Blood in the Shadows

by Stephanie Keyes

  In the few years I’ve hunted supernatural creatures, never have I come across something so rare and seemingly out of place as this being that stands in the middle of what looks like an old, dusty library of some kind. The room is divided, with a small sitting area to my right and a loft with about ten rows of bookcases—tall enough they reached the ceiling—across the room. Smaller bookcases—about waist high—were perfectly aligned in front of a wooden handrail, which overlooked a desk on the landing below.

  “Come in, child.” The man—I haven’t the slightest idea as to what branch of the supernatural tree he belongs to—turns toward the door and gestures to a stuffed chair to my right. “Make yourself comfortable.”

  His eyes are lowered to a page in the book he’s holding in one hand. Not once does he glance up to acknowledge me as I walk into the room and sit on the chair he offered me. My captor follows behind, closing the door after him, but remains on guard near the door. Like I’d pull anything before I find out what’s going on.

  “What am I doing here?”

  My captor pins me in place with a murderous look. By his reaction, I guess I wasn’t supposed to address the other creepy creature in the room unless given the authority to do so.

  “It’s quite alright, Mason.” The bald-headed man’s fingers glide over the page in front of him, from top to bottom, slowly. “Naturally, she’s curious as to why you haven’t harvested her soul yet. I expect her to ask to her heart’s content.”

  So my kidnapper’s name is Mason. Good to know. That’s another name I’ll be adding to my growing list of supernaturals I’ll be sending back to hell in the near future.

  “Truth is,” those cerulean orbs of his turn their attention to the pasty figure at the opposite side of the room, “I’m more than a little curious myself.” Mason takes a step forward, stuffing the knife he holds in his right hand in the waistband of his pants.

  Closing the petite book in his hand, the creature looks up—and scares the daylights out of me. His eyes are devoid of any life. In fact, they have no color whatsoever. Instead, where the pupil and iris should be there’s nothing but a vastness of white which seems to go on forever.

  Unable to help myself, I stare back at the robed figure. Though in size he isn’t much, a few inches shorter than I am even, he has suddenly turned into the most oppressing person in the room.

  “I believe you have stumbled upon an elaborate mess the likes of which you have yet to fully comprehend, my friend. That girl will get you killed if you don’t get rid of her.”

  I inhale a fresh batch of stale air. “I beg your pardon?”

  Ignoring me completely, the bald-headed figure places the book in his hand gently on the table in front of him and turns to feel along the many bookcases to his left until he reaches the top of a five step staircase. Once he has his hand on the wooden rail, he descends slowly.

  “I’m afraid I have very little comfort to offer you.”

  I’m astonished because it’s easy to see that the man is completely blind, even though to me it appeared as if he was staring right at me moments ago. And reading. Wasn’t he reading?

  “Your master has put you in a predicament, I’m afraid.”

  “He’s not my master!” Mason retorts with a heavy dose of conviction. “My situation couldn’t he helped, Atys. You know this.”

  The tiny man, who is obviously Atys, waves a hand at Mason. “I understand. There is no need for you to get all bristled up.

  I’m sitting here, stoically, because I have no idea what’s going on.

  “Whether by choice or not, he owns you. But she,” Atys points one long, bony finger to me, the light from the candles hanging from the large antique-looking chandelier above in the middle of the room reflect off his glassy fingernail, “is your key to freedom.”

  “You don’t have to convince him to kill me, you know. I’m sure he’s come to that decision all on his own,” I retort with just the right measure of sarcasm. It’s easy to see he’s not rooting for me.

  Once again, I’m met with a look of disdain as I stare into Mason’s eyes. “Let’s get something clear, the only reason I haven’t harvested your soul yet is because I don’t know why the leaders of the Underworld want you dead.”

  “Mason.” Atys carefully places one foot in front of the other as he makes his way toward us. He definitely looks as old as the chandelier hanging above his head. Maybe even older. “Make a decision quickly. Otherwise you will be the Lord’s next target.”

