The Shadows

  Ehric's reply was muffled by the wind down by the river. "We've just arrived."

  "Wait for him. Do not reveal yourself."

  Assail continued to give instructions, and at the end of it all, Ehric's response was perfect: "As you wish."

  Assail ended the call and sank back into the chair. Taking a deep breath, he cursed. This was going to be a lot of work. But it was the only solution he seemed to have.

  Plus, the fact that this would consume him for the appreciable future? Was exactly what he wanted. And if it didn't work? Well, then he'd be dead and he wouldn't care about anything anymore.

  Not even the woman he longed for with every inch of his body and all of his black, misbegotten heart.

  Her mother had gotten it right with that name of hers.

  Marisol had indeed stolen his soul.

  FIFTY-TWO

  Iam had not intended for Trez's words to sink in any more than the cold breeze had when they'd been standing in the courtyard. He had planned to go inside, eat something fast, and forget that whole interaction had occurred. Go about his night. Head over to the clubs and the restaurant. Push papers, take control, make some decisions that were concrete and solid.

  Instead, he was stuck in the foyer, staring up at the three-story-high ceiling that had been painted by some great artist. The subject matter was, he supposed, inspirational: heroes on venerable steeds, fighting in the clouds, heavenly warriors who were brave and strong and on the side of the righteous.

  But all that glory wasn't why he'd gone into pause mode.

  Trez's destiny was a house of cards, a delicate, tricky thing that had had to be managed all of both their lives. Every move iAm took had to be careful, deliberate, and calculated with the goal of survival.

  His brother's.

  He was a centuries-old virgin because of it.

  Hell, he hadn't even looked at a female, like, ever.

  Whether Trez had been banging them in the clubs, or throwing porn up on the TV, or talking about what he'd done all over his desk, in the back of his car, outside in the fucking parking lot, iAm had never had any interest in any of it.

  He'd been a flatline motherfucker.

  Mother-not-fucker, as it were.

  And yeah, he'd tried on the whole gay thing for size, wondering if maybe he was attracted to men and males.

  Nope.

  It had gotten to the point where, if it weren't for the fact that he washed them every night, he'd have wondered whether or not he had any balls.

  Ask yourself what's going to be left for you after I'm gone. If you're honest, I don't think you're going to like the answer any more than I do.

  Without being aware of having come to a decision, iAm turned on his heel and went out through the vestibule. On the front stoop of the massive gray mansion, he stood in the wind . . .

  ...and then took flight.

  On the journey to his destination, flashes of the past battered at him: Trez escaping from the palace. iAm being held until he promised to bring the male back--which had been the last thing he'd actually intended on doing. The mad hunt.

  The cabin on Black Snake Mountain.

  As iAm resumed his form, he had a moment of straight-up nausea as he took in the ragged, weathered structure with its rough vertical siding and its cedar shingles and that rock chimney which extruded from the roofline like a bad tooth. It was . . . exactly the same. Not even kind of the same, with different windows or shrubbery growing or trees that had fallen or overgrown.

  No, for a split second he wasn't sure whether this was years ago or right now.

  Shaking himself, he walked to the front door. The hinges creaked as he opened things up, and at least he was better prepared for what he saw.

  Precisely the same. From the placement of the no-frills furniture, to the old-fire smell, to the drafts that wheedled their way through the walls.

  He closed the door behind him and walked around, his boots making the rough-cut floorboards clap and groan. Over by the river-rock hearth, he found a generous supply of wood--guess the last hunters who had used the place had been good little helpers and ready to pay shit forward.

  His hands shook as he laid logs on the andirons and shoved pine needles underneath. Taking out the lighter he kept on him thanks to having worked with a lot of temperamental gas cooktops, he lit things, fanned them, got the flames up and rolling.

  He told himself it was a waste of time and heat. She wasn't going to come. There was no way she was going to come.

  He was just going to hang here for a half hour or so, play witness to his brain sinking into some dark, dangerous territory, and then put out the fire and head back to Caldie.

