Chapter 23: Deception

  “It’s done.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, of course I’m sure, the chosen soul mate is in place,” the voice sounded rather testy as though its owner didn’t want to be here.

  “And Wicus?”

  “Is one of those affected.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” the shapeshifter hissed at his companion. Still unsure whether he was an ally or an opportunist.

  The rogue Paragon’s red flamed irises glanced around the alley warily, clearly wanting to depart from the human world with all due haste. The brilliant light from his eyes providing the only illumination in the darkness.

  He’s obviously nervous about betraying his kind, the shifter thought, not as worried as the Paragon about being seen.

  It was a tame enough alley, sheltered from prying eyes or witnesses which was the shapeshifter’s reason for its selection as a meeting spot. If only the smell could be overlooked. A most unpleasant odor of urine, feces, garbage, sweat, dirt and something else -- he didn’t want to think too much about -- mingled together to assault his nose.

  Lifting a hand to his upper lip, he snapped two fingers lightly, magically producing a more fragrant aroma and sniffed appreciatively.

  The Paragon seemed to watch his actions. Light from his red gaze lessened as he squinted at him.

  One good thing about his newly acquired confederate, the shifter mused wryly, glancing around in the growing gloom, he’s easy to see in the dark.

  There in the distance was the outline of the Eiffel Tower. Its lights providing a beacon against the night sky.

  His gaze returned to the alley’s other occupant, boldly meeting the red flamed eyes. An unpleasant thought springing to mind. Would the Paragon double-cross him as he’d done to his own kind? the shifter mused, careful to keep his appearance in shadow.

  He’d worked hard perfecting the guise and believed it was effective. But still, he was cautious around the Paragon.

  A wide brim hat was pulled low over his head and a pair of colored glasses hid most of his face. His teeth might show when he spoke-- that didn’t bother him, only part of his mouth was visible. The chin and neck were covered by a thick scarf. Or so it appeared.

  As many times as he’d examined the disguise in the mirror, the scarf still bothered him. The way the fabric didn’t fall away when he moved his lips --it was a tell-tale sign that the scarf was an extension of his skin. It lacked definite edges. A flaw in his design.

  He pursed his lips. Now wasn’t the time to worry about it.

  The Paragon had muttered something that he didn’t quite catch. He examined his cohort again.

  There was something about the precise way that the Paragon enunciated his words that the shapeshifter found irritating. Or perhaps it was merely the certainty that he knew what this fellow before him really was: a coward and a traitor. Could there be anything more detestable than a person who’s turned? Unintentionally, his thoughts strayed, would the Paragons kill one of their own --like they had his father?

  The fact that the Paragon was aiding him, didn’t mitigate the shifter’s opinion. He sniffed again disdainfully. Alley stink had nothing to do with his wrinkled nose this time.

  “Can it be undone?” he asked suddenly.

  The question clearly startled the Paragon. Blinking several times, the action creating a flickering sensation on the walls.

  “There’s never any guarantee that mated souls will stay together…life and other factors can get in the way... even those obstacles can never eliminate a true connection. The odds for this couple seem better than most. They were naturally compatible before the adjustments were made, live in the same geographic region and have comparable tastes and lifestyles,” he paused, drawing a breath, exhaling before speaking again.

  “Why are you questioning the strength of this bond?” the Paragon asked with a puzzled expression. “There’s no known way to un-mate a pair of matched souls, short of death. No soul minder in his right mind would kill a person. Doing so would end his career. Not to mention get him exiled from the realm between reality and the tangible.”

  “Only exiled?” the shifter asked, excitement in his tone. An exiled Paragon would surely be easier to target.

  “You sound as though you’re anticipating something…do you know what Wicus is contemplating? How can that be?” The Paragon’s level of perception was off the mark but still rather startling.

  “I know nothing of him or his plans. I only want to understand how this mating ritual works,” the shifter lied persuasively.

  “There are no guarantees...but then you know that already.”

  He nodded once.

  It was like the seer predicted. He would be successful. His plan so far had worked and now phase two was complete. Patience. He need only wait to draw his enemy out then he would have his revenge. “Does Wicus suspect anything?”

  “No... He blames Ozel. He’s convinced that his former mentor betrayed him.”

  “Good.”

  “Wicus can’t stand disloyalty. He despises deception…a breach of trust is something akin to an unforgivable sin,” explained the Paragon.

  “I see.” Wonder what he would think of this one.

  Behind the glasses the shapeshifter’s eyes shrewdly scrutinized the Paragon. This one’s no soul minder, of course not, he thought, that would make this too easy. Still, his fiery eyed cohort had access.