  “Atys.” Apparently a little exasperated himself, Mason runs a hand over his short black hair. “I came to you for answers. You’re a seer. Please tell me what you see.”

  “I see trouble heading your way. She is your key to eternal freedom, but she can easily turn into your damnation.” Aty’s strolls over to a second stuffed chair to my right and carefully, as if afraid of breaking a few bones by moving too quickly, slumps down on the upholstered seat. “You’ve already gained a handful of enemies when you took her out of that alley. From this point onward, whatever choice you make will weigh heavily on your shoulders.”

  Mason doesn’t appear to be the least bit preoccupied by the possibility of having a few dark killers after him. “Will you not tell me why the Lords’ want to kill her? Why would I be offered such a high price for her? She’s merely a human. A hunter.” He spares a glance in my direction. “Not a good one at that.”

  I flip him off. “Says you.”

  Atys bursts out in a fit of gurgled laughter. “Keep her and find out.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “I’m weathered and old. I have seen many glorious things in my life though I was born blind. I have answers to questions you have yet to ask me, but as skilled as my abilities are I cannot see everything. This girl’s fate I cannot see. Only yours.”

  “So what do you advise me?”

  “As I said before, keep her and you will find out what your fate holds.”

  “Do I have any say in this?” I hope to be able to plead my case to anyone who will lend an ear. I want to go home and get back to my mundane lifestyle, including my boring job at the coffee house. Anything beats this insanity I’m in.

  “No!” both Mason and Atys respond in unison.

  I huff a curse under my breath and sit back with my arms folded over my chest. There’s no way either of them is letting me go. I can read their intent clearly. I’m stuck and what’s worse, the magic surrounding this place prevents me from pinpointing our location. I have no clue where we are and I can’t even call for help.

  “Mason.” Atys rushes to his feet faster than I would have ever thought he could move. “Take the girl and leave. Lord Blasius is here.”

  To this Mason takes off his left glove. “Daya, we have to leave right now.”

  I’m taken aback. I don’t know who this Lord Blasius is but judging by Mason’s reaction he doesn’t seem like good news.

  Rather than fight him tooth and nail over why I should be set free, I scamper to my feet and rush to him. “What’s going on?”

  He looks at me. “We’re leaving.” To Atys he says, “Buy us some time.”

  Atys hastily makes his way to the door. “I won’t be able to buy much time. Leave immediately.” He pauses with his hand on the knob. “He knows the girl is here.”

  Mason’s glove clad hand snakes out to grab me by the wrist. “Close your eyes.”

  I don’t question him. I don’t protest. I just do as he instructs and squeeze my eyes shut, but instead of disappearing as we did before, I’m instantly surrounded by a thunderous roar that echoes throughout the room followed by an explosion of pain that expands from my back to my ribs and ends finally in my abdomen. Bleeding from an open wound in my lower left side, I fall to my knees, gasping for air. My eyes pop open to meet the look of stark horror on Mason’s face.

  Evil has found me and evil will kill me. It looks like this really is the day I’m destined to die.

  Chapter Five

  Searing, hot p
ain shoots from my back to the front. My lungs feel heavy with every breath I take and I feel as if though I’m not getting enough oxygen. Life giving liquid spills out of me, almost as if it’s urgently looking for another host able to sustain it now that I’m broken and on my way to the land of the dead. My shirt and pants are soaked through. What little strength I had dwindles, shortening my lifespan.

  Unable to withstand the weight of my own body, I crumple to the floor in a heap. I lay there, writhing in agony, as chaos erupts all around me. The small, outdated library room, which was so quiet and neatly organized in spite of the multilayers of dust on every solid surface, has now become a battleground for things that go bump in the night.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I make out a large, skeletal figure on the other side of the room, dodging a series of magical attacks. I’m not familiar with this species of demon so I don’t have a name to associate with the large, emaciated creature with a pair of long horns that exit the sides of its oversized head and wrap around the back where tip meets tip.

