Camera Obscura (A Novel of Shadows Book 1)

by Christina Quinn

  “He’s not on the grid again, but his last ping was at seventy-five seventy-five Conway, just under an hour ago. Why does that sound familiar?”

  “Seventy-five Eighty Conway is the address of the IPX warehouse.”

  “What you’re saying is, I have a traitor seated roughly six meters from me. That’s just fucking brilliant.”

  “If you get a ping on him again let me know.”

  “Will do…be safe, Rose. He’s trained like you are and if you—”

  “I know, I can’t kill him.” Fucking rules. I rolled my eyes and pulled my jacket on. Nate had put the guns on top of the dresser, and the shiny almost mirror bright surface of the Desert Eagle made me want to take it with me just because it was amazing looking. Instead, I went with my trusty Glock—mainly because I didn’t have a holster that would fit the behemoth, nor the ammo for it.

  “I’ll text you if he pings again.” And then he hung up on me.

  “Bye,” I said to nothingness as I stuffed the two extra clips into my pocket before zipping up my jacket.

  My safety level had plummeted to almost nothing, so I did something I rarely did… I went into my closet and removed the combat knife from its hiding place at the highest shelf. It had a neat little sheath that tucked into the top of my boot and velcroed around my ankle. Knives were pointless. If someone or thing got in that close, I was probably fucked. Oh, I could fight hand to hand and whereas vampire strength didn’t matter werewolves and sidhe were different things entirely. Me carrying a knife was essentially acknowledging that the situation had gone from bad to worse.

  “Cameo, Call Fiona.”

  “Okay, Rose. Calling Fiona,” the mechanical voice parroted back to me followed by a beep and then ringing.

  “Grey,” Fiona clipped out.

  “Hey, it’s Rose. I was wondering if your morgue guy had given you a timeline?”

  “Mhm, let me find it. While I’m looking, did you find anything else out?”

  “All cards on the table, it’s looking bleak. Your Van Ard case was initially a contract. Nate had it, but before he could get to Van Ard, some guys stuffed him in the back of an IPX van.”

  “Yeah, I figured something like that happened. They ruled suicide, but he had ligature marks on his wrists and ankles.”

  “How long had he been dead for when they found the body?”

  “Only a few hours. I’ll send you what I have. It’s too sloppy to be one of you guys.”

  “There’s the thing, I’m not entirely convinced that it wasn’t.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll fill you in when I know more. Someone has a date with the non-business end of my Glock.”

  “Sounds kinky.”

  “If only.”

  “Swing by Castella’s tomorrow and I’ll hand over my file.”

  “Feeling charitable?”

  “Oh no, this has all the markings of a genuine clusterfuck. I’ll let you deal with the hard stuff. Besides the Van Ards just want me to leave it at suicide for some reason.”

  “Wait. They pay your crazy fees, and the moment the body shows up, they suddenly lose interest in how their son actually died?”

  “Some people don’t like to think about their loved ones’ last moments being in agony.”

  “There was evidence of torture?”

  “Yup, but before I could get to that, they said they didn’t want to hear anymore, and to send them a final invoice. We’ve both been doing this long enough, to read that as them knowing more than they’re letting on. They were hoping for the best, and I probably did nothing more than prove the worst.”

  “Alright, see you then.” I hit the button on my earpiece to end the call, and my phone buzzed on the nightstand. I walked over and snatched it up, there was a text message from Nate.

  - Paying kitchen guy a visit he’s in on it.

  That was why I was friends with Nate. I missed it entirely because all the other moving parts had my attention. I envied his ability to pick up on the subtle things.

  Stuffing my phone in my pocket, I made my way for the door. Thorn fell into step behind me without a word, dressed in dark colors for a change. Out front was a shiny new black Dodge Charger, the Shadow’s car of choice. I felt in the wheel well on the driver’s side and, sure enough, taped there was the key. It was a loaner, if I wanted to keep it I’d have to sign it out from the Manor—and I never went there if I could avoid it. I was going to call for pickup, but the car being there meant either Nate or Davy had my car picked up for a sweep. That meant they’d take it in and check for bugs and trackers. The process could take a week or more depending on the backlog. I took my phone out of my pocket and sent a quick text to Nate.

