“It is prophesied,” he said solemnly.
“That is just so Star Wars.”
“Then we talk,” he said hurriedly. Not only did the man not have a face, I thought, he didn’t have a poker face. But he still had his wits. “Bargain. Tell me your greatest desire, and I’ll prove it’s within my reach.”
“All right,” I said, and the hallway went still. It was as if he was holding his breath. “I want my mother and my sister and my innocence returned to me. I want my life back.”
Wind whistled against my face on a heavy sigh. We both knew it was the one thing he couldn’t give. “I can give you a new life, a better one. You will be exalted in my organization.”
I blew a sticky strand of hair from my cheek and shook my head. “No, Daddy. I liked my old life, so you know what I’m going to do? I’m going to take it all back for myself.”
I reached for the door. It gave, opening easily in my hand. Half turning, I studied the Gauntlet, the strip of bloodied and battered linoleum I had somehow navigated alive. “Next time—and we both know there will be a next time—I’m going to kill Joaquin.”
“You may try.” His voice was low and composed again, but it wavered with need—something I don’t think he’d felt in years—and I lifted my chin, glad, knowing I was the one who put it there.
“But I’m not going to stop there.” I paused for a reaction, but there was none. He was waiting for me, indulging me now that he knew I was his daughter. Both Light and Shadow. The Kairos. “I’m going to train and fight and study our mythology until I find a way to annihilate the entire Shadow Zodiac. I’m going to take my city and my life back. And then…”
There was a hesitation, an indrawn breath. “Then?”
“Then I’m coming after yours.”
I yanked the door wide, and the blast that came, slamming it shut, was not a killing blow, but one meant only to shock, to stun. It didn’t even do that.
He’d pulled his punch, I thought, and smiled to myself. And that was all the power I needed for now.
“Later, Pops,” I said, and walked right out of the Gauntlet, and Valhalla. Into a new day. Into the morning. Into the light.
Hunter stood on the Boulevard, waiting as I cleaned myself up at the bottom of the long, ornate fountain leading up to the casino’s entrance. Vanessa had followed us to the hotel despite Hunter’s warnings, and he’d given Warren over to her care. They were now, presumably, someplace safe and undetectable until dusk and the time of crossing came again.
I sensed no one around us, neither Shadow nor Light, and after Hunter assured me again that the security cameras didn’t reach this far, I pulled the shield from my head and handed it to him. I ran my other fingers through my damp hair.
“Joaquin got away,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
I lifted my face to the sky, breathing deeply of the morning air. “It’s all right. I’ll find him again. I have his scent locked in my brain now.”
“And vice versa,” he reminded me as we turned away from the hotel.
I shrugged, feeling a residual ache echo through my right shoulder. “Either way. Next time I’ll be ready.”
“Yes.” His voice sounded almost tender. “I believe you will.”
I glanced over at the man who was so dutiful he’d been willing to sacrifice himself for us all. His appearance hadn’t altered, but now that we’d shared the aureole, and tasted of one another’s souls, I was seeing him differently. For one, I knew his single-mindedness was a fear-induced response, as was his frightening composure. And while I didn’t know what a man as capable as Hunter had to fear, at least now I knew he felt something beneath that calculating facade. Maybe I’d learn more in time.
“Sorry about your head,” I said, after a moment.
“You apologized before you hit me, remember?” He rubbed at his skull. The swelling was already gone, however, so I didn’t feel that bad. “I guess you were expecting someone from the hotel to find me knocked out at the bottom of that elevator before I ever came around, right?”
“That was the plan.”
“Lousy plan.”
How was I supposed to know he’d already taken care of the security tapes? “Well, I couldn’t let you give up your entire life for me. Besides, we need someone on the inside.” I paused. “My mother would have wanted it.”
He didn’t answer for a moment. We both knew I hadn’t done it for my mother.
“Well,” he finally said, shuffling his feet. For the first time since I’d known him, he looked uncomfortable. Not quite at ease in his gorgeous skin. “Thank you.”