  I’m unable to see Mason or Atys. I’m in too much pain to move so I don’t even try to locate either of them, but I’m regrettably missing the feel of the Soul Broker’s glove-clad hand. It was the only sense of security I had right up until the moment when we were attacked, leaving me in this life or death struggle for survival.

  A Nightcrawler picks its way toward me through the large pieces of furniture sporadically sprawled across the room. It’s large, shadowy form hulking in size from my vantage point—lying on the floor looking up at those piercing red eyes, which I’m sure causes the devil himself a great deal of envy. Reeking of evil, it approaches on four large paws, all of which are larger than my head.

  It can smell me, smell the blood pouring out of me and it’s going to come for me to finish the job. Like the predator it is, the Nightcrawler stalks toward me, its jaw wide open as it anticipates a taste of me before it eventually turns me in to its master.

  In spite of my better judgement, I can’t seem to stop gawking at it. His presence is so commanding, fear eats away at the last thread of bravado in me and I whimper, both due to the pain and the uncertainty of what my fate holds. But as the Nightcrawler advances, a figure dashes from the shadows and stands to my right, his legs spread apart, arms arched as he aims an arrow at the approaching menace. The black and white bow he holds in his hands is engraved with an array of symbols from nock to nock. Symbols I know are meant to be used as a double hitter—meaning that not only will an arrow released from it will kill a demon, but the bow itself can be used for the same purpose.

  When the Nightcrawler stands on its hind legs, to a full height of eight feet, Mason releases a black arrow. I watch as the arrow rotates and travels swiftly toward its target. During the relatively short journey, it begins to glow. A bright light spreads from the grip to the upper and lower limb. In moments the arrow is on fire, leaving barely a trace as it tracks its target and seeks refuge in the beast’s chest, right where its heart should be.

  The force of the impact sends the Nightcrawler flying backward where it lands on a wooden table several feet behind. The only piece of furniture in the room still intact crumples under the weight of the massive beast and breaks into useless pieces of wood. Howling, the Nightcrawler convulses, its large extremities thrashing as the fire spreads throughout its body. In less than a second, he’s reduced to black ash.

  Since Mason is a Soul Broker, I don’t know how he has weapons powerful enough to kill something like the Nightcrawler. As far as I know only a very powerful source could eliminate one of these shadowy figures and Mason is not one of them.

  “Daya!” Mason drops on one knee next to me and quickly assesses my injury. The glove-clad hand inspects the wound in my abdomen, his fingers prying over skin and muscle.

  “It’s bad, isn’t it?” I groan.

  His eyes widen a bit. “Yes, it’s bad.” He shoves the bowstring over his right shoulder and head so that the belly faces away from his broad back. Hands now free, he picks me up and stands, holding me to him. “I’m getting you out of here. I should have never brought you here in the first place.”

  Is that regret I hear in his voice?

  “Close your eyes, Daya.” He instructs as he gazes down at me. “I’m going to get you help.”

  “Why?” Having no strength to argue, I try to glare up at him, but I’m too weak to even do that. “You’ll collect your bounty if I die.”

  “Just close your eyes.” Do I read sympathy in his gaze? Or is my imagination reading too much in his face? Reluctant though I am, I shut my eyes and rest my head on his right shoulder, ignoring the chaos still going on all around us. Exhausted, with no energy to keep myself awake, I concentrate on my labored breathing as darkness begins to beckon me.

  In a few moments, my world finally goes dark as I slip, silently, into oblivion.

  Chapter Six

  Consciousness slowly bullies me awake. I open my eyes for just a moment and catch a glimpse of an old woman, with shoulder-length, gray hair and an unusually long, hawk-like nose which resembles a beak more than the body part meant to fill the lungs with precious oxygen. Her lips are thin and dry. Her eyes dark and slightly slanted as she examines my frame.

  “Get...off...me.” I slap a pair of hands away, and almost cringe as I touch scaly patches over rough skin.

  “Pin her hands to her side,” the woman orders in a high-pitched voice.

