“More significant. A dagger that can destroy the world, or a blade that destroyed my world.” She looked at her mentor. “You went through a lot of trouble getting this. I know Gilead London had some serious security issues, but I can’t imagine it was easy for you to get this Lightchaser’s dagger out of whatever Gilead storage facility it was in.”
“It wasn’t. I had help.” He didn’t elaborate, but he didn’t have to. Kira knew the Commission stored a wide variety of artifacts acquired during its long existence. Some were stored in trap vaults on Santa Costa, others in various inaccessible places around the world. The secretive Commissioners were reputedly the only ones who knew the location of all the vaults, or how to get to them.
“How were you able to do all of this?” she asked, which was a much safer question than asking why her mentor wanted her to have a Lightchaser’s dagger.
Comstock’s expression closed so definitively that it was so hard to remember he was dead. “I told you, I had help.”
“You’re going to have to give me more than that, Bernie,” she pressed. “As I said before, your lawyer told me that you didn’t sell your soul, but that’s all he told me.”
Irritation crossed his features. “My barrister shouldn’t have told you that much.”
“Considering that I was grieving, pissed, and sitting across from a demon, you should be glad he told me that much.”
She stretched a hand across the desk to him. “Bernie, please. I really want to be sure that your afterlife is okay. You’ve done so much for me, alive and dead, but if it cost you your soul—”
“Kira.” His fingers hovered over hers. “Put your mind at ease. I didn’t sell my soul to anyone.”
“Okay.” She slumped back into the plush chair. She couldn’t help being worried even as she appreciated the help from beyond. “So you didn’t do any soul-bartering. You still used some pretty powerful magic. For my own curiosity as much as my peace of mind, I’d like to know how you were able to bring these daggers with you and how you’re able to manifest as you do.”
“I acquired the assistance of a shaman and his wife,” Bernie finally said after a long silence. “They practice Balance Magic.”
“Balance Magic. Why does that sound familiar?”
Bernie smiled. “Probably because I found a reference to it in an old manuscript in Gilead’s archives, took it, and left it stacked with some books I’d asked you to catalog for the antiques shop.”
“Of course. Seeing as how I’ve never met a book I didn’t like, I naturally flipped through it,” Kira said wryly. “I think I also ran across something about it while reading through the massive library on Santa Costa. Something about using a fusion of Light and Shadow magic to power an intent. No one’s practiced it for decades, if not centuries, if Gilead’s records are anything to go by.”
“No one practices Balance Magic openly anymore,” Bernie corrected her. “Gilead seems to have a problem with anything or anyone that hints of Shadow.”
Kira flinched.
“I’m sorry, Kira, but you know it as well as I do,” Bernie insisted. “The Commission distrusts anything that isn’t sourced from Light even though they’ve been around long enough to know that there are a variety of shades of gray. Balm has done what she could to suppress the other half of your nature, all but stamping it out. Yet there are others like you, people who are of both Light and Shadow, people who walk in the gray space between.”
“Which explains why Solis exists, I suppose,” Kira said, trying to straighten everything out in her head. “So this shaman and his wife are essentially gray witches of some sort?”
“The shaman is of Light and his wife, who is a powerful magician in her own right, is born of Shadow,” Bernie explained. “They have also become Adepts in each other’s native magic.”
A headache began to buzz between her temples, her third eye struggling to see clearly through what she thought she knew to what she was learning now. “You mean the Shadow-born is a Light Adept. And the Light shaman channels Chaos magic.”
Her mentor nodded again. “They combine their innate magic with their Adept skills for more powerful works, creating Balance magic.”
“I can see why Gilead would have a problem with people having this sort of power. If these two can fuse parts of your essence to your personal objects, who knows what else they can do.”
“Help me find that, for one,” Comstock said, gesturing to the Shadowblade.
Kira eyed the dagger warily. She didn’t believe it could move independently, but she had good reason to mistrust daggers not her own. “So what do you expect me to do with it?”
