The Shadow Paradox: The Shadow Enforcer Series Book Three

by N M Thorn

  The Shadow Paradox

  The Shadow Enforcer Series Book Three

  N. M. Thorn

  The Shadow Paradox

  By N.M. Thorn

  Copyright © 2021 by N.M. Thorn. All rights reserved.

  nmthornauthor@gmail.com

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental. Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited.

  Cover art design by Original Book Cover Designs

  Edited by Spirit Editorial

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Epilogue

  Excerpt

  Teaser: The Burns Fire

  Dear Reader

  Before you go…

  Also by N. M. Thorn

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Selo Preobrazhenskoye, Russia.

  August 1689

  A soft veil of clouds stretched across the midnight sky, and the silvery light of the full moon barely broke through it, giving a mystical glimmer to their fluffy edges. The door of a large, wooden palace opened with a light squeak, and the figure of a woman dressed all in black rushed along the dark pathway and down the hill toward the river Yauza.

  She didn’t stop and didn’t look back until she reached the narrow strip of a beach well-hidden between the thick shrubbery and tall trees. For a brief moment, she froze in place, checking the area around to make sure no one had followed her from the palace and was watching her now. As a light wind rushed across the beach, rippling the dark waters of the river, the earthy smell of fresh greenery and moss touched her nostrils, and she sucked in a deep breath, visibly relaxing.

  Lifting the heavy folds of her black dress, she lowered herself to the cold sand and raised the dark veil, exposing her face. She looked up at the sky, and her large eyes flooded with darkness, widening. Reaching toward the invisible moon, she started to chant, her body moving from side to side, following the rhythm of her incantation.

  As her voice grew stronger and deeper, her appearance began to change. Her soft features became sharper, dark shadows lying beneath her sinister eyes and cheekbones. Her lips turned black and stretched wider across her face, exposing hideous fangs protruding from her mouth. Two dark, webbed wings sprouted from her back, and her delicate fingers morphed into terrifying talons. A dark, purple mist surrounded her, its tendrils wrapping around her like poisonous serpents.

  She reached into the folds of her dress and pulled out a strange mask. Made of black silk and lace, its entire surface was covered with tiny pieces of mirror. The woman placed the mask over her grotesquely misshapen face and continued her chant. A thin ray of light broke through the veil of clouds and fell on her mask.

  The shards of the mirror reflected the silvery moonlight, shattering it into thousands of blinding flares and tiny beams, and the woman cackled, her voice as ghastly as her appearance. She stopped chanting and stilled in place, listening intently to something only she could hear. After a few endless minutes, she exhaled and let go of her magic. Her wings dissipated, and her face and hands returned to their normal appearance.

  She took her mask off, placed it back into the pocket hidden in the thick folds of her dress and lowered her lacy, black veil. Then she hopped to her feet and took off running. Dark and silent, she flew across the entrance into the palace and rushed through the countless passages and halls until she reached a tall, oak door. She glanced around warily and pushed the door open without knocking.

  A large, semi-dark chamber was illuminated by the flickering light of a few candles. The smell of smoke mixed in with the delicate scent of perfume permeated the air, making it seem stuffy after the freshness of the night outside the palace walls. A woman dressed in a richly embroidered dress sat by the table with a small book in her hand. As the door into her chamber opened, she put the book away, and her unyielding eyes stopped on the newcomer. She frowned and pressed her lips into a straight line, displeasure reflected on her hard features.

  The woman in black lowered into a graceful curtsey and lifted her veil, exposing her face. “My lady,” she whispered, her musical voice soft and insinuating, “Tsarevna Sophia Alekseyevna…”

  “What brought you here at this late hour, Donna Luna?” The regent of Russia got up, her posture straight and regal like that of a true tsarina. Her eyes darted from Donna Luna to the book on the table, and a shadow of regret crossed her features. “It better be important. I’m not in the mood for social gossips and theater plays.”

  “It is, my lady.” Donna Luna straightened, readjusting the folds on her dress. “The news I brought is of extreme importance. As a matter of fact, it’s so important, I couldn’t wait until morning.”

  Tsarevna Sophia sighed and gestured at an empty chair across from her, her movements projecting a vibe of fatigue. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  With a mysterious look on her face, Donna Luna sashayed to the chair and sat down. “It’s time, my lady,” she said softly. “It’s time for you to claim your birthright and become the true Tsarina of all Russia.”

  Sophia Alekseyevna sighed, tilting her head. “And how do you propose we do it? I don’t have enough supporters to take the throne from my half-brother.”

