Shadows of Divinity

by Luke Mitchell

“In a past life, he was a legal counselor. These days, he mostly trades information.”

  “Sounds shady.”

  Carlisle gave a noncommittal shrug. “He has his ear to the ground.”

  I followed him as he turned down an unremarkable side alley.

  Halfway down, he stopped at a metal door, pulled off his hood and glasses, and held his palmlight over the small panel beside the door.

  Nothing happened.

  I looked around and realized the alley was not as unremarkable as I’d thought. Multiple security cameras monitored the heavy-duty door and the length of the alley as well.

  Apparently this Franco wasn’t overly trusting of his potential visitors.

  I tried to wait as patiently as Carlisle. The place made me uneasy. But finally, after half a minute or so, the door panel flashed green, and Carlisle pulled the door open—or started to before pausing to look back at me.

  “When the questions start, you don’t have to tell him anything you don’t want to.” He frowned up at one of the cameras. “He’ll probably figure it out anyway, but telling him is your choice.”

  The warning didn’t help my uneasiness. But I nodded, pulled my own hood back, and followed Carlisle inside through the reinforced doorway into a narrow stairwell.

  Now that my threat meter was inching up, I couldn’t help notice that the lone door at the top of the stairs was also reinforced, and that the stairwell itself would’ve been a great kill zone for anyone looking to spring a trap. When the door shot up in its tracks with a mechanical hiss a few feet ahead of our arrival, I jumped, hand shooting to the thigh where I most certainly didn’t have a sidearm.

  “Jumpy,” rumbled a deep voice from the room beyond.

  Carlisle ignored the speaker and turned back to me. “It’s okay. They’re perfectly friendly.”

  Great. Now I looked like a frightened pup as I followed him into the small, bare room beyond the door. Two men waited inside. Their outfits—dark long sleeve shirts and tan pants, not quite matching but close enough—didn’t say friendly so much as scream private security. Their faces, on the other hand…

  Beneath a thick dark beard and a balding dome, the bigger of the two wore a weary, no-nonsense expression that said he’d dealt with one too many scudspouting delinquents in his day. Classic ex-enforcer, through and through. The smaller blond guy, though, wore a wide smile and was nearly bouncing with energy.

  I couldn’t help but think of a weary old hound and bright-eyed pup.

  “Mister Carlisle!” the small guy exclaimed. “So good to see you again!”

  He bounced forward so eagerly I half-expected him to throw Carlisle into a hug, but he pumped his brakes and extended a welcoming hand instead.

  Behind him, the bigger man rubbed at his brow in irritation.

  “Likewise, James,” Carlisle said, shaking James’ outstretched hand. “And you as well, Phineas.”

  The bear of a man, Phineas, gave a neutral grunt, his dark eyes fixed on me.

  “And a guest, too!” James said, following Phineas’ gaze to beam at me.

  I tilted my head in greetings, still not sure what to make of these two.

  James mirrored the motion, though I’m pretty sure his head bobbed a lot more than mine had. “Let’s get you up to Franco,” he said to Carlisle. “He’ll be happy to see you!”

  “I’m sure,” Carlisle said, unslinging his pack and offering it out to James. “You can hold on to these while we meet with him if you’d like.”

  James took the bag and was about to check its contents when Phineas stepped up to me, cutting off my view of everything but his broad chest and shoulders. I tensed, but managed to meet his gaze without flinching.

  “Arms out,” he said in a deep, gravelly voice.

  Carlisle leaned around Phineas’ bulk to indicate I should comply. I frowned at Phineas but raised my arms out and away from my body. He swept his palmlight around the perimeter of my body in a quick, practiced manner. As he added a few physical pats around my torso and legs, I noticed a faint, mechanical whir and realized one of Phineas’ sizeable arms was a prosthetic.

  Finally, he stepped back, looking almost disappointedly satisfied and leaving me wondering, between the fortifications and the muscle, exactly what kind of information broker Carlisle had brought me to.

  Whatever. I was here now.

