Lost in Shadows

by J. Kenner

  "Where's Kiera?"

  "She is well," he said. "I sent her home."

  "Oh." I actually hadn't thought of her as having a home and felt a little bit foolish.

  "What has happened, ma fleur?”

  "Rachel," I said. I dragged my fingers through my hair, then sat on the floor, my back to the gray weapons cabinet. I licked my lips, choosing my words carefully, but needing to say what was on my mind. "She chose a side, Zane, and she was punished for it."

  "I see. And which side did she choose?"

  "The right one." I watched his face, searching for a clue as to his true allegiance.

  "It is hard sometimes," he said. “To choose. There is always a price to pay."

  "Did you make a choice?" I asked, softly.

  He stood, then moved away from me. "I did not," he said. "Perhaps I should have."

  I swallowed, the import of what he'd just revealed to me striking home. He hadn't chosen. Not right. Not wrong. "And now?"

  He turned back to face me. "Now I think only of myself." He lifted his head to look at me directly. "I've told you my story, Lily, and it's a selfish one."

  "What about Kiera?" I asked, blurting out the question before I had considered my words. "Do you think she's . . ." I trailed off, wanting to ask out loud, but I couldn't. Instead I backtracked. "Do you think she's a good partner for me?"

  He met my eyes, his expression shuttered. "I think she has your back."

  "That's not really what I meant."

  He stood up. "Yes," he said. "I think she is a fine partner."

  "Good." I stood up, knowing I should just take Rose and go. But I was still antsy. "Rachel's going to be okay, but she was beaten pretty badly. And all because she wanted to get free."

  He looked at me, his eyes seeing more than I wanted. "It can be hard to give up the dark once it gets inside you. Once it starts to fill those spaces."

  I felt the tears flood my eyes and wanted to sink into the floor, the weight of his words pressing me down. I'd never be able to give up the dark, no matter how much I wanted to pretend otherwise. I wasn't a normal girl anymore, and even the most fervent wishes wouldn't bring back my old life.

  "Rachel will survive, Lily," he said, pulling me close. "And so will you. Survival," he added. "I fear it is what we do best."

  20

  “Just fold and roll," I said to Rose, putting a knife and fork in a napkin and demonstrating how to wrap the silverware service. "If you can do all of these, that'll be a huge help."

  She nodded and started in on it, looking like nothing more than a kid working in the family business. Nothing to suggest she was a kid with a demon inside her. Nothing, that was, except for the pallor of her skin and the way her pupils stayed overly dilated. And, of course, the haunted way she looked at me when I'd asked that morning if Johnson was still there.

  "He's here to stay, Lily," she'd said in that slow, singsong voice. "I thought you knew that."

  "Not to stay," I'd said, a note of panic rising. "He's not staying."

  But she hadn't answered. She'd just turned back into the bathroom and lost herself in the shower.

  Now, though, even that dreamy interchange seemed like history. She was awake. She was alert.

  She was Rose.

  I fingered the locket I wore around my neck, a souvenir of my life as Lily, with pictures of both me and Rose. And as I touched it, I couldn't help but wonder how long before the other shoe dropped.

  The hour was still early, so we had only a smattering of patrons in the pub. Just the few diehards who came in for a prelunch half-pint to warm them up for their lunchtime pint. Rachel had been here when I'd arrived, but she'd managed to avoid me all morning, moving to the kitchen or the stockroom or the walk-in whenever I got within five feet of her.

  Now, though, she came up behind me as I polished the bar with some Brasso and an old rag.

  "She's your little sister?"

  I didn't turn around, but I could see her reflected in the brass I'd just polished. "She is."

  "I didn't even know I'd lost Alice," she said, her voice hitching.

  "I know. I'm sorry."

  "I wasn't a very good sister to her."

  Her words, so familiar to me, hung heavy on my heart. I looked across the pub, my eyes finding Rose. "You did the best you could."

  She took a bar rag and started drying the already dry glassware. "Do you know how to find them? The demons? Do you know how to tell them apart from the humans?"

