The Shadows

by Cheyenne McCray

  Copper called out to the other witches, but Jake barely heard her voice through the wind, rain, and thunder as a funnel reached him. Jake feinted to his left as the being became visible, then Jake dodged to the right and shot the bastard in the chest.

  The storm ceased as suddenly as it had started.

  Dark clouds rolled away, allowing moonlight to spill from the sky.

  Jake’s breath came hard and heavy as he swung his gaze around to see three naked men—beings—contained by witch spellshields while bodies of other men littered the street and sidewalk. No more water funnels.

  A sick feeling clenched his gut as he saw how many of his officers were down. A quick count told him eleven of his PSF team remained on their feet, not counting the five in the back if they’d been attacked.

  Shit. He couldn’t see all of the witches. He jogged up to Copper as he scanned the street.

  “The D’Anu,” he said as he reached her. “I don’t see Alyssa or Mackenzie.”

  “There’s Alyssa.” Copper pointed toward a dark corner of the street. They both glanced up and down the street. “Mackenzie—there she is,” Copper said with obvious relief at the same time Jake caught sight of her near King Garran.

  “Thank God,” Jake said as he nodded to Copper. The seven witches were still alive, although it looked like Mackenzie and Rhiannon were bleeding some. Thank God, too, that Cassia wasn’t here and hurt.

  All six D’Danann warriors materialized on the ground, gripping their swords as they studied the massacre with grim expressions. Garran, the king of the Dark Elves—the Drow—moved beside the D’Danann with two of his men. An equally fierce look hardened the king’s battle-worn features.

  Lieutenant Fredrickson hurried around from the back and stopped at the corner. “Got three officers down in the alley, including Marks and Taylor,” Fredrickson yelled from his position.

  Jake glanced at one of their SWAT trucks. “Lyons,” he shouted to one of the med techs. “Follow Fredrickson with your kit.”

  Fury coursing through him, Jake kicked the body of a dead funnel-being next to him.

  He stared at the creature for a moment. They definitely looked human when dead. Each of the beings had a tattoo on its chest, over its heart. If Jake wasn’t mistaken it was an inverted pentagram. The sign of a dark warlock.

  One of the downed officers close to him groaned and moved. Jake ran to her, his boots slapping the wet asphalt. Lieutenant Landers gave another groan and tried to get up, but Jake gently pushed down on her shoulder.

  “Don’t move, Landers,” he ordered in a gruff voice.

  Blood seeped from a gash across her throat. A quick inspection told him the cut hadn’t been deep enough to kill her as long as they got her medical attention ASAP.

  He pressed his hand to the wound as he glanced at one of his officers who already had out pads and gauze from a med kit that had been in the back of one of their raid vehicles.

  Landers’s blood coated Jake’s hand as he wrapped the cotton and gauze around her throat, just snugly enough to stem the flow.

  “Kicked some ass, didn’t we?” Jake said as he secured the gauze, and she gave a faint smile.

  He kept talking to her, keeping her awake until the paramedics arrived. Sirens wailed and Jake knew the paramedics and law enforcement would be there within two minutes.

  His gaze roved the scene again. His gut churned and anger burned his chest at the sight of all of his injured and murdered officers. The seven witches continued to imprison the three men they’d captured within separate spellshields.

  Fury burned through Jake’s mind, so fierce, so intense, that he wanted to eliminate the beings within those shields.

  He shook his head, trying to throw the violent thoughts from his mind. He was an officer of the law. The beings were no longer armed or able to fight. They would be taken into custody, questioned, and imprisoned.

  With the entire city in chaos due to the current state of affairs—and the loss of most of the heads of state and local military, government, and law enforcement—these funnel-things certainly weren’t going anywhere for a long time.

  “Get them into the truck,” Jake shouted to the witches and Otherworld warriors. “Before the cavalry arrives.”

  Last thing he needed was to argue with SFPD over who had jurisdiction and explain that this was a paranormal crime before they could take the prisoners away.

  The Alliance would incarcerate the beings in special cells back at HQ. Containments bound by powerful spells that wouldn’t allow those inside to use their own magic.