  The clubs. He would go to the clubs first, and then--

  The sound of that creaky door opening made him stiffen.

  maichen's scent flooded the interior.

  Cranking his head around, he lifted his eyes. There in the doorway, she stood in the flesh, her robes flapping in the cold wind rushing in from behind her.

  She was both a ghost . . . and soul-shatteringly vital.

  And as he looked at her, he knew exactly why they had both come.

  FIFTY-THREE

  Selena took the long underground tunnel to the training center slowly. It was a case of one foot after the other, from the base of the short stairs that led into the subterranean passageway to the door that opened into the office closet. Every time she had to enter a passcode or push her way through a jamb, she waited for the reconsideration to hit her. The turnaround to happen. The back-upstairs to be made manifest.

  Instead, she ended up not just emerging into Tohr's work space, but going through its glass door and coming out into the concrete corridor beyond.

  The clinic was about thirty yards down, that collection of doors coming after all kinds of alternate destinations presented themselves: weight rooms, gyms, locker rooms.

  Her feet didn't stop at any of those.

  No, they took her right to the one place she had resolved never to return to voluntarily.

  Her knock was quiet, an opportunity for a no-reply either because nobody was there (score!) or they were busy helping someone else (sad, but a relief, too) or so engrossed in work they didn't hear her (which was like leaving a voice mail for someone you didn't really want to speak with anyway).

  Doc Jane opened up. And did a whoa-hey! recoil. "Selena, hi."

  She lifted her palm up lamely. "Hi."

  There was a pause. And then the doctor said, "Is this a social thing or do you need . . ."

  "You're probably pretty busy, right."

  "Actually, after having been slammed for about three days straight, I've just been catching up on medical records." The female eased back. "Come on in if you like."

  Selena braced herself. Stepped over the threshold. Tried desperately not to look at that exam table.

  Meanwhile, Doc Jane went over and sat down on a rolling stool, folding her white coat around herself and crossing her legs. The scrubs she had on underneath were blue. Her Crocs were red.

  Her eyes were forest green. And grave.

  Selena started to walk around, but everywhere she looked, all she saw were glass-fronted stainless-steel cabinets with torture instruments in them. Rattled, she eyed the door to the corridor, which was shutting slowly, silently, on its own.

  Like the lid of a coffin.

  "Hey," Doc Jane said, "I was just going to go stretch my legs. You want to join me for a couple of laps around the gym?"

  "Oh, God, yes. Thank you."

  The pair of them went out together, heading down passed a number of doors and many, many yards of corridor. When they got to their destination, Doc Jane opened the heavy steel panel and turned on the caged ceiling lights.

  "I know it's weird, but I love this place," Jane said. "The wood with that beautiful honey-yellow color and everything smells like floor cleaner. Which is kinda nuts, because I hate chemicals in the air or on things."

  As the doctor started them walking ar
ound the far edge of the basketball courts, Selena was pretty sure that the pace was kept slow on purpose.

  They'd made it down the short side, under the hoop, and through the left turn to head along the bleachers before Selena said anything.

  "I think . . ." Tears came to her eyes and she realized she was terrified.

  "We have all the time you need," Doc Jane said softly.

  Selena wiped under both eyes. "I'm afraid to talk about it. Like if I do . . ."

  "Are you having some symptoms?"

  She couldn't speak. But found herself nodding. "I think . . . yes."

  Doc Jane made an mmm-hmmm sound. "Do you want to tell me what they are?"

  Selena put out her hand, the one that had gotten frozen on the doorknob, and flared her fingers wide. As she flexed things open and closed, her mind went on a wild ride of Are they worse? Are they better? Are they the same?

  "Your hands?" When all she did was nod again, Doc Jane asked, "Anywhere else?"

  At least this time she could shake her head.

  "Do you remember," the doctor said, "when an attack came before, whether or not you had any prodromals?"

