A World Apart (Shades Below, #1)

by Oliva, L. J. K.

  Cyrus sighed heavily. "It is urgent. Guess we'll just have to fill her in later." He retreated inside, jerked his chin for MacMillian to follow. "Come on. Emil and Puzzle are in the library."

  MacMillian followed him through the reception hall. "You said they found something?"

  "Yeah. But it'd be better if they told you."

  Puzzle was waiting just inside the library door. He tensed when they entered, relaxed again when he saw it was them. He nodded to MacMillian. MacMillian nodded back. Concern twisted in his gut.

  Emil was standing next to the large table, a pair of black-rimmed reading glasses perched on his nose. Puzzle moved to stand beside him, and Emil looked up. "Good. You're here." He looked around. "Where's Lena?"

  "It's just me." MacMillian propped his cane against one of the table legs. "What's going on?"

  In response, Emil took a scroll of paper out from under his heavy black coat and rolled it onto the table. MacMillian looked closer. It was a tracing of what looked like a tablet. He glanced up at Emil. "Are those hieroglyphics?"

  "Hieratic, actually. After our last visit, I remembered hearing about an obscure tablet from the mid-Ptolemaic period. Puzzle and I tracked it down at a museum in Alexandria. We just got back."

  "Alexandria... Egypt?" MacMillian stared at him. "How did you..."

  Cyrus cleared his throat loudly. Emil shrugged. His eyes flicked briefly to Puzzle. "It's not really important. The point is, we know what's going on." He took a deep breath. "We think we're dealing with a necromancer."

  MacMillian rubbed his forehead. "A necromancer. Because, of course."

  Emil ignored him and pointed to the tracing. "This is an ancient religious text dating back to around the time of Cleopatra. It's a how-to manual, basically a recipe for creating spirit familiars."

  MacMillian looked around the table. Cyrus, Emil, and Puzzle all looked grim. "I take it that's bad?"

  Cyrus groaned, and Puzzle muttered something under his breath. Emil removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Think of a familiar as a supernatural guide. Their job is to assist in the use of magic. They mostly associate with witches, and they usually appear in animal form."

  MacMillian's phone vibrated in his jacket pocket. He ignored it. "But not always?"

  "Under certain conditions, spirits can be compelled to act as familiars while retaining their noncorporeal forms." Emil blew out a breath. "The trouble is it's dangerous, it's unnatural, and the majority of spirits dislike it, to say the least. Usually, they'll actively resist. In the rare cases they can be effectively compelled, they're incredibly unstable."

  MacMillian's voicemail buzzed. He ignored it, too. Something struck him, and he turned to Cyrus. "Where are you keeping Jimmy and Tree?"

  Cyrus's lips thinned. He nodded sharply. "I think I know what you're thinking. I'll go get them."

  He disappeared into the hallway. Emil slipped his glasses into his breast pocket, then leaned over the table and started to roll up the tracing again. MacMillian watched in silence. Emil tucked the paper back under his coat, and MacMillian cleared his throat. "So. How was Egypt?"

  Puzzle snorted. Emil just shook his head. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

  Cyrus returned a few minutes later. MacMillian took one look at his face, and the concern in his gut ratcheted higher. "What's wrong?"

  "They're gone." Cyrus looked like he was going to be ill. "Jimmy and the girlfriend. They're gone."

  Emil sucked in a quiet breath. MacMillian glanced at him, then back at Cyrus. "But that happens sometimes, right? I mean, you guys must have a lot of ghosts cooped up in here. Couldn't they have just wandered off?"

  "Absolutely not." Cyrus shook his head vehemently. "Once a spirit is brought in, they're assigned a specific location on a specific plane. They're bound there immediately."

  MacMillian did a double-take. "Wait, plane? As in-"

  "Later. Point is, they couldn't have left. Not unless they were deliberately released." Cyrus pulled his cell out of his pocket. "I think it's time to bring Lena into this."

  He shifted impatiently while the phone rang. Lena's voicemail message echoed from the speaker. Cyrus swore under his breath and tried again. Again, the phone rang to voicemail.

  MacMillian watched the worry mount on his face. "Maybe it's nothing. Who knows, maybe she's finally getting some sleep."

