Shadow Touched (2 page)

If Marshall wanted to mess around on Cam’s computer, he could have at it. He’d find an awful lot of sports blogs, RPG data, and in his backlog of e-mails, a few from Eleanor Russo.

The commander went still as his earpiece buzzed. He pressed at his throat to answer, but was already moving out the door. “Where is it now?”

He exited, asking, “And Ms. Russo . . . ?”

Apparently the shadow was giving them more trouble. Cam felt the first flush of guilt. But really, how on earth could he have known? Eleanor Russo’s e-mails had demonstrated that she’d read every word of every article he’d ever published. If she wanted to travel all this way, why not meet with her? The staff was allowed guests. Of course, that probably referred to normal people, shadows properly attached.

The phenomenon still boggled Cam’s mind—a shadow, separate from its host. How was that even possible? It defied basic laws of physics, unless . . .

Cam turned to Dr. Shelstad. “Could the shadow be fae?”

Shadow, after all, was the term assigned to the world contiguous to Earth, the Shadowlands. In that place, shadow was magic. Was this an instance of magic being harnessed (even unknowingly) by a human being? Or was Eleanor Russo, in part, fae?

“I have it on good authority that the shadow is not fae, nor of the Shadowlands,” Marshall answered.

“Whose authority?” Cam asked. He looked from Marshall to Shelstad.

Shelstad shrugged, a look of irritated consternation on his face. “I have no idea. Marshall?”

Marshall raised his hand to stop them both. “A contact of Thorne’s. It’s above everyone’s security clearance; I wish it were above mine. An
aide
of sorts is on his way to assess Ms. Russo. In the meantime, Kalamos, she’s your problem.”

Shelstad dropped his irritation. “Just as long as Cameron has to deal with her. I have a team meeting in five.”

The words “your” and “problem” echoed in Cam’s mind, so that he barely connected the last statement. “If you have a team meeting, don’t I as well?” After all, they were on the same team.

“I’ll let you know what your assignment is,” Shelstad said.

“You’ll let me know . . .”
Hell, no.
He’d busted his ass to get on that team. He wasn’t missing any meeting, especially one that gave out assignments. Ms. Russo’s problem was very interesting and all, but the fae . . . The fae were his passion. The ghostbusters on sublevel three could deal with Ms. Russo and her doppelganger. Wasn’t that their field of study?

“For the time being,” Marshall said, “Ms. Russo belongs to you, beginning with a detailed personal history. Adam Thorne will want a transcript of your interview.”

Cam had to work hard to swallow his arguments. Adam Thorne. Interview Ms. Russo? This mess up was not the way he wanted his work to be made known to Thorne.

A litany of curses sprang to mind, but he kept them bottled. The effort probably cost him a year of his life. Best thing to do was get the interview done, and flawlessly. Give Thorne meticulous information on Russo and her experience with the shadow, and then fight, double-time if necessary, for a plum assignment on the fae.

“I’ll get on it right way,” Cam said, stony. “What kind of time frame are we looking at for this aide?”

Aide. What Eleanor Russo needed was clergy.

“I have no idea,” Marshall said. “But see that you’re ready by then.”

Fantastic.

 

Ellie leaned against the window of her concrete prison, anxiety riddling her composure. She hated her shadow, and here she was near desperate to get a glimpse of it. Separation anxiety, that’s what this was. Ellie almost always knew where her shadow was—it never strayed far—but in this new place, she had no idea. She felt as if a limb, an unwanted one, was missing. No, more like,
misplaced,
which was a very weird, gutcrawling kind of feeling.

Where was her shadow?

The view was narrow, facing the inside of the facility where Ellie was detained. A soldier was on guard at her door—she could see a bit of his shoulder—and another stood at the end of the hallway. The place looked brand new, technologically advanced, the construction spacious in a greyish, impending doom sort of way. She’d done her research on the Segue Institute and knew where they were keeping her—in a wraith cell. This was where they kept the monsters.

And she was one half monster. Although, and this made her smile bitterly, the scary half was roaming about while she, as ordinary as could be, was locked up in the monster cell. It was the story of her life.

Where was her damn shadow anyway?

