Nascent Shadow (Temporal Armistice Book 1)

by Matthew S. Cox

  We crash through the patio door amid a spray of glass fragments. I dive six stories down into an alley running behind the building, without a scrap of care if anyone’s watching. My wings flare, billowing out and catching our fall. He lets out a gurgling cry as the landing hurts his leg; I barely notice the impact and drag him up again. At my transformed height, my hand around his throat holds his feet off the ground. He grabs at my wrist, struggling to pull away while my claws dig into his neck, drawing blood.

  Frank’s swollen, sweaty face glows blue in the light shining from my eyes. We’re almost nose-to-nose, and his scent is nauseating enough to pierce into my awareness past my fury. He’s succumbed to total panic at the sight of me and struggles against my hold, but he might as well be pinned under a car for all the good it does him. He seems to realize he can’t throw me off, so he whimpers and begs, but his words are meaningless sounds.

  Ashley’s screams for her mother replay in my head. Snarling, I plunge my left hand into his gut up to the middle of my forearm and grab a handful. He gurgles and convulses seconds after my claws do their magic. I’m half-tempted to rip his manhood off, but I don’t want to touch it. Besides, he wouldn’t feel it at this point anyway. Staring into his eyes, I tighten my right hand until the rewarding crunch of vertebra emanates from his neck. His eyes loll back in his head.

  After flinging him to the ground, I descend on him like a wood chipper. Overcome by disgust and anger, I rake my claws, grabbing and throwing handfuls of meat in random directions. When I come out of my blind wrath, I find myself crouching over a bloody mess. Most of the contents of his torso lay strewn around the alley, some bits stuck to the wall ten feet away. He looks like a pack of land-piranha got a hold of him.

  Once I manage to calm down, my brain starts up again. Still breathing hard, I sit back on my heels and wipe blood off my face with my shoulder―the only part of my arm not covered in it. Shit. This is going to be difficult to explain. While I doubt the police would have much sympathy for Frank, they don’t have much for vigilantes either… or whatever the hell I am on top of it.

  I stare at the blood oozing between my fingers, dripping onto the pavement in front of my knees. No one’s screaming or shouting. People around here have kinda become numb to street violence, but that usually entails gunshots, not bestial roars and splats.

  Sorry, Mom. I think I’m going to have to postpone my visit.

  look around at the mess I’ve made, and eventually twist back to stare up at the sixth-floor balcony. Maybe they’ll think he jumped as a suicide and exploded on impact? Calm, I shift back to normal. My shirt’s missing, likely ripped apart by my wings bursting into existence. Tail’s waving around too, but I think it only made a hole in the seat of my leggings. Skirt’s fine. Great. I’m tits-out in an alley and covered in blood.

  “He must’ve said something very inappropriate,” says a deep-voiced man, with a hint of a chuckle.

  I freeze, startled into paralysis.

  A man who looks like he ought to be selling Mexican beer walks around in front of me. Expensive suit, salt-and-pepper hair combed back. Strong tan, a highly-sexy late-forties type. The most astounding thing about him though is his complete lack of reaction to Frank, or at least the collection of loosely-affiliated gore that used to be Frank.

  “Umm.”

  The man tilts his head. “Don’t worry about deception, Brooklyn. You can talk to me.”

  This is too weird. “So… are you like, the Devil or something?”

  He laughs. “No. I am not. There is no such entity.”

  “How do you know who I am?”

  The man tilts his head and looks me up and down like he’s amused by the antics of a new puppy. “I have been watching you for many years.”

  “Only a little creepy.” Creepier still is how I’m not getting any read of intention on him. It’s like I’m staring at a mannequin without a mind. “You got a name at least?”

  “I have many names. This particular human illusion, you can call… Dad.”

  What? I blink, staring dumbfounded for a moment. “You’re my father?”

  “Yes.” He attempts a sympathetic expression.

  “Bastard!” I roar, and lunge at him.

  He makes no effort to avoid my fist, and I drive my knuckles straight into his face. ‘Dad’ sails about ten feet into the wall of the building across the street, cracking some cinder blocks.

