Shadow Touched (22 page)

D
r. Cameron Kalamos scrubbed a hand over his face to wake himself up. “Take it back to 1:45 again, will you?”

“Got it,” the lab tech said.

Cam dropped his hand to watch the video play for the umpteenth time. First, the screams from bystanders as they turned to run. A policeman shouted and discharged his weapon once. Twice. A commotion as people fleeing came into direct view. Then the image jerked and spiraled as the guy who was holding the phone that captured the event fell on his back, his phone flipping out of his grasp. But there—in the wild careen of color and sound—a shadow.

“Stop. Go back a fraction of a sec.” Cam wanted the best angle, the best saturation of hue. “A little more. There.”

The image frozen before him was angled, the creature in question partially cut off, but the silhouette was distinct enough for Cam to recognize an anthropomorphic form, one with the characteristic tilt of catlike eyes, black as pitch. Black like Cam’s own.

Hell.
Not a wraith, as had been initially reported.

Fae. Its appearance represented the fifth incursion in two months from the Shadowlands into the mid-Atlantic states. All of them not fifty miles from Segue. In fact, Segue was looking more and more like a goddamned epicenter.

A combination of ancient and modern technology could contain a wraith, but nothing of this world could hold something made of Shadow.

Frustration and rage crackled through Cam’s system. Yes, the fae were breaching the world in greater numbers, but by nature, they were random. This incursion seemed calculated. There was no proof, but this had to be Gunnar Martin’s doing. Cam had had his suspicions for a while—all of Segue knew that deadly trouble was coming—but he hadn’t anticipated such an oblique assault.

Martin was needling the Segue Institute. Jabbing them where it hurt—the people.

And his strategy was effective. Resources at Segue were at present stretched too thin to assist, the Segue compound reduced to barely enough personnel to maintain the current wraiths in their captivity and hold the surrounding wall. The remaining scientists in residence were not fighters; they worked around the clock to understand what was happening as the world went dark with magic.

Cam knew he and his fiancée, Ellie, might be able to help—a bitter taste of helplessness coated his mouth—but as they were the targets themselves, they’d only bring disaster with them.

How many lives had been lost playing Martin’s game of cat and mouse?

Cam steeled himself against the sound of screams still echoing in his head. “Bookmark this image. And log the event.”

The people of Strasburg, Virginia, would have to fend for themselves.

The lab tech looked aghast. “You’re not sending aid?”

There were children huddling, arms over their heads, in the background of the image.

No amount of Cam’s anger and frustration—and it glutted his mind and heart—could conjure more soldiers or support. People would have to learn to deal with old monsters again. Stay in their houses. Shutter their windows.

“No,” he said. “God help them.”

 

Ellie Russo folded her arms across her chest to stay warm in the crisp, late-afternoon air, though the boys didn’t seem to be having any trouble with the cold. They sprinted out into the field gone yellow with the arrival of autumn, simply excited to be allowed outside.

A brick of guilt was lodged in her chest, made of misgivings and second thoughts.

Not that anyone blamed her, at least to her face. More like they quickly looked away before the blame could show in their eyes.

It was their fault. Hers and Cam’s, but mostly hers. She could still feel the resistance when the poker in her hand met bone before driving into Mathilde Martin’s heart.

“Go long!” yelled Carter Parson, hands gripping a football. At nine, he was the oldest of the kids living at Segue, the turn-of-the-century hotel converted first into a research center dedicated to paranormal phenomena and now a bastion of human strength and cooperation at the advent of the Dark Age.

The three younger boys—the Thorne twins and Carter’s brother JT—ran a ways farther and turned around, ready for action.

Carter drew back his arm and threw the football toward them.

The three boys tracked the flight, each leaning into a sprint.

“It’s mine!” yelled Michael Thorne, six years old and ambitious, like his father.

The others weren’t giving up without a fight.

Ellie winced, her shadow tugging to get free, as she foresaw three heads cracking together as all attempted to make the catch at the same time. They ended in a heap, grappling for the ball.

