Penumbra

by Keri Arthur

  “SIU,” she said, in between coughs. “Is anyone seriously hurt in there?”

  “Wetherton’s unconscious. His girlfriend has serious facial lacerations. The rest of us have minor cuts and scrapes.”

  The voice was cold, efficient. Familiar. She knew without looking that it belonged to the man with the dead eyes.

  “We’re going to lay covering fire so everyone can get out. One of you will have to drag Wetherton clear.” She hesitated, coughing again as the thick smoke and heat caught in her throat. “Make for the foyer of the theater.”

  At least there, Wetherton and his companions should be relatively safe from the laser fire. Unless, of course, the shooter moved.

  Or there was more than one shooter.

  “Say when,” Gray Eyes said.

  Sam checked the charge on the laser, then glanced at Briggs and nodded. As one, they rose and began firing.

  “Go!” she screamed.

  The twin lasers seared through the night, spraying the darkness with bright beams of light that danced across the metal rooftop with deadly force.

  The car lurched. A woman scrambled out, followed quickly by a man who turned, reached back and hauled Wetherton out of the vehicle. Gray Eyes appeared, blood pouring down the left side of his face as he wedged a shoulder under the minister and hoisted him up, then quickly moved away from the limo with Wetherton on his back. The other man and two women followed, the second looking dazed and with blood flowing freely down her face.

  “Go with them, Briggs,” Sam ordered, and she continued firing until Briggs and the others had reached the theater doorway, even though the shadow on the roof had disappeared as soon as they’d returned fire.

  If he moved too far, they’d lose him. And with him would go any chance of understanding what the hell was going on. Sam pressed the transmitter as she rose and ran back across the road.

  “The attacker is a shifter, not a vampire. I’m in pursuit. Cleanup team and ambulance required.”

  Sirens were already screaming in the distance and people milled on the sidewalk, drawn like moths to the flame. Though the paparazzi feasted on it all, several of them ran in her wake, as if in anticipation of a scoop. She dug out her badge and flashed it in their direction.

  “SIU, gentlemen. Get the hell back!”

  With reluctance, they complied. At least initially. She had no doubt they’d follow—just a lot less obviously. That was another thing she’d learned over the years—the press and a good story weren’t easily separated.

  And there was a hell of a good story here—one she wanted uncovered as much as they did.

  She ran onto Little Bourke Street, heading for the alley behind the cafés. The nearby streetlight flickered off and on, briefly illuminating the broken asphalt and grimy puddles of water that littered the alley’s mouth. She slowed. The perfume of rotting rubbish, urine and water long gone stale rose to greet her, and she wrinkled her nose. So much for the hope that she’d left places like this behind when she’d become a spook.

  The alley ran behind half a dozen shops, and rubbish bins lined the rear fences, most of them either overflowing or overturned. At the far end, huddled in the rear entrance of a building, was a sticklike mass of gray hair and stained clothing. He whispered obscenities to the wind, his voice harsh, strained, as he gestured wildly at the night.

  A drunk, not the shifter who’d attacked Wetherton.

  She holstered the laser and climbed the old wooden fence. Once on the other side, she hesitated, listening. Lights glowed from the back windows of the café. People talked, a distant sound of confusion and concern that meshed perfectly with her emotions.

  She looked up. The shifter was still up on the roof. His evil rode the air as easily as the wind stirred her hair.

  Why hadn’t he run? What was he waiting for?

  Her.

  A chill raced down her spine. It was ludicrous, it truly was, and yet the thought—or rather, the certainty—that it was true was absolute.

  And yet, she was here by chance, by whim. How could anyone be so certain of her actions that he would know where she’d be at any given moment? It was impossible.

  Though not, perhaps, for the man who shared her dreams and her thoughts.

  And perhaps it wasn’t even beyond the capacity of her makers, whoever they might be. Who really knew? Not her, that was for sure.