  - Thanks for the car.

  - I thought it would be best. Stay safe. Was the near immediate reply.

  Once we were on the road headed for the IPX warehouse, I decided to have a little talk with Thorn. I was dreading it more than most parents do the sex talk, but it had to be said.

  “You need to be okay with using your powers. And I don’t just mean in front of people, I mean to kill. Far be it from me to point out that you could have prevented everything that happened at Castella’s.”

  “I know.” He shook his head and leaned it against the window. “Last night at Cassie’s when we laid in bed, I kept thinking about how you just showed up and got us out. It’s why I came home so early.”

  “Let me get this straight, you’re laying in bed, basking in the afterglow and you’re not thinking about who you just finished sticking your dick in—you’re thinking about me?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Aren’t you a keeper.”

  “There’s nothing between Cassie and me. I thought there was, but I think that was just me looking for a mate instead of what would make me happy.”

  “If the next words out of your mouth have something to do with me making you happy, I’m going to bail out of this vehicle—I don’t care if I’m the driver.”

  “Point taken. But it’s okay, you’ve got Nate, the baker with scars.”

  “He’s an extreme baker.”

  “Who carries a gun.”

  “He told you he’s a baker, and he owns a bakery. He drew a line, and I’m not going to cross it.” I laughed a bit. Everything about Nate was subtle, but it was a little obvious for him.

  “What?”

  “He doesn’t like you either.” I giggled while my phone buzzed again. I tossed it to Thorn. “Tell me what that says.”

  “Ping at 22 Foster,” Thorn read, his brows instantly furrowing. “What’s that mean?”

  “It means we’re almost to our destination.” I took the exit off the interstate to Foster.

  “What are we doing?”

  “We’re doing nothing.” I pulled up across the street from 22 Foster, which looked abandoned. I chambered a round, and stretched a little. “I’m going in to politely ask someone some questions.”

  “With your gun.”

  “Yes. And you’re coming with me.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because apparently if I leave you somewhere the kitchen staff blabs and then I end up crawling through air ducts like a fuckin’ action hero.” I stepped out of the car. “Did I mention that I’m mildly claustrophobic?” He got out with a sigh before I slammed the door and hit the lock button on the key fob.

  “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Just stay back a little.”

  “And if someone comes after me?” Seriously? How did he make it to thirty-two being this dense?

  “Then use your magic.”

  “Oh… but if they’re like you?”

  I laughed. “Then use your magic on something around them? Survival isn’t that complicated. Now shhh!” I hissed to him.

  As we neared the back of the old run down brownstone, I drew my gun. The back door was so rotten it was barely on hinges, but I could hear people moving inside. Standing there in the overgrown garden I’d have given just about anything for som
e grenades or a competent partner. One day Thorn would get there, something told me either he was going to learn that his days of the safe penthouse existence was over, or he’d die. I couldn’t protect him indefinitely, and though I was okay with the prospect of it, the thought bothered me more than I cared to admit.

  It didn’t even cross my mind to call Davy once I heard a young voice inside asking for water. It wasn’t because it was a child that made me kick the door off the hinges and pull Thorn around the corner. For other people, the very thought of a kid in peril would have made them brave, and feel the need to protect an innocent from harm, I wasn’t wired that way. Part of me wished I could have that feeling—just to experience that pure irrational desire to protect something, but as it stood I wasn’t capable of it. To me, the existence of the child in the abandoned house meant a connection to my case, another clue I could get my hands on, and nothing more.

  While shouts sounded at the back, I slipped into one of the side windows with Thorn behind me. The floor creaked under our weight, and mold covered the plaster on the peeling walls. Decades ago it was probably a very expensive home, but this neighborhood’s hay day had come and gone, leaving behind shells that looked like the stereotypical drug den. This one was no different, here and there between the mold and drooping wallpaper were bright swatches of graffiti.

