Shadowman (7 page)

Read Shadowman Online

Authors: Erin Kellison

BOOK: Shadowman
8Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
Gonna get lucky, lucky, lucky.
The man mopped his reddening face. Licked his lips. Rolled down the window.
Come to papa.
It was self-defense all over again. He screamed a little, which was only human. Even with all the dark acts she'd seen in the fires Beyond, she really couldn't blame him.
Chapter 5
The eyes. That had to be it, why he seemed so familiar, why she couldn't shake the sense that she'd been here before. Those slightly tilted eyes were the same as Talia Thorne's. “You're Talia's
father
?”
Khan took a seat in one of his big chairs, leaned back, arms wide on the rests, and crossed his legs with an ankle to the other knee. Big chair, but he managed to dominate it as a king does a throne. Arrogant. “I am.”
Layla kept the skepticism from her face.
Father
would put him in middle age, and he sure didn't look it. Either he kept himself very well, or he was lying. Nevertheless, her informant, Zoe, had been right: there was something to be learned about the wraiths in this dockside warehouse. That Khan knew to drop Talia's name was proof. She played along. “Do you know who started the wraith war?”
His expression darkened. “Yes. I am responsible. I and I alone.”
Disbelief mellowed the pop of shock that hit Layla. Zoe had said she'd find the source here, too, but . . . this guy? Really? “How?”
He sighed. “You would not understand.”
“
Try me
.” Layla felt his gaze on her, searching, debating. She wanted to press but let the silence work for her instead.
“No,” he finally answered, and she swore inwardly. “Explanations will not work. Not with my family, not with the wraiths. You would have to stay with me and experience it for yourself.”
Stay with him? “But why? You know I'd have to expose what you've done.”
What you
claim
you've done.
He smiled, a slow pull of his sensuous mouth, heavy with meaning. “I doubt very much you'll do that.”
Oh, please. Yes, she could admit that on some level she was attracted to him. Fine. But nothing was going to happen.
“I'm sorry. I have to write my story in good faith, as the facts present themselves.” There was too much shoddy reporting going on about wraiths already, some of it resorting to paranormal explanations, which simply didn't cut it. Wraiths were the product of a disease, not a supernatural event. Period.
His face grew serious. “Do not misunderstand me. You can reveal whatever you like. I believe, however, that you will choose to refrain. Sometimes a little deception is called for.”
“You still haven't answered my question. Why would you want to do this?”
He leaned forward, braced his elbows on his knees, gaze sharpening on hers. “That's one of the things you'll have to find out. The most important of all.”
Layla stepped back, considering. She didn't trust him, or his offer. And especially his motives. But she didn't have anything left to lose and no reason to go home. “So you want me to stay with you . . .”
“. . . and I want you to promise that you will see your story through to the end. That you won't run from what is revealed until you have all your answers.”
“Will I meet Talia Thorne?”
“It stands to reason; we'll be staying at Segue.”
Now he was talking. If he wanted to seduce her, he should have led with Segue. Talia was the ungettable get. For her, Layla would agree to almost anything. “When?”
“Now.” He stood and approached. “But I want your promise that you will see this through. You will discover things . . . uncomfortable to your sensibilities. It will change you.”
Layla had to tilt her head to look up at him. Meet Talia today. Yes. Okay. And if he didn't produce, she'd have reason to back out. And all she'd have to do was endure his melodrama.
“I agree.”
“Swear it.”
“I swear I'll stick with you until I learn the truth about the wraiths, provided that I meet Talia Thorne today.” How he was going to pull that one off, she had no idea. Talia Thorne was in West Virginia and they were in New Jersey.
That familiar smile tweaked his lips again. “Done.”
A moment hung in the air between them. Layla didn't have a good feeling about this. Not at all. Her palms still smarted from her skidding fall during the attack. Her sweater was dirty, the neckline pulled out of shape. And without her phone and gun, she was unarmed. At least at Segue, she'd be a lot closer to her Glock, though she didn't think they'd let her out to fetch it.
They'd need to get to the airport soon. The police report would have to wait. Tomorrow morning, for sure. Her attackers could not be left to prey on other women.
Khan made no motion to get his own car keys. Layla prompted him with a drawn out, “So . . . ?”
“Yes. So.” He inhaled a slow breath, then asked with an air of great deliberation, “Do you believe in magic?”
Layla never answered questions like that.
“Of course you do,” he answered for her. “Or will, shortly.”
Something flickered at the edge of Layla's vision. A free-standing mirror, gilt framed. She hadn't noticed it before. Weird.
“I imagine you need your things?”
Layla shrugged. Would be nice.
“Where do you live?”
As a rule she didn't tell sources or strange men where she lived. She answered vaguely. “New York City.”
Khan gestured to the mirror. “Well, let us go and get them.”
Layla stood in place. Yeah, she wanted to go, but it seemed like he wanted her to look in the mirror first. When still he hesitated, she ducked her head for a quick, obligatory peek. As she pulled back, what she'd seen registered.
Not a silvery, reflective surface. The mirror was full of dark trees. Familiar trees. She knew those trees.
Layla stepped directly in front of the glass to get the full effect. The trees had realistic depth, though the coloring was fanciful, as if deep jewel-toned light emanated from within them. Actually, the setting reminded her of her silly princess dream. Hadn't Khan been there, too?
Weird.
The mirror had to be some sort of plasma screen. A moving window. She could get her computer monitor to look like a fish aquarium, and she'd seen similar things in futuristic sci-fi movies.
“Is this your art?” He must have found a wooded area with more than a touch of mystery, lit it just right, then filmed the trees for an extended period of time. Created the interface. “Does it show other places, too?”
