Shadow Blade (6 page)

“Forgive me.
How gauche to need your reminder.”
He waved his perfectly manicured hand. Immediately the inner door opened to admit a young woman dressed head to foot in a hooded dress the color of opals. In her arms rested a silver tray bearing several bottles, each emitting a pale blue light. Purified water of such high quality human bottlers couldn’t come close to it. It always made Kira wonder exactly who else made it to Demoz’s private office, for him to keep a stash of Light-ready snacks on hand.

Kira remained silent while the girl placed glasses on the low table. She looked to be in her early twenties, her features calling to mind Pacific Islander heritage. When Kira caught her eye, the girl smiled briefly. Kira sat back, satisfied the girl wasn’t a prisoner, though she did wonder how the girl was able to remain so Light-pure in the DMZ.

Kira knew that most of Demoz’s wait staff
weren’t
psychic grazers. Like most vampires, he didn’t like competition, preferring to keep for himself the emotional smorgasbord his patrons represented.

The waitress left. Kira felt a tendril of power on the edge of her consciousness and swatted it away easily.
“Demoz, really, stop trying to cop a feel.”

Demoz threw back his head and laughed. “How can I resist you, Kira Solomon? You’d do better to demand a shark to stop swimming.”

He took the seat opposite hers. “Tell me what’s going on. It’s not like you to be so blatant when you visit. You are obviously on a mission. What information are you looking for today?”

“You already know why I’m here,” she said, keeping a tight lock on her mental shields. It was one thing to allow Demoz to feed off the emotional reaction she caused; it was quite another to let him feed off her directly. If she showed any sort of expressive display, he’d work the gap until it opened wide and the feelings flowed freely—like a blood vampire sending anticoagulants into a vein.

“I can do many things, Kira, but reading the thoughts behind your gorgeous brown eyes isn’t one of them. Our usual meetings happen on Thursdays. What couldn’t wait until then?”

“The same as always.
Information.”

Demoz raised an eyebrow, his steel-gray eyes curious, guarded. “What information couldn’t wait until our regular meeting?”

“Someone unleashed a seeker demon tonight. I want to know who.”

“A seeker demon?”

“Yeah.”
Kira had noted the slight widening of his eyes before he’d spoken. Of course Demoz knew something. Demoz
always
knew something. She tried a test. “The Commission lost a handler tonight.”

“How terrible for you,” Demoz clucked, his sympathetic tone completely at odds with the assessing glint of his eyes. “I felt the moment of his passing.
A tragedy.
Was it someone you knew?”

“This is my territory,” Kira continued, ignoring his question. “A seeker demon killed the handler, but none of the skanks around here are strong enough to manage a seeker demon, are they?”

“Of course not,
which makes me wonder if your information is indeed correct.
”

“It’s an unimpeachable source,” Kira stated. “Who’s strong enough to control a seeker demon, Demoz?”

“I don’t know.”

“Really?”
She didn’t bother to hide her sarcasm. “Are you telling me that when you felt the moment of his passing, you knew he was a male handler but you couldn’t tell he was slain at the hands of a seeker demon? You’re getting sloppy in your old age.”

The vampire’s eyes tightened. “I haven’t reached old age yet.”

“But you certainly want to, right?” It wasn’t a threat, not really.

“Kira, you’re the most pragmatic of the Chasers I’ve known. I have little doubt that you’d dispatch me if my usefulness waned.”

“Not without a reason.” She cocked her head, studying the outwardly complacent vampire. “Is there a reason?”

“Hardly.
I enjoy life too much to get on the wrong side of any of my clients.”

Kira noted his hesitation.
“But?”

“But.”
Demoz sighed. “Something’s going on. I don’t yet know what it is, but all signs point to a heavy hitter coming to town.”

“An Avatar?”

Demoz actually looked over his shoulder, as if her saying the word would call the being out. Finally he nodded.

“Where?”

The vampire shook his head. “Don’t know.”

“What do the
Fallen
want? Why is one of them here in its Avatar host?”

“They’re tracking something. No one will say what or who it is, but they’ve got grunts all over the place looking for information. All I do know is that your opposition’s nervous and when they get nervous—”

“Bad shit happens.” She suppressed a sigh. “The question is, how bad is bad?”

