A Million Shadows

by Janci Patterson

I raised my eyebrows. Here’s the thing about unconsciousness; it’s not as easy to produce as the movies make it seem. Knocking people on the head will kill them as often as knock them out. Chloroform can take up to five minutes to work on humans. If tranquilizer guns were effective, your friendly neighborhood cops would already be carrying them, but alas, it’s impossible to know how many darts it will take to drop a person without killing them. There are plenty of date-rape drugs that will make a person disoriented, but disorientation isn’t enough to turn off the shifter’s ability to create a persona. You can never be sure whether a drugged shifter’s face is their own—and that includes drugs like laughing gas, which are easy to come by, but definitely shouldn’t be given in high enough doses to knock a person out.

  So that left anesthetics. The only reliable chemical method of knocking a person unconscious was the way they did it in the hospital—with carefully regulated drugs. Most of those were given intravenously, and therefore weren’t easy to inflict on unwilling shifters.

  For cases when that was impossible, there were a few inhalation sedatives—ones that could be given to sleeping people without waking them.

  The one Mel and Aida kept on hand was Sevoflurane.

  Next to the canister was the mask and hose attachment used to administer the drug. I had no way of knowing if this was the exact same canister Mel and Aida had kept, but Mel could easily have acquired another one. They’d been particularly concerned about defending themselves against other shifters, about being able to hold and detain them if they needed to.

  At the time, I hadn’t understood why.

  If I was already making this look like a break in, might as well help myself to the more useful things. One of the first things common thieves would go for were the drugs and the more interesting items, like the handcuffs. I picked up the cuffs and stuck them into my back pocket. They wouldn’t do me a lot of good in a scuffle, since I knew from past experience that Mel could overpower me, but they were better than no tool at all.

  I reached for the Taser next, but bumped the bin of picks with my wrist and tipped it. The lockpicks tinkled into the bottom of the closet, scattering among the clothes. I cringed at the noise, even though it couldn’t have been as loud as opening the window.

  I took a step back.

  And that’s when the key rattled in the front door.

  I dropped the drugs and bolted for the window, but my foot caught in the strap of a cocktail dress and sent me down on my knees in the mess. My heart pounded so hard I expected Mel could hear it, but the clothing had cushioned my fall, silencing it.

  As I scrambled to my feet, I heard the refrigerator open, and something heavy settle inside.

  Crap. Had he only gone for beer? Why hadn’t Kalif alerted me? I reached for my phone. Had I silenced it? I couldn’t remember.

  As I got back to my feet, heavy footsteps pounded toward me. My stomach squeezed. I wanted to sprint for the window, but the footsteps were coming down the hallway so fast that even if I hurried, I’d get caught halfway through, and Mel could pull me back into the room from behind, leaving me completely defenseless.

  I stepped behind the closet door and stood as still as possible. Half a second later, the footsteps rounded the corner, and I could hear breathing.

  My hands shook with adrenaline. I wanted to claw my way through the closet wall, beat down the doors so they hit him right in the head, and throw his dumbbells after for good measure. But instead I froze, not a muscle twitching, listening to Mel breathing just feet away, with nothing but cheap particle board doors between us.

  But instead of coming for me, he banged around the room, like he was looking for something. Something smaller than the person standing in his closet.

  I steadied my hands. Had he not noticed the open window? The closed blinds should have helped, but if Mel had the place alarmed, if he knew I was here, he’d have come straight for me.

  Wouldn’t he?

  I took stock of the closet. The sedation drugs would only be useful if I already had Mel incapacitated, to give them time to take effect. I reached for the Taser again, this time with both hands. My dad had taught me how to use one once—it was one of the few weapons he approved of, since they were designed not to kill people. But this one was a different model than the one I was used to, and there was no guarantee that it would work.

  Like a cornered mouse, I waited for the closet doors to open—waited for Mel to pull me out by the throat with a smug look on his face and tell me he’d been expecting me.

