Taking The Night (Nightshade series Book 1)

by J F Posthumus

  Her life was changing fast, once again, but she refused to lay down and die. Or run like a coward as she had a decade ago. The set determination of her jaw and the pleading in her eyes didn’t waver, despite what she suspected was a frown hidden behind the Sandman’s mask.

  “I’ll take you to him now,” he agreed reluctantly. “But I want some answers afterwards.”

  She stepped forward and kissed his masked cheek. “Thank you.” She smiled and glanced around before asking, “So, which way from here?”

  Leaning down, he pulled up the rope and coiled it around a small grappling hook. He tucked the rope and hook away in a small compartment on his utility belt.

  “This way,” he said, moving past her and towards the opposite side of the roof.

  Following behind him, their steps silent on the graveled roof, she watched as his coat swayed with each step, almost like a superhero’s cloak. She knew better, though. The Sandman was no superhero. Not that it stopped her from admiring him.

  He paused at the edge. “How good are you at jumping?”

  “Average from where I’m from,” she replied easily. “I can jump this without a problem. How about you?”

  He pointed to a pair of metal poles lying near the edge of the roof. Walking over, he picked one up and hefted it experimentally.

  “Good enough,” he said before adding, “See you on the other side.”

  Turning, he strode back several paces and set off at a run, jamming the edge of the pole down on the roof and vaulting over the ten-plus-foot gap with the ease of an Olympian pole vaulter. She watched approvingly as he landed safely on the other side. Now it was her turn.

  Counting the strides as she walked backwards, she paused and tilted her head. Turning towards the small building-type entrance to the roof, she narrowed her eyes, judging the distance. Closing her eyes, she held her breath before releasing it slowly. Taking a few more steps back, she took off running, arms pumping as she’d been taught as a child and, at the last moment, using the edge of the building to give an extra push, leapt from the roof.

  Not looking down, she kept her eyes on the other side, legs spread as though she were doing a split in midair. Nearing the other roof, she brought her feet closer together and landed, falling forward in a crouch. The crushed rock scraped against her hands, tearing into her palms. Had it not been for the laptop in her gym back, she would have rolled with the fall, but it was too important to keep her laptop safe. She couldn’t take the chance of rolling and possibly breaking it. So, instead, she took the pain with a warrior’s grace.

  Standing, she carefully picked the rocks from her hands and turned to the Sandman. Using barely a breath of magic, she healed her hands, leaving only blood behind. Raising her brows, she silently dared him to comment. Instead, he nodded once and moved towards the edge of the next building, leading her to a rickety fire escape. As their heads vanished from view, she heard the distant sound of men yelling and feet crunching from the other building. So far, so good, but she knew their luck wouldn’t hold out forever.

  She’d have to take a stand, but first she had to see Soren.

  Chapter Five

  T he Sandman led her on a merry chase over rooftops, though alleys, and side-streets. Mostly rooftops, though. Selia discovered it felt strangely good to follow the Sandman. Running and using her talents of keeping silent and staying hidden in the shadows reminded her of her youth on Temeria when her magical training had been at a minimal and basic survival skills were at the fore. The Sandman led her for about four blocks until he descended a fire escape and led her around a corner to the hospital where he had taken Soren.

  The outside of the hospital looked more like a large parking garage or some unusual office building There was no pretense or overblown architecture to the entrance, either. If a large sign at the ground level hadn't declared “New Campania Downtown Hospital,” she might have wondered if the Sandman hadn't gotten lost or led her on a fool's chase.

  They entered through an enormous receiving bay where medical supplies were being delivered. The staff consisted of three people in scrubs- two females and one male- who all nodded at the Sandman and her before going back to their task of checking the inventory and comparing their results against a ledger.

  After a brief ride in a service elevator, the pair of them came out onto one of the upper floors. Selia noticed the shining floors of pale and muted colors, the half-circle shaped nurses' station, and the pair of nurses sitting at computers, likely entering their medical notes for their shift.