If Ellie had to guess, her shadow would be hiding. Dumb thing. The moment Ellie had admitted her theory about how to kill the shadow, the dark half of herself had gone on the defensive. Well, she’d just have to deal. Ellie didn’t want to die either, but if they were going to get help, and that was now doubtful considering the guns and prison, then they had to cooperate.

No matter what, they were not going back to that house, that confined existence.

Okay, fine—so far
this
confined existence wasn’t exactly an improvement.

Brisk movement down the wide hallway had Ellie pressing her face to the window, but it wasn’t her shadow. It was Dr. Kalamos, flanked by soldiers. He’d changed his clothes and was now more professional in grey slacks and a blue button-down. She was his business then. Good. Great. Finally. As he approached, she stood back from the window, and noticed he’d shaved as well and combed back his too-long hair. It made the bruise on his cheek stand out. How’d he get that?

A soldier entered first, an insulting precaution. Hadn’t she been the soul of cooperation? Hadn’t
she
contacted
him?

“Ms. Russo,” Dr. Kalamos said. He smelled good, dark and soapy at once. She hadn’t expected that. “If you wouldn’t mind coming with me?”

The presence of the soldiers suggested she didn’t have much of a choice, but she nodded yes. Dr. Kalamos was why she was here.

As she was marched down the hallway, she noticed additional wraith cells off to the right, all empty, and was directed into a larger space, where a table and chairs had been set up. Dr. Kalamos gestured to one, and he took a seat across from her. The soldiers stood in front of her, just behind the doctor. The door closed, locking them all inside. Like the scene at the gate, it was too many people all over again, too many eyes on her, but now in a small room. Was there even enough air in here for all of them?

Didn’t matter. She could take anything as long as she got help.

“Ms. Russo,” Dr. Kalamos began. “Your shadow hasn’t been seen in the past thirty minutes. Can you tell me where it is?”

Ellie shook her head. “I have no idea.”

“How far can it separate from you?” His tone was hard.

She hadn’t known what to expect from him, but had hoped for understanding. She started to get light-headed, the crawling sensation intensifying. She’d never talked about this. Not with anyone. And where was her shadow? She needed her here. This was for both of them. It was time.

Ellie inhaled to answer, and held the breath while she tried to put it into words. “I don’t really know, but I don’t think that far.” How to possibly explain? “She’s connected to me. Part of me. She sticks to my life and won’t make one for herself. I tried to encourage that a long time ago.”

“Can you call it?” Again, that clipped tone. Not afraid, which was good. More like annoyed. She didn’t know what to think of him. All this was so new.

“Shadow?!” she obliged. She flicked her gaze around, waiting for her shadow’s emergence. Then she shrugged again. “She doesn’t listen to me.”

“What does she respond to?”

“Whims. Impulses.” Ellie didn’t add that those impulses originated in herself. She’d work up to that. “Most of the time she’s kind of infantile in her behavior.”

“Is she dangerous?”

Ellie had answered this earlier, and repeated her response. “I don’t think so.”

“Our first priority is the safety of the men and women working at Segue. Can you please clarify?”

Ellie had promised herself that she’d hold nothing back, but his sharp approach had her hesitating. “She plays tricks,” she said, though this was the lesser truth. “And, depending on her mood, she can try to scare, or disturb, or . . . or confront . . .” Another dodge.

Kalamos leaned forward. “Can she physically touch anything? Can she affect electricity or water or light or air? Can she
do
anything?”

“No.” The lie came out smoothly, with zero outward angst, but—
oh thank God, there she is
—the lie, or maybe the memory underneath, had brought her shadow. Her naked self emerged through the wall—a bare leg, arm, breast, and shoulder.

“Contact!” shouted a soldier. The two moved in tandem, taking new positions to face her shadow, guns aimed, ready, and utterly useless.

Her shadow was coming slowly, carefully, a look of extreme distrust on her face as her gaze cut from soldier to soldier. She snarled at them.

Lovely.

Ellie looked over at Dr. Kalamos. He’d gone a little wary, too, but she didn’t miss the way his expression shifted from sternness to wonder. Ellie almost groaned her frustration; his interest was only going to encourage her shadow.

