Shadow Fall (28 page)

She lifted her face skyward and raised her voice. “Cut it out, Bale, and get this over with! Some of us actually prefer to be inside where it’s warm.”

The overwhelming sound abruptly ceased. Another wave of unease swept through the team before it subsided. They trained for situations like this—this and the hope-it-never-happens, all-out war between Light and Shadow. Sanchez had obviously picked the elite of her Special Response Teams to handle the exchange.

A shout went up from the far side of the semi-circle. Three large forms dropped out of the night sky, descending feetfirst. Two of the banaranjans carried a large canvas bag, something that looked suspiciously like an army-issue gear bag.

Banaranjans were experts at glamour, yet there was nothing glamorous about their true form. Shedding their human guise, banaranjans looked like something out of a prehistoric nightmare, as if a pterodactyl and a Neanderthal had come across each other and decided to propagate. The night flyers weren’t giant bats or dragons, but it was easy to see how they inspired such tales.

The hybrids in their natural forms were impressive, standing a little over seven feet tall from the crest on their heads to the claws of their feet. Their hides were a ruddy gray brown, thick enough to protect them from the elements. Just as they could make themselves appear human, banaranjans could alter the color and texture of their skin to blend into their surroundings. Their faces were more fox-like than reptilian, with elongated snouts displaying a fear-inspiring array of sharp pointed teeth. Their long-fingered hands were more human than not, but their feet were clawed and splayed to grip. They had a single claw at the tips of their wings like most bats. Lean, muscular, and wiry, banaranjans were lethal fighting machines.

The tallest of the trio, the one not carrying the duffel bag, stepped forward. “Shadowchaser Solomon, I present a gift to you from the hybrid community.”

The voice was Bale’s smooth tone, surprising coming from the banaranjan’s fierce visage. Kira could feel Sanchez’s eyes on her as she stepped forward. “You didn’t bring me a gift, Bale,” she corrected him, fighting to keep anger and irritation out of her voice and failing miserably. She had to look carefully to see anything of Bale’s human face in the hybrid’s features. “You brought me a material witness in an ongoing Gilead investigation, a witness who was in the process of being retrieved by Gilead agents.”

She looked at the bag. “What in the name of Light did you do to him?”

“Nothing in the name of Light,” the banaranjan told her. It bared its teeth in what was probably supposed to be a smile but looked like a snarl instead. “We thought Hammond might be more agreeable if we relaxed his tongue a bit.”

Kira put her hands on her hips. “Exactly how did you relax his tongue?”

“We took him to the old quarry for a game of catch.” Bale’s eyes closed to slits. “Ah, the Bellwood quarry. It brings back such happy memories.”

Crap. The banaranjan version of catch involved tossing a hapless victim around thirty or forty feet in the air. Kira had seen killer whales do something similar with a seal in the ocean. Fear was a powerful adrenaline inducer, and Kira didn’t know anyone who thought of falling the equivalent of several stories to their deaths as a fun time. Hammond didn’t stand a chance with banaranjans on adrenaline highs, no matter how far into Shadow he was.

“Bale, you can’t do that with a Gilead witness!” Kira exclaimed. “You should have let us bring him in!”

The banaranjan shrugged, his folded wings rising and falling with the movement. “We wanted to make sure your quarry didn’t escape your grasp. We knew you would move once you had human victims, but your pace is not a banaranjan’s pace.”

“We have to investigate. We have to gather facts and assess information,” Kira protested. “We can’t rush into places unprepared—”

“And we cannot allow another hybrid to fall victim to this man and his exhibit while Gilead takes its time.”

Kira settled her hands on her hips. She didn’t know if Bale was posturing for the two hybrids behind him or if he really meant his criticism of Gilead’s—and her—actions. Maybe he was still high on adrenaline from the thrill of the hunt. He was still her friend, and a stabilizing force in the hybrid community. She needed both of those.

She tried for reason. “You’ve had him in your custody for long enough. Did you acquire any proof that Hammond is responsible? Did you discover how to awaken the people who are comatose?”