  I turned, wanting to see her face, and when I did, all I saw was controlled anger. "No," I said, thinking of Kiera and her demon-sniffing schnoz. "I don't."

  "I do." She licked her lips. "I want to help you. Will you let me?"

  "Every demon I kill makes me stronger," I said, then looked up and met her eyes dead on. "I need to be pretty damn strong if I'm going to win in the end."

  "I get it," she said. "Those two, for starters." She nodded to two burly guys nursing beers and a basket of cheddar fries. Both were wearing Red Sox caps, and both were making it a point not to look in our direction. "Egan used to supply them with herbs and stuff for their ceremonies."

  "And stuff?"

  Her eyes went hard. "I didn't know," she said, referring to the fact that I'd told her Egan had also been in the business of supplying the demons with sacrificial girls. "And now that I do, I don't have any compunction about you taking them out. I'll even hold them down if it'll help."

  "It wouldn't," I said, "but thanks for the support." I checked on Rose, who had put her head down on the table and gone to sleep. A quick shiver of worry ran up my spine. Johnson might not be popping out to shoot off his mouth much, but he was making his presence known in other ways. Like the fact that he was slowly killing my sister. Stealing her energy. Snuffing out her soul.

  I needed him out. And soon.

  And as much as it terrified me, I was beginning to think I was going to have to risk killing Clarence so that we could find the vessel and set Deacon's plan in motion. I’d bring the wrath of hell down upon us, but if it meant saving Rose, then maybe hellfire was worth it.

  Except I wouldn't really be saving her, would I? I'd be trapping her inside a vessel. Trapped, just the way I feared I would end up if the demons got their claws in me.

  Could I do that to her?

  I looked at her, and drew in a breath. Dammit, I just didn't know.

  I shook off the melancholy and forced myself to go back to polishing as Rachel went back to checking the inventory behind the bar. We were both engrossed when the door opened, sending a flood of sunlight across the dimly lit pub. I looked up and saw Kiera silhouetted in the doorway.

  She stood for a moment, getting her bearings, then moved across the room toward me in long, confident strides. "Nice place," she said. "Need another waitress?”

  "Excuse me?" I was doing a bad job of hiding my amusement. And, yeah, now that I had Zane's seal of approval, I admit I was warming up to my partner even more.

  She rolled one shoulder. "Not like our regular gig pays that well," she said. "Or, like, pays at all. I need a job. Figured you could use me." She flashed a wicked grin. "I'm strong. Bet you don't have anyone who can carry a pub tray like me."

  I figured I could give her a run for her money but didn't say so. After all, I was now management. And management didn't play who's-got-the-bigger-dick with the staff.

  I glanced over my shoulder at Rachel, who was listening with unabashed interest to our conversation.

  "My partner in crime," I said, by way of explanation, glancing quickly at the burly Red Sox fans in the corner. "Kiera, my sister, Rachel. Alice's sister," I clarified, in a much lower tone.

  "Then give the girl a job," Rachel said, tossing Kiera a tank top from behind the bar and telling her to go get changed.

  "I like this," Kiera said with a grin. "Honest employment. Who knew?"

  "So we're not selling the pub?" I asked once Kiera was out of earshot.

  Rachel glanced toward the demons, then sho
ok her head. "Not if keeping it helps you and her."

  "It does," I promised her. The pub was demon central. A lot like those roach motels, the vermin just seemed to be attracted to the place.

  "Then that's your answer."

  Kiera came back in, her red bra visible under the white material of the tank top. I met Rachel's eyes, but she only laughed and shook her head. "Okay," I said, sliding a laminated sheet with all the tables sketched in toward her. "You take this half, and I'll take the rest, then we can mix it up again when Gracie comes on shift."

  "Got it," Kiera said, turning to walk away.

  I winced as my arm started to burn. "Wait."

  She turned back, her brow furrowing, then immediately clearing. "Now?"

  I nodded, doubling over and clutching my arm to my chest.

  "What?" Rachel was right beside me, her expression concerned. "What's going on?"