Demoz spread his hands. Maybe he didn’t know what was going on. Maybe he feared telling her more. As much as he professed a fondness for her, Demoz wouldn’t hesitate to throw her to the wolves if it protected his own thick skin. It was all about maintaining Balance.

Most Chasers wouldn’t associate with someone who was ostensibly the enemy and the Commission certainly frowned on it. Kira didn’t care. Not all humans were good and not all hybrids and demons were evil. As long as you didn’t trust him, Demoz was useful. And, she had to admit, endearing in a suck-your-heart-out sort of way.

“This handler, he was close to you, wasn’t he?”

“Doesn’t matter if he was close to me or not, Demoz.
He was an innocent. I don’t care how high I have to go, but I’ll find the being responsible.”

Demoz stared at her, in that still, nonliving way that all vampires had. “Are you sure you want to go down this path, Kira Solomon?” he asked at last, his voice soft. “You may not like what you find at the end of it.”

“I’m sure I won’t.” She stood. “But I’m a Shadowchaser. Going down the dark path is my job.”

“I would advise you to take care when you step outside, sweet Kira,” Demoz said. “My protection doesn’t extend beyond these walls.”

“Neither does your neutrality,” she reminded him. “Don’t worry; I’ll wait until I’m out of the parking lot before drawing blood.”

 

 

 

 

Chapter 4

K
ira kept her word, not that it mattered much. Lonnie and some of his friends caught her about half a block from the DMZ, their bikes circling hers. Her Buell could outrun their glorified mopeds easily, even though it was built like a tank and weighed nearly as much. But driving all over the city would do nothing but waste time and gas and make her cranky. They were asking for it and she would be happy to give it to them—but she really didn’t have much time to play.

Going to see Demoz had been a gamble that didn’t pay off as she’d hoped it would. Not only had she wound up with minimal information—that an Avatar was in town looking for something, information that might or might not be connected to Bernie and the dagger—the wager had cost her a couple of spells. Worse, it had cost her time. Every moment she didn’t spend chasing Bernie’s killer was another advantage for whoever had killed him. With nothing else to go on, she’d have to return to the alley and hope Gilead was done with the cleanup but had still left enough metaphysical evidence that she could pick up a trail. The sooner she got back to the scene of the crime, the more likely the chances she’d find some sort of lead.

The halflings tried to pen her in as she headed toward

Peachtree Street

.
As if.
She’d learned a thing or two from some of the best stunt riders in the country and these idiots were totally amateur. Dropping her visor, Kira bent low over her handlebars, calling her power. Blue light flared from her bare hands, spilling onto the handgrips and down through the frame. It was the only warning she intended to give them. Not her fault if they ignored it.

They ignored it. One of Lonnie’s buddies, grinning and whooping and looking eerily like a hyena, made a grab for the clutch when he got close enough. Her power flared. Hyena Boy’s hand flew in one direction while he and his bike went careening in another.

One down, three to go.

At midnight,

North Avenue

, which ran east to west, was largely deserted. Smart cops gave the DMZ and its clientele a wide berth—it was just safer and saner that way. The closer they got to

Peachtree Street

, the more likely Normal police would be on patrol.

Kira could see the three remaining bikers in her mirrors, too stupid or too mad at her for embarrassing them in the club to go back for their fallen friend. With her extrasense guiding the bike, she dropped her left hand to tap a panel open and pulled out a modified Glock 19. Normal ammunition didn’t down hybrids permanently and despite her irritation, she didn’t want to feed her power to the bullets in order to kill them. Killing required too much paperwork. Being shot still hurt like a bitch, no matter what you were, and she didn’t mind hurting them at all. “Possible wounding” didn’t entail filling out a form and the hybrids would heal soon enough.

Movement in the right mirror caught her eye; Lonnie had decided to make his move. Kira’s lips curled.
“Time to end this.”