It was Michael’s twin, quiet Cole, who eventually stood, pigskin under his arm.

Ellie rubbed her engagement ring with her thumb, turning it around on her finger. If she and Cam were to have kids, there’d be a good chance they’d be . . . different, like black-eyed Michael, who took after his half-fae mother, Talia. Or even like JT, who’d been lost once to Shadow and still seemed sometimes to listen to voices or see things only her shadow self and Cam, with his altered vision, could discern.

Ellie laughed bitterly to herself: Even thinking about having children now, with the threat of Martin House hanging over them, was stupid. It was keeping these kids alive that mattered.

“Kill the guy with the ball!” JT shouted.

Oh God.
Ellie cringed.

All the boys, including Carter, who should’ve known better, dived to tackle Cole. Kill the Guy with the Ball was a worse game than Three Flies Up. For some reason, the boys’ favorite pastimes seemed to always culminate in pounding on or grappling with each other.

Her shadow pulled harder to rescue the little guy, but Ellie restrained herself.

She turned to one of the soldiers who’d been assigned to come outside with them to stand guard. He had a high-powered rifle tagged to his vest, and a mic at his throat to signal danger, if needed. Four others just like him created a perimeter around the grassy area where the boys played. Cold trees, growing dark, surrounded the property. The air seemed muted and heavy.

“Did you play this rough when you were a kid?” she asked him.

A muscle in the soldier’s jaw twitched, but he kept his gaze even . . . and away from her. “Yes, ma’am.”

He didn’t seem to want to elaborate.

He fears me
, the shadow within her said.

Which was okay. Fear was better than blame.

The guards were her backup, not that she’d need it.

In spite of everything, she was the only one whom Talia and Adam, the twins’ parents, would allow with the kids outside while their lives were in danger. Segue’s enemies didn’t care whom they hurt. Her shadow, with its preternatural sense for intruders, super strength, and savage protectiveness where the children were concerned, had won the parents’ trust.

Just try me
, her shadow taunted the lengthening darkness.

Talia and Adam had forgiven the irony that it was Ellie herself who had precipitated the danger the children now faced.
She’d
rammed that poker through the heart of Mathilde Martin, heir to Martin House.

Ellie squinted at the boys to make out whose limbs belonged to whom in the heap. If she had to, yes, she could and would kill again to keep them safe.

Carter stood, wet spots on his knees, the ball under his arms. Cole and JT wrestled on the grass, trying to pin each other, mimicking the moves of the soldiers when they sparred in training.

“No biting!” JT yelled, as he tried to grab hold of Cole’s shoulder.

This
was what happened when kids were raised around soldiers preparing for war. Little wolf cubs was what they were.

I want
, begged the shadow within.

Ellie went back to rubbing at her engagement ring, her mind once again warring with her heart. Could a killer and a freak have children? Wrong question.
Should
a killer and a freak have children?

She folded her arms tight around her aching chest.

Didn’t matter. Not in her future, anyway.

 

“The supply truck was raided, driver and armed escort killed.” Adam Thorne sat at his desk, elbow on the surface, fist to his mouth, force battling reason.

Cam sat across from him. With his fae-touched vision, occasionally he thought he saw a glimmer of what might be a soul. “It can’t be a coincidence.”

Not with the attacks on towns like Strasburg. He could still hear the screams from that video.

No.
He put Strasburg out of his mind—that decision had been made—and said, “Our inventory is down. Nothing fresh has come in for three weeks.”

Of paramount concern during the world’s transition from the Age of Information to a modern age of magic was the distribution of food and other basic supplies. The general public had begun stockpiling what was on grocery store shelves when Dolan House fell. It had been one of the great mage houses. The news constantly reported on shortages of various foodstuffs, medicines, and sundry items. Segue had had the foresight to build up its own reserve, but Adam had portioned some of that out to nearby Middleton, which was too far at the end of the supply chain to get any new stock.

Segue had already been rationing food.