  A sanitation employee walked about with a large cart, which was festooned with paper products, cleaning supplies, brooms, and mops. The Sandman nodded to each of these people, who did not seem to take much notice of her. Selia followed him as he strode to the back of the east hallway, confident in his destination.

  In her homeland, the wounded were placed on comfortable bunks of feather and fine cloth. Bandages, blood, herbs, and potions would be normal to see. Each patient, no matter how minor or fatal the wound or ailment, possessed a strong nobility. Selia had never, nor would likely ever, get used to patients in the modern hospitals.

  The strong disinfectants, the tubes, the monitors, even the gauze across lacerations and contusions, punctures and burns, seemed to belittle the patients laying on the metal and ceramic slabs that were called beds here. Even the lighting felt like it was designed to put the worst cast on the injured or sick. Selia had felt this from her first experience at the hospitals in this land, and the vision of her father, attached to every manner of machine and tube, solidified her feelings.

  The lighting emphasized every bruise and cut; the multiple bandages looked yellowed and the blood days old. He looked like an animal that had been tortured and waiting to die. Yet the set of his jaw, though now crooked, was the same, and the grim set of his lips was the familiar expression of determination she knew well.

  “Soren,” she whispered, moving past her masked companion and to her father’s bed.

  Tears threatened, but they wouldn't help either her or Soren. Anger, though, was a powerful ally and Soren hurting in one of these beds certainly fueled her fury. She gently grasped his left hand in hers and didn't bother to see if anyone was watching. She had heard the soft click of the door closing.

  She trusted the Sandman enough to know he would keep the door shut and they would be alone, at least for a short amount of time. Brushing her hand gently along Soren’s jaw, she reached deep within herself and allowed her anger to flow freely, adding an extra boost to the magic she cast.

  Healing major wounds was never easy, especially when done on someone else. One had to be certain bones set properly and everything had to regenerate correctly. Every mage had some knowledge in healing, but Selia hadn't been the typical mage. She knew more than the average student, but less than the Shamans or healers who typically cared for the fallen on Temeria.

  Soren's jaw shifted and Selia could feel the magic fuse the bones back together. Loose teeth reattached themselves and the palest of his bruises vanished. The angry black and purple bruises slowly ebbed until they were a shade or two lighter. Carefully, Selia pulled the tube from his mouth and nostrils. She then moved her right hand down to his chest, following the pull of magic. She sensed his ribs shift into their proper positions before the broken and cracked bones fused back together. His bleeding organs healed before the magic faded. The worst of his injuries were cured to a point where the body could finish the process on its own. She smiled softly, tears finally forming in the corners of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

  Moving her hand to the rail of the bed, she said softly, “I couldn't completely heal you. It would be too questionable, and I need to keep some power for myself. I'm sorry I can't do more.”

  “That's a very handy bit of magic, my dear,” whispered Soren. His eyes were open. Reaching up, Soren rubbed his jaw and he smiled at her. “Good thing I didn't know about that one all these years.”

  Selia chuckled softl
y. “A girl's gotta have some secrets, doesn't she?” She leaned forward and brushed a feathery kiss across his cheek. “Who did this to you? I'm pretty sure I know who it was, but I need to be certain.”

  “Alfi and his pet gorillas,” confirmed Soren. “Well, Alfi just pistol-whipped me after three of his men disarmed me. I'm pretty sure he's the codardo who shot me in the back after I was tossed onto the floor. He never could do anything the way it's supposed to be done. Two in the back of the head; how simple is that? And yet, he failed. Didn't bother to notice the wetsuit made of Kevlar I was wearing under my suit. Good thing. It's what kept me alive after I shot down two of his. Steel pipes, brass knuckles, and baseball bats aren't something you want to get hit with, sans protection.”

  “I'll take care of this,” Selia said, holding his hand in hers. “I promise.”

  “Make sure you cover your tracks,” he advised. “I can inform the rest of the Family that Alfi went rogue, but you cannot be fingered for anything. It would raise too many questions.”

