She threw the ball into the air with one hand and caught it in the other, and, each time, the resounding thunk of the ball was a constant as her mind ran scenarios with the information they had—a tangled mess of loss reports, top-of-the-line security systems, and deaths racking up to the double digits across all the files. Just as she thought she had some eureka moment, the werewolf from the airport crossed her mind.
Her hand missed the ball, pinging herself in the face. “This isn’t helping the case,” she muttered as she tried to shoo the overlaid image in her mind and fetched the ball as it rolled off the bed.
Her fox had other ideas, keeping the husky wolf in the center of her realm as she walked around him, scrutinizing the wolf and the human hidden behind shades.
“Seriously?” she asked the fox, being pulled along their connection until she stood beside the fox on their shared realm.
The fox tilted her head and shrugged before letting the image shift to Morgan.
“How can we be two sides of the same coin? You and him”—she motioned to the life-size image of Morgan—“are a pain in the ass.”
Her fox sauntered into her favorite spot in the sea of gray and black and curled into a ball, tucking her nose under her tail, but she didn’t slumber, instead, her dark keen eyes watched.
In a blink, Alex’s world shifted back to her room amidst picking up her ball. She settled against the mattress and recommenced throwing the ball, resuming where she had stopped on the case notes.
The museum was equipped with the latest alarms. The vault was underground through foot-thick steel and iron structures with visual and audio cameras, and none of them stopped or detected the thief except for a glowing blob?
A headache blossomed across her brow, and purple and silver magic sparked from her fingers, and the ball vanished. Alex sprung up. Her hands intuitively reached for her dagger on the stand. Nothing moved. Nothing felt out of place. The walls flickered and waved as the black and grey of second sight settled over the room. The faint zipper of a void locker lingered just out of reach.
Void lockers were one of the traits that set shadows apart from the other thirteen flavors of kitsunes. She knew what void lockers should look like on the secondary plane, but she’d never conjured one before.
Moving around the room, she was impressed; the zipper stayed directly over the bed. She sat on the bed, crossed her legs and poked and prodded the magic. Her fingers played along the edges of the spell. The purple and silver lines moved like plucked strings of a banjo, yet they refused to give purchase.
Shouldn’t void lockers be movable? I know I’ve seen Morgan conjure his just about everywhere.
She focused on the first line, clinging to the footboard before it bounced back against the ceiling. Magic arched from her fingertips and crackled along the webbing. She tried to unhinge the holding threads, and the magic fed back against her, leaving a distinct smell of burnt hair in the room.
Pain blossomed across her forehead and along her ears. The more she tugged at the string, the more intense the headache grew, until she snatched away her hand and flew backward against the covers, her chest aching. Changing tactics, she went down the list, starting with the simplest of spells to the most complex, trying to unravel the spell she’d inadvertently cast.
Exhausted and her magic reserves drained, she fumbled for her cellphone and hit Speed Dial.
“Alex,” Sahara said, her voice sounding soft and welcoming.
“I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“No, dear. I was sitting here, watching the fire burn. The sun is near to rising.”
Alex had heard that often enough to know she had been expecting the call. “I accidentally created a secondary dimensional locker. I can’t undo it.”
“You made a locker?” She sounded surprised.
“Yes, ma’am. Not sure how exactly.”
“Have you tried unraveling it?” Alex could picture Sahara’s brow arching as she thought.
“Tried. Burnt the hair on my arm and found a hundred and one ways to achieve a headache.
“You’ll have to call Morgan and ask him.”
Alex sighed against the bed. She had been hoping for a different response but knew it was a long shot.
Sahara was a full-water kitsune, and dimensional rifts weren’t her specialty, but being the bard for knowledge and Morgan’s grandmother, she usually had advice on every subject a kitsune might run across.
“How are things?” Alex hesitated to just say goodbye.
“Holding, but you already knew that. Talk to Morgan. I’ll see you when you get back from Mexico.” Sahara ended the call.
Alex flopped onto her side and rubbed her face. How did she even know I was in Mexico? A wave of homesickness engulfed her, reminding her why she didn’t call that often. She and her fox missed the open land and deep woods, but the responsibilities weighed heavier than her yearning for home.
Morgan.
It had been a year since she’d talked to the demon’s right hand, and, while he had been her instructor for most of her younger years, something had changed when she became a guardian … if only she knew the what and the why.
“If you think of me any harder, you’ll implode.” Morgan leaned against the closed door, looking fuckable in jeans and a tee-shirt.
Alex didn’t move for a second before rolling off the bed and onto her feet. “What are you doing here? How did you get in here?”
He motioned from head to toe. “Shadow kitsune,” he said as if it answered everything.
That’s not an answer. “Don’t you know it’s rude to just walk in unannounced?”
“Don’t you know it’s rude to think of me naked”—he smirked—“and not follow through.”
“I did no such thing!” Alex exclaimed louder than she had intended, embarrassed with the unusual playfulness.