  The SWAT truck drove away with the witches and their prisoners as flashing blue and red lights crested the hill. Sirens silenced as the vehicles pulled up to the scene.

  Jake glanced at the spot where the Drow and the D’Danann warriors had been standing. They had vanished into the night.

  Normally citizens would’ve been out of their homes to gape at the scene once the gunshots stopped. But these weren’t normal times and the city was under martial law enforced by the National Guard.

  Furious heat washed over Jake, and he scrubbed his face with his palm as flashes of Afghanistan strobed through his mind.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  Again. The magnitude of what had happened nearly slammed him to the ground as if the row of houses had come down on him.

  He’d led his officers into a trap.

  It didn’t matter that the mission was something the Alliance had approved and organized. When the Alliance’s recon passed on the info about Darkwolf’s supposed headquarters, it had been Jake who’d pushed for the Alliance to go on the offensive rather than wait for Darkwolf to attack.

  In seconds Jake was surrounded by paramedics and law enforcement officers. Military vehicles also rolled up the street.

  Once he made it clear that this was a paranormal crime, Jake would have command. But first he had to follow goddamned protocol.

  It happened again. Again.

  Jake forced back the pain and anger like he had ever since that day, and immersed himself in picking up the pieces.

  It was close to four a.m. when Jake made it back to the warehouse. Dried blood streaked his hands and clothing, and likely his face. Paramedics had cleaned and bandaged his wounded arm but it hurt like a sonofabitch.

  When the witches got a hold of him, they’d no doubt use their magic and potions to ease the pain and help it heal faster.

  At this moment he welcomed the pain. He deserved it.

  * * *

  When he entered HQ, he was still wet from the rain, and so tired he wanted to drop and sleep for at least a week. This war wasn’t allowing anyone to get much rest.

  Jake didn’t let his exhaustion show as he walked toward the command center where he expected the leaders of each faction of the Alliance to be waiting for him.

  He wasn’t disappointed. Lieutenant Fredrickson had made it back to the warehouse before Jake, and the officer stood in the command center. He looked like he’d been to hell and back, his forearm bandaged, a cut over his left eye, blood streaking his face and arms, and his clothes still damp.

  The fact that Lieutenant Landers was missing created a sharp pain in Jake’s gut, but she’d be all right once the wound to her throat healed. In the meantime he’d have to find someone to replace her for the strategy sessions.

  Like he had ever since that day two years ago, Jake forced back his feelings and erected an emotional distance from those he worked with.

  The three D’Danann warrior leaders and three of the D’Anu witches looked as if they’d had showers and changed into clean clothing while Jake and his officers were at the crime scene.

  The witches’ eyes were rimmed with red, with dark circles beneath. Lack of sleep was getting to them, too.

  The Drow king and his men weren’t around, likely because they had to get to ground before daylight. Sunlight toasted Dark Elves.

  Jake jerked his thumb toward the enclosure covering the spelled jail cells. “Did you interro
gate the bastards?”

  “We decided to wait for you.” Rhiannon elbowed her husband, the scarred, hulking D’Danann warrior next to her, as he growled. She looked up at him with a frown. “Keir wants to kill them all.”

  Jake gave Keir a look that said, “You and me both, bro.”

  Out loud Jake said, “Yeah, I need to be in on this.” He rubbed his temples as he fought back a headache due to the lack of sleep. “Let’s get to it.”

  He glanced in the direction of the cells before looking back at the group. “Hawk and Copper, you come with me. The rest of you wait. It’d be too crowded with all of us.”

  Keir gave another low growl, and Rhiannon elbowed him again. Jake turned and headed toward the cells. He didn’t care if they all agreed with his choices or not. Screw that. He wasn’t in the mood to argue.

  Solid, soundproof walls divided cells that had spelled metal bars in the front.

  The same sour smell that had been thick in the air during the battle, like a pile of wet laundry that had been sitting for days, hit him as soon as he walked into the room housing the “inmates.”