  “Don't worry,” Selia assured him. “I plan on taking out Alfi and no one will ever know I did it.” She snorted. “Who would believe your little wallflower turned into a kick-ass vengeful warrior?” Soren grunted. Kissing the top of his hand, she added softly, “You're the only family I have. I... I love you.”

  “Love you too, kiddo.” He winked at her. “Tell your masked boyfriend thanks... and that I have a job opening. If he's interested.”

  Blushing, she muttered, “He isn't my boyfriend, and you can tell him that yourself.”

  “Interfering jerk won't come into the room,” Soren retorted, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

  Something flashed through his eyes and across his face, but Selia couldn’t interpret what it was or what it meant. Ignoring it, she said, “Don't be too harsh on the nurses, okay?” She paused, a thought occurring to her. “Did Alfi get the drive?”

  “Yeah, he's got it. My guess is he is planning on selling the info to a rival Family or is claiming I grabbed it and ran. Don't know if he has enough imagination for that last bit, though.”

  “Or he could be hoping to use it to usurp your position,” Selia mused. “Doesn't matter. I can use that to pin his death on the Vaschetti family. You stay here, rest up. I couldn't heal you completely and if you move around too much, you'll undo everything I just did.”

  “I'm going to wait here for a nurse to notice I've taken out this tube and that my vitals are stable. That should get things rolling around here.”

  Giving Soren another kiss on his cheek, Selia smiled at him. “The Sandman is probably keeping them at bay. I'd better be going before someone gets wise. I'll be in touch, I promise.”

  “Don't trust him too much, Selia. Everyone thinks they're the good guy, but somebody always gets hurt.” He nodded to her, and then closed his eyes.

  “I only trust you,” she whispered, letting go of his hand. She suspected that would change if she hung around the Sandman for too long.

  It hurt so much seeing Soren lying there in the bed, hooked up to everything imaginable. She would cry and then she would avenge him. Turning away, she bowed her head and whispered an ancient prayer for the gods to watch over Soren and protect him.

  Shutting the door behind her, she kept her gaze level with the Sandman. “Thanks for bringing him here. He said he has a job offer, if you're interested.” She glanced away from the Sandman. “Keep him safe, will you? He's the only family I have left.”

  “If I didn't plan on keeping him safe and alive, I wouldn't have brought him here,” the Sandman retorted. There was no malice in his voice, just a calm tone that could have been used by a teacher explaining the periodic table. “As long as he is here, I can guarantee his safety.”

  “I appreciate it,” Selia replied, swallowing back tears. “He'll stay here, but I have work to do.” She lifted her chin, ignoring the tugging in her chest. She hadn't been this upset when she'd fled from Temeria. It was amazing how close she'd become to Soren over the years. “I'm ready to go to your 'safe place', now.”

  Chapter Six

  S elia wasn’t certain what to expect when she followed the Sandman back across rooftops, through alleyways, and then through abandoned subway systems. He knew places she’d never heard of, and it gave her an insight into how the man traveled so quickly and easily through the city.

  It was no wonder everyone feared him, but Soren’s words, his warning, echoed in her head. She wanted to trust this masked man, but after a decade of not knowing who to trust other than Soren and a pair of her Family’s enforcers, she couldn’t bring herself to trust him completely. She couldn’t, not yet.

  They came up through a tunnel into a sub-basement and then the basement of a house. There was a quiet comfort to the basement that she hadn’t expected. A coffee table sat in front of a sofa and there was a TV opposite the sofa. A full-length bar stretched across a far wall, and it was the bar Selia headed straight for. Well, more like the bottles of alcohol lined up on a shelf behind the bar. Spotting a bottle of tequila, she grabbed a shot glass and filled it before tossing it back.

  The Sandman chuckled. Selia slid the bottle and glass to him before turning and walking to the sofa, dropping her duffle bag on the floor beside it. Curling up on the sofa, she laid her head on her knees and closed her eyes as the tears began to flow freely. She was tired and worn. She knew her body would eventually give out and she would fall into an exhausted sleep, but at the moment she didn’t care.

