The Kat Dubois Chronicles: The Complete Series (Echo World Book 2)

by Lindsey Fairleigh

  “Nice non-answer.”

  Nik shrugged one shoulder.

  “Do you think it would really be so bad . . .” . . . if the world knew about us? It sounded so ridiculous in my head that I shoved the thought away, shook my head, and stood. “Never mind.” I didn’t have the energy for what-ifs right now. I headed into the hallway. “I’m showering. I’ll be out in a few.”

  “Yes,” Nik said. “It would be so bad.”

  I paused, my back to him and a hand against the hallway wall. “But if they see that we’re not evil . . .” They being the humans.

  “It’s never about good and evil, Kitty Kat. I’ve seen countless civilizations rise and fall, and in the end, it always comes down to two things—us versus them, and power.”

  “In this case, are we ‘us’ or ‘them’?”

  “We’re ‘them’—the other—and we have power. The humans can’t help but want to take it from us. It’s in their nature.”

  Hanging my head, I trudged into the bathroom. But I wasn’t convinced he was right. I wasn’t convinced the humans were our enemies—or that we were theirs. I wasn’t convinced we couldn’t all live together, peacefully, out in the open.

  One day, maybe . . .

  But not today. Today was for the enemy within. The Senate. Or the shadow Senate. We had to eliminate that threat before we could even think about a world filled with hand-holding and kumbayas.

  After I no longer smelled like a dried-up seal carcass.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  By the time I emerged from my bedroom, clean and in fresh jeans and a black tank top, Nik was gone. It hadn’t even been ten minutes, but I wasn’t surprised, exactly. At least, not by his absence. I hadn’t really expected him to stick around, not when he’d been in the wind for years. But I was surprised by the disappointment I felt at finding the apartment empty. Specifically, empty of him.

  As I stuffed clothes into a duffel bag, I wondered where he’d gone. Off to return to his lifestyle as a wandering nomad? Or was he joining up with Mari’s mission to save the world, one human-turned-Nejeret at a time? My motions became jerkier and jerkier as I crammed only the essentials into the bag—underwear, socks, jeans, tank tops and T-shirts, a zip-up hoodie. The bastard could’ve at least said goodbye.

  I hooked my arm through the bag’s handles and carried it into the kitchen by my elbow. Setting it on the table, I added my sword, knives, and other weapons and gear, then zipped it up. A quick trip into the office and I carried out a sturdy leather messenger bag packed full of sketching supplies and cash from the safe, the red leather jacket I used to wear on hunts slung over my arm. It had been in the weapons closet, and I hadn’t worn it in ages. Donning it was like stepping back in time.

  I could feel myself becoming her, the girl-assassin I’d been desperate to become at the start and had, by the end, loathed being. As the jacket settled on my shoulders, hugging my back and fitting perfectly around my arms, I realized I would always be her—just like I would always be the girl my mom raised, and the woman I’d become during my years of self-inflicted isolation from my people. Whatever else happened to me, those three personas would always be a part of me.

  Jacket on, I tucked my tarot deck into the front pocket, grabbed the last piece of pizza from the ziplock bag, and put it in my mouth, holding it by the crust with my teeth. I picked up both bags, settling the messenger bag across my body and hoisting the duffel onto one shoulder.

  I headed downstairs as I chomped on the piece of pizza, dropping my duffel on the table in the back room and going into the shop to grab my tattoo machine, a handful of sealed needles, a couple bottles of black ink, and Nik’s At ink. I placed everything in the padded carrying case I used for off-site jobs. The case looks a lot like an old-fashioned doctor’s kit and was actually my mom’s old apothecary case. She’d never been a fan of tattoos, but I doubted she’d have minded me using it, even for this.

  I set the case down by my duffel bag on the table and stopped by the counter to scrawl a quick note to Kimi on a sticky note.

