Shadow Redeemed

by Megan Blackwood

  I nudged the door open the rest of the way with the toe of my boot. Salt lanterns hung from cables lined a narrow staircase that bit down into the earth, where they met a hallway and jogged off sharply to the left. I scented the air: DeShawn. Roland. A few other mortals I hadn't spent enough time with to be able to count their number.

  And nightwalker, too. Young ones, not enough of them to make the mortals instinctively uncomfortable upon entering. No, Lenora would save that for later.

  At the end of the steps I found DeShawn's phone, the screen black and cracked. I pocketed it. There was no way to be sure what had happened, but I could guess. They were ambushed here, pushed back into the tunnels or caves or whatever this place was.

  The wall was scraped by claw marks, fresh, showing pale grey cement beneath the weather-stained original. No blood, though. Not yet.

  I moved deeper into the hallway, forcing myself to be slow, careful. To check for disturbances—any sign that mortals or nightwalkers had passed by. Aside from the phone, there wasn't much. A scrape of a boot—mortal—and a puncture of a bullet in the wall. At the end of the hallway a fork appeared, branching three directions. I bit my lip, considering. The mortals had left no indication of their path. They wouldn't have wanted to make it easy for the nightwalkers to follow. I stepped toward the left hall.

  Mr. Pips growled.

  Well, all right then. I went right, and he growled again, but when I stepped down the center hall he purred, forgoing his usual mrow in case we'd be overheard. I was tempted to call out anyway—to bait the nightwalkers into coming for me—but I didn't want to lead them toward DeShawn, and I needed to know that he was alive. Safe.

  I hadn't realized how much I'd cared about that jerk of a man until Lenora threatened him.

  Steady, I told myself, as I sprinted down the hall on silent feet. I drew upon my blood-strength to make me move faster, following the muted purr-hiss cues of Mr. Pips until finally, after so long I thought my heart would burst from fear, I found a sign of my own.

  Blood, mortal, splashed against the wall. Fresh and wet and dripping.

  Not DeShawn's, but it would have been a close thing. One of his team was hurt and, knowing that man, he'd never leave them behind. Which made them all far too easy for nightwalker noses to track.

  So much for subtlety.

  "I'm here," I said to the yellow-stained dark, letting my voice carry and resonate between the concrete walls. "Wouldn't you rather a bigger prize?"

  I stood frozen, hearing nothing but the thump of my own heart.

  Snarls broke the silence, followed by the hunting-howls of young nightwalkers. Mr. Pips growled softly against my chest.

  "It's okay," I said to the cat, my blood pumping hard to feed my powers in anticipation of battle. "You're safe with me."

  Mr. Pips jumped out of my jacket and bolted down the hallway.

  Twenty-two: The Hurt

  "Get back here!" I shouted after the bullet-like streak of tuxedo fur. DeShawn would kill me if anything happened to Mr. Pips, and I'd die choking on guilt.

  Nightwalker howls bounced around me, taunting, letting me know that they were closing in, using their usual surround-and-disorient technique that worked so well on mortals. I just cursed at them for scaring the cat, the bastards.

  Even with every trick of tracking I could muster—scent, enhanced vision, impossible speed—that slippery ball of fluff eluded me, always a step or two ahead, ducking down hallways and skittering across unstable sets of stairs until even I lost track of where we were, or how deep underground we had gone.

  The sky felt very far away, now. I didn't like the sensation—like I was being pushed down, into the core of the earth. Something about the deepness made me feel that sense of not-belonging keenly. Closer to the surface, where the sun shone or even Luna spoke to me, I felt a part of things. Here, deep in the rock and the dirt, I was just a trespasser.

  Bloody cat.

  "What the fuck," DeShawn shouted.

  Thank the light. I skidded around a corner, coming to a hard stop just a few steps away from DeShawn, who'd taken to one knee to allow Mr. Pips the space to jump up on his shoulders. The look he shot me was murderous. I couldn't say I blamed him.

  "Mags? You brought my cat down here? Why in the hell—"

  "Maeve told me to," I blurted.

  Roland, who stood behind DeShawn with a rifle propped up against his shoulder, pointed at the entrance I'd come barreling down, snort-laughed.