  Seconds ticked by. The door between us didn’t move. Something crinkly dropped onto the floor, and then the footsteps headed out the door again, and into the hall bathroom.

  I let out an imperceptible breath. He’d gone into the bathroom across the hall, and left the door open. I heard the pouring sound of urine hitting the toilet.

  Mel wasn’t killing me. He was peeing, not ten feet away, with his back to me.

  I drew in a breath, just as slow.

  He couldn’t know I was here, then, could he?

  I peered around the corner of the closet door, through the six-inch space that remained between the door and the frame. I could see the back of the head of the man in the hall, who was wearing the same clothing I’d seen Mel leave in, and the same hair and build as well. He was facing a mirror, and while I couldn’t see his face now, he’d definitely see me if I moved toward the window, and there was no way I could get a jump on him.

  Stupid bathrooms. Stupid mirrors.

  Why couldn’t he have shut the door?

  I let go of the Taser with one hand and reached for the phone in my pocket. If I texted Kalif to tell him his dad was here, he might panic. Instead, I opened a message. I’m inside, but okay so far, I wrote. Then I double checked that the phone was silenced, the vibrate function turned off. The last thing I needed was for Mel to come investigate a vibrating object inside his closet.

  I shoved the phone back into my pocket.

  The toilet flushed, and I positioned myself behind the closet door. Heavy footsteps returned to the bedroom.

  I gripped the Taser with shaking hands. If I used it on Mel, it might give me the edge I needed to get away.

  But if I used it wrong—if it had some kind of safety mechanism I didn’t know how to use, or was out of juice, or just didn’t work quite the same as the one I’d used—then it might just make him mad.

  The footsteps paced across the room.

  My heart beat in my throat. This was it. He had to be making me sweat—more mind games. He knew exactly where I was, but was tormenting me, waiting for me to make a bad move, because he already knew I was cornered and had no good options.

  The blinds were closed. No one would see him kill me.

  A rustling followed, and the sound of soft things being dropped to the floor. Then the mattress groaned, and everything went silent.

  I held onto the Taser, not daring to lean around the door. My vision swam; a part of my brain couldn’t quite grip the fact that I wasn’t dead. I didn’t move; I barely breathed. The man on the mattress tossed once, twice, three times. And then his breathing grew slow and even, like he was settling into a late afternoon nap.

  Or faking one very, very well.

  Fifteen

  For a moment I just stood in the closet like an idiot, trying to process. The room felt cold; time seemed to slow to a crawl.

  I pulled out my phone. Okay, Kalif had texted back. If he’d known what was happening in here, he surely would have said more than that.

  Kalif was supposed to warn me when Mel returned. He hadn’t been facing the door—just the street side of the apartment complex. Had Mel come back another way, maybe from the back side of the complex? That was the sort of paranoid thing that I did—made sure not to take the same path all the time, so as not to be predictable. Mel had every bit as much cause to be paranoid as I did.

  But it didn’t make sense. If this was Mel, he would be more paranoid inside the apartment as well. He woul
d have alarms. He would have sensors. He would have come into the apartment knowing exactly where to find me.

  And he wouldn’t have gone to sleep right in front of me. I peeked around the closet door again.

  The man in the bed lay still. He might have had his eyes closed, but it was hard to tell when all I could see of him was his tan forehead, and his hair braided in cornrows back over his scalp.

  This wasn’t the same persona I’d seen in the bathroom. It was the same guy, but he’d shifted—if he was asleep this would be his home body, the one constructed by his subconscious when he wasn’t focusing on being someone else.

  But if so, this couldn’t be Mel.

  He had a blanket tangled around his midsection, but I could see his bare, muscular shoulders, and his knee peeking out from beneath the covers, wrapped in a bandage and held with medical tape.

  If this wasn’t Mel, who was it? How many shifters could there be in the Bay Area with a bullet through their knee? The coincidence was just too much.

  But if it was Mel, what the hell was he doing? Waiting for me to move so he could jump out and yell boo?