Adam waved a hand. “We’ll be okay, regardless of what happens.”

Segue did have powerful friends. The most powerful, in fact. Kaye Brand, High Seat of the Mage Council, was among them. So too was The Order, immortal angels who recognized Segue as a force for good in its own right.

Maybe they would help Strasburg.

“But . . . ?” Cam prompted.

Adam sighed heavily and sat back in his chair. “It’s crucial that we remain independent. That we remain a
human
stronghold.”

Cam had to quibble with that. “Well, not human only.”

Khan, aka Shadowman, was a pure-blood mage. His daughter and Adam’s wife, Talia, was half fae. Custo, Adam’s friend, who came and went from Segue at will, was an angel. Adam’s children were one-quarter fae. Others within Segue, like Cam himself, were fae-touched. And the love of Cam’s life, Ellie? She was all human, just in two parts—body and shadow.

Khan alone could get whatever Segue needed.

Adam shook his head, as if he’d read Cam’s mind. “We can’t use Khan as our bully, as the answer to all our problems. He’ll help, but he doesn’t want to use his power that way, and he doesn’t want the responsibility of ruling the world if he did. He can’t be our every solution. He’s too absolute.”

Absolute was a good word for Khan. In another incarnation, he’d been the Grim Reaper.

“So we airlift supplies from here on out?” More expensive, but feasible.

“The mode of transportation isn’t what bothers me. I’m concerned because that particular supply truck was unmarked and guarded. Its cargo and destination were known only to a few. I’ve been very careful.”

Adam was coming to the same conclusions Cam had come to this morning.

Cam leaned forward, a weight bearing down on his shoulders. “You think he’s trying to starve us?”

“Not starve. We’re too well-connected. I think he’s trying to
stress
us. Make us look weak. Compromise us.”

Same damn conclusion. “Gunnar Martin.” The fact that Mathilde’s death at Ellie’s hands had been self-defense made no difference.

Segue had been expecting a direct attack from the mage house that specialized in war, but maybe Gunnar wanted a more prolonged victory. A slow and humiliating crush.

The attacks on the nearby towns. Now this. Cam felt himself grow angry again. “Can we put it to the Mage Council yet?”

The mage houses were united by their Council. If Segue struck back at Martin without irrefutable cause, they’d face open hostilities with all magekind, regardless of the fact that Kaye Brand was a close personal friend of Adam’s.

“Without proof?” Adam scowled. “No.”

 

He’s coming
, Ellie’s shadow said.

Ellie had meant to turn off the flatscreen before Cam came upstairs from work, but she was too caught up in the story unfolding off the coast of France. Seemed a ship had been discovered on the Mediterranean Sea, all men lost, no sign of where they’d gone.

The news correspondent had at her back a wall of angry protesters waving signs with words in French, so Ellie couldn’t make out what they said, with the exception of
Ombre
, which meant Shadow.

It was happening everywhere.

Cam opened the door to their suite, and he had an exhausted smile ready for her.

He’s angry
, her shadow said.

And he didn’t want her to know it. Okay.

Ellie turned off the television and went over and gave him a quick, hard kiss on the mouth, then looked up into the face of the man she loved, his gaze clouded with Shadow. She missed his green eyes. “How was the rest of your day?”

His smile stretched into a slight grimace. “How was yours?”

She didn’t press to find out what had bothered him. Lately, he’d had trouble talking to her. He was fighting himself, a state she knew all too well.

“Good, actually,” she said, letting it go. “Too bad you couldn’t join us. The boys had endless energy.”

Cam’s darkness seemed to deepen. “They’ve been cooped up too much lately.”

Ellie tried harder. “They tried to teach me how to throw a football. Apparently my aim ‘sucks eggs’ and I can’t ‘throw a spiral to save my life.’ You’ll have to tutor me.”

A little humor and rue filtered through his expression. “Me?” His arms went around her, low at her waist. “I was a nerd growing up. Picked
last
for teams. And clumsy every single time I did get my hands on a ball.”