“It’s yours, Kira. It is yours as surely as your mother’s locket and her Lightblade are yours. I suspect that Balm kept your mother’s Lightblade for herself, otherwise I would have secured that for you as well.”
“Why?”
He came around the desk, gathered her hands in his. “Because you are who you are, Kira. You have to be able to explore that. After learning what you can, you should accept your truth.”
“What truth is that?” she asked, though she already knew.
“Your truth is that you are a child of Light and a child of Shadow. You are an excellent Shadowchaser. However, I have no doubt that should you choose to be, you’d make an excellent Lightchaser.”
“Is that what you think I should do?” she asked, shocked. “Turn my back on everything I know, everything I am, and become Shadow?”
“Everything you know and everything you are isn’t Light alone, Kira. You are half of each. You are both. What you decide to do about it is your choice.”
He squeezed her hands. “Never forget that. Others may think they control you, others may think they own you. What they seem to forget, however, is that you have Free Will, and in the end, you are the one who will decide what you are to be. Not your parents, not Balm, not Solis, not Myshael, not Ma’at or Set. Not even me. It is, and has always been, up to you.”
“So I’m going to have to make a choice. A choice that will set my path and decide my fate, and it will all be up to me, huh?” Figures. When it was time to stand, one usually stood alone.
Comstock cocked his head. “Hasn’t that always been your path, Kira? Stubbornly forging your own way, blazing a trail through the underbrush when there’s a perfectly good road beside you?”
“I’m not that bad,” she retorted. “Okay, maybe I am, but not without good reason.”
“No, not without good reason,” he agreed. “Reason is one of your greatest gifts, Kira. Your mind and your heart drive your will. You must remember to gather all the facts and consider all of the possibilities. See truth in all its forms.”
“See truth in all its forms,” she murmured under her breath. “What does that even mean?”
“You’ll know, my girl.” His body slowly became ethereal. “You’ll know.”
Kira blinked rapidly as reality reasserted itself. Bit by bit she pulled herself back together, wiping at her eyes with the backs of her hands. Her gaze fell to the knife nestled in the wooden puzzle box, then to the arrangement of gilded deities. If she believed Comstock, she’d have to add an icon of Set to her collection.
Why wouldn’t she believe him, with the proof lying before her? The existence of Lightchasers and practitioners of Balance magic shouldn’t have surprised her as much as it did. It made sense on a philosophical scale—Universal Balance and all that. The part that was harder to accept was that this Lightchaser’s blade belonged to the being who had sired her.
Her eyes fell to the dagger again. She’d seen enough through her mother’s eyes to know that she didn’t want to wrap her bare hands around any part of the blade. She didn’t want to know what a Lightchaser did in service to Shadow.
Are you sure? Another part of her mind wondered. That’s the kind of information the Commission would love to have. Think of what you could do with the knowledge. It would be easier to fight Shadowlings if you knew more about them than war stories
gleaned from dusty volumes.
She looked at the gilded statues again. Despite what Bernie had told her, she needed Ma’at in her life. Ma’at had saved her, had claimed her. Kira couldn’t conceive of turning her back on her goddess, no matter how strong her Shadow nature became.
“I could really use some guidance right now, and a healthy dose of intestinal fortitude.”
Closing her eyes, she allowed her breath to flow out and back in. Her concentration focused on the mark at the base of her throat, the feather brand that claimed her as the Hand of Ma’at. The tattoo stung, heated to a burn, a reminder that truth sometimes wasn’t an easy thing to bear.
“Ma’at. Lady of Truth and Justice. You chose me to be Your Hand, to be a bearer of Truth and of Order. I know I should have known what that meant, that I would need to be able to bear my own truth, no matter how hard that is. All I ask is that you give me the strength to walk in truth, to stand in justice, stare truth in the face and be worthy of the honor you have given me.”