  Cyrus looked up, a deep crease in his forehead. "What do you mean, 'finally'?"

  MacMillian's neck prickled under the weight of three pairs of eyes. He looked around the table. "Hasn't she told you about the nightmares she's been having?"

  Emil's face stilled. "What nightmares?"

  MacMillian hesitated, then blew out a breath. "She was in the middle of one when I went to pick her up this morning. Not to go into detail, but it didn't look pleasant. And the way she's been looking the past few days, I'm betting it wasn't the first."

  Emil's expression was serious. "Combined with everything we've learned so far, what you're describing sounds like it could be dream manipulation. It's a classic necromancer attack."

  Cyrus started dialing again. "So why the hell are we all just standing here? We need to warn her!"

  MacMillian's voicemail alert buzzed again. A sense of dread settled over him. With wooden fingers, he pulled out his phone.

  Missed Call: L. Alan.

  "Shit." He put the message on speaker, and held up the phone.

  Lena's voice filled the library. "Hey, it's Lena. I don't have time to explain, but..."

  By the time the beep signaled the end of the recording, Emil was paler than usual, and Cyrus's face was an unhealthy shade of grey. Even Puzzle looked troubled. MacMillian took a deep breath and steeled his itching nerves. "We need to find her."

  Cyrus rubbed his face. "She's not answering her phone."

  "I know." MacMillian looked back down at his phone and started dialing. "Just leave it to me."

  "But how-"

  "Trust me." MacMillian raised the phone to his ear and met Cyrus's eyes. "Finding people is a specialty of mine."

  ←↑↓→

  The tunnel was unnaturally cold.

  Lena shivered and tugged her microfiber sports jacket tighter around her. She should have changed into something warmer before leaving home. The fine hairs on the back of her neck prickled, and she adjusted her grip on her flashlight. Weird neon graffiti covered the tunnel walls. Moisture beaded on the paint.

  Her foot landed in yet another puddle of standing water. She cringed. The hems of her yoga pants were going to be ruined.

  Ahead of her, Jimmy flickered around a corner. Lena sighed and picked up her pace. "How much farther is it?"

  She rounded the corner behind him, stopped. Jimmy was nowhere to be seen. In front of her, the tunnel opened up into what looked like an underground junction. High overhead, the first rays of morning sunlight filtered down through a storm grate. The moisture funneled into a narrow stream along the floor. Entrances to more tunnels gaped in the walls on either side of her.

  Lena hesitated. "Jimmy?"

  His voice sounded right in her ear. "Come on. We're almost there."

  She jumped a little, crossed her arms and planted her feet. "No way. I've followed you this far, but I need some answers. I'm not going any further until you tell me where we're going and what we're going to find there."

  Jimmy shimmered into view in front of her. "Come on, Lena, please? You have to trust me. We're running out of time." He raked a hand through his hair. "I know I'm asking a lot, and I'm sorry. I just want to be with my family, you know? Tree, our baby..."

  Lena stopped mid-step. "What did you say?"

  Jimmy looked confused. "I-what? What's wrong?"

  "You said you wanted to be with Tree and your baby." She started to back up. "Only you don't know about the baby."

  Jimmy's laugh sounded forced. "What are you talking about? Of course I know about our baby."

  "No. You don't. I met Tree. She said she died before she co
uld tell you." Lena swallowed hard. Tendrils of dread licked at her belly. "Damn it, Jimmy, how do you know about the baby?"

  Jimmy stuttered. "I... no, it's not like... you see, what happened was-"

  "That's enough, Jimmy."

  Lena whirled around. A small, bent figure stepped out of the darkness behind her, blocking her retreat. She narrowed her eyes. "You. I knew it."

  Gershon Zintchio didn't answer her. Instead, he addressed Jimmy. "Go on, then. You know what to do."

  Lena whirled back to Jimmy. "Jimmy..."

  Jimmy's face twisted with regret. "I'm sorry about this, Lena. Really, I am." He flickered, then disappeared.

  Lena managed a gulp of air, then ice flooded her veins. She'd never been jumped like this before. It hurt. Worse, she was sure it was meant to. She screamed, and the sound echoed through the junction.