The other two banaranjans shifted uneasily, and Kira had her answer before Bale spoke. “If we did, our people would already be awake,” he told her. “Hammond has proven to be … unresponsive to our methods of persuasion. Perhaps Gilead will have success questioning him. When you have the answers, we will join you in your final assault.”

Sanchez’s response was immediate and unequivocal. “Absolutely not.”

The banaranjans’ wings rustled, an ominous sign. A metallic sound behind Kira alerted her to the fact that someone had shifted a rifle. Bale swung his sharp-eyed gaze from Sanchez to the guard, eyes glowing green.

“Stop!” Kira barked, before things could go to hell. “Everybody stop for a damn minute.”

She turned to Sanchez. “Section Chief, a word, please?”

She took a couple of steps away from the guards and the banaranjans. Sanchez followed, her steps reluctant. “Say whatever you want to say, Solomon, I’m still going to disagree.”

Kira felt a headache start at the back of her skull. Reading Wynne’s necklace had taken more out of her than she wanted to admit. She wanted ten minutes of quiet and a dark place to sit. Correction—a dark,
warm
place to sit. “Don’t you want to know why I think we should agree to Bale’s request?”

“I don’t care what the reason is.” The section chief’s face hardened into implacable lines. “I’m not trusting my people to those creatures.”

“‘Those creatures’ are law-abiding members of our community,” Kira pointed out, too cold, and tired, and mentally ragged to watch her tone. “Bale is a respected leader in that community and does a lot of heavy lifting in keeping the peace between hybrids and humans. According to Khefar, banaranjans are serous fighters. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to have a couple of them on our side when we head to the Congress Center. Besides, they brought us Hammond. It wouldn’t take much for them to take off with him again.”

“I would consider that a reason to open fire.”

“And risk hitting Hammond, our lone witness?” Kira shook her head. “I know you’ve got issues with hybrids. I get it, considering what happened with your niece and all. But they aren’t our enemies. Even if they were, the old saying holds true: the enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

She could see Sanchez struggle with it, struggle to set aside her emotional response. It made the section chief appear more human to Kira—which was ironic, considering the situation. She decided to press a little more.

“Chief, you’re the most practical strategist I know, and that’s saying something. I know you don’t like to move without having as many facts as possible. I also know you don’t like going into a situation out-manned or underpowered. We could use some metaphysical muscle on our side. The banaranjans are offering to help Gilead. Think of how that will play in the hybrid community when word gets out. It will be good P.R. for you.”

The section chief blew out a breath. “Who would have thought that you would be the practical one here?” Sanchez said wryly. She smoothed a gloved hand over her dark bun. “Fine. They can join us in the field. But if anything happens, I’m holding you personally responsible. Understood?”

“Loud and clear.” Kira refrained from offering a mock salute, but it was a near thing. She didn’t need to push her luck with the section chief, especially since she had to use that luck and goodwill for a while longer.

They returned to their places, and Kira turned to the banaranjans. “Section Chief Sanchez appreciates the assistance of the hybrid community in apprehending a common enemy. We welcome your presence when we begin the next offensive.”

“When will that be, Shadowchaser Solomon?”

“Hand over Hammond so we can interview him,” Kira replied. “We have to know what we’re facing, where, and how dangerous it is. Once we know that, we can make a plan.”

“Tonight?”

Kira nodded. “I can call you when we begin strategizing, and conference you in. Is this acceptable?”

“We accept.” Bale gestured to one of the banaranjans. The hybrid dragged the oversized duffel forward, unceremoniously releasing it.

“Is he still alive?” Sanchez asked, eyeing the bag.

“He is,” Bale said, eyes still brilliant green. “Most find night flying with banaranjans to be somewhat stressful, so I had to calm him down a bit.” All of the flyers grinned, a display of teeth that could have set the guards off again if the hybrids hadn’t stepped back.

Bale turned to Kira, inclined his head. “I look forward to your call, Kira Solomon. Until then.”

All three snapped their wings open—a sound like a minor clap of thunder. Each turned toward the side of the building unpopulated by guards. As they turned, they shimmered and disappeared. No, Kira realized,
disappeared
was the wrong word. She could hear the flap of their wings as each one launched into the air. It was more like they simply blended into their surroundings, a kind of metaphysical camouflage the military would kill to acquire.