  “Not bad.” He pulls himself out of the crater and rolls his shoulder while wiping dust off his sleeve. “You may feel I deserved that for not having been around, but I was held back by an arrangement.”

  I stomp toward him, winding up for another punch. “What you did to my mother, and you have the nerve to even try to talk to me?”

  Dad leans to his left at the last possible instant, letting me punch my fist into the wall. Ouch. I think I broke at least two knuckles. Hurts like a bastard, but it’s already repairing itself. Watching my mashed-up hand inflate back to normal distracts me from wanting to tear the head off the man who raped my mother.

  “What is it you think I did to Reya?” He raises both eyebrows. “What did she tell you?”

  “Nothing.” I whirl on him, scowling. “She would never even talk about you. It’s not hard to guess.”

  He shakes his head. “Oh, no. The particular activity we engaged in that resulted in your existence was a mutual situation. In fact, she sought me out.”

  “Bullshit.” I spring at him again, this time with claws.

  Dad catches my wrist, swings me around, and puts my back against the wall. More cinder blocks crack on impact, but it didn’t hurt… much. “I did not force myself on your mother. One might argue the situation was the reverse, but who am I to decline such a beautiful woman’s request?”

  “You expect me to believe that?” I scoff. “I… think I’m some kind of demon thing, which means you’re probably a bigger demon thing, and demons always lie.”

  Dad lets his head sag, and emits a heavy sigh. “I wish I could’ve been around to give you some information sooner, but I was forced to keep my distance until you became aware of your nature.”

  “Forced?” I struggle to get off the wall, but the man’s way strong. I’ve never felt so weak in my life. It’s almost like I’m a normal twenty-something woman held by a pro wrestler. Not being able to overpower him is scary. I wind up hitting him with the big eyes without meaning to.

  “If I let go, will you calm down and stop trying to tear me open?” asks dear old Dad with a smile. “At least hear me out.”

  I look down. “‘Kay.”

  He releases my wrists and takes a step back. “Before I can really explain why you would have been killed if I showed myself to you before ‘things happened naturally,’ I must explain a little of what we are.”

  “Well, explain then.” I fold my arms. “Wait, killed?”

  “Give me a chance to get there. You use the term ‘demon,’ but that is something manufactured by humans. My kind are known as the Shaar’Nath. We have existed for many thousands of years, long before this realm ever came to be.”

  “Isn’t that a funny word for demon? Wings, horns, tail? How wild I was growing up? Fuck’s sake. I mean I just killed that piece of shit like I stepped on a bug.”

  Dad chuckles. “You did. Step on a bug, that is. The world won’t mourn him. For reasons I am unaware of, your mother sought me out twenty-three years ago. Few humans are able to recognize us when we disguise ourselves, but she knew me.”

  I pace back and forth. “I’m having trouble believing that. Mom never wanted power. She barely even uses magic. She’s not exactly what you could call a ‘powerful’ mage, and she’s never once complained about that.”

  He sighs. I hate to admit it, but the deep timbre of his voice is somewhat soothing. “I never did understand her motivation that night. Please know that we are not ‘demons.’ We Shaar’Nath are beings from another plane of existence. Humans became aware of us a millennium or so ago, and created l
egends to explain what they did not understand. Don’t have answers? Make shit up. Heaven, Hell, God, that Devil thing… all the products of fertile minds who filled in the blanks with creativity.”

  I laugh. Okay, that I can believe. “So we’re not evil?”

  “Our kind are given to violence, greed, anger, wrath, impulse, and hedonism.”

  “You just summed up my childhood in two seconds. Except for the greed part. I never really had that. Well, maybe. I did steal a PS2 when I was little. But it’s not like I wanted to be rich.”

  Dad takes a step closer and puts his hand on my left shoulder. He’s warm. Oh, eww. I thought of him as sexy when I first noticed him. Gah. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah. Bad thoughts.” I shake my head and wipe my eyes to dispel any mixture of Dad and sexiness going on behind them.

  He grins. “Now, the problem lies with the Elestari.”

