Camera Obscura (A Novel of Shadows Book 1)

by Christina Quinn

  “He was saying pretty much the same thing before I called you. However, I know I could kill him. I know I could put a bullet in him and not bat an eye.”

  “That’s an occupational hazard, Darling. Even if you weren’t a minus you’d have to work at building connections with people. Everyone told me to watch out for when my Executioner turns Thirty. They said you guys turn into a basket case for a year or so and bore we Sybils to death with self-help nonsense. As always, my dear, you are ahead of the curve.”

  “I’m not whining! I was relating back to you what he told me!”

  “Where you really? It sounded like a whole lot of whingeing to me.”

  “Well—”

  “Exactly. Now, if you’re done sobbing like a teenage girl because her prom date left her, I believe we have a conspiracy to attend to.”

  “Ugh—” I slammed my phone against the center console a few times as Thorn gapped at me.

  “We both know all that’s going to do is break the phone,” Davy said as I continued slamming the phone. “Finished?”

  “All better,” I growled.

  “Good, because you have some addresses to visit and I have some work to do.”

  “Fine!” I hung up and threw the phone at Thorn.

  “D—”

  “Zip it. I don’t want to talk about what’s going on okay?”

  “Alright, I’ve been trying to get up the courage to talk to you these last few days… I’m sorry, Rose.”

  “It’s not your fault. It’s your fucking parents’ fault.” I turned the key in the ignition, and the engine roared to life. “Where would dear old mom and dad be on a Monday morning? On second thought call your mother.”

  “What why?”

  “Because she has answers I need. Get her to meet you in the Collins District, she’ll know where.”

  ****

  It was storming when we reached the Collins district. The sky was so dark noon looked like midnight as trash blew in the street like tumbleweeds and leaves whipped about in tiny tornados. When we reached Ma’am’s impeccably decorated brownstone, I had that eerie feeling like I was expected. A white-eyed zombie opened the door, standing motionless but otherwise ignoring my presence. Ma’am was seated at the table in the dining room with candles lit all around casting that warm glow that made shadows long and hungry.

  “Rosie, so good to see you. Sit. Have some soup.” She gestured to one of the three bowls already present aside from her own.

  “Thank you, Ma’am.” I bowed my head and sat down. I was a lot braver without Ma’am in front of me, and after seeing what Thorn was capable of my healthy fear of the woman had tripled. I wasn’t hungry, but I was going to eat her soup because I was more or less terrified of her. But considering her natural powers, I thought it was a healthy fear.

  “We have one more guest, and then we can get started.” Ma’am filled the glasses in front of us with water, Thorn sipped his but I didn’t. I sat with my hands folded in my lap like a child waiting to get scolded.

  A few minutes passed and then a female sidhe entered. When her eyes fell on Thorn, her face lit up, and she ran to his side wrapping her arms around him, sobbing against him. Her clothing was expensive and immaculate, like some store window come to life. Her hair was light brown, and her eyes were the color of crisp spring leaves. She looked younger than I was but I could feel the glamor swathed around her. Part of me wanted to reach out and pull it off her like a magician removing a tablecloth from under a dinner set to show Thorn just who his mother really was.

  “Good of you to join us, Catherine. I believe Ms. Black has questions,” Ma’am spoke gesturing to the empty chair.

  The woman’s face paled when she saw me, but still she took a seat next to Thorn, holding his hand in hers.

  “Tell me about the Cult of Isis,” I asked between sips of water.

  “I can’t,” she responded almost instantly.

  “Or they’ll what? Kill him?” I laughed. “Look, Lady. I’ve been shot at, stabbed, and I think someone who I might have called a best friend betrayed me. You know what, don’t tell me and I’ll fucking kill him right now. How about that?” I drew the Desert Eagle, cocked it, and leveled it with Thorn’s head. “Talk.”

  “Garcelle you’re not going to let h—”

  I tilted my hand to left a little and pulled the trigger, even I jumped a bit at the sound, but Ma’am laughed while Thorn and his mother panicked. I thought Thorn would have known by now that I don’t make threats, I make promises.