  "What does that mean?"

  "Any sort of advance warning?"

  Selena brushed at her eyes again and wiped her hands on the pants Trez had taken off her body no more than a half hour before. With a surge of agony, she wanted to go back to that moment, back to the time before her disease had started talking again.

  "I don't know. I don't remember ever noticing anything. But before . . . I used to ignore it as much as I could. I didn't want to think about it." She glanced over at the doctor. "I'm sorry that I didn't come back down to see you, you know, after I . . ."

  Doc Jane batted at the air. "God, girl, don't worry about it. There are no hard-and-fast rules, and you have to do what feels right. People need to direct their own lives."

  "Is there anything we can do for me? Anything . . . we should do?"

  The healer took her time in answering. "I'm going to be straight with you, okay?"

  Ah, yes. Nothing was available. "I'd appreciate it."

  "For the last forty-eight hours, there have been a lot of people searching for solutions. Manny's reached out to his human contacts. I've talked with Havers. Rehv headed up to the symphath territory--and I got a text from iAm saying that he went to the s'Hisbe."

  "Nothing?"

  "Havers is only aware of patients who struggle with localized episodes, like arthritis flare-ups that hit hands or knees, hips or shoulders. Nothing with the systemic symptoms as severe as you present with. He treats the patients with anti-inflammatories and painkillers--even though he's tried some human drugs, he hasn't had any breakthroughs of note when it comes to prevention or cure. And neither the symphaths nor the Shadows have any familiarity with the issue."

  Management. That was the best she could hope for.

  "Can you tell me how much time I have?"

  Doc Jane shook her head. "I can check your inflammatory markers. But I don't really have anything to compare them to--and the attacks come on fast, from what I understand. That suggests a sudden surge, like an earthquake."

  They kept going around the gym, heading down, down, down to the distant end, where there was a door marked, EQUIPMENT ROOM AND PT.

  "I guess we should go back and check my . . . you know." Selena circled the air next to her with her hand. "Inflammation things."

  "We can if you want. I think the important thing is that you do whatever makes you feel supported and calmer."

  "Okay. All right."

  A moment later, she felt Doc Jane take her hand and squeeze. And as she looked over, she was shocked to see the emotion on the healer's face. Such stark sadness, a pain that went deep.

  Selena tugged the other female to a halt. "This is not your fault."

  Those forest-green eyes went around the cavernous expanse of the gym, not landing anywhere. "I just . . . I want to help. I want to give you the rest of the many, many years you're due. I want you to live. And the fact that I can't find a solution . . . I'm so sorry, Selena. I'm so sorry--and I'm going to keep fighting. I'm going to keep trying, looking. . . ."

  It seemed liked the most natural thing in the world to put her arms around the woman and hold on.

  "I'm so sorry," Doc Jane choked out.

  Later, Selena would realize . . .

  ...it was the first of her good-byes.

  *

  maichen had struggled to find the cabin. Black Snake Mountain was easy enough. East side of the peak was also not a problem. And the scent of the fire should have been simple because even when she was in molecular form, her sense of smell was strong, and there was nothing clearer than smoke on a Fall night. Even so, it had been difficult. She had traveled through the air, searching, searching. . . .

  She had been on the verge of turning around and going back, an aching sadness taking hold within her--but then that smoke had come upon the breeze and she had crisscrossed over its trail, tracking the strength of the scent, zeroing in on its source.

  And there was the cabin he had spoken of.

  She had Shadowed up to the thing, staying in her energy form, shooting over the scruffy ground, going around the small, simple structure--reassuring herself that it was, in fact, him and him alone.

  Taking form, she approached the door and knocked. When he didn't answer, she opened the way in.

  He was by the fire, crouched down, tending to the flames.

  Instantly, his big body rose to a stand, the flickering light behind him creating an aura.

  As she stepped inside, the wind caught the door and flipped it closed, the slam making her jump.

  "It's cold in here," he said roughly. "I'm trying to get it warmer."

