” I cross my arms and flash an impish smirk. “It’s my name.”

  Dad smiles for a second before something gets his attention and he strides over to what had once been the corner of the room closest to the pool. Shattered glass from the sliding door coats the ground like a deadly version of winter frost. He crouches, tracing his fingers around the floor.

  “Here.”

  I crunch over to stand next to him. “What?”

  “This blood is from the man you wish to find,” says Dad. “While our kind is not as often aligned with magic, there are a few techniques that remain available to us.”

  This sounds like it’s going to turn dark in a hurry. I squat to get a better look at the spatters of dried blood. “Blood magic?”

  “Of sorts. The darkness you’re fearing is a different implementation. Using someone else’s blood to empower a curse upon them, or sacrificing your own for power is not the same. We can use blood to find the source. If you are still suffering from the human delusion of good and evil, merely locating someone is neither.”

  “Dad… good and evil aren’t the illusion. It’s all the other bullshit they associate with it. I don’t need the fear of punishment in some mythical afterlife to know something’s wrong. So, how does this work?”

  He cocks his head, smiling that smile of a parent who thinks their kid said something stupid and cute. “For us, it is easier than humans. For you as well. Our nature contains vast amounts of energy that are sure to overwhelm the brittle human shell. Take some of the blood upon your fingertips.”

  “So, I’m not a half-human? More like a quarter?” I stick two fingers in the stain, but it’s dry, so I use a little spit to help.

  “You’re trying to quantify the unquantifiable. What is the length of the water in a glass? How much does time weigh?” He grasps my hand, gazing at the red smears on the tips of my fingers. “This blood is connected to the soul it came from. Focus on it but not the stain. See it as a portal into another place. Ask your mind to lead you to the other end of the tunnel.”

  “Right. No funny words?”

  He grins. “Not for us―or for the Elestari. Humans use the words to focus their thoughts so they can draw power from outside the Armistice. We are steeped in it.”

  My desire to find Eaves wells up. It takes some concentration to force myself to want to bring him in alive, but I do. After a few minutes of staring at my fingers, trying to see through the bloody spots, a flicker of light slides over them. My brain struggles to latch on to the energy teasing at me from within, but it’s elusive.

  “That’s it. You’re almost there,” says Dad. “Think of the blood on your fingers as two tiny doors. Push them open.”

  Like trying to see one of those weird 3D pattern pictures, I let my eye focus extend past my fingertip, trying to peer into the blood spot as if it were an opening. The light strengthens, and both bloodstains glow bright red. In that instant, I become aware of Eaves’ presence. It’s a feeling of direction and distance, like how when someone walks up beside me, I can tell where they are.

  “You’re a fast student.” Dad pats me on the back.

  I lean against him, still gazing into what appear to be open bloody tunnels in my fingers. “All the credit goes to the teacher. Do I need to keep this blood on my fingers? How long will this last?”

  “As long as you have the blood, until you stop wanting to find him, you find him, or about two hours after you wipe it off.”

  “Great.” I wipe the blood off. “No sense wasting time. Thanks, Dad.”

  He pulls me into a stiff hug. “I’m never far away if you need me.”

  “Hey, it’s not your fault. Sorry for being a little bitchy when you first showed up.”

  “And that’s not your fault.” He kisses me on the head like I’m a little girl. “You did not have enough information to understand.”

  “See you later, Dad.”

  He gives me an ‘of course’ bow, and fades away.

  Now that’s a neat trick. Maybe I’ll ask him to teach me sometime.

  As it turns out, I can fly pretty darn fast when not carrying someone. I again realize that I assumed something untrue. Shifting completely to my armored ‘demon’ form doesn’t help me fly faster. Yes, I get stronger, but physical strength doesn’t affect my flying since it’s a magical effect. Without the armor plating, it feels like I’m going much faster due to less weight.

  Following the sense leading me to Craig Eaves pulls me northeast. About twenty minutes after I leap into the air, the lights of New York City come into view. Damn. I’m hauling ass. That’s gotta be a couple hundred miles per hour. Guess I don’t need to worry about airport security, as long as I don’t mind taking a redeye.

  Or a blue-eye.