  "You do every damn stupid thing Maeve tells you to do?"

  I shifted my weight from foot to foot. "It worked. Mr. Pips found you."

  "He..." DeShawn turned his head awkwardly to stare at his new cat-scarf. "He did what now?"

  "I'll explain later. We've got nightwalkers incoming."

  "We've had nightwalkers incoming since we got here. You will tell me right damned now—"

  "Listen to the lady," Roland drawled. DeShawn snapped his mouth shut and settled for glaring daggers at me instead.

  "Fine."

  "How many of you are there? I only saw your car."

  DeShawn and Roland exchanged a heavy look. "Three outside of us. We lost them somewhere along the way. They're not answering radio calls."

  "Lenora is attempting to turn every mortal associated with the Sun Guard." Not exactly true, but I didn't want to dig into the fact she was targeting me personally. It'd only start another argument. "If we encounter them, do not get close."

  "I'm not leaving my people down here," DeShawn said.

  "The lady's saying they might not be our people anymore," Roland cut in.

  DeShawn closed his eyes so hard his face scrunched up like an old plum. "Fine. But you're watching my damned cat. I'm not risking losing Mr. Pips down here and you're the only one of us that has the reflexes to keep tabs on the guy."

  "Mr. Pips is our guide out of here."

  "What? No. Hell no."

  Mr. Pips leaped from DeShawn's shoulders and sauntered toward me, twinning between my ankles in invitation. I reached down to scratch behind his ears—he loved my claws—but the second I went to scoop him up he hissed and shied away.

  "The cat knows it has a job." Roland chuckled.

  "He's a cat," DeShawn protested.

  "Maeve can explain it to you later."

  "Like hell—" He holstered his gun and pushed me aside, reaching for Mr. Pips who, in typical cat fashion, danced nimbly out of his grasp. "Listen, you furry jerk—"

  Mr. Pips arched his back and hissed, letting loose the deepest growl I'd heard from him so far. He bolted, evading DeShawn's desperate grasp, and shot out into the hallway.

  I caught the scent a second later. Nightwalker. Young.

  Mr. Pips launched himself at the man's ankles, wrapping around and kicking his back feet like his life depended on it. The nightwalker howled, reeling backward, and dropped his weapon—a pistol. I took his head with my blade before he could pick it up again.

  The nightwalker dissolved into ash, snuffed out in the blink of an eye, leaving a very annoyed Mr. Pips sitting in a pile of dust, trying to lick the grey out of the white patches around his nose.

  "Oh, gross." DeShawn dropped into a crouch and tried to brush the ash off his cat with both hands. "Don't eat that, Pips, ugh."

  "He licks his own ass, DeShawn," Roland said.

  "I know, but I mean, come on..."

  "That nightwalker would have had you if Mr. Pips hadn't alerted," I said, a little concerned that I didn't feel half so crazy standing up for the cat's competency as I did earlier in the day. "Mr. Pips takes point."

  "Okay... I guess... Good kitty." He scratched Mr. Pips behind the ear and the cat pushed his two front paws into the ground, leaning into a deep stretch before trotting off down the hall, tail swaying.

  Snarls echoed from all directions. Roland lifted his weapon, turning so he could walk backwards after us while monitoring our rear. DeShawn pushed forward, wanting to stay near point—and his cat—but I moved him to the middle. I
f anyone was going to move quickly enough to protect Mr. Pips, it wouldn't be him.

  Mr. Pips trotted along at a pace the humans could keep up with, taking turns with confidence. I really, really, hoped he knew what he was doing and hadn't just decided to go investigate the faint scent of rats on the air. We reached the splash of blood I'd spotted earlier.

  "Nelson," DeShawn said quietly. "They swarmed him here. Dragged him off."

  "Then he's been turned."

  DeShawn swore so colorfully Mr. Pips let out a grumble of disapproval. At the fork, he stopped hard and arched his back, hissing as he backed up—eyes forward, but definitely backing up.

  "Company," I whispered.

  "On our six, too," Roland said.

  When Mr. Pips made it to my feet, I scooped him up and dropped him on my shoulders. He curled around my neck and clung tight, soft growls vibrating against the back of my skull. He knew when he was outnumbered. I braced for a battle.

