Shadow Blade (13 page)

As her stomach plaintively reminded her, it had been eight hours since the coffee and granola bar that had been her breakfast as she had researched the dagger. “It’s something I have to do so I can eat without flashing on the cook, the waitress, the dishwasher . . . even the damned cow.”

“Flashing?”

“It’s what I call what happens when I get psychic impressions from people and their possessions. I can usually tone down the hit from inanimate objects, but anything alive,
well .
 . . ”

He picked up an onion ring,
then
laid it back on the plate. “Pardon my curiosity, Shadowchaser. But given
the .
 . . ambience of this place, I think you can understand my caution.”

“I suppose so, but the food is fine. Don’t worry. If you’re worried about this place—which you shouldn’t be—does that mean you’re a Shadowchaser too?”

“No, I’m not.” He took a bite of the onion ring.

Her burger suddenly wasn’t as interesting. “So you work for Shadow? You’re an Adept?”

“I work for myself, but I’m no friend of Shadow.”

“Then what are you, besides really, really old? Are you immortal?”

“I’m not immortal in the sense that I am not subject to death.
It’s .
 . . complicated.”

“I bet. I’d say after four thousand years or so you are close enough to immortal to call you that, whatever the complications may be.”

The warrior gave her a brief nod of acknowledgment.

“So, what else?”

“I have a mission I must complete.”

“What sort of mission?”

He shook his head. “I cannot tell you, but I need my dagger to do it.”

“Hmph.”
The Nubian definitely had a one-track mind when it came to the dagger. She couldn’t resist temptation any longer and popped a Tater Tot into her mouth.
Umm, carby goodness
.
“So you followed
me.
”

“From the restaurant last night.”

“How did you know I was there? How did I even get on your radar in the first place?”

He chewed thoughtfully on his burger, as if gathering his thoughts or deciding how much information to share with her. “I can sense the trail my dagger leaves,” he finally said. “I tracked Comstock to your office, but I didn’t feel the dagger on him when he left. I assumed he left it with you, so I didn’t need to trail him any longer. You did a good job of removing evidence of your time with it, but just being close to it for a length of time is
enough.
I have carried that blade for millennia. I know it when I feel it.”

“Makes sense.”
She looked down at her plate, oddly grateful he hadn’t witnessed Bernie’s death but uncomfortable with the thought that he’d witnessed her discovery and grief. “Do you know what killed him?”

“Seeker demon.”

“Do you know who controls it?”

“Yes.”

“Tell
me.
”

“Of course.”

She looked up, waited.

He
smiled,
a slash of pearl against mahogany.
“As soon as you give my dagger back.”

“I can’t do that.”

“The dagger belongs to
me.
”

“I know. It was gifted to you by the god-king of the Two Lands, as reward for your prowess in battle.”

The frown lightened to confusion. “How do you know this?”

“The dagger told
me.
”

“The dagger told—” He leaned forward, his expression even more intense. “You touched it? It
communicated
with you?”

“I didn’t say it spoke freely,” she said, a little surprised by his reaction. “I had to coax it along a little. Why are you surprised?”

He shook his head in patent disbelief. “I’m surprised because you’re still functioning. My blade can
be .
 . . temperamental.”

“I certainly wouldn’t call it warm and cuddly. But once it began to spill its secrets, it didn’t want to stop.” He didn’t have to know that she’d blacked out from information overload. He certainly didn’t need to know of the dagger’s attempts to seduce her into wielding it.

The warrior frowned, clearly unhappy with how chatty the dagger had been with her. She supposed she couldn’t blame him. If what she had read was true, it probably meant the dagger wanted a new master. If so, then how could she possibly give the dagger back? Better to keep it so that she’d know it was in safe hands.

Something sparked in his eyes, as if he knew the path of her thoughts. “The Dagger of Kheferatum is extremely dangerous. Should it fall into the wrong hands, its destructive capabilities would be unstoppable.”