  Not unless I’d injured his brain as well as his knee. This felt like a trap, but it seemed like a stupid one.

  I checked my phone again. Almost done? Kalif had texted.

  I still didn’t want to panic him. Give me a minute.

  I looked toward the window. The blinds were still down, which might have worked in my favor so far, but would be noisy if I tried to lift them. I’d never be able to get out the window without waking him. Plus, I’d have to walk right by his bed, which might be what he was waiting for, if he was faking.

  Maybe Mel had gone insane.

  I edged the closet door open inch by inch. If I could ease myself around him, I could move up the hall and leave by the front door.

  Then, from the outside, Kalif could help me figure out what to do next.

  I startled, watching helplessly as the guy on the bed tossed a bit and rolled so the blanket slipped down around his waist. He snorted once, and then lay still.

  I stood frozen in place. I tried to breathe, but the edges of my vision blurred. I waited for his eyes to open, but they didn’t.

  I could see the man’s face now—he looked young, with olive skin just lighter than Kalif’s, and a fine dark stubble along his jaw line.

  Even with his eyes closed, I could tell he was hot. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and his chest bulged with muscles worthy of a body builder, or at least a career gym rat.

  He was acting perfectly asleep, and if he was, then he definitely wasn’t Mel, unless Mel had developed amnesia and now self-identified as a stud muffin.

  Given the number of forms I’d seen him take, this had to be a shifter, but seriously. Who thought of themselves that way?

  My phone screen lit up. Time to go, yeah?

  I was making him nervous. If I was waiting outside, I’d have been having a complete spaz attack by now.

  Then: What’s going on? You were supposed to be in and out.

  I looked at the man on the bed. I knew I should be leaving right now, but something held me there.

  How could there be another shifter with the same injury as Mel, right here in the Bay Area?

  You there?

  Yes, I answered. I’m okay, but in a bit of a situation. Hang on.

  I looked over the contents of the closet. I could question this guy, but to do so I’d have to incapacitate him. The handcuffs were still in my pocket, but I’d likely wake him before I got him chained down, plus I’d be right there in grabbing range. This guy looked strong; he might also be fast.

  I reached again for the drugs, for the container of Sevoflurane. An anesthetic, and a sedative.

  If I wanted to know for sure if he was asleep, the answer was right here in my hands.

  Do you need help? Kalif asked.

  I held my breath. I needed something, but more noise in the apartment wasn’t it. And Kalif would hate what I was about to do next.

  No, I texted back. Then I grabbed the cylinder, which clinked slightly against a stray lock pick.

  I froze, but the man on the bed didn’t move.

  Dad? Kalif texted. Is that you?

  My heart skipped a beat. He might not have seen Mel come in, but it wouldn’t take him long to jump to conclusions. Putting him off the way I was seemed like exactly the sort of thing Mel would do if he’d gotten a hold of me and therefore my phone.

  Girls in trees, I texted back. Another code word. Still me, but a little busy.

  I had to work fast. Once the man was chemically unconscious, I’d be able to fully explain without fear that Kalif would intervene.

  Or try to talk me out of it.

  I untangled the sedation mask and connected it to the cylinder. A quick internet search on my phone gave me the dosage instructions. Mel had shown me how to work one of these once.

  If I was about to sedate him, that would be ironic. But if this was Mel, there was no way he’d let me get that close.

  I shook my head. This was too silly a game of cat and mouse, even for Mel.

  Be smart, Kalif responded.

  Damn. He knew me too well.

  Got it covered, I answered.

  Then I pocketed the phone and stepped toward the bed, easing each footfall so it wouldn’t make a sound. My heart pounded as I reached over him, sure this was going to be the moment when his eyes would pop open, his huge hand would lock around my throat, and Mel would finally finish strangling me while Kalif waited outside.

  But the man in the bed didn’t so much as twitch.

  I could try to leave now, but if this wasn’t Mel, I had to know what the hell was going on. Between the sedative and the cuffs, I could incapacitate him enough to question him.