I looked down the street, smiled to myself, and asked softly, “Your daughter. What’s her name?”
“Lola,” he said, just as quietly. I had a feeling he rarely spoke of her at all.
“Ah, that’s Lola,” I said. For some reason, I’d assumed the woman he’d first spoken of in the dojo—the one no one else knew about—was his lover.
“Yours?”
I looked at him. The light from the morning sun set his dark hair to glow from behind, and he almost looked haloed. “I don’t have a daughter.”
“You do.”
I shook my head. “I don’t. I—”
He cut off my protest with one simple, jarring thought. “Our lineage is matriarchal.”
My blood pooled in my feet, and my thoughts drained from me on an escaped breath. “Oh, shit…”
I’d had a girl child. She was now in her first life cycle. “Oh, shit,” I said again.
“Don’t worry about it now. We’ll figure it out—”
I panicked at that, shaking my head hard, then harder. “No one can know. No one does know! And you can’t—”
“Shh,” Hunter put a steadying hand on my shoulder, and I fell silent. “I said we’ll figure it out.”
I swallowed hard, then nodded as I stared at my feet. He was right. There was time yet. I’d figure out what to do—Hunter would help—and I’d find a way to keep my secret as well. I looked back up at him, gave another small nod, and when he smiled back it was almost as if I were seeing him for the first time. A tendril of hair had come loose from his back knot, and after a moment I reached up to tuck it behind his ear. My fingertips skimmed his warm cheek, the delicate folds of his left ear, trailing down his neck. I remembered the softness of his lips, the way they’d yielded beneath mine; and I recalled the memories that were a part of this fierce, complicated man. And, I thought, were now a part of me as well.
“Thank you again,” he said, covering my hand with his own.
“You’re still welcome,” I said softly.
“And don’t ever do it again.”
I peered up at him. “Can we go back to the thank-you part?”
We both smiled at that, momentarily at peace with the hand life had dealt. We were like cats bathing in the morning light, reveling in the freshness of the day as we took inventory of our body and limbs, each of us genuinely surprised, and nearly giddy, at being alive.
That was how Ben Traina found us. Stretching, smiling, happy. I sobered quickly when I saw him. “What are you doing here?”
“Whatever happened to ‘Hello’?” Ben said, looking amused. He looked better than when I’d last seen him. Still too thin, but not reeking of desperation, and no longer quite as wild-eyed. I tried to read his aura, but I was too spent from my time in the Gauntlet, and all I saw was Ben.
“Hello,” I said. “What are you doing here?”
My voice was too sharp, the query inappropriate, but he was too close to Valhalla and its still-fresh horrors for my liking. Certainly too close to me. I shuttered my expression and emotions before anything telling could leak out.
“You must be Ben,” Hunter said, covering for me in the ensuing silence. Ben looked down at the hand stretched before him.
“That’s right,” he said after a moment. “Traina.”
“Hunter. Lorenzo.” They shook, civilized-like, sizing each other up. Hunter inhaled deeply. I cleared my throat
in warning, which merely amused him.
“In answer to your question,” Ben said, turning back to me, “I heard reports of something strange happening here this morning. Some sort of power outage or explosion or something. Thought I’d come down and check it out.”
“Back on the force, then?”
He shook his head, one quick jerk. “One of the guys called me in. They know I’ve been…interested in this place for the last few months.”
So he was still looking into my death. Looking for answers he didn’t even have the right questions to. I didn’t know whether to be alarmed or gratified.
“Anyway, I don’t want to keep you guys. You’ve obviously been up all night. Just come from a concert or something?”
“Or something,” Hunter said with a smile.
Ben nodded absently, then leaned in to politely kiss my cheek. “Olivia.”
The air sparked, crackling between us. We both jerked back.
I shook my head. “Whew. Lots of static electricity. Must have been some explosion in there.”
“Yeah.” Ben rubbed at his mouth before backing away, frowning. “Well. See you later.”
I bit my lip and watched him walk away.