  Even so, I found myself bracing as James went to the door at the opposite side of the room, still grinning wide. I don’t think he’d stopped since we’d walked in, which put the average disposition between him and Phineas right around neutral.

  Somehow, it only made me feel all the more like I was about to walk into the lair of a classic storyvid villain when James unlocked the door and turned that grin on us.

  “Right this way, my goodfellows!”

  13

  Smooth Moves

  Franco’s quarters were not some storyvid villain’s dank lair or roughened den.

  Words like lair and den were far too harsh. And, as we followed James from the bland security room and the kill zone stairwell into an elegant entryway, I decided I might’ve let Phineas’ gruff tone and thorough pat-down color my imagination a shade too far.

  The place was far larger than I’d expected, given the glum neighborhood outside. Artificial sunlight poured from above, illuminating the walls pale gold and more than making up for the lack of windows. I took in intricate wooden banisters and a trail of lush red carpet that led up stairs to a balcony with fancy darkwood walls.

  There was even a small fountain in the entryway corner, burbling happily away.

  James started up the stairs, indicating we should follow him. Phineas dropped onto a couch in the entryway and waved the display on the opposite wall to life to reveal one of those tragically dramatic daytime vids I thought were only watched by aging housewives. I wanted to laugh when Phineas settled into the couch with a sigh and made no move to change the feed, but I had a feeling the man wouldn’t take kindly to that.

  Instead, I padded up the soft, thick carpet of the staircase on Carlisle’s heels. At the top, I saw that what I’d taken for a balcony was actually just the connection between the entryway and the two sides of the second floor. The place was huge.

  James paused in front of the door ahead. “Do you guys need anything? Privy? Refreshments?”

  His words landed squarely on the full bladder I’d been holding since the financial district. “I could use a privy,” I said, glancing down the hallway and back to Carlisle. “Assuming there’s time.”

  He waved a hand. “By all means.”

  James pointed down the hallway to the left. “Down this hallway and to the right. You’ll see it at the end on your right.” He hooked a thumb at the door behind him. “Just come on inside when you get back.”

  I thanked him and headed down the hall as James and Carlisle stepped into what must’ve been Franco’s office. I couldn’t help but take my time and admire the decor.

  Had the ornate woodworking of the walls been bare, it still would’ve been plenty to hold my eyes. Thanks to the artwork lining the hall, though, I barely noticed the walls after the first few feet. I shuffled slowly along, trying to take it all in without dallying too long. When I finally turned the corner, though, I found the stretch of art only continued.

  Sweet Alpha.

  There’d been very little art in Sanctuary—mostly just the pictures we’d seen of some of the classic works during our studies. These might not have been the classics, but there was something to be said for seeing the paintings in person. The vibrancy of the colors. The textures that rose from the canvas, and the way they subtly shifted under the light as I moved past them. It all added a whole new intriguing dimension I’d never really experienced.

  I stopped to study a painting of a bare-backed muscular hero-type confronting a great, serpentine beast. He faced the beast’s gleaming yellow eyes from a rocky crest, defiant despite the fact that his foe was easily as large as the mountain upon which he stood
—so massive that its full extent was lost to the darkness that pressed in, threatening to smother the singular beam of light that shone down upon the hero’s skyward sword.

  “You and me both, broto,” I muttered.

  “Looks like he’s pretty screwed, huh?”

  I jumped at the voice and had scrambled two steps back and into a fighting stance before my rational brain caught up. Then I took in the speaker, and my brain went fuzzy anyway.

  She was beautiful.

  That was about all I managed to process.

  Raven dark hair. Strikingly blue eyes.

  So striking that I couldn’t seem to remember where I was and what I was doing there. Eyes that looked… like they were evaluating my sanity. I practically fell over myself trying to stand back at ease, as if doing so quickly enough might somehow negate my ridiculous overreaction.

  “Yikes!” she said, a cautious smile tugging at her lips. “I’d hate to see what happens when somebody unexpectedly touches you on the shoulder or something.”