  I’d never met a shifter who wasn’t working with me, or trying to kill me. But the same injury to the same knee was just too much to ignore.

  I heard the slamming of a car door outside on the street.

  Please, I thought. Just another few minutes. I held the mask close to the man’s face, not making contact, so I wouldn’t wake him. I leaned far back so I didn’t catch any of the leaking vapors and turned the valve on the cylinder, releasing the gas.

  The man didn’t move. I was afraid that the gas would burn his nostrils, or smell strange, and that would wake him. If I awoke to a mask of gas in my face, I would react in a panic, and I didn’t want to see what panic looked like from a man with arms the size of my thighs.

  I counted down the seconds, carefully watching the gauge on the cylinder, so I wouldn’t overdose him. His head leaned slightly to the side, and I locked my elbows in place to keep from jerking my hands away. Then he lay perfectly still.

  When I was certain I’d given him a big enough dose to knock him out, I reached over and put a hand on his shoulder, making sure to keep my feet under me, so I wouldn’t be caught off balance if he woke.

  He didn’t react. I pulled on his arm, shook it, and finally pinched the skin on his firm shoulder.

  But he didn’t wake.

  He was out—and this definitely wasn’t Mel.

  I’d just sedated a random shifter in his own bedroom. If he woke up, he was probably going to want to kill me.

  If I hadn’t just killed him with a sedative overdose.

  I pulled the mask away from the man’s face. I should have ten minutes or so before he came out from under the sedation. If I’d accidentally overdosed Mel on respiratory sedatives, that would have been one thing. But this was, as far as I knew, a totally innocent person who’d done nothing to me.

  Besides, if he didn’t wake, I wouldn’t get to question him to find out who he was.

  I had to prepare as if he would wake up. I grabbed the handcuffs from my pocket and hauled his wrists up to the headboard, chaining his wrists together around the pressboard wood. I sized the cuffs down as small as they would go, locking them so they dug deep into his wrists. He could shift his wrists thin as soon as he woke, which woul
d make him more comfortable, but the cuffs should still hold him at that size. He might be able to break the cheap headboard eventually, but by the time he did, I would be long gone.

  I paused after locking the cuffs. I didn’t have the keys, or know where they were. Even if he woke, I might still have to call 911 for him.

  For the moment, though, I dialed Kalif.

  “Mistborn llamas,” I said. After all this time, he’d want to be sure it was me.

  “Rod of Immolation,” Kalif said. “Jory, what the hell was that? Where are you?”

  “I’m inside,” I said. “I sedated the guy we followed. He’s a shifter, but not your father.”

  Kalif paused, like my announcement had stunned him. “He came home? And you sedated him?”

  I moved toward the window. “Yeah,” I said. “With drugs he kept in his closet. He’d already gone to sleep, but I wanted to be sure.”

  Kalif swore. “I didn’t see him come home. I don’t know whether to be mad at you for trying that, or glad it isn’t my father.”

  “I’d go with both.”

  “I know we’re supposed to be finding him, but that’s actually a relief.”

  No kidding.

  “Did you get out of there? I didn’t see you leave.”

  “No,” I said. “I’m still in his bedroom.”

  “Why?”

  Good question. “This guy is a shifter, and he has the same injury as your dad. What do you think the odds are that’s a coincidence?”

  Kalif paused. “You think my dad shot some random sucker, just so we’d trace him?”

  I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. “That seems like the most plausible story. Which means this guy would have had contact with your dad. Might even know where to find him.”

  Kalif cleared his throat. “If my dad shot this guy, and he knew where to find him, my dad would probably be dead.”

  I reached up and opened the blinds again. “I’m at the window now. I just want to stay until he stirs. I cuffed him, so he can’t get at me. I sedated him. If he ODs, it’s my fault.”

  “Leave a note and a cell phone number. We can talk to him after we’re hell and gone. When he calls, you’ll know he’s still alive. Or we can call 911 and have them harass him, just to make sure.”