Shadow Blade (9 page)

She opened her eyes in time to see the strip of cloth sinking into the slick surface of her mirror. A moment of grief and regret gripped her—she had to breathe it out slowly before it took root. It wouldn’t have done to keep the cloth as some morbid memento. Comstock wouldn’t have wanted her to remember him that way. Better to let the Universe take it.

The mirror’s surface rippled, then stilled to an inky smoothness. A touch of her fingertip, and etheric scales would rise from the surface of the mirror, ready to weigh her soul. Instead, she drew back her extrasense, returning the mirror to normal. The ritual would have to wait for another night.

Her entire body felt heavy as she resealed the chamber,
then
made her way to her bedroom on the uppermost level. Sleep, by the Light. A shower and sleep. She had to hope that sunrise would bring the leads she needed to bring justice to Bernie.

Chapter 6

T
he warrior pulled the Dodge Charger over to the curb a hundred yards down the street from Kira’s warehouse. The spires of downtown Atlanta rose up from the west, touched by the first fingers of dawn’s light. He stared at the concrete and metal edifice that housed his prize. It must have been an auto-repair or tire store in its former life, he guessed, noting the roll-up garage doors. He couldn’t tell if the second story was original or added on, but he could tell the bars covering the windows on the main door were sturdy, an effort to deter common thieves.

Good thing he was neither thief nor common.

“The dagger’s
there,
or at least it was,” he said to Nansee. The wraith was back to his usual guise of a white-haired elderly black man. “I can sense it, though barely. I suppose she’s protecting it somehow.”

“She’s proving to be a very capable Shadowchaser, better than many you’ve met. She can certainly hold her own in a fight.”

“The Commission interrupted her before things got interesting.”

He had to admit, if only to himself, that he’d enjoyed watching her take out the hybrids. She had a lot of power packed into that lithe frame of hers, power he wouldn’t mind facing. “Does that mean you’re afraid to take her on, old man?”

A grunt.
“Fear and self-preservation are two different things.”

“If anyone would know, you’d be the one. Can you get inside?”

The old man faded from view. The warrior tapped out an ancient rhythm on the steering wheel as he waited, restless. Patience was something he’d learned the hard way. It had taken years, decades even.

After a minute or two Nansee coalesced beside him.
He shivered like a dog shaking water from its coat. “It’s well-protected. Multiple layers of encryption technology, metaphysical barriers, and good old-fashioned locks.”

“Since when has technology stopped you, Traveler of Webs?”

“Since it is augmented by Light shields, the Chaser’s own aura, and a couple of curses that could take out a demigod, I’ll consider myself stopped. I like the way I’ve arranged my parts.”

Damn.
It wasn’t unexpected, but it still angered him. To be so close to the dagger yet unable to reclaim it was frustrating.
His own fault for dying and losing it in the first place.

He had to get it back. It had been out of his possession, his control, for far too long. Now a ranking member of the Fallen had its sights set on the dagger. The only comfort he could take was that if Nansee couldn’t get in, neither could the Shadow Avatar.

“Fine.
I’ll think up some way to approach her and get my blade back. Take some time to find out more about her and what she does when she’s not racing hybrids down public roads. I’ve waited this long. What’s one more day?”

Kira woke up to the sound of someone knocking on her door. She opened her eyes to late-morning sunlight.
Damn it, I’ll be behind schedule the rest of the day.

“
Wynne, that
had better be you with a couple of large cups of coffee,” she muttered, throwing back the bedcovers and kicking to her feet. The Light help anyone else who dared beat on her door like that.

She palmed her Lightblade from habit before heading out of the room. She pounded down the stairs, vowing to thank her visitor before ripping them a new one. Throwing open the locks, she yanked open the door—

And found
herself
on a sun-drenched hillside. The ocean
sparkled
a brilliant sapphire below, reflecting the clear sky above. A pavilion sat a hundred yards from the cliff’s edge, its gauzy white curtains dancing in the sea air. An elaborate table for two had been set inside and someone waited for her there.

“Balm.
I’m trying to sleep, you know.”