The shadow took another step. “
He
likes me.” She was looking at Dr. Kalamos, but Ellie knew she was speaking to her. Or rather, arguing a point.

“I’m pleased to meet you,” Dr. Kalamos said. “Won’t you join us?”

Her shadow smiled in gratification, then abruptly frowned. “There’s no chair for me.”

“Please have mine,” he answered, standing and holding the chair back.

Ellie watched the exchange. He’d have done better to ignore her shadow, but she supposed he’d have to learn the hard way.

Her shadow walked around the table, which was unnecessary for her, part of the game, and seated herself, lady-like, on Dr. Kalamos’s chair. The chair wasn’t holding her up, of course. Rather, her shadow was mimicking Ellie’s position, but with legs crossed, preening with the pleasure of attention.

“I’d like to be friends,” Dr Kalamos said, crouching to her shadow’s eye level.

“Friends,” her shadow repeated, husky.

“But in order to be friends,” he continued, “you need to follow the rules of this place.”

Ellie bit her tongue to keep from interrupting. He was trying to reason with her shadow. If her shadow had been capable of seeing reason, they wouldn’t be at Segue, risking everything for help. They could have gotten along just fine back at home, coexisting with a degree of equanimity.

“Which means,” he clarified, “you need to stay in approved areas. No one here can go everywhere they want, not even me.”

Her shadow rubbed a breast suggestively.

Ellie sighed.

Dr. Kalamos’s face reddened, but he pressed on valiantly. “Can you agree to stay in approved areas?”

Her shadow arched her back so her breasts jutted. “No,” she answered. “Who hurt your face?”

Dr. Kalamos ignored the question and looked over at Ellie for direction.

“She tells the truth,” Ellie said. “I’ve never heard her lie.” Not like me.

“I do what I want to,” her shadow added.

Way to put him at ease. Chances were they’d never let Ellie out of that cell now.

A question glinted in Kalamos’s eyes. “Can I touch you?” he asked the shadow.

“Oh, please touch me,” her shadow answered, spreading her legs on the seat of the chair and flaring her hips.

Ellie wanted to die. Her shadow had always been bad, but this was mortifying to the core. Tears of humiliation pricked at her eyes, but she steeled herself against them and got to the point. “Can you help us? Your research said you were studying shadow.” Ellie gestured to her own. “Can you help me with that
thing,
or not?”

But Kalamos was reaching toward her shadow. He grazed his thumb over the smooth surface of her shoulder, then tried to palm it. His hand went right through what appeared to be dark flesh.

“You can do better than that,” her shadow said.

Kalamos glanced back over at Ellie. “Is she a ghost? A manifestation of spirit, but tied to you somehow? Like a dead twin?”

“I’m pretty sure she’s my shadow.” Ellie didn’t cast one, but it was hard to demonstrate in this ambient light.

“Segue has ghosts,” Kalamos continued. “They are three-dimensional as well. And my understanding is that they are variably conscious of the living, though fixed on their own agendas. It’s similar to this behavior.”

“Bor-ing,” the shadow said.

The fact that Dr. Kalamos didn’t understand or accept the basics made Ellie’s humiliation all the more acute. She was going to have to articulate the worst. “No, she’s not a ghost. She’s
my
shadow. My dark half. She’s the most terrible part of me. Think Freud. Think id.” Ellie sharply gestured again to her shadow. “She is me. And I am her.”

The shadow leaned forward. “I hate myself.”

“Ditto!” Ellie cried.

Dr. Kalamos furrowed his brow and stood up again. “She is you,” he repeated. “Like a reflection of your inner being?”

Ellie sat back, exhausted. “Yes.” Finally, he was getting it. Really, she’d hoped for more. “And we need your help. I can’t live like this. I won’t.”

Kalamos leaned against the door, his arms crossed over his chest, seeming to consider the problem with a bothersome nonchalance. “I’d like to help you, really I would. But this is out of my field of study—”

“But you study shadows!” Ellie interrupted. At last she’d found someone whose life work was researching her condition. There was no way she’d let him stand there and deny it.

“Ms. Russo, I study Shadow, which is completely different from your ‘shadow.’”

The dark version of Ellie had her attention on the soldiers, whose guns rested at their chests.