  “Now! Let's try this again? Shall we? Tell me about the Cult of Isis, or I’ll splatter your son’s pretty brains all over this nice woman’s wall and carpet. Then I’ll have to stay and clean it up, and I’m already having a really bad day!”

  “I never dealt with her followers, just with Isis herself. Thornton and I fell in love, but we knew we couldn’t be together if I didn’t conceive. So… I used my powers on his parents and my father, and forced them to push for our marriage. After a few years, the other family members were murmuring about divorce, so I sought out Isis. It’s not a given that she’ll grant you a child when you see her. You plead your case and if she feels you worthy of a child she blesses you by kissing your forehead. Afterward, you’re guaranteed to conceive next time you try. She came to me in a dream and told me to tell no one what I did. That there were those who would end my child if word got out. The children gifted by Isis are always special. Which was why I went to Garcelle when Thorn was three, and had her subdue his powers. Most only thought he was gifted for a male. I was so certain that he was safe and then the fundraiser happened. I thought maybe it was the Camera Umbra, but we never received a Black Letter.” After judgment was passed and a kill confirmed, the Order of Shadows sent out letters in black envelopes on black parchment to the families of the guilty. Which I always thought was needlessly complicated. The only way to read it was to hold it up to a candle, which would project the contents onto the nearest surface.

  “Did she tell you anything about who would end Thorn?” I put the safety on and slipped the gun back in my holster.

  “No. She’s also no longer in the area. The old ones have a procession they follow, she left—”

  “Let me guess about three months ago?”

  “Yes, so you knew already?”

  “No, but I had a hunch.” What Christian told me popped into my head. “Mommy’s no longer minding store, so the children are free to scheme and play,” I repeated under my breath. So it had to be the Cult acting on their own. Maybe infighting? “Thank you, this has been enlightening. Thorn!” I stood and left without waiting to see if he followed—the sound of his familiar footfalls behind me were all I needed to know he was there.

  It was still raining when I made it to the car, it took a few moments, but Thorn climbed in the passenger seat. I took out my phone and texted Davy to find out where Nate had pinged last. My phone buzzed.

  - Still @ The Muffin Man. Read Davy’s text.

  “What now?”

  “You’re going to amuse yourself in the car a bit while I break into Nate’s.”

  “Why can’t I go in?”

  “Because you’re fucking useless.” I flashed him a quick grin.

  ****

  In no time at all, we were back in Crestfield on Drury Avenue. I parked at the end of the block and went in the same way I left that morning. He had locked the front window, but the tiny one in the bathroom was open and just large enough for me to slip through. Someone even slightly larger wouldn’t be able to fit, even I was worried about stitches opening again as I lowered myself as gently to the floor as I could manage.

  Below I could hear him talking to whoever helped him run the bakery. The voices carried well, but unfortunately, that would also mean that my footsteps would too. I was, however, able to make it to beside the door without anything creaking. So there I crouched, waiting for Nate to finally come up for lunch.

  It felt like I pressed myself against that wall forever, but t
hen I finally heard his shoes on the stairs and I drew the Desert Eagle. When he opened the door, I grabbed his shirt and swung the butt of the gun at his face. Contrary to popular belief, I couldn’t have done it with my Glock—Glocks are mostly plastic, but the Desert Eagle was almost ten pounds of good old fashioned metal.

  He didn’t go down easily, but I didn’t expect him to—nor did I want him to. I wanted to beat the shit out of him. I wanted his outsides to hurt as bad as my insides did when I heard about him and Jonas having business. We grappled on the floor growling and snarling. He wrenched the gun from my hand and practically threw it across the room. It hit the floor and skidded into the bedroom. He was never on the offensive, not once did he move to strike me, but I bit and kicked and punched him like a wild animal as he tried his hardest to subdue me.

  “Rose! Stop!” He had me, hips and shoulders pinned to the ground.

  “You fucking son of a bitch!” I spat in his face, most of it landed on his glasses which were askew. I wrenched myself from side to side.

  “You’re going to tear your stitches!”