“Static electricity?” Hunter said after a moment. I smiled, as he meant me to. “More like chemistry, I’d say.”
“It’s merely sensory-evoked nostalgia,” I told him, turning away. “Micah explained it to me. Ben’s scent is connected to pleasant memories, and my brain’s limbic system is reacting to those memories. That’s all.”
“Uh-huh.”
“It is,” I said, but glanced up to hold his eyes with my own. “The only chemistry Ben Traina ever felt was with and for my sister. Joanna.”
Hunter trailed his eyes over my face, his eyes hooded again, his expression unreadable. “Well,” he finally said. “She must have been quite a woman too.”
I acknowledged the compliment, and his silent agreement to keep my identity secret, with a tilt of my head. “She was.”
We started walking again, and Hunter draped a comforting arm around my shoulder, surprising me by pulling me close. “Come on, Olivia Archer. It looks like we get to live to fight crime another day.”
“Whoopee.”
Still I leaned my head on his shoulder and let him wheel me away from the Hall of the Gods, following him into the crisp air of dawn while the city sparkled around us with the same hope it held for every new day. We walked down the Strip, kept walking, beyond Tropicana and Flamingo, Spring Mountain and Sands, Sahara and Charleston, to where the bones of the old city lay. I welcomed the light rising in that sky, bathed in the touch of the cool air against a whole and healthy body, and welcomed Hunter’s warm and reassuring presence beside me. I was happy to be here. To be alive. To be Olivia.
Happy, even though I could still feel Ben’s hot stare burning a hole through my back.
30
“Did you really call the Tulpa ‘Pops’?” Warren asked, holding up the latest manual from Master Comics. I glanced at the title. It arched across the cover in bold silver letters. The Archer, it said. Agent of Light.
I’d picked it up for Warren the previous day, thinking he’d enjoy reading it while he recuperated. My experience in the comics store was markedly different than the first time. Carl had nearly flown to my side, taking liberties by grabbing my chin with one fuzzy palm, twisting my head from side to side, ostensibly to get his drawings right. I finally had to tell him I’d shoot an arrow up his nose to get him to stop. The twins peppered me with questions about the sanctuary and my eye shields, and even Sebastian had asked, shyly, to see my bow and arrow. Zane, however, merely nodded my way and said my trading cards would be in soon.
“Your twisted sense of humor must be rubbing off on me,” I told Warren, inwardly pleased as he chuckled and continued to leaf through the comic. He’d been in the sick ward for over a week, and his color was only now coming back. Still, Micah said he’d been lucky. Ajax had skewered his insides with a mortal weapon, not his conduit. The latter, he’d said, would have killed Warren too quickly for Ajax’s liking.
Instead I had arrived, Ajax had died, and Warren would now heal. Meanwhile, the latest comics, both Shadow and Light, showed our enemies backing off, licking their wounds, forced to rethink their strategy against us now that Greta was no longer marking us for destruction.
And now that there was a new Archer among the agents of Light.
“Lunch,” Chandra announced, entering the room with a loaded tray. She was careful not to look my way—as she’d been for the past week. Goaded by Greta, it was Chandra who had slipped the newspapers under my barracks door that night, and she’d since apologized unflinchingly, like a recalcitrant inmate waiting for her sentencing. I’d acknowledged her apology gracefully, if stiffly, but if anything, it made her more antagonistic toward me.
This was further inflamed by my swift, unanimous acceptance into the troop the day before. She hadn’t opposed the vote when given the opportunity to do so, and there’d been no further jabs about my resemblance to a rogue agent, but she’d been sure to wonder loudly about my true identity in front of the others. It was a little obvious, even for Chandra, not to mention totally unnecessary. Ever since Greta had revealed that I was not really Olivia Archer, they’d all been watching me curiously. Though that, I thought, was certainly better than suspiciously.
“Wonderful!” Warren set the comic aside. “Lasagna, chocolate cake, and a nice pinot, I hope.”
