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

by Lindsey Fairleigh

  “Thanks, Mary,” Nik said. While the unfamiliar Nejeret might’ve been a stranger to me, apparently Nik knew her.

  Tension tightened my shoulders in an instant, and I had to swallow the swell of jealousy that had become all too common these days. Oh, the joys of sharing a soul bond. It brought unimaginable pleasure and a sense of love and understanding I’d never considered possible, but along with that came a possessiveness so extreme it verged on stalker-level obsession. Sometimes it was a struggle not to let the soul bond overtake me completely. Sometimes it seemed a hell of a lot easier to just give in. But much as I enjoyed being bonded to Nik, I also still kind of liked being me.

  I reminded myself not to hate the woman on the other side of the door just because Nik knew her name. He’d probably crossed paths with her at some point during his thousands of years of being alive. That wasn’t so crazy to believe, was it? Just because he knew her name didn’t mean they shared any kind of a history, sexual or otherwise. They were probably just acquaintances. Little more than strangers. There was no reason to jump to conclusions or believe the worst. No reason at all.

  My hands balled into fists. Once I realized what I was doing, I forced my fingers to stretch out and took a deep, calming breath.

  Nik started to close the door, then stopped and pulled it open a few more inches. “Tell me, Mary—is Set here?” he asked, referring to my absentee father.

  Not that I held our distant father-daughter relationship against my dear old dad—he’d been possessed by the spirit of the mad god Apep when he’d knocked up my mom, and he hadn’t broken free of Apep’s hold until I was all but grown. Now, Set managed things on this side of the pond, acting as Heru’s co-regent in the European arena, so we hadn’t exactly had much of a chance to make up for lost time. One day, maybe, when things calmed down. But until then, our onstage appearances would have to pass for father-daughter quality time.

  “He is,” Mary said. “He’s with the princess.” I assumed she was talking about Princess Anne, the heir apparent to the British throne and also Set’s longtime paramour. “She’s rather nervous,” Mary added.

  We were about to do our thirteenth live town hall–style meeting. As always, Nik was there as both participant and bodyguard to me. Heru and his sister Aset—Nik’s mother—would be showing up directly onstage via Heru’s sheut power, which enabled him to teleport from any location on earth to any location on earth. A few other local Nejeret leaders would be joining us as well, most notably Princess Anne. This would be her official coming out; after today, the world would know that the future Queen of England was a young immortal. Not exactly an insignificant revelation.

  I couldn’t help but wonder if my thoughts had just touched upon the root source of my overwhelming sense of unease. Would the humans react badly to finding out that one of their own future leaders wasn’t, in fact, human? Heru and Set claimed they’d accounted for every possible outcome, from rioting in the streets of London and other major cities across the globe to an all-out declaration of war against Nejerets. We all knew this was a risky step, but most of us agreed it was a necessary one, too. Progress demanded it. The only way through our current mess was forward.

  I moved closer to the table in the corner, staring at the drawstring bag containing my tarot cards. Hands on my hips, I drew my bottom lip between my teeth. I could just check the top card. Quick and easy.

  My palm itched, and I rubbed it against my hip absently.

  A heartbeat later, I froze, eyes going wide.

  Ever so slowly, I pulled my hand away from my slacks and turned it over so I could see my palm. That onyx and moonstone Eye of Horus inked into my skin glowed with a subtle, otherworldly light. And my skin itched with an all-too-clear warning: something bad was going to happen.

  It wasn’t just a niggling feeling anymore, and I certainly couldn’t write it off as “nerves” about the impending meeting any longer. The threads of At and anti-At lacing through my body and soul agreed—the danger was real. The rise and fall of my chest grew more pronounced with each breath as I stared at my palm and processed what this warning meant.

  Nik shut the door and turned to me. “Kitty Kat?” When I didn’t respond, he took a step my way. “Kat?”

  I raised my eyes, meeting Nik’s, and turned my hand so the palm was facing him, giving him a solid eyeful of the glowing symbol.