  I worked my arm free and elbowed him hard in the temple. He collapsed on top of me as he lost consciousness, knocking the air from my lungs. It took two tries for me to flip him over. Grabbing his sweater by the collar, I then pulled him across the shiny, ancient, wood floor to the kitchen. After patting him down, I took zip ties from under the sink, secured his ankles to the legs of the metal frame chair and his wrists to the slats in the back. I went into his kit in the bedroom and took out the smelling salts. The vial of sodium pentothal in that black case called to me, so I snatched it up and snagged a syringe out of a box and returned to Nate.

  My mind wasn’t made up on whether or not I’d use the drug, but I wanted to have it just in case. I laid everything out on the kitchen table where Nate would be able to see it. If you’re going to resort to torture, it’s smart to know most of it is psychological. The threat of violence is often more useful than the actual act itself. The promise of a peaceful resolution also works, but something told me that Nate wouldn’t believe me even if I tried. I turned on a burner before sitting across his lap. I grabbed the smelling salts, popped the lid open and waved the bottle under his nose. He gasped into consciousness and I righted his glasses.

  “Rose,” he said my name slowly and without any tinge of emotion.

  “Nate.”

  “You don’t have to do this.”

  I took a wire hanger off the table and started bending it into a small swirl pattern. “Do you think this looks like a rose?” I waved the little circle under his nose, he tightened his jaw but didn’t reply. I shrugged, leaned back and set the hanger on the burner. He wriggled a little.

  “So, you’re really going through with it?”

  I took off his glasses and set them to the side. It was so odd how the absence of them seemed to transform him into a completely different person. His face was so grim as I cracked my knuckles, I almost didn’t want to start softening him up—almost. I punched him twice in the mouth, his grunts were satisfying. I whistled as I beat him, it was a habit. It was cathartic, and maybe I went on a little longer than I should have. I punched him until my arms ached, but I kept everything nice and spread out, so he was only moderately bruised.

  Then I leaned forward, wrapping my arms around him and holding my body to his as I curled my hands around his pinky fingers, breaking both of them—because I’m a firm believer in symmetry. He howled in pain, hissing through his teeth as I sat up straight.

  “Tell me about the Cult of Isis.” I pulled my knife out of its sheath and used it to cut away his shirt. “See this is kind of fun because you know what I can do. You know what I’m capable of and you are fully aware of how much some of this shit is supposed to hurt. Like if I stab you here.” I poked my fingers right against the dip behind his clavicle. “There’s that nerve cluster there that just hurts like a bitch.”

  “You don’t have to do this.” He repeated.

  “And yet I don’t hear you speaking! What am I supposed to do, Nate? Do I stab you or do I use the Sodium Pentothal?”

  “I was sworn to secrecy. I meant what I said this morning. I’d never ever let anything happen to you.”

  “Your friend Jonas was going to kill me. He pointed the fucking gun at my head, Nate.” Just remembering it made me angry, so I took the knife and stabbed it in his shoulder, driving it home all the way to the guard. He screamed and cursed and kicked as his eyes glazed over from the pain and I cupped his face in my hands. “Stay with me, Princess.” I stared into his eyes, those amazingly normal blue-green eyes and he stared back. It was such a simple act that made me feel so supremely guilty for a moment. There was no hate in his gaze, only sadness. I pressed my forehead to his. “Just tell me.” I wrapped my hand around the blade and placed more pressure on it. He choked and groaned and I felt…bad.

  I pulled the knife out of his shoulder and just sat there in his lap as he stared at me. I’d never felt so conflicted before, I’d never had that foreign feeling go through me.

  “Fine. Fine… I’m a member of the Cult of Isis,” he confessed.

  “No shit.” I slapped him and grabbed his jaw, digging my fingers into the flesh, “That’s why I’m here, and you’re tied to this chair. If you think this is some elaborate game of chicken you don’t know me as well as I thought you did.”

  “I know what you’re capable of.” His voice was cold, not angry, not even sad anymore just cold.