  "My arm," I said, looking over toward Rose. We have to go."

  Rachel bit her lip, then nodded. "Then go," she said. "I'll watch Rose."

  "I'm not sure that's a good—"

  "I can handle it," she said severely, and it occurred to me that considering her family history, she probably could. So long as the demons didn't try to express their displeasure with her again.

  "Come on," Kiera said, as I stood there debating.

  "Go," Rachel said.

  In the end, it was Rachel that decided it for me. I ran to the back to get my coat and knife, then whispered a quick good-bye in Rose's ear. And I told Johnson in no uncertain terms that if anything happened to Rachel while I was gone, he would face the brunt of my wrath. Somehow, someway, I would make him pay.

  I didn't know if he heard.

  I didn't know if he heeded.

  But I did know that my speech made me feel better, and I walked a little bit lighter as I followed Kiera out the front door, having succumbed to her insistence that we take her car and not my bike.

  We were at the car and Kiera was unlocking the driver's-side door when I saw them—the Red Sox demons from the pub.

  "Kiera," I said, keeping my voice low and even. "Toss me the keys." That’s the downside of a classic car—no automated door locks.

  She didn't question. Just did as I asked in a perfect-partner rhythm that was a joy to behold.

  Unfortunately, the joy came to a screeching halt, because both demons had decided they wanted to party and were barreling toward us. Worse than that, apparently they had friends. Little demon friends who didn't care that it was daylight and that attacking two seemingly frail girls on the street was a really stupid plan.

  Or not so stupid since nobody rushed from the nearby buildings to give us assistance as the demons rushed in for the attack. For that matter, the street seemed deserted, and I had to wonder if regular humans could sense the danger and had locked themselves up behind closed doors.

  Not that I wondered much. I was too busy using the car to get leverage as I kicked my legs out and tried to knock some demon heads together. The demons all appeared human, and at least none of them had Gabriel's sort of hyped-up powers, but there were ten of them, and those odds really weren't good.

  I tightened my grip on my knife and vowed to make the odds a little better.

  "Kiera! You alive over there?"

  "I've got the bastard," she said, and I heard the wet schlurp as her knife struck home. "You?"

  "I'm good," I said, whipping myself into a frenzy. I kicked out, and got one hard in the gut, sending him tumbling backward. I leaped on him, my hand on his throat and my knife ready to slice through him like butter.

  And then I caught his eye, and damned if I didn't snap to a vision.

  Deacon.

  Surrounded. Deferring.

  Fearing his wrath.

  And then blackness, and he's searching. Looking.

  For the Oris Clef?

  For something. Something lost. Something important.

  And they say he knows. He knows where it is. Deacon Camphire has secrets. And he knows…

  And the demons whisper among themselves, and the word travels on the wind—be wary of Deacon Camphire, for he will one day rule us all.

  21

  I broke the connection, my heart pounding, my mind spinning. Beneath me, the demon quaked, and I barely paid it any attention, just sliced its throat and shoved it back onto the street, darkness swirling within me even as dark thoughts about Deacon flooded my mind.

  Deacon, seeking the allegiance of the demons.

  Deacon, searching for the Oris Clef.

  I didn't want to believe it, and yet I'd seen it, and if the images in the dead demon's head were true, then I'd once again stuck my trust in where it didn't belong.

  Dammit. You'd really think I would have learned by then.

  Not that I had a chance to think about that, because the rest of the demons were moving in, and I was kicking, fighting, stabbing, and thrusting. I was in a mental funk, my thoughts getting darker and darker with each kill.

  I was in such a funk that I barely noticed when Kiera came by, her color high, her breathing hard, and I saw that we were fresh out of demons; together we'd wasted them all, and right then that didn't make me happy. I wanted more. More kills. More dark. And damned if I couldn't have it.

  I'd managed to shake off a bit of the darkness by the time we arrived at the basement, but not the terrible sense of betrayal. Clarence had already prepared the bridge, and he returned the necklace to me. Because we'd already determined that the relics of the Oris Clef were interconnected, it made sense that the game of hot-or-cold I played with my arm worked better if I had all the pieces to work with.