The head of the Gilead Commission looked as if she’d just booked first-class passage on the
Titanic
—one of the many rumors about her past. Others were that she was a handmaiden of Cleopatra, a Maltese princess, illegitimate daughter of Alexander the Great, or Scheherazade herself. Balm was her name and title.

One of the ways she’d gotten a teenage Kira to study was by daring her to discover Balm’s real identity. After all these years, she still didn’t have a clue. No one knew who or what Balm was, only that she had tremendous power and that there had always been a Balm in Gilead.

“Sleep.
As if I haven’t lost many a night’s
sleep
worrying about you.” Balm lifted a sapphire and gilt etched saucer with one gloved hand, a matching bone china cup chased with gold perched atop it. “Have some tea, dear. It’s your favorite.”

Kira’s yoga pants and tank top had been changed into a formal Gibson Girl dress of Wedgwood blue. She didn’t bother to touch her hair to see if the braids had been replaced with something more suitable for the scene. Instead, she suppressed a sigh as she took a seat and accepted the tea. It was Balm’s dream after all and she could only be rude to Balm up to a point. Besides, Kira knew the head of Gilead could make a damn good cup of tea whether in dreamtime or awake.

She looked around the pavilion, trying to place its familiarity. She knew they were in the dream version of Santa Costa, but she’d never seen a pavilion like this on the island. Maybe she’d seen it in a painting or something. “You sure went to a lot of trouble.”

“Why wouldn’t I for my wayward daughter? Since you didn’t return my call, I decided to walk your dreams to make sure you were all right.”

Kira set her jaw. Balm’s chiding tone made her feel guilty and furious and twelve years old at the same time. She lifted her teacup. “Whether I’m all right or not depends on how you define it.”

Balm’s chocolate eyes softened. “I’m so sorry about Mr. Comstock. I know how important he was to you.”

The teacup rattled. Kira set it down, the lace of her gloves stretching as she curled her hands into fists. “Are you going to make me ask the questions?”

Balm sighed. “Comstock has been your handler almost from the moment you met him at the
Petrie
Museum
. And if you must know, he volunteered.”

“Volunteered?” Kira sat back in the woven plantation chair, absorbing the news.
“How?
How did he even know I’m a Shadowchaser? How did he find out about Gilead?”

“Gilead began a London search for a new handler after you decided to transfer to University. Comstock was at the top of the list of candidates we secretly vetted. We approached him after seeing how well you two got on together. Once he understood Gilead’s mission and your role, he jumped at the chance to be your handler.”

The bitter taste of betrayal clotted on her tongue. She forced herself to choke it down,
then
spoke. “So you watch me,
then
get my friends to report on me. Am I a Chaser or a suspect?”

Balm glared at her from beneath the wide brim of her hat. “I worried about you.
Why would I not want to know what’s going on with my own daughter?”

“Daughter?
I don’t need the subtle reminder that you took me in when no one else would. All that does is remind me of how you mentally deconstructed me and remade me into a walking, talking Shadowchaser Barbie.”

“What I wanted was for you to be my successor,” Balm said calmly, her chin held high. “Unfortunately, you were full of too much rage, especially for one so young. Since your temperament wasn’t suited to the training necessary to become head of the Gilead Commission, I reluctantly went with my second choice for you.”

“Funny, I didn’t see a lot of reluctance back then.”

“Your rage and your powers needed to be channeled somehow. Usually just being here on Santa Costa helps people. Walking the beaches, tending the gardens, even taking tea on this cliff has soothed many a soul.
But not yours.
Only discipline did that. You are the youngest person ever to undergo that sort of intensive training. Don’t try to deny that you didn’t enjoy it like a fish enjoys water.”

Kira shifted in her chair. “Yeah, well, it’s not like I would have made a good Oracle.”

“No, I don’t think the Seers Hall would have appreciated the disruption.” Balm refreshed her tea. “So, as much as it pained me to put you through it, I’m glad I did. It’s what any mother should do for her child.”

“Yeah, you always doled out the tough love, didn’t you, Mother? Like Venice, the night Nico died.
Nice of you to show up then.
Not.”

