by Tim Waggoner
“In a way,” she said.
Her knee still hurt and her shoulder throbbed like hell, but otherwise she felt surprisingly good.
“Did I fix it?” she asked. “All of it?”
The Driver’s smile faded.
“I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way. You’ve restored the Balance between Shadow and your world, but your actions have otherwise not changed the past. The destruction the Shadowkin wrought – the people who died – all of it still occurred.”
For an instant, Lori had allowed herself to hope that her friends and family – along with all the people killed by the Shadowkin – would be returned to life. But now that hope was crushed.
“Why the hell did I do it then? What was the point?”
“The Intercessor left,” the Driver said. “That was the point.”
She wanted to yell some more, to take out her anger at the unfairness of it all on the Driver, but she didn’t. He was right. So many more would’ve died if the Intercessor had come all the way into her world. She reminded herself of something she sometimes told her PT clients. Focus on what you do have, not on what you don’t have. Cold comfort, maybe, but it was all the comfort she was going to get.
She sighed.
“Now what happens?”
The Driver shrugged.
“That’s up to you. For the rest of your life, you’ll have to fight the Shadowkin inside you. And eventually you’ll need to find a way to safely dispose of them before you die. Otherwise, they’ll be released and start killing all over again.”
That, she decided, would be a problem for another day. She wondered if her eyes had threads of darkness running through them now. She supposed they probably did.
“You could always join us,” the Driver said. “All of us in the Cabal were once as you. We all did something to upset the Balance, and we all had to confess and atone. And we all paid a heavy price to do so.”
“No thanks,” she said. “I couldn’t do your job. I don’t think I have it in me to be that cruel.”
This time the Driver smiled in dark amusement.
“You might surprise yourself.”
Only scraps of his robe remained, but he still had a pocket left. He reached into it now, withdrew a phone, and handed it to Lori.
“I retrieved it from Edgar’s van before I entered the cemetery. You can call a cab to pick you up.” He examined her critically for a moment. “On second thought, maybe you should call an ambulance.”
She felt a tickling sensation on her scalp then, and she remembered the beetle hiding in her hair.
“You said Edgar never fixed the Imbalance he created, and since I caused his death, his Imbalance was added to mine, like I’d inherited it or something. Did I fix his Imbalance too?”
“No, but your actions have helped you shed his Imbalance, so it’s no longer your responsibility.”
“Maybe not,” she said. “But unless it’s fixed, it could go bad, like mine did, right? Maybe bad enough to rouse the Intercessor again.”
“It is a possibility,” the Driver admitted.
“Then I think I’ll see what I can do to find out what Edgar did and try to fix it. He was a big help to me on the Nightway, and I’d like to return the favor if I could.”
“The Cabal can assist you…” the Driver began.
“Uh-uh. Your ‘help’ cost the lives of too many good people. If I’m going to do this, I’ll do it on my own. I’ve got more resources to draw on now.”
“Then this is farewell,” the Driver said.
Lori gave him a nod, and the man walked away, heading back toward the entrance to the Nightway. When he was gone, Lori called nine-one-one and told the dispatcher where she was – Yes, the cemetery, she repeated – then she sat down next to Aashrita’s broken headstone.
She felt the Shadowkin inside her. They raged in fury at being imprisoned, clawed at the cage within her mind that locked them away.
Hush, she thought, and after a moment, they settled down and grew quiet.
She smiled, closed her eyes, and waited for whatever would come next.
Acknowledgements
Thanks to Don D’Auria for his editorial guidance and friendship over the years, and thanks to Michael Valsted, whose keen eyes – along with Don’s – helped make this book far better than it was. And special thanks to my agent, Cherry Weiner, my tireless champion in this crazy business.
About this book
This is a FLAME TREE PRESS BOOK
Text copyright © 2021 Tim Waggoner
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
FLAME TREE PRESS, 6 Melbray Mews, London, SW6 3NS, UK, flametreepress.com
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Thanks to the Flame Tree Press team, including: Taylor Bentley, Frances Bodiam, Federica Ciaravella, Don D’Auria, Chris Herbert, Josie Karani, Molly Rosevear, Mike Spender, Cat Taylor, Maria Tissot, Nick Wells, Gillian Whitaker. The cover is created by Flame Tree Studio with thanks to Nik Keevil and Shutterstock.com.
FLAME TREE PRESS is an imprint of Flame Tree Publishing Ltd. flametreepublishing.com. A copy of the CIP data for this book is available from the British Library and the Library of Congress.
HB ISBN: 9781787585188 • US PB ISBN: 9781787585164
UK PB ISBN: 9781787585171 • ebook ISBN: 9781787585201
Created in London and New York
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