  Heat cascaded through my face, and I could only assume my face was currently competing with Johnny’s hair for the title of Reddest Thing on Enochia. “Sorry, I was, uh—I mean… You kinda scared the crap out of me.”

  “I think that’s supposed to be my line here”—she gestured to my face—“seeing as you look like you came to steal the household silvers.”

  If it was possible, I think my face may have gone redder.

  The shaders had done their job so well that I’d completely forgotten I was wearing them. Maybe that’s why Phineas had given me grief. I probably looked like some cheesy storyvid thug.

  I pulled the spectacles off. “They’re, uh… easy to forget.”

  She was tall, I realized now, and built like some of the female tyros in my class. Except none of the tyros ever made me feel like the floor was falling out from under me when I made the mistake of meeting their sharp blue eyes for a moment too long. I tore my gaze away, heart racing, and peered around the hallway, desperately trying to find something to appear interested in.

  “So you live here?” I guessed out loud.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  I tried to think cool thoughts. I had zero experience being cool or casual around girls that weren’t either tyros or Johnny’s sister. Especially not girls with such cute smiles and such intriguing—

  Say something!

  “I would.”

  Smooth. Real smooth.

  She just kept inspecting me, half-curious, half-amused. “Were you looking for something?”

  “No, I was just…”

  Why had I come over here again?

  “Wait. Yes. I was told there may be a privy around these parts?”

  Great. And now I was asking her where I could relieve myself.

  She didn’t bat a lash. “I may be able to confirm or deny that rumor. For a small price, of course.”

  I couldn’t suppress my stupid grin. “Do go on, goodlady.”

  “Tell me who you are.”

  “I’m, uh, not sure I’m supposed to make it that easy.”

  “Oooh, so mysterious…” She parted from the wall and stepped closer. “Are you sure you don’t wanna tell me, though?”

  Her voice was as soft as her face was sweet, and my desire in that moment to give her anything she wanted nearly trampled the voice of good reason reminding me it was far better for everyone if no one knew Haldin Raish the dead Legion tyro had been here.

  “Sadly, yes.” I dropped her gaze and placed my hands dramatically over my heart. “Quite sure, goodlady.”

  “Oh, stop.”

  When I looked up, she rolled her eyes and pointed out a door at the end of the hallway without looking away, a faint smile pulling at her lips. “It’s that one.”

  Once again, I held her gaze a breath too long, and once again, gravity did strange things to my stomach, a lovely hazy cloud settling over my brain.

  I broke our eye contact. “Thanks. I, uh…” I swallowed. “Yeah. Thanks.”

  “You’re quite welcome, my shady goodfellow.”

  Carlisle was probably wondering what was taking me so long.

  “Well,” I said slowly, not really wanting to leave, “it was nice meeting you…” I bent an eyebrow in question.

  “Oh, no.” She shook her head and leaned against the wall to give me room to pass, all the while smiling a smile that made me want to do backflips and wrestle bears just so she could see it. “No way I’m telling you my name after all that.”

  “Aww…”

  I gave her my best puppy face. Or had started to when Phineas’ unmistakable voice rumbled behind me.

  “This kid bothering you?”

  I only just avoided jumping out of my skin.

  The girl, meanwhile, was eyeing me critically, as if giving serious thought to his question.

  “Nah, he can live, I guess,” she finally said. “For today, at least.” The smile crept back into her eyes as she pointed me to the door again. “Go on, you. Go be mysterious somewhere else.”

  I stepped past her, fighting an odd mix of urges to grin at her like an idiot and to flee Phineas for my life. I think I failed on both accounts. Just like I failed to refrain from looking back when I reached the cycler room.

  She was watching me, head slightly tilted, a thoughtful look in her eyes. Then I caught Phineas’ guard dog expression over her shoulder, and my big stupid grin died quickly enough.

  “I’ll find out who you are anyway, you know,” the girl said.

  My wits failed me, and I resorted to giving her what I hoped was a cool, nonchalant shrug before fleeing Phineas’ passive glare into the privy and closing the door behind me.