“Are they gone?” Sanchez asked, seemingly to no one in particular.

Kira nodded. One team member with an infrared scanner gave a thumbs-up. Sanchez gestured, and two of her guards cautiously approached the canvas bag. One knelt to unzip it while the other watched, assault rifle ready.

“He’s alive, ma’am,” the guard reported, “Duct taped and trussed up like a Christmas turkey.”

Sanchez turned to her aide. “Contact Rasmussen and tell her we’re good to go. She and her team are set up in Interrogation Room Five. Escort our witness there. I don’t care what it takes, I want Hammond up and talking in fifteen.”

I
nterrogation Room Five was part of a collection of staging areas that made up the high-security section of Gilead East’s underground detainment facility. Any Adepts or hybrids needing to be held for their own good or the public’s safety—whether for being under the influence of magic or more mundane substances—were housed on the upper levels in rooms that looked more like they belonged in mid-grade hotels. The higher the threat risk, however, the lower the level and the more utilitarian the room became, until they were no more than cinder block and steel cells reinforced with magic and titanium.

It took Dr. Rasmussen and her team twenty minutes to get Hammond warmed, dressed, and functioning but he still looked worse for wear with duct tape residue framing his loose-lipped mouth, his disheveled hair tinged red beneath the overhead ultraviolet lights. Thanks to his time with the banaranjans, he now barely resembled the suave salesman from the fund-raiser.

Banaranjans didn’t have a word for
gentle
in their native tongue, but they had more than a dozen for
survive
. So while Bale and his compatriots hadn’t been gentle in their handling of the man, they had made sure that he’d survive. Even enduring a banaranjan’s flight was no mean feat. Kira had flown with Bale once, partly on a dare and partly to satisfy her curiosity. She never wanted to suffer the experience again.

A two-way mirror separated the interrogation chamber from the observation room. Kira waited with Khefar, Sanchez and her aide, Amanda Duncan, field agent Dustin Nguyen, and the heads of two Special Response Teams, Commander Charlie Jenkins and Commander Siri Sonoranvan.

Nguyen was an affable guy, Kira recalled, with strong ties to the local Vietnamese community north of Atlanta. He also served as a liaison of sorts between the human, hybrid, and Gilead communities. In other words, Special Agent Nguyen had the worst job in the city. How he was able to do his job and still maintain a cheerful disposition was beyond Kira. Better living through chemistry, maybe.

She had a passing acquaintance with the commanders, having backed them up on several missions. Jenkins looked as if he’d be better suited to a career on the pro wrestling circuit than private security. Tall, bald, and broad-shouldered, with skin a couple of shades lighter than his black fatigues, Commander Jenkins exuded power and command. Kira knew his intimidating looks concealed a kind soul, though. He’d once stopped a convoy to hustle a flock of geese and goslings across the busy highway.

The top of Siri Sonoranvan’s head came up only to Jenkins’s name tag, but her small frame was all muscle.
Delicate
wasn’t a word used to describe the commander—or if someone did use it in her hearing, it was the last time. Siri specialized in hand-to-hand combat.

On the other side of the glass, Hammond lay strapped down to a chair that resembled something out of a dentist’s office. Several guards took up strategic positions around the perimeter of the room. Behind Hammond’s chair sat a large man with naturally red hair, but the color was so intense you’d think it had come out of a bottle. With his arms folded across his chest and his expression completely neutral, he could have given the bouncers at Demoz’s club a run for their money. Kira had seen him before at headquarters—you didn’t forget hair like that—and recalled his name was Donohue, but had no idea of his role with Gilead.

On Hammond’s left was a highly nondescript man who looked to be in his mid-to late thirties. Mousy hair, average height and weight, eyes hidden behind wire-rimmed glasses—all contributed to his unremarkable looks. Unlike others in the room, he dressed very casually in dark loafers, olive-colored khaki trousers, and a dark brown sweater.

“Who’s that guy?” Kira asked, jerking her head toward the glass.

“That’s a Light Adept named Warren,” Amanda said, her hair still managing to shine golden in the low light. “He’s a Suppressor.”

Khefar quietly asked, “What does he … suppress?”