  Then the lights went out.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  It was cold in the small concrete chamber.

  Lena's eyes drifted open. Her head ached. She squeezed her eyes shut again. No, not just her head. Her entire body. She tried to move. What felt like nylon rope cut into her wrists and ankles.

  Panic clawed at her throat. She forced herself to breathe through it and focused on her surroundings. Something cold pressed against her back. Metal. A table, maybe-or a gurney. Sound hummed through the walls: the dull drone of traffic, the electric buzz of streetcar lines. A savory aroma tickled her nose, and Tree's words leaped into her head.

  It smelled like Chinese food.

  There was another smell too, so rancid it made her stomach roll. She recognized it immediately: death. Lena pressed her lips together. A whimper escaped anyway.

  "Come now, there's no cause for that."

  Lena's eyes flew open. Gershon Zintchio stood at her feet. Even now, he didn't look remotely terrifying. If anything, he looked concerned. She clenched her jaw. "Where is this place?" She looked around. "And where's Jimmy?"

  "Why, he's inside you, my dear. Don't you feel him?"

  Lena gaped. It couldn't be. Surely she'd be able to tell--wouldn't she?

  "I see you don't believe me." Zintchio spoke a little louder. "Jimmy, say hello."

  Sudden, icy pain filled her chest. Lena gasped. It felt like she imagined drowning would, except there was no water. Only thousands of tiny needles, scoring her lungs and windpipe.

  Just as suddenly, the pain disappeared. Lena choked down breath after breath. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. "What's he doing to me?"

  "Nothing permanent. Not yet, anyway. He's simply there to ensure you do as you're told."

  Lena glared. "What do you want?"

  Zintchio started to pace. He paused to look at her. "Your help."

  Lena fought back the hysterical laugh that threatened to bubble out of her. "My help. Are you serious? Why the hell would I help you?"

  Zintchio sighed and resumed his pacing. "Jimmy?"

  Needles shot down her spine. The pain penetrated deeper this time, until it felt like it was boring into her very bones. A single scream wrenched up her throat. She couldn't gather enough air for another.

  The pain receded again. This time, it was several minutes before she could speak. When she finally could, her voice came out a croak. "Why are you doing this?"

  Zintchio stopped pacing. He walked over to a table she hadn't noticed before, pushed against the wall. A shroud covered something that looked suspiciously like a body. He laid a hand over what she guessed was the head. Lena resisted the urge to gag.

  Zintchio didn't seem to notice. He stared down at the figure. "I have seen much in my life. Done much. I have no regrets about any of it, save one thing: I was a cold and distant father." He stroked the shroud. "It was how I was raised: a man was expected to be strong. Cold. So I was. I never once stopped to consider the effect it had on my son."

  Lena twisted, winced as the rope dug into her skin.

  Zintchio ignored her. "When my wife passed, my son stayed by her side during the final moments. I was so proud. It was difficult, but he was strong. I drew comfort from that, from knowing that when my time came, my son would be at my side."

  He looked up at her. "I told him as much when we left the hospital. He just looked at me. He said he had loved his mother, but he never wanted to see me again. He said as far as he was concerned, he had grown up without a father."

  Lena took in his tortured expression. I'm sorry instinctively leaped to her lips. She pressed them together and didn't say anything.

  Zintchio looked back down. "We didn't speak for years. I told myself we had time, that we would make amends somehow. But we never did. A few months ago, he was killed. Murdered on Geary Street by a mugger looking for drug money."

  Lena's lips twisted. "So that's what this is all about? Revenge?"

  Zintchio looked up sharply. "It's about my son." His face closed. "After all, there is nothing a father would not do for his child."

  The final piece clicked home. Lena stared at him. "Jimmy would never help you unless you had some kind of leverage over him." She closed her eyes briefly. "His baby. That's it, isn't it?"

  His silence was all the confirmation she needed. Nausea churned in her belly. "What have you done?"

  Zintchio reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a small, ornate box. Lena recognized it immediately. A brazen vessel. Zintchio patted it like he was patting a child on the head. "I haven't done anything. I am simply safeguarding it for Jimmy until our work here is complete."