  Kimi—I have a family emergency and will be out of town for a while. I’m not sure how long. I’ll call later today to check in, but please alert any clients I (or Nik) have this week. Thx!—K

  I stuck the note to the face of the register, where I knew Kimi couldn’t miss it, then crouched down to retrieve the spare key to the upstairs apartment that I kept duct-taped to the underside of the counter in a tiny manila envelope. On the not-so-off chance that Mari or Ouroboros came after me here and ransacked the place, I didn’t want them gaining easy access to my apartment. The door was reinforced and quadruple-locked, and I’d slowly renovated the windows and walls over the years, replacing and reinforcing for the highest security I could afford.

  Someone knocked on the shop’s glass door.

  Fingers still searching the rough surface for the key, I peeked over the top of the counter. “Shit,” I hissed, ducking back down immediately. The police had come sooner than I’d expected.

  Two cops stood at the door, one peering in, hands to the glass over his eyes, the other leaning back, scoping out the storefront. I didn’t recognize either of them from Garth’s station or the ICU waiting room, so I assumed they weren’t here to bring me news about Garth—not that I really thought I’d have warranted such a visit, but still. It was a possibility. But not the most likely one.

  No, these cops were here because of what happened less than an hour ago downtown. Back at Ouroboros, Nik and I had left the male cop locked on the roof terrace with the Ouroboros guards, and we’d made it down to the bike without encountering his partner. It would’ve been a breeze for them to ID me—either by security cameras or by taking down the plates on my illegally parked motorcycle. However they’d done it, they’d tracked me back here. I’d expected as much, just not this quickly.

  I stuck my whole head under the counter to find the damn key and tore the damn thing free of the underside of the counter, then crawled into the backroom, sliding under the beaded curtain to avoid creating movement that would draw the officers’ attention. The longest strings of beads ended not quite a foot off the ground, giving me just enough room to wiggle underneath.

  The cops rapped on the door again. “Police! Open up!”

  I grabbed my duffel bag and the carrying case and rushed down the short hallway to the back door. It led to the alley driveway, where some of the other shops and the single cafe on my block received deliveries. I fully intended to make a quick getaway on the Ducati, bags and all, then ditch it in some other neighborhood to catch a bus to the ferry. Reprehensible as the thought was, the bike was too recognizable to take with me for farther than a few miles.

  I yanked open the door and sucked in a breath to let out a startled scream.

  Nik’s hand clapped over my mouth, and he stepped in through the doorway, shoving me back against the hallway wall. “You’ve got visitors,” he said, his face inches from mine, and I nodded.

  This close, I could see the whitish, almost iridescent flecks interspersed throughout his blue irises, giving them that eerie, pale hue. I’d never seen them so up close, and I wondered if the iridescence had grown over time, evidence of the increasing power of his sheut. He was the oldest of our subspecies, Nejerets with sheuts, and he’d had the most time to develop his otherworldly power, to hone his skills. Had his irises been bluer, once upon a time? One day, would the blue fade away completely?

  Nik’s hand fell away, and he took a step backward. His other hand held up a tray with two coffee cups, and a grease-stained paper bag lay on its side on the asphalt in the alley behind him. “Now might be a good time to make like a tree and get the fuck out of here.”

  Again, I nodded.

  Nik backed through the doorway, doing a quick scan of either direction, and held out his hand. “Give me your bag.”

  There was no question that he meant the duffel, and I didn’t argue. He was bigger and stronger, and me carrying so much would just slow us down. I drop
ped the bag to the floor and kicked it to him while I readjusted the messenger bag’s strap on my shoulder.

  Nik picked up the duffel bag, slinging the strap over his shoulder, then bent over to retrieve the discarded paper bag.

  One whiff of sugary, fried dough told me it was filled with donuts. “You left to get breakfast?” Astonishment knocked me momentarily senseless.

  Nik scoffed and waved me out into the alleyway. “Tick-tock, Kitty Kat. I’d rather not have to break your ass out of jail. Let’s go.”

  I didn’t argue. A rush of giddiness surged through me as I followed him out through the doorway. We ran up the alley and hopped on the first bus we saw, not caring where it would take us.