  The sofa gave beside her, and a hand rubbed her shoulder - a hand, not a gloved hand. She glanced over to find the Sandman sitting beside her, rubbing her shoulder and back. His gloves sat on the coffee table.

  Turning slightly, she leaned against his chest, and he held her close, his still-masked chin on her head. His sunglasses had been removed and stowed somewhere. He said nothing and did nothing more than hold her, letting her cry silently against him. It was odd. She didn’t trust many people, let alone confide in them, but she found herself wanting to confide in him.

  Wiping her eyes, she felt him lean away before a couple tissues were offered. She smiled slightly, feeling better. The grief was gone, leaving in its place a cold, hard anger

  “I don’t know where to start,” she said, wiping her eyes and nose with the tissues.

  The Sandman got up and Selia turned to watch him go to the bar and vanish beneath it. He stood up again with two cans of soda before grabbing two whiskey tumblers and coming back to her. Popping the tabs, he poured the soda into the glasses and handed her one. Selia took a sip of the cold beverage. He pulled the bottom of the balaclava out of his shirt and rolled it up, so his strong, unshaven chin and wide, thin lips were exposed.

  “Start at the beginning. Where did you come from?” he asked before taking a long pull from his glass. The question ‘what are you?’ hung silently in the air between them.

  Why not? She thought. After all, who was he going to tell?

  “I’m from an island somewhere in the Atlantic, near what you would call the Bermuda Triangle,” Selia said, holding the glass between her hands as she stared at the popping, fizzing bubbles. “An island called Temeria and the home to a race of nearly immortal Amazonian-like women.” She glanced at him sharply. “No jokes about a lasso and bracelets, please. We’re more like your ancient Greek Amazons or, to be more accurate, Spartans, than your famed comic book character.”

  “Fair enough,” he said, leaning back on the sofa. He appeared relaxed, but Selia could see the tension in his body.

  “I’m as far from noble-born as a person can get, but I had a strong gift for magic. My mother claimed I could start fires at six months old. A rarity in any Temerian. So, I was sent to learn magic from the Temple once I turned six. That’s not to say I didn’t have to learn to fight, climb, hunt, harvest, and everything else a warrior and female Temerian would need to know about life. We aren’t a peaceful people who enjoyed lounging around and having archery contests for fun.”

&nb
sp; Memories sprang to life. Unbidden but not unwanted. Selia remembered learning, at the early age of five, the proper way to kill a deer with only a bow and three arrows. She learned to fight and how to remain still for extended periods of time.

  Punishments were swift and just, and the only time someone was sentenced to death was if one used the skills for evil. Killing and torture was as likely to get a person sentenced to death as readily as one who used necromancy.

  Reading and writing were as important to the Temerians as learning how to kill and properly skin a deer. Being a mage, she had learned all the main languages used by her people and those who traded with them: English, Italian, Mandarin Chinese, and a few others. Knowing the languages of the traders who the mages and royal family dealt with on her side of the island had been a definite benefit when she’d been forced to flee her island.

  The Sandman cleared his throat, pulling her away from the memories of another lifetime.

  She continued, ignoring the warmth growing in her cheeks. “My gift was magic. Not just performing it, either. I could memorize a spell after reading it once and then perform it flawlessly. It wasn’t unprecedented, but there had been no one like me for centuries. So, I quickly became a favorite of the teachers and given privileges few others were offered. My curiosity ended up being my downfall. Well, my curiosity and desire to protect the youngest princess of my ruling family.”

  “What happened?” the Sandman asked, his voice soft and encouraging. At least he wasn’t bored.

  Selia smiled ruefully. “I was sixteen. In two years, I would have taken my place as the youngest mage to ever become an advisor to my clan’s ruling family. Princess Melia was to wed a minor noble who went through servants far more frequently than any other. One had just died, and I’d found a tome on magic that probably hadn’t been used for several centuries.”