  This time, he also loaded us down with a few more tools, though not many. Apparently the best way to travel through a portal is naked. The more stuff you carry, the more likely you are to get tossed off course.

  Kiera was down with the naked plan. Me, not so much.

  We ended up wearing our regular clothes—jeans, our Bloody Tongue tank tops—our weapons, and flashlights. Still nothing spectacular as far as blasting our way out of a rough spot, but when I suggested C-4, Clarence told me about a theoretical risk of detonation while we were on the bridge. That pretty much ended that conversation as far as I was concerned.

  Finally equipped, we stepped into the portal, did the whole blood-on-the-symbol thing, and then the world was spinning, and we were on our way to the British underground. But not, as I would have preferred, the London Underground.

  "You know what sucks?" Kiera whispered, as we crouched in a dimly lit passageway, breathing the scent of fresh earth. "I've always wanted to go to Britain. Always wanted to see Stonehenge. I mean, druids, right? How cool is that? And now here we are, as close to Stonehenge as I'm likely to ever get, and this is the view I have?"

  We were, at the moment, somewhere underneath the famous stones. At least, I assumed we were. Since Clarence's bridge had dumped us out in this underground tunnel, I really couldn't be sure of anything.

  By then, I was wondering if having a bit of plastic explosive wouldn't have been worth the risk. "Look," I said, shining my light in front of us. "The tunnel's caved in."

  The beam from my flashlight played over a pile of rocks that reached from the floor all the way up to the top of the corridor. Through a few cracks and crevices, a hint of light shone. "Can you get up there?"

  She climbed up, me lighting the way. "Can't see anything," she said. "And I can't move these damn boulders."

  I sighed. "Come back down. Maybe there's another way."

  With our narrow beams of light leading us, we headed in the opposite direction. We hadn't gone that way in the first place because my arm burned as we approached the pile of rocks, and the pain eased up when we backed away. Now, though, I was hoping we could circle back around and find the pain again.

  And didn't that sound like a country-and-western song?

  For that matter, I was feeling a bit like my entire life was a country-and-western song. The kind that's sad, and bem
oans losing love and trust and all that mushy stuff. I was also on edge, expecting to see Deacon any second. Because from what I'd seen in that demon's head, Deacon Camphire was more interested in finding these relics than he was letting on.

  More than that, the demon seemed to believe that Deacon knew where the third piece was. And if that was the case, then it explained why Clarence didn't want him dead. If something happened to me, Deacon might be the only source of information.

  What I didn't get, though, was why Deacon would let me keep the first relic. If he really was intent on collecting them, then wouldn't he have done everything in his power to get the necklace from me while we were in China?

  I reached up to touch the necklace, realizing that Deacon had actually played it smart. If he didn't know where the second piece was, then he needed me to find it. And that meant that as soon as I located piece number two, it was a good bet that Deacon was going to jump out and try to take the relics from me.

  Damn his rotten soul. And damn me for falling for him.

  Not that I had much time to curse either myself or Deacon, because Kiera had come to a dead stop in front of me.

  "Here," she said, her voice low. She'd found a fissure in the stone, about the shape of a keyhole but the height of a rather short person.

  "Does it cut through?" I asked, shining my own light into the dark.

  "I think so. Look." She wiggled her light, and the beam seemed to reflect off something, giving the impression of an open space and not merely more caves closing in.

  "Here goes nothing," I said, then eased inside. At first it was pitch-black, and because of the tight quarters, I couldn't get my flashlight arm to move in front of me, which meant I was heading in blind. After a few minutes of that, though, the space opened up into an actual cave, and I was free to move more easily. Kiera was right behind me, and we slowly inched forward.

  Soon I realized that I could see beyond the beam of my flashlight. "Turn your light off," I said, doing exactly that.

  She did, then gasped. I did, too. We were standing in a crystal cave, and some unknown light source was illuminating the quartz that covered the walls and ceiling, making the place glow like something out of a storybook about heaven.