  Into the wide chamber that lead into the three-way fork, figures shambled. They dragged their feet as they walked, hunched over, heads jutted forward as if being pulled along by their jaws. That thought wasn't too far off. These were fresh turns, denied a chance to feed. Their hunger drove them forward. Their wounds still smelled of human blood—their own, before the turn.

  "Christ," DeShawn hissed between his teeth. "It's Nelson and Winters."

  "Not anymore," I said.

  "Why? Why do this?"

  "To make it hurt," I said so quietly I wasn't sure he'd be able to hear me.

  "Oh... Oh Mags..."

  "Quiet," I snapped.

  Too late. Their heads jerked as if tugged upon, swiveling to stare straight down the tunnel. A tapping sound started up behind us. The click-clack of nightwalker claws against concrete walls echoed behind us, taunting, threatening as they crept closer and closer. The intent was clear enough—we'd have to push through Nelson and Winters to escape the danger coming up from behind. Lenora, it seemed, had given her neophytes a fair for dramatic strategy.

  I'd had enough of being toyed with.

  "Roland. Hold."

  "Understood."

  "Wait—" DeShawn said, but I moved before he could finish the thought, before he could give breath to all the twisted justifications I knew his heart was coming up with. Those were his people. Young people he'd trained and lead down into these tunnels. People he'd failed. People he'd do anything to save, even though they were too far gone.

  Lucien.

  The first went down without a fight, his head bouncing against the ground once before dissolving into ash. The ash column of his body had not completely collapsed before I moved through it, coating myself in the grey dust of death, and lunged for the other. No names. Not Nelson and Winters.

  Nightwalkers, two of them. One down. One left.

  He snarled and danced away from my first swipe. He'd been the fitter of the two in life. No. That didn't matter. He'd had warning to move. Knowing what was coming wouldn't help him now, though. I pivoted, reversing my grip, and plunged the blade straight into his heart.

  His snarls dissolved with him.

  So young, so vulnerable. They hadn't even touched me. What in the hells was Lenora thinking, throwing children of the blood into my path like lambs to the slaughter? It took strength to turn a human into a nightwalker, or a sunstrider. It drained you, weakened you temporarily. She was hurting herself—or the stronger members of her coterie—just to crank out this fodder that would stand no more a chance against me than a twig against a lightning bolt. Desperate, shoddy strategy.

  Gunfire cracked behind me. I turned, but DeShawn was watching me, his eyes wide as saucers in the yellow light of the salt lamps. It wasn't about the numbers, not to Lenora. I was still thinking like I was up against Ragnar. For Lenora, it was all about the pain. The cruelty was the point.

  Why? What had hurt her so deeply she felt the need to share?

  "Clear," Roland said, reloading his rifle.

  "I know the way from here," I said, and turned away, knowing that Roland would make DeShawn follow, if he couldn't find his feet for himself.

  Up ahead, the sounds of battle echoed, pitched and fervent. Sunstriders—not Roisin, I realized after a quick sniff of the air—but the young ones, tore through Lenora's neophytes.

  Alec met us at the entrance, his face ruddy with the spray of nightwalker blood and his claws dripping, but he had the most satisfied grin I'd ever seen on his face.

  "Magdalene. Glad to see you. The way to the surface is clear, if you'll follow me?"

  In a show of faith, I sheathed my blade. He stood up straighter. "Lead the way."

  "Wait," DeShawn said. "What do you mean clear? Did you find her? Did you find Annie Reynolds?"

  The third of their number. Alec blinked at him, then shook his head. "Not that I know of, sir. Just nightwalkers. Is there a mortal in the tunnels? Should we send out a search party? There are five of us here."

  I shook my head. "No, Alec. There are no mortals left in these tunnels."

  "Fuck." DeShawn kicked the wall so hard a chunk of concrete fell out.

  Alec led us back into the light without another word.

  Twenty-three: Named in Blood

  Emeline gathered us in the library, and though I knew it hurt DeShawn to see the expressions of elation on all the young sunstrider's faces, he still clapped them on the back and congratulated them on their victory.