She touched the feather mark at her throat again. She’d gotten a lot of truth in the last few days. She had a feeling she was going to get a lot more.
Kira tented her hands above the dagger, called up her extrasense. Magic and logic slid against each other, fighting for dominance. The air shimmered. Suddenly, as if she’d thrown a switch, everything magical in her office lit up. The gilded deities glowed golden-white. Comstock’s watch glittered a deep turquoise. The Lightchaser’s blade emitted a deep lemon-citrine light.
Kira focused her energy into her hands. If she concentrated, she might be able to slice away the memories etched into the blade, leaving only the magic behind. She didn’t want to know anything about her sperm-donor father that she hadn’t already seen.
Patterns swirled around and through the dagger, resolving themselves into two distinct frequencies: one of magic and one of memory. She’d learned through her years of cataloguing and defusing ceremonial objects that magic, whether Light or Shadow based, had its own metaphysical feel and taste, and she used her extrasense to differentiate between the auras that contain impressions of memories and the auras that contain magic.
She had no idea how much time had passed since she’d begun what was essentially magical surgery. All Kira knew when she finally pulled the Veil back over her sight was that her back, eyes, and brain all ached.
She cracked her knuckles, then rubbed at her eyes. Khefar was probably upstairs somewhere, waiting for her to return. She appreciated that he gave her space to work, to attend to her prayers, to have solitude when she needed it. It almost made her feel guilty for keeping things from him.
Before she could change her mind, Kira stretched out her right hand, gripped the bone hilt of the Lightchaser’s dagger, picked it up.
Light seemed to explode from the blade, sunshine yellow. Her extrasense burst through in pure self-defense, battering into the Chaos magic like an opposing storm front. Pain wracked her body from her head down, bowing her back, spasming her hands, throwing her back in the chair. Perception bent, stretched. It shattered beneath the onslaught, searing her senses. Her brain, realizing that her body was in danger of overloading, did the only thing it could do: it shut down, sending her headlong into blackness.
Chap†er 16
A hard jangle of sound cut through the room. Khefar rolled over Kira, snatched up her phone, and answered before Kira fully awakened. “Yeah?”
“It’s Zoo.” Barely restrained panic thrummed through the voice on the other end. “They’re taking Wynne to the hospital.”
Kira sat up. “What? What’s wrong?”
“It’s Zoo,” Khefar said, ignoring her grab for the phone. “What happened?” he asked into the receiver.
“I don’t know. She said she was going to take a nap. I came in to wake her up for dinner—it’s our date night. She wouldn’t wake up, and you know she’s not a heavy sleeper.” His voice wobbled. “I took her by the shoulders and shook her. I even tried ice water on her face. Nothing. My girl wouldn’t wake up.”
“Which hospital?”
“Hospital?” Kira leapt out of bed. “Something’s wrong with Wynne, isn’t it?”
“Memorial,” Zoo answered.
“We’re on the way.” Khefar disconnected. By the time he got out of bed, Kira had already thrown on jeans and a bra. She pulled a black shirt over her head before he could zip his jeans. “Zoo said Wynne wouldn’t wake up, no matter what he did. Paramedics are taking her to Memorial Hospital now.”
“You don’t have to go.” Her voice was clipped as she sat on the bed to pull her boots on. She hopped to her feet, stomping to settle her feet in her boots even as she reached for her Lightblade rigging.
“You don’t need to drive,” he countered, following as she raced out of the bedroom and down the stairs. He forced himself to stay calm for Kira’s sake. Something had been off with her ever since he’d entered her office earlier that evening to find her slumped over her desk, an old dagger in her hand. She’d passed it off as fatigue, but he wasn’t so sure. Even so, she didn’t need to be on her motorcycle after identifying an antique knife and a night patrol. The Marlowes were chosen family, the nearest and dearest she had left, and she wouldn’t be able to focus on driving while thinking about Wynne. “They’re your family, and they’re my friends. I’m going with you.”