  In the first cell, a naked man—if he was a man—had his eyes closed and had curled into fetal position on the twin-sized bed. If Jake wasn’t mistaken, the man was sucking his thumb.

  He couldn’t be more than twenty-five and had shaggy black hair to his shoulders. His skin was so pale, almost transparent, that it was like looking through a cloudy block of ice that had started to melt.

  Jake frowned as he assessed the “man.” Jake was pretty sure the powerful warlock, Darkwolf, was behind the attack and using these men—beings—to do it. The inverted pentagram tattooed on their chests was a sign that Jake was likely right.

  “They all had daggers,” Copper said as she came up beside Jake, “made of ice, if you can believe it. The weapons melted before we even got these guys into the SWAT truck.”

  “We know spellshields stop them.” Jake’s mind churned over the night’s events. “But that wouldn’t be practical in any major attack.”

  “True. We don’t have enough witches.” Copper looked up at him with her cinnamon-colored eyes. “Unless we can come up with some other way to do it, there’s no way our Coven could contain large numbers. Janis Arrowsmith and the white magic D’Anu Coven would likely refuse to help as usual. If someone could even find Janis.”

  Hawk nodded. “Perhaps we can experiment on these captives.”

  Copper glared at him. “Excuse me, but that would be entirely inhumane. You can’t use prisoners like laboratory rats.” She shuddered. “Experimenting on animals is another topic I won’t get into right now.”

  Jake handed his Glock and a dagger to a guard just outside the cells, following standard protocol. No one in the cell would be armed with anything the prisoner could use against them if he attacked. Of course, they had Copper and her magic, which made for a fine “secret weapon.”

  He nodded to Hawk, who reluctantly handed his sword and a dagger to the other guard at the entrance leading to the cells.

  “Let’s start with talking to this guy.” Jake glanced down at Copper. “Ready?”

  She nodded as her fingers crackled with magic. The moment Jake unlocked the door and opened it, she had a spellshield in place that moved with them and would make sure the prisoner didn’t escape. When the three of them were inside the cell, Copper dropped her shield.

  Jake crouched beside the bed. “Time to have a little chat.”

  The man didn’t open his eyes, but his mouth worked as he sucked his thumb.

  “You and your buddies did a number on my guys tonight.” Jake’s tone took on a hard edge as his muscles clenched and his body heated with anger. “You’re going to give me some answers.”

  “Maybe he’s in shock,” Copper said.

  Hawk stepped past her. “Then we will deal with him in another fashion.”

  “Hawk—” Copper started.

  But the D’Danann warrior had already gripped the man’s shoulders with his large hands and raised the guy upright. The man’s eyelids popped open and the fiery intensity in his ice blue gaze made Jake frown.

  He stood and faced the man. Hawk’s jaw clenched as he kept his hold.

  “Was Darkwolf behind the attack?” Jake fisted his hands at his sides.

  When the guy didn’t answer, Hawk shook him like a floppy rag doll.

  “You won’t hurt me.” The man’s voice came out in a high-pitched squeak as he kept his gaze on Jake. “You’re a pussy cop.”

  “I am no cop and have no such reservations.” Hawk growled and the man winced as Hawk visibly tightened his hold.

  Pain shot through Jake’s wounded biceps as he clenched his fist tighter. “After what you and your buddies did tonight, think I give a crap about one worthless sonofabitch like you?”

  Copper’s tension radiated behind him. He hoped she’d keep her mouth shut.

  Instead, she pushed her way between Hawk and Jake. She wore an expression that he’d seen her blood sister, Silver, wear—on the times Silver had gone on raids with Jake.

  Using her magic, Silver would force Darkwolf’s warlocks to spill all they knew. That was deep gray magic, and Jake had never seen Copper use magic so close to bordering on dark.

  Gray fog rolled from around Copper and it wrapped its tendrils around the man. His eyes widened and he started to thrash in Hawk’s grip. In moments, when the gray fog virtually shrouded the man’s body, he slumped and his eyes glazed, the brightness dimming.

  “Start from the beginning.” Copper spoke in a low, demanding tone that Jake hadn’t heard from her before—it was almost eerie. “You’ll tell us everything you know.”