  Nik whistled, long and slow. He knew very well that the ancient protection amulet I’d tattooed on my palm—the symbol that represented our clan—could function as an actual alarm when danger was nearby. He closed the distance between us, reaching out to take my hand in his and get a closer look. “Any sense as to what it’s trying to warn you about?”

  I curled my fingers into a tight fist and clenched my jaw, shaking my head. “It doesn’t work like that,” I told him. And then I frowned. Maybe the symbol couldn’t give me more than a generalized warning, but there was another way to find out more specifics. Screw focus; it was time to give in to the urge to do a reading.

  I snatched the drawstring bag off the table. I could feel the cards within humming with power even through the fabric. With nimble fingers, I untied the loose knot holding the bag closed and dumped the deck of tarot cards out into my hand. They sizzled and crackled with otherworldly energy. They were charged and ready to go. Whatever was going on, whatever had triggered the Eye of Horus on my palm, the cards would have the answers. Or at least some answers.

  I didn’t even bother with shuffling. There was no need, not when the power was thrumming through the deck so strongly. Holding my breath, I drew the top card and flipped it over.

  The moment I saw which card I’d drawn, I hissed and dropped it on the coffee table.

  Judgement.

  The scene was much the same as it had been weeks ago: all of my Nejeret loved ones, dressed in rags and scattered across a desolate landscape. The Seattle skyline was visible in the distance, the buildings ravaged and crumbling. More Nejerets were fanning out beyond my friends and family along the decaying earth, unidentifiable where the ink blurred and lines became too close.

  But there was one major, glaring difference. I wasn’t depicted on the card. The last few times I’d drawn Judgement from the deck, an image of me had floated above the depressing scene, arms outstretched to either side and back to the viewer, skin glowing with a brilliant golden soul aura. Now, there was no sign of me. I was gone. Vanished.

  “Judgement,” Nik said, craning his neck to get a better look at the card. “That looks dreary. What does it mean?”

  “Nothing good,” I said hollowly.

  Judgement itself wasn’t a negative card, but in its current incarnation, it exuded an almost palpable sense of dread.

  Numbly, I set the deck of tarot cards on the coffee table, eyes glued to the only card lying faceup. “Judgement usually means that some decision will need to be made,” I told Nik. “Something about the past—before the subject of the reading can move on to their better, brighter future.” I frowned, eyes narrowing as I studied the card. “Or, it sometimes has to do with a spiritual awakening.”

  Considering I’d been present on the card the last few times I’d drawn it, soul glowing a bright gold, and now I was nowhere in sight, I thought it might be closer to the latter meaning.

  After a moment, I added, “But it’s mostly about letting go of the past.” This particular scene suggested that the thing from the past that needed to be let go of was me. And that if it didn’t happen, the consequences would be dire . . . for everyone.

  That little realization gave rise to goose bumps that started on my arms and worked their way around the rest of my body.

  “Huh,” Nik said.

  I glanced at him. “You’re telling me.”

  BOOM.

  My heart stopped for a moment as the room quaked with the force of an explosion.

  I steadied myself with a hand on the table, while Nik reached for me, our gazes locked in a shocked stare. A heartbeat late, we both looke
d at the door, then back at each other.

  To shake this building enough that we had to steady ourselves, the explosion had to be either really damn close or really damn huge. Both were terrifying options.

  “Must be the fucking Senate,” Nik said, his voice a whiplash. He turned and rushed to the door.

  “It’s got to be them,” I said, hastily collecting the tarot cards and stuffing the whole deck back into its drawstring bag. I tucked the deck safely out of sight in the pocket of my leather coat, draped over the arm of the couch and hurried to the door.

  Nik blocked my way with an extended arm, his other hand on the knob. “Stay here, Kitty Kat. I’ll check it out.”

  I scoffed. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I said. I mean, had he even met me? Stay here? Not a chance in hell.

  Nik laughed a dry, humorless laugh and shook his head. “Fine, but don’t do anything stupid out there.”