  A minute later, as I stood in front of the mirror washing my hands and running over the conversation in my mind, I realized I was so flustered that I’d forgotten to even relieve my indignant bladder.

  I chuckled at myself, shaking my head, and shut off the water to go try again.

  When I returned to the hallway, I was sad to see the raven-haired girl had gone—and much less so to see Phineas had done the same. But it was probably for the best. Carlisle would definitely be wondering what was taking me so long by now.

  I headed back to the entryway, thinking I should probably try to focus on something other than the memory of her face, but not really wanting to. Phineas was back downstairs watching his sappy vid when I came back to the central balcony. He didn’t look up as I made for the door Carlisle and James had entered.

  The first word that struck me when I opened the door was opulent.

  The room had the look of a study. Darkwood furniture that probably cost as much as Carlisle’s skimmer but looked less comfortable than its lowly polymer seats. Around the regal collection of furniture was an assortment of rich rugs, more artwork, and—perhaps most impressively—shelves full of real, hardbound books.

  Not something you saw every day.

  Carlisle and James sat in front of a massive oak desk. A third man with thick, carefully-styled dark hair sat across from them, his strong jaw contrasted by a thin, dark mustache that curled slightly upward at its ends. He had tan skin and olive green eyes.

  Franco, I presumed.

  I tried to push the girl out of my head and rein in the idiotic smile plastered on my face. Ditching the smile became a lot easier when the three men turned toward me.

  “Uh, hello,” I mumbled, feeling suddenly sheepish.

  James smiled and hopped out of his chair to offer it to me. “Found the cycler okay?”

  “Yep. No problems.”

  Alpha, were my cheeks as red as they felt?

  I turned to the man behind the desk, trying to avoid Carlisle’s piercing stare. “You have a beautiful collection out there, sir.”

  The man regarded me for several seconds, his expression neutral. Finally, he traded an amused glance with Carlisle and stood to offer his hand to me. “And you good taste, young goodfellow. I’m Francesco Fields. Franco, if you like. Ple
ased to make your acquaintance.”

  His handshake was firm, his hand strong and warm. “Likewise, sir—uh, Franco. Pleased to meet you.”

  He held my hand a second longer, waiting to see if I’d offer my name, then gestured for me to sit and did the same himself.

  “I see you’ve told our young friend to be careful with whom he trusts, Carlisle. A wise decision, I’m sure. Though, I have to say, he bears a striking resemblance to the son of that poor family who died in the Sanctuary house fire last cycle. Tragic, that.”

  There was no scorn or mockery in his voice, but I tensed all the same—I couldn’t help it. Franco didn’t miss it. So much for keeping a secret.

  “Tragic is surely not a strong enough word,” Carlisle said. “Come now, Franco. Let us not play hurtful games.”

  Franco sighed and nodded, his calculating look shifting to one of sympathy. “I’m sorry about what they did to your family, Haldin. I don’t know how you escaped, but I’m glad Carlisle found you.”

  He made it sound like he’d seen through the house fire cover up right from the start.

  Did that mean he already knew about the raknoth?

  “I didn’t escape,” I said, unsure what else to say. “Carlisle saved me.”

  I wasn’t sure why I chose to make the distinction, but there probably wasn’t much point in withholding details now.

  Franco didn’t look overly surprised by the news. “I suspected that might have been the case.”

  “Rest assured, we’re all duly impressed,” Carlisle said.

  Franco inclined his head as if Carlisle had just made an obvious point. “Straight to business as usual, then?”

  “I wouldn’t know what to do with myself otherwise,” Carlisle said, with a soft smile.

  “Does anyone need anything?” James asked. “Water? Sweetfizz?”

  Franco watched us for a second before turning to James. “I think we’re set, James. Thank you.”

  James shot us a wave and one last smile then bowed out of the room, pulling the door closed behind him.

  “So…” Franco steepled his fingers and touched them lightly to his chin as he studied us. “What’s on your mind, Carlisle?”