  She rubbed her arms, but it did little to erase the cold sensation of dread running through her.

  One problem at a time, she thought, and headed resolutely for the fire escape. Her footsteps echoed on the old metal stairs as she began to climb—a loud warning of her approach. Yet no sound greeted her appearance on the roof. No movement. She frowned, not liking the feel of it.

  A billboard dominated the concrete expanse. Spotlights lined its base, their brightness aimed upward, leaving the rest of the rooftop a wasteland of shadows. A big old air-con unit rattled to her left. The awareness trembling across her skin suggested that the shifter hid behind it.

  She raised her laser. “SIU. Drop your weapon and then come out with your hands up.”

  The man hiding in the shadows didn’t respond. On the street below, the wailing sirens abruptly stopped. Flashes of red and blue light ran across the darkness, splashing color across the glass-walled office building opposite. Almost normal sights and sounds in a night that felt anything but normal.

  She forced her attention back to the air-con unit and the man who hid behind it. “I repeat, this is the SIU. I know you’re there. Drop your weapon and come out.”

  Still no response. She stepped onto the rooftop and edged forward. Underneath the sigh of the wind, she could hear the shifter. If the easy rhythm of his breathing was anything to go by, he wasn’t worried by her presence.

  She fired a warning shot. The blue beam flew across the darkness and hit the edge of the air-con unit. Metal sheared away in a jagged cut whose edges glowed with heat.

  Still nothing. He didn’t move. Didn’t twitch. She frowned and moved closer. She’d almost reached the right edge of the unit when he exploded forward, his body little more than a shadowed blur as he sprinted across the roof.

  He was too fast for a shifter; his speed was more like a vampire’s.

  She was nowhere near that fast—a tortoise compared to the hare. But she ran after him anyway. If nothing else, she could track him with her senses until someone from the SIU got here to help her.

  Speaking of which, where the fuck were they? This was Stephan’s baby, his master plan, so why the hell didn’t he have backup here already?

  Or was this all part of a wider scheme—a scheme she knew nothing about?

  No. Whatever was going on here, with this shifter, it had nothing to do with Stephan or the SIU. She was sure of that, if nothing else. But right now, she had no time to worry about it. The shifter leapt across to the next rooftop and ran on. His body faded in and out of existence as he moved, almost as if he were an image viewed through some badly focused lens. Weird.

  She jumped the small dividing wall, then went down on one knee and sighted the laser. “Last warning. Stop or I’ll shoot.”

  His only response was a fresh burst of speed. As he became little more than a shadowed blur, she fired.

  The blue beam arced across the night and hit him in the left shoulder. He flung his arms wide and went down with a thump. She waited, laser still raised and at the ready, for several seconds. When he didn’t move, she rose and cautiously approached. Her shot might have caught him in the shoulder, might have torn through flesh as easily as it had his clothes, but that didn’t mean he was down for the count. Far from it.

  Her gaze went briefly to the wound. At least with lasers there was no bleeding and little chance of infection. The laser beam cauterized the wound in an instant—not that it made it any less painful.

  The shifter himself was hooded and dressed in black from head to toe, his body solid but smudged around the edges, as if he were a drawing that wasn’t quite compl
ete. Odd, to say the least. There was still no movement, no sign of breathing. Warily, she nudged his foot. No response. She tried a little harder and got the same result. Maybe he was unconscious, because he couldn’t be dead. Not from a shoulder wound.

  Cautiously, she knelt and reached for his wrist to feel for a pulse. In that instant, he came to life, twisting around to throw a punch. She dodged, but not fast enough. His fist hit her cheek, the force of the blow reverberating through her skull and throwing her backward. Her head smacked back against the rooftop, sending a shock wave of pain through the rest of her body. For a moment, stars crowded her vision.

  Air stirred, accompanied by sound. The scrape of a heel against the roof. A grunt of effort.