  As if reciting from a book, the man began to reel off information.

  Interesting, useful information. Disturbing information.

  Jake, Copper, and Hawk continued to the next cells. They were forced to use the same techniques with the two additional men, who refused to speak without Copper’s gray magic influence.

  By the time Copper, Hawk, and Jake finished, rearmed themselves, and headed back to join the others at the command center, Jake’s head spun. He tried to grasp and work through what lay ahead of them.

  “Darkwolf’s gathering followers really fast,” Copper said when they were together with the two witches and the two D’Danann warriors who’d been waiting.

  Copper looked beyond exhausted, probably from using her gray magic. “He’s telling them they’ve got to prepare for the next Armageddon.”

  “Color me surprised,” Rhiannon said, her arms folded across her chest. A red line streaked one of her forearms, the cut looking as if it was healing rapidly, no doubt due to witch magic.

  “He recruits murderers, thieves, anyone weak-minded enough to turn to his side.” Hawk gripped the hilt of his sword in one fist.

  “Darkwolf named them Stormcutters,” Copper said. “And they’re led by several men Darkwolf calls Blades.”

  “How did he manage to do that water-funnel-and-storm thing?” Rhiannon furrowed her brows. “And create those Stormcutters?”

  “Balor was a god of the sea.” Hawk looked to each man and woman. “Now that Darkwolf controls all of Balor’s powers, along with the dark goddess’, and by using his own warlock dark sorcery, he is able to draw water from the ocean and other sources. His powers allow him to create storms and manipulate human form into water and back.”

  “They can’t carry anything with them or wear clothes.” Copper yanked on her long braid as if agitated. “That’s why they’re all naked.”

  “Also why their daggers are made of ice.” Jake drew in a deep breath. “Darkwolf has to be relatively close to make everything happen. The storms, the funnels, the Stormcutters, the daggers.”

  Copper nodded. “He also manipulates the Stormcutters’ minds.”

  “As you have seen, they each bear an inverted pentagram on their chests.” Hawk braced his hands on the map table at the center of the room. “But it is more than a mere tattoo.
”

  “Somehow it allows Darkwolf to keep track of all of his puppets.” Jake rubbed his temples again, trying to relieve his headache. “The tattoo supposedly burns when he calls for them.”

  “I wonder just how many minds he can control at one time?” Rhiannon said.

  Jake gave a frustrated growl deep in his throat. “That last Stormcutter gave me the impression that it’s a piece of cake for Darkwolf to control thousands of those guys. No knowing just how many that means. Right now it could be ten, twenty, or thirty thousand?”

  Jake shook his head as he went on. “Apparently, from what the Stormcutters said, we were lucky and only got a taste. Probably just a warning.”

  “Thousands?” Rhiannon repeated quietly. “He’s trying to amass thousands of these people, turn them into water funnels, and fight us?”

  “That last Stormcutter looked like he was really into all this bull.” Jake was finding it hard to believe the man’s words, even as he told the others. “Darkwolf plans to control a million according to this guy.”

  Everyone was silent, as if trying to digest what Jake had said, and those who hadn’t been in on the interrogations had stunned expressions.

  “If that’s the case, with as few of us as there are, it’ll be like going into a typhoon in a rowboat.” In an unconscious movement, Rhiannon rubbed the scars on her cheek.

  “The PSF, Drow, D’Danann, D’Anu—there’s only around seven hundred of us. What can we do against thousands? Much less—” She shook her head like she was trying to get the thoughts out of her mind. “Can’t even go there.”

  “We have to find more help.” Silver looked to each person in the room with an almost pleading expression. “The National Guard has their hands full enforcing martial law. Where’s the military? I know the overt war with the demons and Darkwolf has only happened over a period of a few weeks, but shouldn’t we have more help by now?”

  “The conflicts overseas have the military spread thin.” Jake sighed with exhaustion. “Big troop movements, even stateside, take time to organize and deploy. Add that to the fact the demons wiped out all of California’s highest levels of government, the top military brass, and the wealthiest and most influential people in the state.”