  To the University District, it turned out. Four stops later, we were off that bus and waiting at the main bus stop at the University of Washington on Fifteenth Avenue. In minutes, we’d be on our way to the ferry terminal downtown, and in hours we’d be stepping onto Bainbridge Island. There, I would be able to figure out some way to make Dom’s afterlife more comfortable. There, Nik and I would be able to reconvene with our people—the non-traitorous ones—and figure out what the hell to do. Our world was a ticking time bomb crafted by our own people. Evidence of our species was out there, in human hands.

  I didn’t think it wasn’t a matter of if the bomb would explode, but when. I just hoped we’d be ready.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  I sat on the floor in my old room on the second floor of Heru’s house in the Nejeret complex on Bainbridge Island, surrounded by my old things. Now, even more so than before, I felt the convergence of who I used to be and who I was now. I was at a crossroads. I could drop everything—my sword, my shop, my name—and go on the run, be a lonely woman on the lam. I’d be running from myself as much as from anything else. Or I could give in. Accept who and what I was, both to myself and to my Nejeret clan.

  The desire to run was strong. After all, it was essentially what I’d been doing for the last three years—running from the past while staying put, anchored to it. Running was safe. It was simple. It was lonesome but devoid of the complications and utter devastation that come with strong bonds.

  But as I etched Dom’s full name, Dominic l’Aragne, into the wood frame of the standing mirror laid down on the floor before me, over and over, Lex’s words in that hospital stairwell—her plea—reverberated within me. Be the legacy she deserves. I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that she was right, that my mom would be disappointed in the woman I’d become. Not the killer, but the recluse. The one who chose to hide from her past mistakes rather than learn from them.

  I’d distanced myself from my people, from Dom, and now he was gone . . . or gone-ish. And just like when my mom died, I was inundated with regret about time lost. Time wasted. I’d unwittingly thrown away the chance to see Dom a thousand more times, to share hundreds of philosophical conversations with him, to know him better. To let him know me better.

  It’s a funny thing, being a supposed immortal being. I’m only into my fourth decade, but even I have the deep-seeded belief that I and all of my Nejeret friends and family will be around forever. I’d been going through life the past few years thinking that someday, a good ways down the road, when I’ve got my shit together, I’d come back to them. But I’d been waiting until I’d become someone worthy of the love they’re so willing to throw my way. I’d been waiting for a day that would never come.

  I shook my head and started the thirteenth iteration of Dom’s name around the mirror’s wooden frame. I’d figured Dom and I would reunite someday, the dynamic duo, kicking ass and taking names side by side. And now that someday would never come. I was holding onto what little remained of him, my fingernails digging into his soul in a desperate attempt to regain what could’ve been. Possibilities that I’d thrown away so carelessly.

  “I’ll make this right,” I told the phone sitting on the floor beside my knee.

  Dom’s etched eyes were open, his sharp, rough-hewn features arranged in a pattern that I thought might, just maybe, be curiosity. I was fairly sure he could hear me, though that etched image of him moved so slowly that any responses he gave may have just been coincidental movements. I blamed his hindered mobility on the medium. Etched glass was too permanent, too hard for his ba to manipulate. This time I’d used ink—Sharpie, to be exact. And I’d given him a full body, taking up the entire mirror when I drew him in painstaking detail, right down to his favorite loafers with the little leather tassel things. I’d always teased him about those.

  There was a knock at the bedroom door.

  “Yeah?” I called over my shoulder. I wasn’t ready to share Dom with the others yet, not until I knew there was a way for us to communicate with him—for him to communicate with us. Not until I knew I wasn’t torturing him by keeping him here. I wanted his permission, his blessing, before I let the others know just how desperate I was to hold onto him.

  “It’s me,” Nik said. He turned the locked door handle. “Can I come in?”

  “Sure.” I didn’t bother getting up to unlock the door. He could do it himself by magicking up a key out of thin air. “Lock it again, though,” I said, once he was in the room. Lex, Heru, and the others were still on the west side of the Puget Sound, but there were plenty of other Nejerets who lived in the Heru compound and had keys to this house. Nobody could know about Dom until I was certain. Until I—we—were ready.