  Seamus had set up a smart board in the center of the room, and in a neat column had drawn tally marks for each nightwalker reported fallen in the tunnels under the park. Six. Six dead nightwalkers. All of them young, at least three of them too young to even understand what had happened to them. But they were our enemy—a threat to all humankind.

  And so they celebrated, and I tried very, very, hard not to make eye contact with DeShawn.

  "Tonight's victory against the night was much needed," Emeline said. Even she had a mug of the 'celebratory cider' Maeve had whipped up, though she spent more time rolling it between her palms than she did drinking it.

  "Surveillance has shown us that the ghouls who had taken up residence in the park have dispersed, sensing the death of their senior members in the tunnels. Faviola will have a difficult time bringing them together once more."

  "We finally hit them back," Julian said. He'd downed a mug of cider, even though it was useless to his body, and had a crust of sugar at the corners of his lips. "That must have shifted the balance."

  Roisin snorted. He rounded on her. "What? There were six of them! Six destroyed!"

  "Six kittens stepped upon by slightly older cubs," Roisin said, "and there are still only six of us. It is good you learned to take nightwalkers to the ash tonight, but this is only the beginning. Do not forget that, lest you rush in where you cannot stand."

  I cut Roisin a look: let them have this. She rolled her eyes and shrugged.

  "She has a point," Alec said before Julian could get riled up. "Lenora seeded that place with neophytes. It was a victory, don't get me wrong, but it's a poor one. We lost some of our own down there." He inclined his head to DeShawn, who made a sudden and intense study of a book on a shelf.

  "They knew the risks," I said, reaching down to scratch Mr. Pips behind the ears. "And they went in anyway. If we cannot celebrate our victory with a clear conscience, then let us at least celebrate that. Celebrate the lost, and their sacrifice."

  "That I can drink to," DeShawn said.

  As the discussion resumed at a less heated level, I slipped away, finding my way down into the cellar where Padhi kept the ghoul.

  Every bone in my body ached as I walked down those stone steps. For some reason I couldn't explain to myself, I placed my feet with care, walking in the exact spot in the center of the steps where the stone had bowed, worn away under the tread of humans passing this way over the centuries. Maybe that's what being a sunstrider was. Going lightly upon the earth, so that it was preserved as the mortals shaped it, not stronger hands.

&
nbsp; Padhi had locked the door, but want of a key had never bothered me. I shaped my clawed finger into a key and clicked the lock over, swinging the iron-bound wood slab inward. It was cold down there. Even my dead skin registered that.

  Lights hummed like mosquitoes above my head. Ugly, last-minute additions to the old house, they'd been screwed straight into the stone, their cables fed in umbilical clusters across the ceiling to disappear down into a corner where power could be accessed. The current state of the Sun Guard existed in those lights. Modern tacked onto the old with haste and little care for anything like efficiency or beauty.

  We were supposed to be holding the line, the stalwart defenders of humanity. Instead, we were a taped-together mess.

  "Dr. Padhi?" I asked by way of announcing my presence. My voice was hollow and tinny in the room, and I received no response.

  I hadn't meant to look at the quarantine cage. That protrusion of chain link and padlocks loomed to my right, a middle finger just waiting for me to look, to acknowledge the insult against everything I thought I was.

  A machine beeped. A respirator hissed. I looked. I was always going to look, no matter what I told myself. I was the kind of person who picked at scabs and then wondered why I scarred.

  The man—the ghoul—was cocooned in leather and chain restraints, much as Roisin and I had left him. His face seemed paler against the sea foam green of his hospital gown, the whites of his sheets and pillow leaching any remaining color.

  The native people of England were pale, that was true, but I had no way of knowing if this man was born of that stock. He had the look of a Gaul, thick eyebrows, a stubble beard like cocoa powder spread across his chin. When we'd pulled him out of that park, he'd had a ruddy glow to his skin, like he'd spent some time in the Mediterranean, or his ancestors had. I wished he'd told us his name.

  Above, someone dropped a glass. The stone of the cellar muffled the sound, but my ears picked up the sharp crack, the stuttered laughter. I pressed my palm against the chain-link fence surrounding the unconscious man, pushing until my skin extruded through the other side. It'd been a day since Padhi had started his second attempt at a cure, and while I didn't know much about medicine, I knew a lot about ghouls.