  The Paragon appeared to be a perfect specimen of a man, except for the glowing eyes, visibly tense and alert. They were a dead giveaway that this person was not a man at all. And yet, some of the old vices remained, in this case -- the Paragon’s desire for power, the shifter mused.

  “Now it’s up to you,” offered the Paragon. It was plain from the furtive way his eyes kept circling the alley that he was eager to wrap up this conversation and return to his own world.

  “Yes, so it would seem.”

  Adjusting the spectacles with his right hand, the shifter narrowed his eyes narrowed.

  “What about this special magic from Emily Wren?”

  “How do you know about--” the ancient Paragon looked surprised. An instant later he seemed to dismiss his own curiosity, “What about it? She has met her soul mate…it’s been released.”

  “Are you sure?”

  The Paragon nodded.

  He’d better be right or Emily Wren will forfeit her life, the shapeshifter thought angrily, chiding himself for not turning back to ask the seer if the girl could be a threat to his plans. How could she? They were supposed to succeed. Still, the girl was a wild card.

  Gaze shifting back to his fiery eyed companion, he thought, this one has his uses. Not that he felt any loyalty to the Paragon. He would get rid of him in a heartbeat if it suited his needs. Patience.

  The only reservation he had was Wicus.

  What really happened? Until he knew the answer to that, he would keep his identity hidden and maintain a respectful distance from these Paragons. There was simply too much at stake.

  And if he was wrong?

  NO, he thought, shuddering with barely contained rage. Confidence surging. He wouldn’t contemplate that notion. The seer had said his plans would succeed. He was in it for the long game. He had time. Eternity.

  There was movement in the gloom at the opposite end of the alley. The Paragon flicked two fingers, his eyes were suddenly hidden by a pair of dark sunglasses. What radiance they had provided, vanished.

  Both pair of glasses looked toward the newcomers.

  “Boss are you there?” hissed a voice with a slight accent. The pale nondescript face that it came from was glancing around in the dark, his hand firmly gripping the upper arm of another man.

  “I believe he is one of yours...I’ll leave you to speak with them in private,” whispered the Paragon, already stepping away.

  “Yes he is. You may go...but remain accessible...I will be in touch,” the shapeshifter added with unn
ecessary menace.

  The Paragon didn’t hesitate, stepping the few paces required to exit the alley. He disappeared around the corner.

  The accented newcomer clearly saw the Paragon’s exit and walked over, tugging the arm of the other man. “He didn’t want to come, but I brought him anyway.”

  “He didn’t? Imagine that. I’ll take it from here,” the shifter acknowledged, without bothering to thank his lackey.

  The man nodded, smiling only enough to reveal his dangerous fangs in the dimness. Clearly not a man but a vampire. He released the captive’s arm. The captive was a vampire too.

  “What do you have to say for yourself?” Not pausing for a reply. “You had one mission, provide interference...you did a piss poor job of it,” the shapeshifter accused.

  The second vampire cowered.

  “I tried,” he shook his head vaguely, “it was like something...some kind of force was guiding them...NO driving them there. It wasn’t natural.”

  “Interesting...I’d heard that there’d been outside help.”

  Wicus had unknown allies, the shifter thought. Still, failure was almost laid at his door because of this imbecile. What would he do with him now? It was a rhetorical question. While he had reservations about draining the life out of a Paragon, he wasn’t so cautious when it came to the bloodsuckers.

  The vampire must have guessed this. He shuddered as if the hair on the back of his neck was standing up. Evidently frightened of the shifter.

  Good.

  The shifter’s hand roughly grabbed the vampire by the shoulder, digging his fingers into the flesh. He gave the vamp a hard pinch, nothing more. Widening his smile to display even white teeth. “Not much you can do when people who possess magic interfere…huh?” he said, sounding deceptively genial.

  Heaving a sigh, the vampire clearly relaxed. “What you said before...about contacting you if something went uh... wrong... I...um...well, I’m sorry, I waited so long,” he apologized, looking appropriately abashed.

  “Well, it almost did,” observed the shifter dryly.

  “The meeting happened, though, right...that’s got to count for something.”

  “Yes, I suppose it does.”

  There was a loud screech near the mouth of the alley disrupting the business inside.

  The accented vampire had been quietly watching the exchange between him and the bloodsucking buffoon. Now he half turned to listen for sounds of anyone who might be coming their way.

  Seconds later there was a faint thump as a scrawny tabby cat landed on her paws on a plastic trash can. Smelling the occupants ahead, she froze, seemed to reconsider her decision to join them and screeched again, fleeing back in the opposite direction. The cat couldn’t have run faster if the devil himself were on her tail.