  Nik locked the door, just like I requested, and his footsteps were quiet as he crossed the room to stand behind me. He whistled. “That’s Dom, alright. Nicely done.”

  I finished the “e” in Dom’s surname, then started carving the final rendition of his name around the wooden frame. “Thanks.” I was quiet for a moment. “Nik . . . am I doing the right thing?”

  Nik stepped over the mirror and sat in the cushy armchair by the window. “Honestly, Kitty Kat, I’m the last person you should be asking about right and wrong.”

  I frowned but continued carving.

  “What would Dom say?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out,” I grumbled.

  Silence settled between us while I finished that final carving of Dom’s name. My hand ached, and my fingers were cramping, but I pushed through. Finally, I sat back on my heels and set the wood-handled carving knife on the floor, trading it for my dead phone. I held up the phone so I could look at Dom face to face, my lips pursing in thought. My focus shifted from Dom’s face to Nik’s. “Any idea how to get him out of here and into the mirror?”

  Nik shrugged. “You’re the Ink Witch.”

  I scowled. “Don’t call me that. I hate that nickname.”

  “You used to say that about ‘Kitty Kat,’” Nik said with a smirk. “Maybe it’ll grow on you.”

  “I hate that nickname, too,” I lied.

  Nik’s smirk widened knowingly. “Of course you do.”

  Heat creeped up my neck and cheeks, and I bowed my head, letting my dark hair fall around my face, a curtain hiding the unexpected blush. “I still hate you,” I told him.

  “Of course you do,” he repeated, his voice even more mocking than before.

  I closed my eyes and took slow, deep breaths, focusing on Dom’s dark, secretive eyes. In seconds the mental image replaced Nik’s pale stare, and I felt myself become centered within. Nik had a tendency to make my thoughts and emotions flail wildly, while Dom had always been able to ground me. Maybe it was why I was so desperate to hang onto him.

  “Touch.”

  My eyes snapped open, and I looked at Nik. “What did you say?”

  Frowning, Nik shook his head. “Nothing.” He was sitting on the edge of the chair, his elbows on his knees and his keen gaze locked on me, watching me do my magic. He was probably hoping to learn something, to understand, to figure out how I do what I do so he can train to do it himself. Everyone with a sheut could learn to do new things, train themselves to access more facets of their otherworldly powers . . . to some degree. I was still trying to maste
r my own damn innate power. It was like trying to leash a kraken.

  Eyebrows drawing together, I stared down at the phone. Dom returned my stare with so much intensity I had no doubt that he could truly see me.

  “Touch . . . mirror . . .” There was no mistaking it this time—it was Dom’s voice whispering through my mind.

  “Did you hear that?” I asked Nik, eyes flicking his way.

  Again, he shook his head.

  I licked my lips and, hands shaking, lowered the phone to the mirror. I set it down on the drawn-on glass and held my breath.

  Nothing happened.

  For nearly a minute, I watched, waiting. But nothing happened. Dom just stared back at me from the phone’s screen, blinking every ten or fifteen seconds.

  “Maybe turn it over?” Nik suggested.

  “Oh, right.” I gently flipped the phone over so it was facedown against the mirror.

  Almost immediately, silver poured into the mirror, billowing out below the surface like ink in water. Strands of it shot up from the mirror’s surface, diving back down almost immediately as the silvery filaments coiled around the lines of the drawing until the ink from the permanent marker was no longer black, but solid, gleaming silver.

  My hands covered my mouth, my eyes bulging. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I watched the impossible happen.

  The now-silver drawing deepened, gaining shadow and depth, becoming three-dimensional right before my eyes. Dom seemed to gain weight even as he gained substance, and his feet fell away, as though drawn by some other-dimensional form of gravity, until he was standing on an unseen surface below, face upraised. He stared up at me through the mirror.

  “Help me,” I said to Nik, reaching for the mirror’s edges. I gripped either side and lifted it a few inches off the ground, intending to stand it upright.