  We were almost to the stairs when we ran into the shoot-first-ask-questions-later brigade. He rounded the corner gun blazing. I sunk down low and pulled Thorn with me, letting the asshat with the gun empty his clip at nothing. I waited until I heard the click of an empty chamber before I stepped out and shot the poor bastard right in the face. He sunk like a sack of meat and I stepped over him, Thorn stared for a moment and maneuvered around the body. I guess that would be another difference between a normal individual and myself—reverence for the dead.

  “Keep low,” I whispered. Someone was approaching behind us. The thud of boots on the rotting wood floor was almost deafening. The downside of every step being so loud was that it made deciphering the origin of the sound difficult. I ducked my head around the corner and immediately fired at me, I shot down the hall without aiming and scampered up the steps. “Keep close,” I snapped checking the hallway. It was empty.

  While making our way down the corridor, I checked every room. Most were empty, many had gaping holes in the floor, and from time to time I glimpsed the obvious local idiots Jonas had hired to help him with this little endeavor. Though it was nice to know someone else didn’t friends.

  As I check another room, the second I opened the door someone grabbed my ankle, pulling me off balance. I only narrowly missed slitting my face open on a nasty looking rusty nail as I caught myself. I kicked the guy as hard as I could in the face, but he refused to budge.

  “Thorn!” I yelled at him as he just stared at me kind of shell shocked. Great, fan-fucking-tastic. “Shoot him!”

  Thorn pushed himself against the yellowed Victorian wallpaper looking as helpless as a child. With a huff, I shoved off from the hole in the floor and landed with a thud on top of the guy. After a quick scuffle, I knocked him unconscious and then shot him with his own gun. With the pounding of boots heading my way, I stuffed the guy’s gun in my holster and used the debris on the floor to climb back up into the room above where Thorn was still staring wide eyed at me.

  Pride filled me as I picked up my gun without hitting him—though I wanted to so badly my fingers were twitching. Someone fired at us from below and practically herded us into the hall where Jonas waited with others behind him. Clearly, he didn’t know who he was fucking with, because he didn’t even have his weapon drawn. I fired at them blindly as I pulled Thorn into the next room with me.

  “Thorn!” I shook him and he didn’t respond, he was positively catatonic. I slapped him. “Hey! Jackass!”

  “S-sorry.”

  “You fucking better be.” Angry didn’t quite describe how I felt, glaring down at him. I looked around the room and walked to the closet and opened it. “Get in, sit down, shut up, and stay there. I’ll come back for you when I finish.”

  He nodded and crawled along the floor. I closed the door behind him and took a deep breath. Why did I have to be right about today? I just knew I’d rip my stitches jumping down to the first floor. With a groan, I slipped into the hole and sure enough when I landed I felt one in my thigh tear open. Then it was a matter of waiting until I heard the door open above, the moment those hinges creaked I fired through the hole and darted down the hall. I just needed to get Jonas alone.

  There were a few others still alive besides Jonas, and I was hopped up on the adrenaline from the ripped stitches. That unstoppable high was probably why I went through the rest of the house quicker than I should have. I put down the other two guys easily, but in the process forgot to listen for where Jonas might be. Which was why he was able to get the drop on me—literally. Silly me forgot to look up when I crossed into a room.

  Having one hundred and eighty something pounds smack into you when you’re considerably less than that fucking hurts. I was lucky to have retained consciousness. We rolled around a bit in debris. Nails and broken glass cut into my legs and back as we wrestled. I shot my gun a few times. Unfortunately, I hit nothing but the ceiling. The click, click, click of an empty magazine mocked me.

  Plaster rained down on us as he wrapped his hands around my throat. I threw my gun at him, he jerked as it bounced off the side of his head, but I was too close for it to do enough damage. I tried to reach for my knife, but his hand was there in a flash and before I could think he stabbed me with it. My scream echoed off the walls. The pain paralyzed me for a moment, long enough for him to jump up and put his foot on my chest, leveling the gun with my face. At least I’m not going to get shot with my own gun. I spat at him.