  Seeing him was enough to make her completely unaware of her surroundings. She could have been in a desert, on the ocean, off to the polar ice caps and nothing would have registered.

  "Come closer." He beckoned her with his hand. "To the fire."

  Her body obeyed him without hesitation, although it was to him she went, not the flames. And as she stepped beside him, he moved back as if he didn't want to crowd her.

  "Let me get you something to sit on."

  Before she could tell him not to bother himself, he went over to a bedding platform and pulled the soft pad off the top along with some rough blankets. With sure hands, he arranged everything and then once again moved away.

  The sex rolling off of him was irresistible.

  As cool as he was trying to be, as respectful as he was being, she could sense the need in him.

  And yes, she realized . . . this was indeed why she had risked so much to come here.

  She wanted him, too. Even though it was going to create a crisis. Even though it was irresponsible. Even though it made no sense.

  She had followed the rules all her life. But there was no responsibility or duty that was even half as captivating as he was--and her time for what relative freedom she had was running out.

  Lowering herself onto the bedding, she crossed her legs under her heavy robing. "Please. Sit with me?"

  "You sure you want me to." He loomed over her, his dark face absorbing that playful light.

  "Yes," she breathed.

  He lowered himself to his knees, his heavy-lidded eyes moving over the robing that covered her from crown of head to sole of foot.

  "Will you let me see you," he said in a deep voice.

  maichen swallowed hard. Then she lifted her hands to the mesh that covered her face--but it was to hold the masking in place. "I am afraid."

  "Of what?"

  What if he didn't like what he saw?

  "I already know you're beautiful," he said, as if he read her mind.

  "How?"

  He touched the center of his large chest. "I see you in here. I know you . . . in here. You are very beautiful to me, no matter what you look like."

  Acutely aware of everything that she hadn't told him about herself, she whispered, "We
do not know each other."

  "Does that matter to you?"

  "No."

  "Me, neither." He frowned and looked into the fire. "The last couple of nights, with everything going on with my brother--it's been an eye-opener. I don't want to waste any more time. I want to get on with living, instead of keep going in this neutral-zone nightmare, waiting for the ax to fall."

  "Is your brother . . . is he going to come back to the Territory ever? They say . . . he refuses his duty, even though the Queen has decreed after the mourning . . ."

  She had to stop. The anxiety was too great.

  She was supposed to come unto her mate untouched.

  That was not going to happen.

  But what could the Anointed One do to her? They were both being forced into the mating, and tradition dictated that he was essentially her property.

  A protest from him would be like a chair making an argument against being sat upon.

  iAm shook his head. "After Trez loses Selena, all bets are off--and frankly, that Princess? She isn't going to want what's left of him, not unless she's into necrophilia. He's going to be dead whether he's walking or in a grave."

  maichen hung her head. She had never not known about the mating that awaited her. It had been part of her rearing, the expectation that the Anointed One was destined by the stars to be her impregnating mate--and that with him, through him, she would ensure her mother's bloodline continued to rule over the s'Hisbe.

  Preordained. Written in the sacred stars.

  She had accepted what was her due the same way she had accepted everything about her life, from her station to her loneliness to the perennial sense that she was missing out on so much through no fault or choice of her own.

  She cleared her throat. "I would imagine that the Princess would let him go, if she could. She would not want anyone to suffer, most especially one who had lost a female of worth."

  "Do you know her?"

  "I have attended her."

  "What's she like?" Before she could answer, he put up his hand. "Actually, I don't need to know."

  "I think she would say that she is as trapped as your brother. I think . . . she is in a jail of destiny, too."

  He rubbed his face. "That actually makes me hate her less. I guess I never thought about what it's been like for her."

  "She was told of her destiny just as he was. She has not chosen any of this."

  iAm gave a short laugh. "Maybe they can tell the Queen to go screw. If both of them refuse to play the game, it could be all over. Not that it's going to save my brother from losing his love."