  All was quiet for the space of a breath.

  The second vampire nervously ran a hand under his bulbous nose, quickly sniffing twice. Lank, black hair falling across his forehead as he did so. He grinned weakly. “Thanks boss, I appreciate you hearing me out,” he said, extending his right hand.

  The shapeshifter reached forward, stopping for a spate of time before grasping the outstretched hand. Quickly pulling it forward for closer inspection.

  “That’s quite a ring,” he observed, examining the intricate design, a golden cobra coiled upright on its tail, ready to strike.

  “I took it off a high roller in Vegas about 50 years ago... Might say he came up snake eyes...I drained him twice, first his bank account, then his throat,” the dark haired vampire grinned broadly. Undeniably pleased by the turn in the conversation.

  It’s time, the shifter mused, looking at the vampire’s face. He clearly thinks he’s going to make it out of the alley alive. He’s wrong. Having survived the cruelties of others, the shifter’s own capacity for such excesses knew no bounds.

  His fingers were on the vampire’s throat, shifting into blades, slicing straight through the skin and flesh until they reached past his jugular vein shifting again before grabbing the bloodsucker’s spine.

  The movement so quick, it happened before the pain had a chance to register on his victim’s face. When it did the expression was one of definite incredulity which seemed to say --How did this shapeshifter do such feats?

  Letting the body fall, the shifter turned to the accented vampire. His shoulders rigid with defiance should the other object to his actions. No objection came.

  “Go back to your duties, tracker,” the shifter advised, relaxing.

  The pale face nodded, saying nothing before taking his leave. Not once looking at the body on the putrid ground.

  The shapeshifter decided to lay low for a while. Just in case the Paragons’ powers were greater than described. “No point in tempting fate,” he muttered to the corpse at his feet, nudging it with the toe of his shoe.

  * * * * * *

  In the realm between reality and the tangible, scant minutes had passed since Ozel’s hasty departure. Wicus’ mind was still trying to wrap itself around the disloyalty of his mentor.

  Ozel’s double-dealing must have been going on for some time in order to achieve the required adjustments to David’s soul. Wicus thought back to the moment he’d been summoned to the council member’s home amid concerns about his resemblance to the human. Had Ozel been lying to his face then too?

  Had he already been retrofitting David?

  On the verge of betrayal and yet how convincingly Ozel had looked him in the eye!

  Had Wicus known about the deception, he would have acted more quickly to finish his own candidates. He rubbed a hand across his mouth in frustration, scrubbing it up the side of his face to the temple. It didn’t help.

  “Gah!” he hissed.

  Irate and restless with agitation, his gaze flickered to the E-N-D. Soul mate match achieved, the panel had begun to fold in on itself. Closing down operations until it was needed again.

  Not until he noticed its movement did it occur to Wicus that the device had consistently added David’s name to the pool of candidates, even as he’d dismissed it as a glitch.

  Had his arrogance blinded him to the assistance the screen had obviously been trying to provide? Wicus shook his head, now angry at himself for showing such poor judgment. “Help was right there, all along.”

  “What about Josh and Charlie…all the suffering both have endured,” Waxine remarked rather angrily. Her metallic eyes cut sideways at him.

  “Obviously, I cannot change them back--”

  “I wasn’t suggesting that,” Waxine interrupted. “If Emily isn’t a soul mate to either of them…you’ll have to put more humans through the rigors of retrofitting…it just isn’t right.”

  His own taut posture echoed her resentful attitude. Eyes darting back once more to the portal trained on Emily and David. The way she was looking at him, her cobalt gaze riveted on his cyan one. She looks so happy.

  He grimaced.

  “She belongs with Josh or Charlie, not this fool,” he raged, pausing for a fairly long time as he considered the options.

  Beside him, the flames of his companion rose. A line formed between the candelabra’s brows as she no doubt engaged in the same cognitive gymnastics.

  “You know your options are limited,” Waxine stated softly. Her burnished gaze staring at the new couple.

  He nodded.

  Pain filled his thoughts as he continued to spy on the pair, knowing this wasn’t over. Could he really unmate a soul? Doubt reared it’s ugly head. He would let Emily have this moment and figure out what might be done -- if anything. There was time enough to decide. Neither of his candidates were finished. As he outlined the plan in his mind, part of him wondered; could he take away a person’s happiness?

  “Could I really separate them?” he muttered to himself, voice barely audible. The idea went against everything he’d ever known, every rule he’d ever learned and yet, he didn’t dismiss it. Hand reaching into his pocket making sure that the chisel and mallet were nearby.
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  He would let the girl have this moment.
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