“I was in Santa Costa, thinking that you’d listened when I asked you to remain in Budapest.” She tugged on the froth of lace that edged her cuffs. “You defied me, Kira, the only person who’s ever dared ignore a request from the Balm of Gilead. All I wanted was to protect you. I respected Nico, but he had a blind spot where you were concerned. He betrayed my trust and took advantage of you.” Before Kira could object, Balm added, “Regardless of what you may think on the matter. His lapse in judgment cost him his life and scarred yours. For that, I don’t think I can ever forgive him.”

“Balm.”
It was hard to see the other woman’s point of view, much less agree with it. Six years ago there was no way that she’d have followed Balm’s order to not go scouting in Venice, a cover for the passionate weekend she and Nico had intended. Now she wondered if Balm had known the outcome and had tried to warn her.

Not that she would have listened. She’d been nineteen and sure of herself and her abilities and in love with her handler. Because of that, she’d gotten him killed. Fast forward a few years, and now Bernie, whom she loved as a father, could be added to the list of those who’d paid a heavy price for being close to her.

She reached for one of the little tea cakes for want of something to do with her hands. “I suppose you already have another handler on the way? I’ve got to say, though, that with my track record, I don’t think anyone’s beating down your door to work with me.”

“Right now I believe another handler would do more harm than good. Given your penchant for thumbing your nose at authority, I think it’s time you learned what it means to be in a position of authority yourself.” Balm gave her a level look. “You have Mr. Comstock to thank for that, by the way. He seemed to think you were more than capable of working on your own.”

“Considering that I thought I was working on my own, yeah, I understand why he would say that.”
Good ol’ Bernie
, she thought.

“I’ve asked Estrella Sanchez to turn over Mr. Comstock’s personal effects to you. He will be cremated per his wishes and the remains delivered to you. He asked that you take him back to London. Will you do that for him?”

Kira gave a jerky nod. It took her a moment to find words. “There’s something else I need to do first, but yeah. I’ll take him back to London.”

Balm reached out, wrapped a hand around Kira’s hand, a gesture they could only make in these dreamwalks. “I know I don’t have to ask you to be careful, but please, for my sake, take care of yourself. Call on me if you need assistance. And stop antagonizing the section chief. The structure is in place for a reason. Sanchez can be of help to you, even with a seeker demon.”

Kira wasn’t so sure about that but decided to keep her opinions private. “I promise to take care of myself.”

Balm gave her a look over the rim of her delicate teacup, as if she knew Kira’s dodge. She probably did. “I have something for you,” she said then.
“A peace offering.”

“What sort of peace offering?”

Balm nodded at something over Kira’s shoulder. She turned around. A man stood at the edge of the cliff, nattily dressed in a beige suit and dark brown vest, a wide brimmed hat. He looked as if he’d been waiting for Howard Carter to get off the train in Cairo.

“Dammit, Balm,” she choked out.

“Go on,” the older woman urged gently. “You don’t have a lot of time.”

The chair almost fell over as she surged out of it. She took an impulsive step forward,
then
turned back to the woman who’d molded her into what she was. Balm looked as she always did, serenity personified, rich brown curls untarnished by gray and no visible marks of the passage of time, but Kira had learned early on that still waters ran deep.

The weight of leading the Gilead Commission, being responsible for hundreds of Shadowchasers and their handlers the world over—and the politics and bureaucracy that enabled it—couldn’t have been an easy job on the best of days.
Kira knew she’d done her fair share of complicating Balm’s life, and she suddenly felt guilty about it.
A little.

She reached out, wrapping her fingers around Balm’s. The older woman looked up, surprise widening her eyes.

“Thank you, Balm.” The words weren’t easy, but they were important to say.
Especially now.
“I’ll try to visit you more often, at least this way.”

Balm squeezed her fingers, then let go. “That would please me.”

Kira made her way up to the precipice,
then
stopped a few feet away. He looked like Bernie, but there was
a smoothness
to his expression, as if a great burden had been lifted. “Is it really you, Bernie?”