She pulled the clutch in,
then
hit the front brake. Her body rocked forward as the back of the bike lifted. She felt the sweet spot—the balance point—as Lonnie and his buddy zoomed past her. Jamming her knees into the gas tank, she let the bike roll forward, balanced on its front wheel, and fired off two rounds left-handed. Both hybrids and their rides slid an impressive distance as she dropped the back tire to the pavement.

Three down, one to go.

She circled around to face the final biker. He’d stopped in the middle of the street, jaw hanging as he stared at the speed bumps his friends had become. She pushed up her visor. “You want some?”

His eyes ping-ponged between her and his fallen buddies.
“Screw this!”

He burned rubber turning his bike around to head back toward the DMZ—and crashed into the grill of a huge black SUV with blackout windows that couldn’t have been more conspicuous if its license plate read FEDS. Except it wasn’t the FBI.

The SUV’s passenger’s and driver’s doors opened simultaneously and two tall men in suits exited onto the street.
The Gilead Commission’s version of the Men in Black.
They even wore sunglasses although it had to be after midnight and the streetlighting didn’t exactly cause a glare. It made her wonder if there were souls specifically destined for bureaucracy or if it was payment for wrongdoing in a previous life.

They paid no attention to the biker, now attached to the front of their vehicle, as they walked toward Kira.

She pulled back her extrasense as the suits stopped in front of her.
“Took you long enough.”

They ignored the barb, just as they always did.
Ah, the camaraderie of working for Gilead,
Kira thought. It must have been a little like the love between beat cops and detectives or the navy and marines. Yeah, right.

“Chaser Solomon,” the nondescript blond said, “the section chief would like to see you.”

The section chief, one Estrella Sanchez, wasn’t exactly a card-carrying member of the Kira Fan Club. The feeling was mutual. “I’m working.”

“It’s not a request.”

“Didn’t think it was.”
Sanchez was the epitome of everything Kira disliked about Gilead in general and the East Coast division of Gilead America in particular: bureaucracy, paperwork, and a fanatical devotion to policies and procedures. Like Adepts and Avatars gave a damn. “Where does the Grand Poobah want to meet?”

The suits frowned. Kira rolled her eyes. Were there any bureaucratic goons who had a sense of humor, in any organization?

“The gardens at the
Carter
Center
.”
They finally looked at their new hood ornament. “What about
your .
 . . friends?”

She rolled closer,
then
pushed the halfling off the hood with one booted foot. He slid to the pavement with a groan. “Don’t worry. They’re down, not out. They’ll be fine in a couple of minutes. Besides, it’s not like we can send them back to Shadow for being stupid.” She dropped her visor, then gestured them on.

Leaving Lonnie and his
buddies
curbside, she followed the SUV for a couple of blocks to

Freedom Parkway

and on to the
Carter
Center
. The Presidential Library and Museum nestled in the thirty-seven-acre bowl of the Center’s grounds flanked by the lanes of the parkway. Several buildings there could host a variety of events and weddings, but what impressed Kira the most were the gardens. More than once—when the concrete jungle was getting to her—she’d come out to the gardens, walked the stepping stones to the center of the koi pond, and talked to the fish. Sometimes they even answered.

A matching SUV waited in the main parking lot when they arrived, complete with its own set of matching suits. Kira knew Gilead had impressive skills; she’d seen plenty of the results firsthand. As far as she knew, Gilead hadn’t perfected cloning—either magical or scientific—but seeing all the nearly identical agents might lead her to wonder if they had.

She allowed a tendril of extrasense to seep out as she switched off her bike and pulled off her helmet. The natural earth energy greeted her, a steady hum that still held remnants of what had transpired during the day. She could feel the cool force of the koi pond and the larger lake, the subtle power of the verdant growing things slowing into autumn. Beyond that she felt the bland oatmeal sameness of the Commission agents and a peppery spice that had to be Estrella Sanchez.

No Shadow Avatars or Chaos magic waiting. Good.

Kira drew back her extrasense,
then
set off, following the phosphorescent lamps illuminating the walkway. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust the section chief. She didn’t, but she could count on one hand the number of people she trusted, and she’d just lost one. If Bernie, her surrogate father, could betray her, Kira certainly wasn’t going to add Sanchez as a friend on her Facebook page.