  “But you know what you need to do, my lady,” whispered Donna Luna. Leaning forward slightly, she took Sophia’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “People who are loyal to you and want to see you on the throne are ready. All they are waiting for is your signal. Tomorrow, the theater—Choromina Comedy—will be full of guests, many of whom are Peter’s supporters.” A sinister glimmer ignited in her eyes as she gave Sophia a pointed stare. “All you have to do is let the show commence…”

  Sophia Alekseyevna rose to her feet, staring down at the woman in black, a chain of emotions crossing her face. “If I agree, how are you planning to give a signal?”

  A mysterious smile crossed Donna Luna’s face. “Magic, my lady,” she whispered, inclining her head. “I will use a Hyperborean mirror to channel my magic and set the theater on fire. Fire and smoke will be visible from far away, and that will be the signal to your loyal warriors—Streltsy—to start the revolt.”

  Tsarevna pressed her hand to her mouth, staring down at her mysterious friend with a mix of awe and horror. “But where are you going to get this”—she twirled her wrist—"Hyperborean mirror?”

  “But I’ve always had it, my lady.” Donna Luna chuckled and showed Sophia her mask, the pieces of the mirror reflecting the candlelight, throwing sinister flares on the walls of the chamber. “The question is, are you ready to take what’s rightfully yours?”<
br />
  Tsarevna Sophia frowned and turned away, staring out the window. Her position had been weakened by two unsuccessful campaigns against the Crimean Khanate, and she had to think hard before agreeing to something so dangerous.

  “It’s your last chance, my lady. Peter is seventeen, and his influence is growing. If you don’t do something now, he’ll take power,” said Donna Luna. “It’s now or never.”

  Sophia turned around sharply and squared her shoulders, her eyes lingering on the mirrored mask. “But how are you planning to leave the theater after you start the fire?” she asked at length.

  A cold sneer stretched Donna Luna’s lips, and Sophia cringed inwardly at how malicious her trusted friend looked at this moment.

  “Don’t worry about me, my lady,” replied Donna Luna, rising. “Fire can’t kill me.” She headed toward the exit but halted by the door, looking back at Tsarevna Sophia, darkness rising around her. “Be ready. It all starts with fire.”

  She opened the door and walked out of the chamber.

  Same night.

  Preobrazhenskiy Palace

  A dark shadow separated from the wall, blocking Peter’s way into his chamber. The young man came to an abrupt halt and sucked in a sharp breath, wrinkling his nose as the heavy odor of alcohol assailed his nostrils.

  “Petrukha,” he grumbled, grabbing the man’s shirt and yanking him out of the shadows. “Stop sneaking around like a thief in the night.”

  “Not a thief, my Tsar, just a fool.” Petrukha giggled, alcohol fumes getting heavier around him. “But I think sometimes fools are smarter than those sitting on the thrones.”

  Young Peter sighed, raking his hand through the thick mane of his black hair. “What do you want, Petrukha? It’s late, and I want to get some sleep. Tomorrow—”

  “Tomorrow is going to be a new day,” the fool said, shaking his head. Suddenly, he sobered up, the wandering, drunken grin disappearing from his face, and even though he barely reached Peter’s chest, somehow, he seemed to become taller. “We need to speak, Tsar Peter. If you want to survive tomorrow, that is.”

  Peter pushed the door open and motioned for the fool to get in. Throwing a quick glance around, the young tsar followed him and closed the door with a soft thud. Then he crossed the room and sat down on a wide armchair by the window, crossing his long legs at the knee.

  “I’m all ears,” he said, his fingers tapping impatiently on the armrest. “Make it quick, Petrukha, and be on your merry way.”

  “I’ll make it quick and to the point,” promised Petrukha, folding his arms over his skinny chest. “The darkness is coming, the kind of force you can’t fight with your toy army.” A deep frown settled on his face, his blue eyes blazing. “It’s coming for you, Peter. Rising from the moonlight, surrounded by fire, the demoness will rise. She will open her wings, as black as the void, and bring the fiery Hell upon Earth. She already enthralled your half-sister Sophia, and if the tsarevna gives in to her malignant plans of lies and betrayal, the darkness will swallow everything you hold dear to your heart.”

  Peter’s eyes widened, his fingers clutching the armrests of his wide chair. But he took a deep breath and relaxed his tensed shoulders.

  “Sophia wants to be the Tsarina of all Russia. I know that.” He shrugged indifferently. “But she’s still my sister.” He waved his hand. “And all these stories about magic and demons… I don’t believe any of it. I believe in science, my friend.”

  “As you wish, Tsar, but can you do me a favor?” A drunk grin appeared on Petrukha’s face, and he swayed a little. “Tomorrow night, please stay in your chamber and be ready to leave at any moment. Don’t open your door to anyone until I come back for you. Can you do that for me, Tsar Peter the Great?”

  Peter laughed at the words of the drunken fool but waved his hand, dismissing the matter. “Fine. I’ll do as you ask.” He tapped his fingers against the thick book lying on a small table by his side. “I need time to read and think things through, anyway.”