  My eyes roll into the back of my head as thin fingers push around the gash in my abdomen. Pain explodes around my ribcage area as she feels around. I see white behind my closed eyelids. She’s hurting me and I don’t even have enough stamina left to scream.

  “Daya, stay still. Mika is here to help,” Mason says somewhere to my right.

  My head moves from side to side almost unconsciously as her fingernails dig into me. This time I scream, as loud as I can and break free of whoever is holding my arms down. My hands flail about, looking for something to connect with, but someone grabs my wrists and pins them to my sides once again.

  “Wait just a little more, Daya,” Mason adds softly.

  “No! No. She’s hurting me.” My eyes pop open again and meet his gaze. “Make her stop.” Still standing to my right, he gazes down at me with empathy.

  Another figure, this of a younger version of the woman, continuously pins my wrists to my sides. She’s prettier, with long black hair and a less prominent nose.

  “I can’t. If I do you’ll die.” Mason approaches to touch my arm with the tips of his glove-clad fingers.

  “What do you care?” I spit in frustration. “Make her stop. Make the pain stop.”

  “Hush now, child. Let me do my job.” The old woman glares at me.

  Digging her dirty fingernails into me a third time, the gray haired woman begins chanting something I can’t understand under her breath. The air shifts. There’s a sudden heaviness in the room that wasn’t present moments before. A benevolent sign something’s about to happen. I break out in goose bumps as my mind grasps the severity of my predicament.

  A cold breeze creeps up my feet and ankles, moving up my legs to my injury. There’s some sort of magical power at work here, but I can’t be certain of what type or even if I want to be a part of it. I should be worried, instinct tells me so, but as the old woman presses her fingers deeper into the open muscle tissue in my abdomen, and begins to chant louder, the hot wave of pain that ravages my body sends me crashing back into the dark world where I leave my worries behind.

  ***

  “Daya? Daya, can you hear me?” That demanding male voice calls out to me again. What does he want? Why does he insist I leave the comfort of the dark, where physical discomfort is nonexistent, to join reality? I want to stay hidden here, where I can’t be hurt or hunted. Where pain is absent. Where I’m safe.

  “No.” It comes out as a whisper, but it catches his attention.

  “Wake up. We can’t stay here for long.” What I want is not a priority I r
ealize. His voice is persistent and continues to lure me out of the dark and into the light in spite of my protests. “Can you hear me, Daya?”

  “Why?” I am comfortable, but why is it so cold? “Where are we?”

  “Daya?” A hand shakes my left shoulder, gently. “I need you to come back to your full senses.”

  Exasperated by his annoying persistence, I open my eyes. Our gazes meet as my left hand reaches out and grabs his, skimming along his fingers to his wrists.

  Panic registers in Mason’s face. “No, Daya. Don’t touch...” he scrambles to his feet, staring at his hand as if waiting for it to fall off at any moment.

  “What’s your problem?” I sit up, eyebrows furrowed.

  “You...” his glove-clad hand reaches up to touch the mark on the base of his neck, which I can see is a circle with a series of unidentifiable symbols in the center, “...should be dead.”

  “What are you...?” One of his hands wears a glove. The other does not. And I touched the one missing the protective barrier that keeps him from harvesting my soul. Except...I touched his hand and nothing happened.

  “How is that possible?” He looks every bit as disturbed and confused as I feel. “That touch, as fleeting as it was, should have ended with you dead and your soul in my possession.” As if to prove to the both of us that the incident wasn’t a random act of luck, he sits next to me and slides his unprotected fingers over my jawline up to my cheekbone.

  Aside from my throat drying up as I stare into his ocean blue eyes as he caresses the side of my face, nothing happens.

  “Something’s not right.” Mason pulls back and takes off the remaining glove, tossing it to the ground. Inching closer, he takes the liberty of framing the sides of my face with both hands. “I don’t understand.”

  Before I can form a reply, he moves forward while simultaneously drawing me near. And then, his lips are on mine, all hot and demanding. My heart races in response. A jolt courses through me as he fuses our lips together, desperately trying to prove what we both now know—his touch won’t end my life.