  I had to shift them to be able to see against the high-speed wind. The pull takes me to a high-rise hotel near the heart of the city. I circle the building a few times, zeroing in on the floor. Eventually, I catch sight of him in a room about two-thirds the way up. His room is bright, and his attention appears absorbed on the television, so I glide in for a silent landing on the balcony, which is tucked under the balcony of the next room above. This forces me into an awkward squat atop the railing while grabbing the underside of the concrete slab over my head. Since he didn’t notice me, I step down and retract my wings back into black smoke wisps before pulling my hoodie on.

  Eaves has his back to me, leaning both hands on a desk to the right of the television, which is off. What I’d thought to be the flickering glow of a TV is actually a baseball-sized crystal orb projecting a three-dimensional image of another man. It’s almost like a Transpresence call, except the other person doesn’t appear to be in the room with him. Expensive TP rigs even allow the users to touch each other―not to mention do other things long distance. Normal ones provide sight and sound only.

  This mechanism is neither; he’s speaking to a ghostly image of a robed figure, shown only from the chest up, with most of his face hidden by loose, violet silk.

  What the hell is it with magic users and their robe fetish? Come on, people. Get with the times.

  As soon as the guy hangs up, I’ll rip the door off, knock him senseless, and carry his ass back to Philly. It is tempting to throw him out the patio and let gravity administer justice, but… Mom wouldn’t approve. She might not even approve of what I did to Frank, but my mother is too nice.

  “Setback?” shouts Eaves. “You call what happened a ‘setback,’ and expect me to carry on like nothing’s changed.”

  The robed figure nods. “Exactly. This problem is one of your creation, Eaves. If you had been able to keep your temper in check, you would not be threatened. The mortal authorities have nothing. Or they had nothing until you attempted to kill two city employees.”

  “That bitch isn’t human,” roars Eaves. “You want to tell me what I’m getting involved with? No one ever said anything about unfettered demons.”

  A haughty, condescending laugh comes from the projection. “That is most humorous. There is much left for you to learn. Fear not. Your assistance will not go unrewarded. However, it might be in your best interest to distance yourself from the mortals’ petty criminals.”

  “Wait a moment.” Eaves stands up straight, one finger raised. “You’re talking about unmaking the entire world and you want me to stay calm?”

  “Yes.” The robed figure smiles. “In its current form, what you know as the human world is enabling the uncivilized to propagate their evil. It is a barrier that must be removed so we can eradicate the da
rkness. You need not worry. Another realm can be built for humanity, free of evil and temptation. Your kind’s existence was unexpected, and this world you know was not designed properly to sustain living beings. We can create a much more suitable environment. You shall help herald a new era for your kind, in fact reshape humanity itself. Harmony and light shall replace discord and greed.”

  “That sounds both impossible and too good to be true,” says Eaves. “Though I think you believe it.”

  “I believe it because I have seen worlds with such beauty, your limited abilities of communication do not enable me to adequately convey their majesty. Simple oscillations of sound cannot compare to sharing the visual, emotional, and spiritual presence. Oh, and you have a guest.”

  Craig spins to stare at me when the robed figure points.

  Shit.

  I leap to my feet and yank open the sliding door, snapping the lock. Eaves whirls back to face the glowing orb and raises his hands, chanting. The image of the robed figure sinks back into a growing indigo vortex with wavering edges, rising and expanding to become a doorway. I sprint for him, screaming as I strain to run faster than his portal spell can form.

  The instant the bottom of the expanding gate touches the carpet, my hand slaps down on the orb projecting it. Without thinking, I unsheathe my claws and crush. A twinkle of shattering crystal fills the room, many times louder than such a delicate sound ought to be.

  Eaves lets out a horrible scream.

  I glance back at him; his head, one arm, and some of his chest is through the portal, but he’s gone motionless as if frozen in time. The orb flashes like a dying light bulb, and explodes, leaving me without fingers on my right hand.

  Before I can even feel that, Eaves pops. Blood and tiny pieces of mage spray everywhere.

  Oops.

  My missing fingers knock on my brain. Hello. Massive amount of pain calling.

  I fall in place, cradling my hand to my chest and biting back a scream. Compared to having my wings stapled to the wall, this isn’t too bad on the pain meter. Half a minute or so later, roots of pink flesh grow out of the stumps, twisting and stretching back to their normal length. The mesmerizing display captivates me until they’ve thickened and become fingers again.