  “Let me guess. They look like angels?”

  “Humans have based their stories of angels on them, yes.” He nods. “In their true form, they more closely resemble humans, though they are paler, taller, and have great, feathery wings. Our kind are adept with powers of the mind. Reading thoughts, knowing intent, abilities that humans refer to as ‘psychic.’ The Elestari are more akin to mages.”

  The super-hot bartender comes to mind. “Umm. I think I might’ve seen one. I couldn’t read his intentions either, like yours. Does that not work on us?”

  “It’s more difficult to use those talents on our kind or Elestari. Humans are like books yearning to be cracked open.”

  Eww. I hope he doesn’t mean that in a literal, bloody sense.

  “Great, so are these Elestari things going to want to kill me?”

  “Within the human kingdom, there exists an armistice. In fact, the very creation of the human realm is a physical manifestation of this truce.” He puts his arm around my shoulders, which I find myself not objecting to. “For millennia, our kind fought a brutal war. Neither side had any advantage, though they kept grinding on.”

  “What were they fighting about?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “I’m sure a reason existed when it started, but I am not that old. I suspect few remain in existence who truly understand, though it probably has something to do with the innate differences in our personalities.”

  “The Elestari are nauseatingly good and nice?” I cringe.

  “Oh, if only.” He winks. “Arrogant, sanctimonious, superior, insufferable… about the only good thing they have going for them is they’re quite beautiful.”

  I roll my eyes. Great, maybe that bartender guy was going to tell me how worthless I am.

  “After epochs of war, everyone knew that continuing as they had been would likely ensure the extinction of both groups. Still, neither side could simply stop fighting… so a delegation met at a point equidistant from the center of our respective realms, and they created the Armistice, or as you know it, the human world.”

  “So this is… a wall?”

  “Of sorts, yes. I am talking about stepping across dimensional boundaries here, not a physical wall. The human realm acts as a barrier that prevents Shaar’Nath from entering the realm of the Elestari, and vice versa. Before this world came into being, our respective realms touched, and it was quite easy to travel between them. Now, we must enter the Armistice first and seek some way past it. It makes even one individual getting through difficult, and a large-scale force impossible.”

  “Oh. Well that works out. Stopped the war right?” I scratch my head. “So, why did they make humans?”

  “We didn’t.” He leans back and laughs, startling a distant alley cat. “You must understand how long ago this happened. Shaar’Nath and Elestari combined their energy into creating the Armistice. That magic included Life as well as all the elements. The process you learned about in school that the humans call ‘evolution’ did occur. Humans are the end result of many, many years of… I suppose you could picture it as having a fish tank that you neglected to maintain and all sorts of random things grew in it.”

  “Great, so we’re tank mold.”

  That makes him laugh again. “Well, your friend back there might qualify, but no… Humans developed in our image, likely due to the essence of the magical energies that created this world. They resemble Elestari at their roughest, and our kind at their calmest. Those who can wield magic are closer to the Elestari. Those with mental gifts are more like us… With the exception that they are human, unlike you.”

  “I’m a half-demon, aren’t I?” I look down at myself. “Is that why I’m this unnatural white?”

  “Aside from your use of the crudism of ‘demon,’ that is essentially accurate.” He pats me on the back. “Soon after your mother became pregnant with you, a collection of Elestari found me. They demanded I have no contact with or influence over you until such time as you realized on your own that you are not fully human.”

  “Weird. Wonder why. I thought angels are supposed to be all ‘goody-goody.’”

  “If you listened to the humans’ description of ‘angels,’ which the Elestari are not, you would think so. They’re self-absorbed as can be, and tend to regard humans like ants. Our kind treats the mortals better, but that isn’t saying much. We do talk to them if they figure out how to ask, but we often ask for things in return.”

  I scrunch up my nose. “Huh. Okay. So, I’m not really a demon. Demons are a product of humans making up stories. I’m part creature from another dimension.”

  “That is correct.”

  “Is the Shaar’Nath realm full of fire?”