  She blinked back tears and tried to concentrate. She felt a force of air coming from her left and rolled right. A booted foot landed inches away, the sheer power behind the kick seeming to shudder through the entire roof. If that blow had landed, he would have crushed her face.

  He laughed. Laughed.

  Then he tried stomping her with the other foot.

  “Bastard,” she muttered, firing the laser even as she dodged.

  The bright beam of light speared into his chest. Skin and bone were seared into blackened bits that scattered on the wind even as his body dropped lifelessly to the ground. The smell of burned flesh was fiercer than before because of her proximity.

  She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. She hadn’t meant to kill him, but her instincts had taken over. Yet worse than the knowledge that she’d killed was the sensation that something felt very wrong.

  With the speed that shifter had, he should have been able to dodge the laser. He didn’t even try. Why not?

  Did he want to die?

  She sniffed, then winced as pain slithered across her face. A light probe with her fingers revealed a rapidly swelling cheek as well as a warm stickiness that could only be blood oozing toward her chin. The cut was a good inch long. The creep must have been wearing a ring of some kind when he’d hit her. The inside of her mouth was just as tender, and at least two teeth seemed horribly loose.

  She spat out a mouthful of blood and slowly climbed to her feet. For an instant, the night swam and her stomach rose. Then she swallowed and rubbed the back of her head where an egg the size of a football was forming.

  Great. Showing up looking like a boxer who’d taken one too many punches was just what she needed to impress Wetherton.

  Sam grimaced and walked across to the body. Tendrils of smoke were rising from the wound. Maybe it was steam from his still-warm body.

  Or maybe it was something else entirely.

  What that something else could be she didn’t want to know—though her imagination was certainly firing up some fantastical ideas, such as maybe it was his soul rising.

  As if anyone could see something like that.

  Ignoring the goose bumps running rampant across her skin, she picked up his hand and studied the ring on his finger. It was a thick gold band with a square front. The symbol carved into it looked like a flame wrapped in barbed wire. Odd.

  She let his hand drop, then leaned forward and pulled off the mask covering his face. He had red-gold hair and gray-green eyes that were wide with shock. So this wasn’t any ordinary assassin, but a product of Hopeworth.

  But if Hopeworth was the birthplace of the Wetherton clone, why would it send an assassin after him?

  And why send one after her, if they wanted to find out more about her?

  It didn’t make any sense.

  But then, when had anything in her life ever made sense? It was frustrating, to say the least.

  She rose to her feet and walked across to the edge of the building. The fire had been controlled and SIU officers were headed her way. She crossed her arms and waited for them. Right now, there was nothing else she could do.

  —

  The phone rang loudly. Gabriel reached out, making several empty grabs before he hit the vid-phone’s receive button.

  “This had better be good.” He opened an eye and glared blearily at the time. Six in the morning. Couldn’t he have even one day off without someone contacting him?

  “You should try getting an early night for a change.” Stephan’s voice sounded altogether too cheerful.

  Something must have happened. Gabriel rose on his elbows and looked at the vid-screen. His own image stared back at him. Stephan had to be at the Stern compound, and not at his home or at the office. It was the only place he ever used his true form.

  “You should try calling at a decent time.” Gabriel yawned and dropped back down to the pillow. “What’s up?”

  “Hopeworth tried to assassinate Wetherton last night.”

  The last vestiges of sleep skittered away and Gabriel jerked upright again. “Is Sam okay?” Even as he asked the question, he knew the answer. Given their growing bond, he’d have known if she weren’t.

  “Yeah, though she shouldn’t have even been there. According to her report, the assassin was one of Hopeworth’s creations. We can’t ID him. Hopeworth is currently denying all knowledge, but I tend to agree with her.”

  Why would Hopeworth risk the life of one of their specialist killers on a man who was supposedly one of their own? It didn’t make any sense.

  Gabriel rubbed a hand across his eyes. “What about your vampire? Did he come through?”