  "You're holding his unborn child hostage. What kind of--" Lena swallowed the bile at the back of her throat and started over. "Please. You don't have to do this. It's not too--"

  "What? Too late? My dear, you clearly have no idea what I've done to get this far." Zintchio slipped the box back into his pocket.

  Her heart hammered against her ribs. Lena forced her breathing to stay steady. "Why don't you tell me, then? Tell me why I'm here."

  Zintchio made a frustrated noise. "I truly am sorry. Believe me when I say I have no other choice. I thought I could complete the ritual myself, but it seems I do not possess the power necessary."

  Lena shook her head. "Ritual...?"

  "To call up the spirit of my son. I will make amends. I will be the father I always should have been, and in return," Zintchio's eyes were bright, "in return he will love me."

  Lena groaned. "Necromancy? That's your plan? You realize you'll be bringing your son back as a zombie, right? Is that really what he would want?"

  "All that matters is he will be back. We will be a family again."

  Lena tugged against her ropes. "This will never work. You know that, don't you?" She glared up at him. "My friends are going to find me."

  Zintchio waved a dismissive hand. "Perhaps, perhaps not."

  His lack of concern was unnerving. Lena stopped struggling. "You're not worried. Why?"

  Zintchio moved around the room, and for the first time she noticed the walls were lined with candles. One by one, he lit them. "Because unlike your friends, I have an army at my command."

  Her mouth went dry. "The other spirits."

  "A lovely little spell I discovered. Their individual wills are now bound to mine. When your friends arrive, they will have quite the fight on their hands."

  Lena sank back against the table.

  Zintchio finished lighting the candles, and returned to her side. "I am not unreasonable. If you use your power to help me, I will release both Jimmy and the child, and you will be free to go." He spread his hands. "Now, shall we begin?"

  Lena lifted her chin. "No."

  Zintchio made a distressed noise in the back of his throat. "I had hoped you would not be so difficult. I had no desire to make this unpleasant for you." He closed his eyes. "Convince her, Jimmy."

  Lena opened her mouth to protest. The words never came. White light exploded behind her eyes as blinding pain surged through her body. The needles sank into all her deepest places, embedded themselves in her very fibers. Her back arched
off the table. She was being ripped apart, turned inside-out, reduced to atoms and carbon.

  But something else was building. Familiar darkness started to rise inside her. It was as if the prison containing it had cracked open. It clawed its way upwards, fighting to escape. Lena mustered the last of her strength and forced it back down.

  "Please." She barely recognized her own voice. "Jimmy. Stop. You have to stop."

  Zintchio crossed his arms. "Jimmy, keep going."

  Lena thrashed against the ropes. "No! You don't understand--" A wave of pain cut her off.

  This time when she screamed, the darkness screamed with her.

  ←↑↓→

  It wasn't long before MacMillian's phone buzzed with an address.

  He'd had a feeling they would end up back at The Butterfly Room sooner or later, but the text confirming it made his gut knot nonetheless. He could still clearly remember the last time they'd been there. The same image of Lena's pale, sweaty face flashed to mind. How much trouble was she in this time?

  He refused to dwell on it.

  Cyrus led them through a labyrinthine back hallway to the garage. He hopped into the driver's seat, his face hard. MacMillian climbed into the passenger seat. Emil and Puzzle piled into the back without a word.

  The Caprice flew towards North Beach at breakneck speed. MacMillian braced his cane across his knees and retreated into his own head. He'd long ago learned the best way to deal with times like these was to mentally prepare for what was ahead.

  But try as he might, he couldn't quiet his racing thoughts. What was happening to Lena while they navigated the four-way stops, waited for the red lights to change? Every second in the car was a second too long. What if they couldn't reach her in time?

  "Hey."

  MacMillian looked at Cyrus. The other man was staring straight ahead, his hand wrapped around the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip. "Yeah?"

  "That nightmare you mentioned." Cyrus cleared his throat. "Did Lena say what it was about?"

  MacMillian shook his head. "No, and I didn't ask." He lowered his voice. "Why?"

  Cyrus gave his head a solid shake. "It's probably nothing. Just... we used to have an older sister."