“I don’t intend to let it fall into the wrong hands,” she retorted, mocking his melodramatic tone.

“Nor do you intend to return it to
me.
”

“Bingo.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t know you, despite what you and the dagger have told me. I sure as hell don’t trust either you or that old man. He may look like Morgan Freeman, but I sure wouldn’t cast him to play God.
Any god.
Bernie gave the dagger to me for safekeeping. I won’t fail him.”

His hand shot across the table, wrapped around her wrist. “Return my dagger to me, Kira Solomon.”

Her extrasense instinctively activated in self-defense. The whole world seemed to freeze as she waited for his thoughts to bombard her, for his skin to ashen as his life force drained from his body.
Neither happened.

Nothing happened.

Shock raced through her. “You’re touching
me.
”

“I wanted to get your attention.”

“How are you touching me?”

He frowned even as he maintained his grip. “What are you talking about?”

Completely shaken, Kira tried to pull her wrist free of his grip. “Let me go.”

He frowned as he released her. “I didn’t hurt you.”

“No, no you didn’t. You just, you shouldn’t be able to touch me like that. But you did. Oh, goddess, you did and I don’t know what the hell that means.”

It was hard to form coherent sentences. No one had ever been able to touch her like that, especially after she hit puberty. Guardians, humans, Shadow-lings—they all took a toll and paid a price when they touched her.

Only Nico had been able to touch her one weekend, one beautiful and terrible weekend before he died. Now suddenly here was this Nubian, this immortal warrior whom she might have to try to kill—and he could touch her with impunity?

She needed air.

Gulping, she surged to her feet, the chair screeching as she thrust it back. She fumbled in her pocket for a couple of bills, threw them on the table, and grabbed her gloves. “I-I’ve got to go.”

“We’re not done talking.”

“We are
so
done talking. Don’t touch me,” she added when he rose, making another grab for her. “Stay away from me, just stay away.”

She sprinted for the door, knowing he was going to follow her.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 10

H
e could touch her. The damned Nubian could actually touch her.

Shaken to the core, Kira scuttled down the staircase to the parking lot.
She jumped aboard her bike just as Khefar reached the bottom of the stairs shouting, “What the hell is going on?”

Her fingers fumbled with the helmet strap. She was shaking, as if
this
was the one event to turn her life upside down. “I’m sorry; I have to go.”

He said something else, but she’d already kicked her bike to life. She had to get home, had to get somewhere she could take a moment and think. Think about the fact that a four-thousand-year-old warrior was the only person on the planet who could touch her without being reduced to a gibbering mess.

Tires squealed as she pulled out of the parking lot and headed south on Moreland to

DeKalb Avenue

, her mind still reeling. She didn’t get any impressions from his touch either—not his thoughts, his emotions, his past, his energy. She’d learned more from touching the knife than from touching him. What was it supposed to mean? Why was he the only person who could touch her? Was it the knife’s
doing,
or something else? Was it some kind of trick to divert her attention away from Bernie’s killer? Would Balm know? Did Balm know already?

Why was this happening now?

A cold warning skittered down her spine when she was less than half a block from her house. Her training took over instinctively, kicking the chaotic thoughts out of her mind. She palmed her Lightblade a split second before the seeker demon slammed into her, knocking her off the bike.

Power erupted all around them, neon blue sparking against putrid yellow as she and the demon and her bike rolled and wrestled. Its teeth scraped loudly across the top of her helmet, leaving smears of acidic saliva behind.

Screeching turned to crunching as her bike stopped hard against a telephone pole. She ignored it, calling on all her rage and sorrow to power her magic. The seeker demon wouldn’t stop its attack until Kira was dead or she had destroyed it. Here was a target she could take on, something she could attack, hurt, annihilate—unless it killed her. This was a fight to the finish. No stopping.

Screaming a curse, she shoved the heel of her left hand hard against its lower jaw, bringing up her blade to slash at its throat. Claws swung, knocking the blade from her hand.

Crap. At least we’ve stopped rolling on the pavement.