  Stephan frowned. “There was no sign of him. It looks like he may have taken the opportunity to run.”

  “You knew it was a possibility.”

  “A ten percent chance. And worth the risk, given what’s at stake.”

  To draw out a man who was little more than a name, they’d let a killer back on the streets. Was it worth the risk? They wouldn’t really know until Sethanon took the bait—if he took the bait.

  “A warrant been issued?”

  “Yeah. Thornhill and Edmonds are turning over his known haunts.”

  If the kid had any sense, he’d avoid known haunts like the plague. But then, young vampires were inclined to think they were invincible, which tended to be their downfall. “Anything else? Or did you call at this ungodly hour just to piss me off?”

  Stephan grinned, and Gabriel wondered if his brother had been drinking. The last time he’d seen him like this was when they’d gone on a weeklong twenty-first birthday bender. And that was years and years ago.

  “Lyssa’s gone into labor.”

  “Hey, congrats.” At least that explained why he was at the compound. He must have taken Lys there so she’d have someone close while he was at work. It also explained why he was grinning like a drunken fool. “How’s she doing?”

  “Fine. I called O’Hearn down, just to check things out. She reckons it’ll be a good five or six hours before anything major happens.”

  Changer births tended to be a lot longer than human births. He hoped Lyssa was strong enough. “You want me down there?”

  “No point until something actually happens. Come down when he’s born, and we’ll get drunk together.”

  “Are Mom and Dad hovering?”

  Stephan snorted. “Half the bloody clan is hovering. The rest are on their way.”

  “Well, your son is the first male grandchild.” Gabriel grinned. The Sterns didn’t get together that often, but when they did, they made the most of it. There’d be a hell of a party at the compound tonight. “Give me a call the minute anything happens.”

  “Will do.”

  The vid-screen went black and Gabriel scrubbed a hand across his eyes again. Though he couldn’t have been happier for Stephan, this birth came at an awkward time. As much as he wanted to be with his brother, he also needed to ensure that Sam was safe. Hopeworth was after her, of that he had no doubt—even though, as yet, there was no real evidence to back that up. He stared out the window for several seconds, listening to the starlings in the trees outside his window squabble, then reached for the vid-phone and quickly dialed Karl’s number.

  His friend answered on the s
econd ring, looking as if he’d been up for several hours. His wild brown hair was tied back in its customary bandana, and dirt caked his weather-lined face.

  Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “You eating mud for breakfast these days?”

  Karl grinned. “You’d think so. It’s been pissing down out here. I went out to check the greenhouses and lost my footing.”

  “You busy tonight?”

  Karl hesitated. “Yeah. David’s got the lead in a play at school. They’re performing tonight. Why?”

  David was Karl’s youngest and Gabriel’s godson. “Thought I’d ask you to do me a favor, but it really doesn’t matter.”

  “I’m free after about eleven, if that’s any help.”

  Gabriel hesitated. “No, it’s okay.” If Hopeworth had orchestrated the attack on Wetherton, surely they’d lay low for a day or two before moving again. He was probably worrying over nothing.

  Karl scratched his chin, smearing the mud further. “Are you aware that I’m seeing that pretty partner of yours today?”

  Gabriel smiled. He obviously didn’t mean Illie. “Why? Is something wrong?”

  “Nah. O’Hearn called me in. She wants some help decoding the gene patterns.”

  “So you’ve had a chance to look at the test results I gave you?”

  “Yeah.” Karl hesitated. “Look, why don’t you come down to the clinic today? I think we may need to talk to you both.”

  And no doubt Sam would be utterly delighted to see him there. He smiled grimly. He had only himself to blame. If he hadn’t been such a bastard over the last few weeks, maybe she’d be a tad happier about seeing him outside of work.

  “Why would I need to be there?”

  Karl frowned. “I’ve been doing some research on shadow walkers. If O’Hearn’s samples match the test results from Finley, Sam’s definitely got walker in her.”