His words sunk in, and her face turned crimson as she recalled a time they’d washed their enemy’s blood from their bodies on the riverbanks in the moonlight. But it wasn’t there she was imagining him naked now. It was in the room they stood.
“You have now.” He chuckled.
“You are incorrigible.” She crossed her arms and turned away.
“What has me on your mind, little one?” His pet name for her slid off his tongue.
Afraid of the retort that resided just on the tip of her tongue, she gestured toward the void locker that didn’t follow her around the room but firmly anchored on the secondary plane of sight.
His eyes glowed purple before fading back to blue. “You did this?” His fingers hovered around the edge of the zipper, and Alex’s mind tingled. “Good anchor points. Most can’t throw a dimensional locker and attach it to themselves much less to another thing without practice.”
“What do you mean?” Alex understood the basic locker design—it was a pocket dimension—but now her curiosity beckoned her to the bed.
“It’s visible on the secondary plane. Most lockers are more like thoughts. They disappear into the void until you conjure them.” He scratched the day-old stubble of a beard. “I’ll lead you through it.”
“Most?” Alex’s stomach dropped. She wasn’t sure she could handle being so close to him, smelling the hints of the night forest and the soft pitter-patter of rain. It reminded her too much of Greywood, and the yearning to go home was already strong.
“Come here.” His voice was jovial and kind, but, at her reluctance, his words became a demand. “Come. Here. Alex.”
She went to him without further hesitation. Their magic sparked at the slightest touch of their hands, and she shivered as his magic laid alongside her meta-shields, a feeling she had never experienced before.
He laid along her back, pressing his hands against her hips and bringing her back against his body. His fingers wrapped around her hands, squeezing them, and he pointed their joined hands toward the trapped racquetball.
“Bring up your second sight.” His voice became the medium of neutral dictation, and she c
omplied.
His shadow magic teased and caressed the darkness within her and took the pain and the headache that flared.
A line of magic crept from her fingertips, coated with his, and held fast to an anchoring point.
“First to go is the detection. It gives you the headache.”
He showed her with her own magic how to break the line, and the magic webbing that sounded like an alarm system inside her head fell away, like loose ropes, and disappeared as the tendrils landed on the bed.
“When you have more practice, you’ll be able to leave them whole while retrieving things, but for now …”
Still fully aware of him pressing against her and his free hand wrapped around her waist, she tried to clear her mind and follow the simple instructions of unzipping the pocket. She reached in the void locker and retrieved the ball. She squeezed it and bounced it against the ground, amazed she was finally learning the coveted void locker, and, with practice, she might even be able to store her gear in there.
“We’ve got other things to talk about, Alex.” He gestured for her to sit and sat beside her.
“You know what the thing is that I saw in Texas?” she asked.
He shook his head, mumbling about how he was still digging for answers. “You’re manifesting. You need to come home and be trained.”
“It’s a single ability,” she exclaimed, shocked he would even consider that. “Shadows take years to master. You’d effectively bench me. And you know what is expected if I return. How is that fair?” She squeezed the ball.
“I’m not talking about just shadows. If one part of your magic is manifesting, so too the other.” His face turned soft and almost caring compared to the tough-as-nails and void-of-all expression he almost always wore. “I’ve known you your entire life, Alex. My grandmother raised you, and no matter how much you try to lock yourself away, I know you.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I might not know everything about spirit kitsunes, but I know what sets them apart from shadows.” He faced the window to stare through the thin curtains and into the darkest of night. A dark look passed his face before the Demon King’s stoic right hand took over. “I’ve got to go.”
11
Christopher regarded Alex as if she was asking the most obvious and stupid question of the century. “Let me get this straight. You want to try to set a trap for something that can move freely?”
She firmly kept the charming smile in place, willing to play the game with honeyed words. “Yes.”
“No. That risk is too high. You can’t control where it is, what it is, can’t make guarantees the item would be safe, and you can’t even say for certain it would appear.”
His argument was sound, but it wasn’t what Alex had wanted to hear; it was the lack of time she had issues with. The pattern was set. Four thefts. Two weeks. Six months reprieve. If they didn’t catch this within the next week, they’d have to wait until April to try again.
A knock sounded on the office door, and Christopher followed the receptionist into the outer office.
Alex relaxed into the seat and sighed. “What they haven’t realized yet—when this thing is done collecting the dispersed relics, and all the remaining artifacts are under lock and key—is the next place this thing will strike is in the vault, and none of those pieces are safe.”
“Then what happens?” Mira asked.
Alex shrugged. That was a good question.
The PA system that ran the span of the museum activated in a commotion of half-remembered codes and muffled voices. Dropping the formality, the PA system requested security, and Alex eyed Mira before they rushed from the office and onto the exhibit floor to witness utter chaos.
People were everywhere. Some tried to find aid or help the people sprawled on the floor while others were nothing more than a puddle of sobs and tears, adding to the mass confusion.