  Oh yeah, he’d met me. And he knew me well.

  As I followed Nik out of the room and into the palazzo’s extravagantly decorated second-floor gallery and was surrounded by the sound of panic and mayhem from below, I thought we had our answer about the weird feeling I’d been having—the something that was coming was here. Except the sense of dreadful expectation wasn’t gone. If anything, it was worse.

  This wasn’t it. The explosion wasn’t the “bad” thing setting me on edge. Or, at least, it wasn’t all of it.

  More was coming. And soon.

  Chapter Two

  We raced down the cavernous gallery, our footsteps amplified by the high ceiling and echoing all around us as we ran. The sounds of confusion and shouting from the lower level grew louder as we neared the main staircase.

  We barreled down the left side of the imposing double staircase, the slap of shoes on marble drowned out by the noise from below. People pushed their way into the palazzo through the main entrance, fighting to get through. The crowd was bottlenecking at the towering doors. From the wild eyes and frenzied energy, it was safe to assume that the danger was outside and they were seeking refuge within the palazzo.

  When we reached the landing where the two staircases converged, I grabbed Nik’s arm and pulled him to a stop so we could look out the tall, arched window. It gave us a good view of the Piazza Navona and the chaos filling the elongated space. An ocean of people moved away from the church across the square, but their progress was a slow current. A crowd like that, with everyone fighting to get ahead of everyone else, was downright scary. It was everyone for themselves, and being trampled was a real danger. A few enterprising people had even climbed the Fiumi Fountain, clambering up and over the four river gods to the towering obelisk at the center. At least whoever reached that first would be safe from being trampled.

  It was easy enough to figure out where the explosion had originated. The thick plume of smoke billowing up from the far side of the square was a dead giveaway.

  “The church,” I said to Nik, shouting over the cacophony below.

  The church, Sant’Agnese, was to be the secondary location for the day’s events, where just Nik, Heru, and I were scheduled to address a larger audience of humans for a shorter period of time after the main meeting in the palazzo.

  “I see it,” Nik said.

  Sant’Agnese was a wide, white stone building with a centralized dome, a couple of towers, and enough other architectural flourishes to make it impossible for us to tell whether the smoke was coming from the church itself or something behind it.

  Until a thick fissure snaked up the front of the church’s dome. The sound of stone cracking was so faint I almost thought I’d imagined it.

  “Holy shit,” I breathed.

  I watched in horror, paralyzed as the break in the stone reached the bell tower atop the dome. I held my breath, half expecting the whole thing to collapse in on itself. When ten seconds passed without anything happening, I exhaled in momentary relief and glanced at Nik sidelong.

  He was squinting, his focus entirely on the church. “The doors are shut,” he said, then closed his eyes and tilted his head to the side, like he was listening really, really hard. After a few heartbeats, he opened his eyes and looked at me. “Can you hear that?”

  I shook my head and shrugged. “I can’t hear anything over this,” I said, gesturing behind me to the sea of people crammed into the lobby of the palazzo. The sounds of their panic echoed all around us.

  “It’s faint,” Nik said, “but I think I can hear people banging on the doors of the church.”

  My eyes opened wide, drawn back to the church, and my lips parted, my heart dropping into my stomach. “The overflow,” I whispered, not wanting to believe that the thousands of people who’d bought overflow tickets, giving them admittance to the second, standing-room-only Q&A session, were still in the church.

  From the looks of the fractured dome, the place could become a death trap in a matter of seconds. I gripped Nik’s forearm. “If all of those people are still in there . . .” I exchanged a horrified look with Nik.

  “We have to get them out,” he said.

  I nodded vehemently. Not a moment later, a second crack formed in the dome.

  We turned away from the window simultaneously and ran toward the final set of stairs. I took the stairs two at a time, but Nik was even faster. “See if you can find whoever did this,” he shouted back to me. “I’ll handle the church.”

  “Alright,” I yelled.

  With his mastery over his sheut powers, Nik would be far more effective at the church, anyway. With the merest thought, he could reinforce the dome and any other damaged part of the church with At and bore holes through the door and any other blockages caused by debris from the explosion.