  He grins, which I take as a yes. “Speaking of fire. There is much I can teach you now that I am able to.”

  Dad takes me by the hand and walks over to Frank. “Our kind have a special relationship with fire. It surrounds us, a living manifestation of the energy inside us. Your kinship with flames comes from this bond, even though you are part human. Hold your hands out.” He extends his arm, palm flat, in much the same pose I’d expect from a Pyromancer.

  I raise both hands over the body.

  “You shouldn’t leave this here to be found.” Dad taps me on the stomach, an inch above the navel. “This is your power center. Envision a great furnace within you. Whenever you peer into the flames, they see into you as well. The fire has life, as do you or I. Here, within the Armistice, it peeks in only under certain conditions.”

  “Flammable things.”

  “Correct. Do not feel guilt for putting them out.” He smiles. “You only send it back where it belongs. Now. Draw upon the furnace inside you. Feel the energy rising up your core and traveling down your arms.”

  No, it’s not weird that I’m standing here talking to my father about extraplanar creatures while he teaches me how to incinerate a guy I just ripped to shreds. Weird is me standing here topless, covered in blood, and having a casual conversation with my father.

  I stare at Frank, tapping once again into my anger at what he almost did to Ashley. Warmth spreads over my abdomen. With Dad whispering guidance in my ear, I manage to light my hands on fire in about five minutes. It’s kind of cute really in a dark, twisted way. Like a dad showing his daughter how to fish, only with more murder and concealing of evidence. After a bit of coaching, I pull off a double stream of flames from my outstretched arms that half-cremates Frank in seconds. For the first time in my life, fire has true heat.

  “Whoa.” I take a step back. “It’s hot.”

  Dad beams at me, a proud father. “Excellent.” He casually immolates the rest of Frank with one arm, guiding a shaft of dark red-orange fire around like a flamethrower. I stare at it, mesmerized, wondering if this is how humans feel around ‘normal’ flames. Once the bulk of the body is little more than a dark stain on the road, he creates a serpent of dark-crimson fire that races around in a graceful ballet, devouring all the globs I threw. When the last of the gore is ash, the fire-snake dissipates.

  “That fire can hurt us, can’t it?”

  “No
worse than a human sticking a foot in too-hot bathwater. It is significantly more potent than any fire that should exist here normally. The Elestari have no resistance, however they also have magic that affects us in particularly nasty ways.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Please tell me I’m not being dragged into some 10,000-year-old war.”

  “That’s doubtful. The Armistice has existed for quite a long time.” He flicks a tiny stream of fire at a piece of Frank sticking to the wall he’d missed, reducing it to a wisp of smoke. “I think we’ve forgotten about the war the same way we forgot how it started.”

  “So, what should I do?” I stare up at him. Holy crap. I have a dad.

  “Be wary if you should ever encounter an Elestari. Other than that, you’ll need to figure out where you stand in this world.”

  I look around. “What if I’m kinda happy with the way stuff is?”

  “Then be happy.” He pats me on the shoulder.

  “Wow. Amazing no one noticed Frank. Thanks for helping me clean that up.” I don’t really do the hugging thing (except with Mom), so I wind up making a lame face at him.

  “You’re welcome.” He winks. “It’s not difficult to convince humans they don’t want to walk down a certain alley or peer out certain windows.”

  Wow. That sounds like pretty powerful psychic stuff. “Can I do that?”

  “Perhaps with enough practice.”

  Yeah. Hands on my hips, I look down. Oh shit. Right. Topless. That’ll attract attention, and the coating of blood will cause problems. “I should, uhh, go clean up.”

  “That is a wise idea. We shall meet again soon.” He grasps me by the shoulders and stares into my eyes. “Please know that I kept my distance only out of fear the Elestari would harm you.”

  How messed up is that? I’m part demon and angels threatened to murder me as a child if my father got anywhere near me. I guess they didn’t want knowing what I was to affect me growing up or something. Bastards. Much better thinking Mom was raped? Gah. I’m really not liking angels these days. Wait. Not angels. That’s mythology. I grumble. Sorting this out is going to take some time.