The seeker demon eluded her efforts to immobilize it, its superior strength pinning her to the asphalt instead. The sound of squealing brakes scraped through her ears, but she ignored it. She couldn’t worry about who it might be or if anyone was witnessing something that shouldn’t be witnessed. Kira was too busy trying to stay alive and kill the seeker to care.

Her extrasense
glowed
the steady sapphire sheen of a shield, protecting her from the seeker demon’s attempts to scratch and bite. She had to reclaim her Lightblade and stop the seeker quickly before her strength ran out. Its master had to be somewhere nearby to control it, and that worried her far more than finishing off the demon.

Something barreled into the demon, knocking it off her. She rolled upright,
then
pulled off her helmet.
Khefar.
The Nubian drew in his legs,
then
pushed, jettisoning the seeker a good fifteen feet. He sprung upright in a graceful, fluid motion. Amazingly he held her Lightblade, its length still glowing purple-blue with her power.

How was that possible?

The seeker demon swung its head from the Nubian to her as if trying to decide which one to pursue. She drew her gun but Khefar took the choice away, charging the demon with her blade ready to strike.

Blurred motion, the scramble of claws,
the
meaty thud of bodies colliding. “Don’t let it bite or scratch you,” she called, scanning the area for the Shadow Avatar that controlled the demon. Nothing vibrated through her extrasense. Either the controller wasn’t around—unlikely—or he was powerful enough to control the seeker and conceal his presence—disconcerting.

“This would be easier if I had my own blade,” he yelled back. “Yours is slow.”

“Slow? I’ll show you slow. Keep that damned thing busy.” He shouldn’t be able to use her Lightblade in the first place, but she shoved that thought aside. She limped to her bike, righting it with an effort. It wasn’t ruined, but it would definitely take more than a paint job to put it back on the street.

Incensed anew, she opened the side panel to extract a sawed-off shotgun, jacked a couple of shells into it,
then
charged it with her extrasense. Khefar was still holding his own against the seeker demon in an impressive display of skill, but the seeker had speed, strength, and energy on its side. The Nubian wouldn’t last much longer.

“Come on, come on, give me a shot,” Kira muttered. She tracked them, but getting a clear shot of just the demon would be tricky. Then again, Khefar said he was more or less immortal. She had to hope he wasn’t delusional, and that the bullet wouldn’t hurt him.

She fired a round from her handgun, hitting the Nubian in the shoulder. He spun enough to give her an opening to use the shotgun. In less than a heartbeat she swung it up, charged it with her power, aimed, fired.

The heavy round hit the demon in the forehead. Taking off the top of its head wouldn’t be enough to keep it down, she knew, stalking forward to pump the second round into its muzzle.

Still the beast writhed and snarled. Khefar dragged her blade, still burning with power, across the demon’s throat,
then
shoved it into the left side of its chest for good measure. Its shriek cut the air, leaving Kira’s ears ringing. The death throes quickly subsided until the only sounds left were Khefar’s labored breathing and the sizzle of the demon’s yellow blood burning into the concrete.

Khefar regained his feet, slinging his braids back over his shoulder, her blade still glowing in his hand. “Are you all right?”

“Don’t worry about me—”

He turned on her. “Are you hurt?”

“Hey, easy there.
My ankle’s twisted and it’s going to hurt like a bitch in the morning, but I’ll live. You got it off of me before he could do any real damage. What about you?”

“You shot
me.
”

“I had to get you out of the way of my kill shot,” she explained, holstering her gun. The seeker demon sank in on itself with a crackling noise,
then
imploded. If they were lucky, the mental backlash from its demise would kill its master.
If they were lucky.

“By shooting me?”

“No one told you to follow me or jump into the fight,” she reminded him. “Besides, you said you were immortal and regular bullets don’t hurt you.”

“I said it was more complicated than that.” He winced,
then
slumped against the building, pressing his hand against his rib cage. “Damn, he must have got
me.
”