  Petrukha bowed, brushing the floor with his fingers. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, Tsar.” He turned around and made his way to the door but stopped there with his hand on the handle. “Just remember—it all ends with fire.”

  He opened the door and slipped outside, quiet and soundless like a shadow.

  Twenty Hours Later

  No one in their right mind would allow a drunken fool inside the theater, so Petrukha crouched in the shadows just outside the main entrance, all his senses stretched to the maximum. The play had started already, and the occasional words of actors reached his heightened hearing through the cracked door.

  He closed his eyes and channeled his magic, gently probing inside the building and the surrounding area. At first, he didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, but soon after, he sensed a slight fluctuation in the magical energy field. Weak and faint in the beginning, the spikes became stronger and stronger, and now he could detect the constant flow of magic originating somewhere at the far end of the theater.

  Petrukha shivered in his thin shirt as if the hot August night had suddenly become too chilly, goosebumps rising on his arms from the sheer darkness and malignancy of the magical energy. Moving as stealthily as he could, he walked around the guard unnoticed and pushed his skinny body through the tiny opening.

  The spacious room of the theater was filled with guests—not a seat unoccupied. Candlelight danced on the walls upholstered in red, throwing long, slithering shadows on the floor covered by a thick green carpet. The play was in progress, and everything seemed to be absolutely normal and peaceful, yet Petrukha knew better. Pressing his back against the wall, he tiptoed his way toward the stage.

  Unseen, he sneaked behind the curtain and stilled, blood running cold in his veins. Donna Luna stood at the edge of the stage. Protected by her spell, she was invisible to anyone who wasn’t touched by the World of Magic. Her body slithered and moved in the unsteady candlelight like that of a giant serpent, surrounded by a dark veil of demonic essence. As she progressed with her spell work, her appearance continued to change further, and a few seconds later, a demoness in her full glory stood before Petrukha.

  Fear the likes of which he had never felt before squeezed his heart, but he took a deep breath and channeled his magic, extending his arm. A bright energy orb materialized in the palm of his hand, rotating and crackling with electrical discharges. Donna Luna noticed him, and her black eyes angled up, turning into furious blazing slits. Her brows snapped together, and a predatory hunger reflected on her face. Petrukha pulled his arm back and propelled the energy orb at her while conjuring the next one. The demoness screeched and had no choice but to break her enchantment to protect herself. With her demonic essence spinning around her like a funnel cloud, she held out her hands, and two dark rays of magical energy escaped her palms.

  “Procedia Amnia,” muttered Petrukha. A soft glow of his magic surrounded him just in time to deflect the assault of demonic energy. Without skipping a beat, he rushed forward, propelling one energy orb after another, forcing her to retreat toward the back of the building.

  The demoness howled and hissed, fury distorting her malformed face. Her webbed wings expanded behind her back, throwing terrifying shadows at the red upholstery. Pushed into the corner, she muttered a spell, and a thick wall of magic rose around her, pulsating with purple flares of light. She reached into the folds of her dress and produced a black mask. Small shards of mirror reflected the light of the candles and the purple glimmer of her magic.

  Black flames ignited in the bottom of her eyes as she placed the mask over her face and started to chant again. With horror, Petrukha recognized the shards of the Hyperborean mirror embedded into the mask, and he knew if he didn’t do something now, a moment later, it would be too late.

  Channeling all the magical energy he could gather, he extended his arm toward her and yelled, “Exitius!”

  The magic of his spell impacted the wall the demoness had erected around herself, and it shat
tered into tiny pieces, falling to her feet in dirty gray flakes. Slightly disoriented by the impact of his spell, Donna Luna froze in place, glowering at him with malice. Petrukha covered the distance between them in one long stride and ripped the mask off her face, crushing it in his fist.

  The mask broke in two, a thin stream of blood running down his fingers where pieces of the mirror cut his palm. She squealed and reached for him, but it was too late. In one swift motion, he jumped back, manifested a powerful energy orb and threw it at her. The orb impacted her straight in the chest, propelling her backward.

  She hit a small backdoor and flew through it, falling to the ground outside the theater. Petrukha shoved both pieces of the mask into his pocket and followed her through the door, only to find that she recovered a lot faster than he had expected. Hopping to her feet, Donna Luna spun in place and spread her wings. Flying low above the ground, she circled the building, disappearing around the corner.

  “No, you don’t!” Petrukha shouted desperately, bolting after her. As he turned the corner, he saw the demoness taking her human form and climbing into a carriage.

  “You won a battle, but you will lose this war, wizard!” she yelled, thrusting her fist in the air. “I’ll find you, if not in this world than in the Dark Nav.” She cackled, a maniacal glimmer in her black eyes. “This isn’t over, fool, for I always get what I want.”