“Try oatmeal, water, and a few sliced greens.”
“Damn.”
That drew a smile from Chandra, but after running a quick hand over his forehead, she only nodded her satisfaction and left the room without another word.
“She’s still not talking to me.”
“Give her time. She’s a good person deep down.” He dug into his oatmeal, while I wondered exactly how deep that was. “Meanwhile, the first sign of the Zodiac has been fulfilled, and the legacy of the Archer grows. You’ve become rather well known in the paranormal world. How does it feel?”
I shrugged, recalling that I’d once told him I didn’t want to be a part of this world. A superhero, I’d scoffed. A freak among freaks. “It’s easy to idolize someone from afar. Most of the people reading those,” I said, pointing to the comic, “don’t know me at all.”
“Rena knows you. She thinks the sun rises and sets on your shoulders.”
I quirked a brow. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Rena is a bit impaired when it comes to matters such as, oh, say, the sun.”
“But she’s a damned good judge of character.”
And I had to agree with that. She’d been willing to trust me when no one else had. I’d have never been able to prove Greta’s culpability without her. For that, I, and Warren, owed her much.
He turned back to his comic, and I watched him for a bit. Greta had told me that something in Warren’s past had made ruthlessness a virtue, and knowing what it was—that the man lying before me had killed his own father—I also wondered what he’d do from now on to make sure it’d been worth it. He’d already proven himself willing to give up everything for the troop. The group was worth more to him than the individual. I liked Warren…but I was going to be careful to keep that in mind.
“Tell me something, Warren,” I said at last.
“If I can.”
“Did you know there was a traitor in the sanctuary?”
After a long pause, he shook his head. “No. I didn’t believe it. I wouldn’t believe it.”
“Then why was it so important to you that my true identity be kept a secret from the rest of the troop?” I asked him, shaking my head. That had thrown me. It’d even made me wonder, for a time, if he wasn’t the real mole. “Why didn’t you want that revealed if you trusted these people so much?”
“Because your arrival was the last prediction Tekla made before Stryker died. She knew…something.” Warren dropped his head back on his pillow, his expression glossed over in
one of pain, but it wasn’t for himself. Guilt popped up in him, washing over his outline in a wave of mustard yellow the thickness of tar, its scent as sharp as tear gas. “I don’t know if she foresaw his death or her own imprisonment, but she made me swear never to reveal your true identity once you were found. I didn’t want to break my last promise to her.”
That made sense, I thought, nodding slowly. If Greta had discovered who I really was, it wouldn’t have been long before the Tulpa did as well.
“Okay, but there’s one other thing I don’t understand.” I pointed to my chest, where his second heartbeat had once resided. “Why did I stop feeling you in here? Did the mark Micah gave us wear off?”
He shook his head. “Once I knew you were coming for me, there was no need for you to feel that kind of pain. It would have hampered your ability to perform. You needed all your concentration for the task at hand.”
“So you took it all upon yourself,” I murmured.
“I knew you wouldn’t keep me waiting long.” He shrugged, but there was a world of pain in the movement. It made me want to kill Ajax all over again. Seeing it, Warren changed the subject.
“What do you think of Tekla?”
I couldn’t help but smile. He knew what I thought of her. I’d been spending nearly every waking hour with her since my return, listening to her rant about the “quacks” who read palms or tea leaves instead of looking to the skies. I tried to follow her astrological lectures on planets and houses, elements and polarities, meridians and angularity, but it wasn’t easy. She spoke in code more often than not, had a tendency to begin mumbling to herself in the middle of a conversation, and—most disturbing—mourned Stryker’s passing at the beginning of every hour. I also caught her studying me in the odd moment, worried eyes roving my face like she was reading something interesting and possibly disturbing there. Still, I found her fascinating. “She’s been telling me stories about my mother.”
Warren’s face took on a faraway cast, and one side of his mouth lifted in a bittersweet smile. “There’s a lot to tell.”
“Do you…” I had to stop, and try again. “Do you think I’ll ever find her?”
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