“Come,” he said. His hand dipped through the surface.
That
she hadn't seen. Made her heart clutch, anxiety roll over her. She gritted her teeth against it but felt the first prickle of sweat anyway.
Not again.
She'd seen a lot of uncomfortable stuff that went away with a hard blink and firm shake of her head, so . . . there
had
to be a reasonable explanation for this. It was a wicked technological effect, that's all. She'd be fine when she figured out how he did it.
She stepped closer herself, fingers ready to touch. She held up her hand against the screen, reached. Her hand—
oh no
—tingled and joined his on the other side. She felt him move closer, his hard chest at her shoulder as his free arm circled her waist. They were almost dancing, and she fit against him perfectly. Her skin tingled at his nearness, her blood warmed. This was starting to be a problem.
“Don't pull away,” he said, then stepped them both through the surface.
The trees seemed real, but she only had a passing impression of them. A deep, layered scent, heady. A hurtful longing ripped at her heart. Whispering voices filled her head:
Remember!
But the single step carried them into the middle of a city. New York. Across the street from Central Park.
They'd been in one place . . . and were now in another. Impossible.
Her knees gave, but Khan held her up and pulled her into a close embrace. This couldn't be real, couldn't be happening. This went beyond occasional hallucinations, maybe to a complete psychotic break.
She dropped her head on his chest to blank out the city street. He smelled good—dark and woodsy like those trees, and masculine, with something sharp and exotic besides. She smothered the impulse to put her arms around his neck and hold on tight. Wait, she
was
holding on to him tight. Maybe a little bit longer . . .
If she could just take a deep breath, everything would be okay.
“Magic,” he said into her ear.
Layla shook her head in denial. Couldn't be.
“It is,” he said with that honey-dark voice. “I would have taken you directly to your residence, but I do not know where you live.”
She choked on a sarcastic laugh. “You can't use magic to find out?”
“Would that it worked that way. I'd have found you sooner.”
Layla noticed the amused glance of a middle-aged man walking briskly with a paper under his arm, as if she and Khan were canoodling in public. She pulled away, straightening her clothes. Without his arms, she needed a coat. The city was freezing.
“So we teleported?” Maybe he had some superadvanced technology, like from an alien civilization. Maybe that was it.
“I would say we
passed.
” He held out a hand to invite her back to him. “Is it so hard to believe in magic?”
Kinda, yeah. Magic belonged to fairy tales. Life was based in reality. Growing up as a foster kid, she'd learned that the hard way. Shunted from home to facility, she'd been forced to abandon any and all daydreams, all hope for a bit of magic. It was too painful when those hopes were dashed over and over again. Things were what they were, and nothing more. Even her hallucinations were just a chemical imbalance, a defect probably caused by her addict mother during pregnancy. Reality was cruel, but she could trust it. How could she possibly believe in magic?
“Then you're like, what—a wizard?” She took a step back. The space between them chilled her more than the winter weather. That she was already halfway home, in semifamiliar surroundings, helped her keep her composure.
“I warned you that your perceptions would be challenged.” He reached a little farther toward her. “This is just the beginning.”
Layla didn't budge. Perceptions challenged?
No, no. It was way worse. More like . . . perceptions confirmed. Because if this guy had a magic mirror, then maybe all the weird shit she'd seen throughout her life was real, too.
Oh, God, she was going to be sick. She couldn't think about that possibility.
“The wraiths—are they infected with a disease or . . . or . . . are they magic?”
“Magic.”
“And Talia Thorne?”
“Magic.”
Legs suddenly weak, Layla ignored his hand entirely and lowered herself slowly to the sidewalk. She wrapped her arms over her breasts to keep warm. This changed everything.
A young woman walking by gave her a wide berth, but her sweatered Shih Tzu yipped briefly before being yanked on its way.
“What about Adam Thorne?”
Khan towered over her, tall and dark and now very dangerous. “Not magic.”
Figured.
She focused across the street into the park, gazing at the break in the low stone wall where the sidewalk led into patchy November-stricken grass. Some guy stood at the edge, staring at Khan. Beautiful, dark haired, model perfect, the guy was positively glowering with his icepale eyes. He must have seen them come out of “magic” nowhere.
She had the urge to ask the stranger if what had happened was real. What it looked like from his perspective.
But Layla felt Khan's hand under her arm and she followed his upward pull. He was returning the other man's glare. “We go.”
“What?” Layla tripped into a walk, dragged along. “Is he magic, too?”
“Not exactly.”
Layla had to double her stride to keep up. “Wraith?”
“No,” Khan ground out. “Something else. Where do you live?”
Ahead, an outrageously beautiful woman, blond and glossy, turned in a doorway and stared as they approached. Her intensity burned. Khan pulled Layla into traffic to cross the street before they got too close.
“And her?” Layla was getting scared. Magic everywhere. A taxi horn blared at them.
Khan didn't answer. He halted midway across the street as a lovely child with huge expressive eyes emerged from the throng on the other side. The maturity in his perfect, guileless gaze was piercing and unnatural. Layla looked up the street to find perfect person after perfect person emerging from the stream of otherwise bland and ignorant pedestrians. A car jerked and made a new lane to get by Khan and her.
“Khan?” Layla flipped her gaze to the other side of the street. A watcher here, another there. Oh, God, she was going to lose it.

Other books

Silk and Stone by Deborah Smith
Miss Weston's Masquerade by Louise Allen
On Your Knees by Brynn Paulin
The Legend of Lyon Redmond by Julie Anne Long
When Nights Were Cold by Susanna Jones