“Okay.” She buckled on yet another dagger gunslinger style before shoving her arms into her battered overcoat and tugging on her gloves. “Let’s hurry.” On her way out, she grabbed Bernie’s spectacles and settled them on her face.
The drive from Kira’s East Atlanta home to the hospital in the center of downtown was blessedly short, a straight shot down Decatur Street to Jesse Hill Drive. It took longer to find an available spot in the Butler Street parking deck and make their way to the Trauma Center entrance.
Tension hung on Kira like armor. Khefar saw the set of her shoulders and knew she blamed herself. It didn’t matter that they had no idea what had happened to Wynne Marlowe. All that mattered to Kira was that her friend had fallen ill and she hadn’t been there to prevent it.
“Watch your dagger,” she said, speaking for the first time since they left the house. “This hospital has a bustling emergency room and the only Level I trauma center within a hundred miles. Not only are there life-and-death struggles going on inside, there are probably plenty of hybrids from both sides in there too.”
“I’ll control the dagger,” he said. He’d pulled on the long trench, enabling him to wear the dagger at his hip. “What about the hybrids?”
“Unless someone’s blatantly doing something they shouldn’t, leave them alone,” she answered, her voice curt. “My only concern right now is Wynne and Zoo.”
A cross-section of Atlanta packed the emergency room waiting area, and their needs were as diverse as the patients themselves. Feverish children, old folks wheezing and hacking or sitting ashen and still, people of all ages and races sporting injuries from minor to serious. Kira approached a curved information desk. A Hispanic woman held up a finger as she answered a coworker’s question, a phone tucked between her cheek and shoulder. She took her time completing the call and returning the handset to its cradle. “Yes?”
“We’re looking for an emergency patient that may have arrived comatose,” Kira told her.
“Stroke and Neuroscience,” the woman replied without looking up.
Kira’s eyes flashed. The woman behind the desk didn’t seem to notice it, but Khefar did. He reached up so that he could lay a bare finger against the back of her neck. Being touched was still a novel enough sensation for her that it instantly distracted her.
“We’re here for Wynne,” he reminded her when she turned to him.
She nodded once, not trusting herself to speak. Finding out what had happened to Wynne was the important thing, not some nurse who needed to come down from her power trip and show some compassion.
Kira and Khefar followed the directions to the Marcus Stroke and Neur
osciences Center. It was like stepping into another world, a peaceful, high-tech oasis far removed from the chained chaos of the general emergency area. Surely someone in a place like this would know what had happened to fell a healthy young woman like Wynne Marlowe.
They found Zoo pacing in a brightly lit waiting area. He wore well-worn jeans, a splattered burgundy sweater that had seen better days, and sneakers that probably had been tan at one point. He must have been crafting spells before the accident. He kept rubbing the owl tattoo on the top of his shaved head, as if seeking comfort or inspiration from his personal totem. Worry etched his olive features, making him look older than his twenty-eight years.
“Zoo.”
He looked up at their approach, stumbling to a stop. Kira took a step toward him, then halted. The normal thing, the human thing, would be to hug her friend and offer comfort, Khefar realized, but Kira wouldn’t do that. She was dressed for winter’s cold from head to toe, but still she was careful not to touch anyone else. Instead, she shoved her hands deep into her pockets and nodded her greeting. “How is she?”
“They don’t know.” Zoo shook his head. “At first they were thinking stroke, but they’re saying they couldn’t find any evidence of internal bleeding, no hemorrhage in the brain, no stresses to the heart.”
His eyes brightened with unshed tears as he clenched his jaw. “So they started asking me about drug use.”
“That’s part of the normal screening they’d do,” Kira said, trying to reassure her friend.
“If they’d asked about anything else, I’d believe you,” Zoo retorted. “But they didn’t ask about anything other than drugs.”
Shadow Fall Page 17