  And me—I loved a good chase. My heart rate picked up at the prospect, the excitement of a hunt thrumming through my veins, bringing me back to the days when Mari and I had been tasked with tracking down rogue Nejerets for the Senate. We’d been partners for nearly two decades and had worked as a flawless team. The hunt wouldn’t be quite as fun without her. But it would still be fun.

  When Nik reached the foot of the stairs, he dove into the anxious crowd, but I paused six stairs up, using the elevation to my advantage. From this vantage point, I could see almost everything going on in the lobby. People still squeezed in through the main entrance, despite the increasingly cramped quarters. There were hundreds of people stuffed in here, maybe thousands, but nothing about any of them suggested that they were the culprit.

  I could still feel a slight tingle on my palm, but the itching sensation had mostly abated. Whoever had done this wasn’t close enough to trigger the magical alarm. I wouldn’t find them in the palazzo.

  Which meant I had to get outside.

  I raced the rest of the way down the stairs and launched into the throng crowding the lobby. They slowed me down, but I couldn’t stop. A sense of terrible inevitability pushed me onward, making my heart hammer in my chest.

  The crowd became denser the closer I drew to the main doorway. I shouldered people out of the way, moving against the stream, and eventually managed to squeeze through the doorway.

  I was on the wrong side of the palazzo. The church was on the opposite side, which meant the bomber was probably over there too, and the only way to get to the piazza was to head around the block. That wouldn’t be the easiest thing to do, what with the huge crowd amassed on the sidewalk and street beyond, some trying to get up the stairs and into the palace, others throwing caution to the wind for the sake of the excitement and heading toward the square.

  “Shit,” I said, standing atop the entry stairway and scanning the crowd.

  It was much larger now than it had been when Nik and I first arrived. The people of Rome had greeted us by the tens of thousands with handmade signs and shouts of welcome. But this crowd buzzed with anxiety, the raised, panicked voices only building the tense expectation within me.

  I had to find the culprit before they could do worse than they already had. The sense of mountin
g dread all but ensured that this catastrophe was only just beginning.

  I wanted to scream at these people to leave. To get the hell out of here, away from the church. Away from the piazza and the palazzo and the bomber. Away from me. They should have been running for their damn lives. But they weren’t, which meant I had to stop the bomber before another, worse explosion exploited the human tendency to rubberneck. Before curiosity could get all of these people killed.

  I couldn’t see anything in this crowd, not from the ground. There definitely wasn’t any clear way through the throng. I needed to get higher.

  “Out of my way!” I shouted as I pushed between people. “Move, dammit!”

  I earned a few angry looks, quickly followed by shocked second glances. I heard the word “goddess” thrown around—and my name, too—my presence distracting the people from the very real and present danger, and an eerie hush fell over the crowd in the immediate vicinity. They finally seemed to realize who I was and that I was trying to get through, and as they made an opening for me, I felt a rare rush of gratitude for my newfound celebrity.

  I raced through the crowd, aiming for the blockade that had been set up in preparation for our arrival. I had my eye on a police SUV with garish yellow and blue paint checkering the sides.

  Once I reached the car, I leapt onto the hood, the metal crunching under my boots. I climbed up the windshield, using the bar of lights to help pull myself up, then stood and surveyed the sea of people surrounding me. My eyes watered, and the taste of smoke was thick in the air. Hands on my hips and eyes squinting, I scanned the area all around me.

  There were so many people. If I was right, if the worst really was yet to come and another bomb went off soon—if it happened in the middle of this immense crowd—the effects would be devastating. So much worse than the destruction at the church.

  As my searching gaze swept across a portion of the crowd on the far side of the street, my palm suddenly burned like I’d grabbed a hot iron, and my heart skipped a beat. The universe was telling me that the threat I sensed via the symbol on my palm—likely whoever was responsible for the church bombing—was somewhere in the group of people on the sidewalk across the street.