Alex snatched one of the security guard’s shirt sleeve, getting a quick version of We don’t know. Sending him on his way, she shook her head, flabbergasted at how unorganized the museum was for emergencies of this magnitude, and lucky, this hadn’t been anything major, like a newly turned shifter or a famished ghoul.
“Mira …” She turned to get the ocelot providing aid where she could, but Mira was already in medic mode, rushing to the nearest unconscious person.
Alex acted as a guard to Mira as the fox-demon smelled the air and scanned the giant room for any trace of a creature or spell able to knock out a dozen people. Nothing abnormal registered.
Mira whistled, catching Alex’s attention. She tapped her Bluetooth, being her equivalent of Go. I’ve got this.
Alex activated her Bluetooth as she stepped on something gritty. Kneeling to see what it was, it shimmered in the light, and she realized it was identical to the dust they had found on the DC rooftop.
Following the faint dust trail to an exhibit, she ran her hands over the glass walls, finding nothing but a finger’s width between the solid panels. It was hard to tell what was missing among the various trinkets buried with some great peace chief, but whatever had been in there was gone now, leaving a vacant spot between a couple items.
Tracking the path back to where she’d first discovered it, she found the trail cold and lost among the shuffling of feet.
Mira set back on her haunches as the EMTs moved to take the child. “Outside of some spell that can’t leave a taste or trace, I don’t know.” She was answering questions before Alex could ask. “Either my Spanish is that bad, or what they’re saying doesn’t make sense. The security guard says something about fae or fairies.”
“This isn’t fae. Fae leave that distinct … thing.” She couldn’t find the word she was looking for as she tried to piece the variances against the possible. “It’ll be another half hour or longer until security can get me the tape.” She settled in beside her friend, watching the fringes of the room for anything odd.
“You think it took something else?” Mira fidgeted with her bracelet, twisting it around her wrist.
“I don’t know. This is”—she motioned to the large-scale aftermath—“compared to DC and Texas.”
Mira stood, dusted off her slacks and fixed her shirt. “You won’t track it?”
Alex shook her head. “Too many smells. Too many people.”
“What’s our next move?”
Alex smirked. “Do you think we’ve enough good graces stored up for a favor?”
Mira laughed.
12
Señor Rodriguez laid his fedora on the conference table, shaking his head over and over. “No. We will not allow what little is left of the collection to be used as some sort of …” The more he talked, the redder his face became, and the rest of the board of the directors looked like bobbleheads in agreement.
Alex leaned forward against the table and smiled an inhuman smile that visibly shook the room’s occupants. “This isn’t up for discussion. Failure to comply will result in the museum being blacklisted and the entire collection being sequestered. Do you think your human tourist fees could cover the museum’s operating cost?”
Mira reached into her bag and produced the council’s authorization and insurance for two pieces for them to use as bait and slid it across the table.
Two board members vied for the paperwork.
“You can’t do this,” another one spoke.
Alex stood and smoothed the crease in her pants, enjoying the ruffling of feathers as the board of directors squirmed in their seats. “My job is to assess and deal with the assignment at hand. If this was a problem you could handle, I wouldn’t be here.”
A board member who had read the papers visibility balked before they threw them on the table and stormed out.
“What other options do we have?” Christopher asked, pleading for an alternative.
“One.” Alex gathered her jacket from the chairback. “Let it take the entire collection.”
It may not have been the best way to get what she wanted, but nonetheless, the board
and curator complied with the strong-arm tactic.
With help from the board-appointed Santiago, they were gathering items needed for the trap.
Trailing behind him in the empty halls, Mira sniffed him, and her brow creased. “Human?”
Alex nodded. She turned the piece of paper holding the schematics of the museum, trying to cling to the thin trappings of a plan.
Mira and modesty went together as well as pickle cornbread; it wasn’t for everyone, and it came as no surprised when she said, “They must not really care for him.”
Alex hadn’t really thought about it. Human or supe, being untrained and facing something supernatural was asinine, but, if she did her job, what did he have to worry about? “I want you to go with him. Pick out something or two that will attract this thing and meets the Council’s orders. Meet me in the loading bay.”
As she veered off, Santiago flapped his hands around, squawking, “Where’s she going?” and doing the tango between following her or continuing to the vault with Mira.
With Mira handling their shadow, Alex hustled down the hallway and went through the doors to the exhibit floor, hoping to save time by cutting across the museum instead of the back hallways that were a maze of turns and rooms.
From the corner of her eye, a pedestal caught her attention.
Spear-wielding stick figures began the hunt, chasing the great cat across the urn’s surface.
Could it be that simple? She surveyed her hand and dismissed it. Accidentally channeling a void locker and trapping something in it were two different things. Add to it that she didn’t want to kill whatever it was, unless she had to, and shoving it into the locker would do just that.
“But it’s tangible part of the time, at least when it’s touching the items,” she muttered.
Silver and Gold (Sanctuary Book 1) Page 6