  “Put the gun in your mouth,” Thorn’s voice sounded behind me. Jonas’ eyes flashed wildly reading nothing but fear as he complied, placing the barrel of his Browning hi-power between his lips. “Pull the trigger.” Again, Jonas obeyed. I had heard that loud bang followed by the spraying splash of blood and thicker bits hundreds of times, but there was something about it then that made my blood run cold. It was one of those cases of being careful what you wish for you just might get it. I wanted Thorn to use his power, and he did—in a way that shouldn’t be possible. Jonas was a null, you had to be a null to be a Shadow. Magic shouldn’t have been able to effect him like that. One problem at a time.

  Bracing myself for the pain, I worked the blade out of my shoulder and wiped it on my pant leg before tucking it back into my boot. I didn’t stand right away; I didn’t even look at Thorn. I did take my phone out of my pocket and dial Davy.

  “Hello, Precious.”

  “Don’t fucking precious me,” I snapped.

  “You sound awful.”

  “Yeah, I do. Send a cleanup team out to 22 Foster.”

  “Jonas?”

  “Shot himself rather than let me… talk to him.” The lie felt sour in my mouth.

  “Damn, do you need a clinic visit?”

  “Yeah, I’m gonna need a fuck of a lot of stitches. Probably some blood.”

  “Want me to meet you there?” His voice was somber and brimming with concern.

  “Nah. Text me the address.” I hung up and stuffed the phone back into my pocket.

  “Can you stand?” Thorn finally spoke as he knelt beside me. I sighed.

  “Yeah.” With some difficulty, I pulled myself from the floor, waving off Thorn’s attempts at helping me. The blood weeping from my wounds was warm and wet down my chest and legs as I limped over to where my gun had fallen. I picked it up and stumbled out the front door. “Go find the kid and meet me at the car. We have five minutes before cleanup shows.”

  “Not even a thank you.”

  “Thank you, for showing me why I should have killed you.” I closed the door and made my way across the street to the car. I sat in the passenger seat and bled all over the leather interior while waiting for T
horn. He exited a few minutes later, holding the hand of a tiny blonde girl in a dirty school uniform. I wasn’t any closer to finding out what was going on, but at least Tatiana LaFaette had a happy ending.

  Eleven

  SHOULD I HAVE been more grateful that Thorn saved my life? Probably.

  It literally took me pressing the barrel of my unloaded gun to Thorn’s temple to get him to agree to take the little girl to her parents first. The silly boy wanted to take me to an actual hospital. Amateur.

  At the clinic, they gave me two pints of blood, stitched me up and gave me a bunch of meds to take when I got home. The Doctor said I should go back to the manor and lay low for a few days to heal, I smiled and nodded—but never said I’d comply.

  The streetlights that passed strobed their dim yellow beams onto my face as I pressed my forehead against the window, staring out into the night. The pain killers they gave me at the clinic were amazing.

  We hadn’t said a word to each other, I was still angry, and the pain hadn’t helped my mood, which was why I took the meds as soon as I got in the car. I had to resist the urge to beat the shit out of Thorn because if I gave him a concussion, then neither of us could drive back to my place.

  “I have a mild concussion,” I confessed drawing in the fog on the window. “You’ll have to wake me up every two hours. If you don’t want to do it, I’ll call Nate.”

  “I’ll do it. I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep anyways. You scared me.”

  “Did I?” I laughed shaking my head. “I scared you? Are you that fucking oblivious? Do you even comprehend what the hell you did? Jonas was a Shadow, which means he was a null. You just used your magic on someone who is supposed to be immune to magic.” I was practically cackling by the time I finished. “Oh! What am I thinking right now?”

  “I don’t know. I still can’t feel you.”

  “Could you feel Nate?”

  “He was spotty, but from time to time I got a glimpse of what he was thinking.”

  “See anything really disturbing?”

  “No, mostly recipes oddly enough.”