  “Here I thought that’d be motiving.” Leaning back, I snatched the wire hanger from the burner. “Ah well, I guess it’s show and tell time.” I waved the red-hot hanger twisted into a little rosette in front of his face, he followed it with his eyes even as I pulled back the remnants of his shirt and pressed the hot metal against his ribcage. His skin popped and sizzled as I branded him and he made an odd hissing grunting noise as he fought through the pain, slamming his foot down repeatedly in an attempt to distract himself. Still, instead of closing his eyes, he stared at me, keeping his gaze level with mine. “You can end this, Nate. You know what I’m after.”

  “I took an oath, Rose,” he groaned through clenched teeth.

  “Chemicals it is!” I pulled the brand away, and he screamed. “Oh, stop being a baby.” I threw it across the room.

  “You know confessions aren’t completely true with that stuff.”

  “If you ask specific questions, it can be. And Pentothal is more accurate than Amythal.” I injected him in the neck, and his eyes got sad again. “Stop looking at me like that. This is your fault.” I set the syringe back on the table next to the bloody knife.

  Again, we sat there staring at each other in silence as I waited for the drug to take effect. The sun had crawled its orange rays across the apartment during the ordeal, casting the room in an ominous orange glow so different from the gloom of that morning. I leaned in close to inspect his pupils, he tilted his chin attempting to meet my lips with his. I jerked back so hard I almost toppled from his lap. It was certainly working.

  “Why is the Cult of Isis kidnapping and killing children their patron helped conceive?” I spoke slowly, keeping my voice measured as he stared at me and nodded along with my words.

  “The Cult is fractured. There’s a secret faction that feels like Isis overstepped her bounds by helping certain couples conceive and since she left the area they’re determined to return the balance to everything.”

  “Are you a member of that faction?”

  “You’re so pretty, Rose,” he muttered with a bit of a smile.

  “Stay focused!” I slapped him, and he chuckled.

  “Wow, you really need to work on your backhand.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Okay. You don’t even have to untie me.”

  Groaning, I covered my face before sighing. “Damn it, Nate! Focus! Are you a member of the rogue faction?”

  “Yes no.”

  “What? Yes no is not an answer!”

  He l
aughed again. “You’re so cute when you get angry. Like a little rabid Pomeranian…only with a gun and complete disregard for human and nonhuman life.”

  I grabbed his jaw again. “Are you a member of the rogue faction?”

  “Yes, only because I’m trying to find out who’s in it so I can kill them. But there’s way more than I thought there’d be, and far too many Shadows.” And then while I was still processing what he had said he opened his mouth again, “I love you, Rosie Posie. I want to keep you safe.” I cringed at the childhood nickname.

  Whenever I heard it I still thought of being fifteen and the first time I stabbed Nate. He was twenty at the time, and teaching us knife techniques—he did not fall on me like I convinced him. I stabbed him on purpose because he was using me as an example because I was short. He said what he had because of the sodium Pentothal, I wasn’t stupid enough to believe he actually loved me. People say dumb shit while under anesthetic, and that was essentially what it was.

  I cut him free, turned off the burner, and sheathed my knife. I got what I came for, and he was only a little bloodied for it. He had given me a lot to think about—and I don’t mean the whole I love you gem. After retrieving my gun from his bedroom floor, I turned and found him in the doorway.

  “Don’t go,” he whispered as he wrapped his arms around me. Crushing my body to his, he only made me feel a little like the bunny Lennie hugs to death in Of Mice and Men. He kissed my neck, and I cracked him over the skull with the butt of the Desert Eagle. Down he went, collapsing on the carpet in a boneless heap. I took his glasses off, folded down the little arms, and set them out of his reach so he didn’t break them.

  Then I left the same way I came in, only feeling weird instead of vengeful.

  Thirteen

  AFTER LEAVING NATE’S, Thorn and I went back to my place, which Thorn actually referred to as home for the first time. It just sounded so odd coming from his lips, but I pushed it away long enough to make it to my apartment, strip down and sink into the relaxing quiet of a bath. The sound of the water lapping at the porcelain edge of my clawfoot tub was amazingly relaxing.