Shadows Before the Sun (6 page)

“Don’t pee on my bed!” I said, laughing as she jumped off and called Brim after her, running for cover, thumping down the stairs and out the back door.

Rex moaned from the floor, arms flat out, panting, face screwed up and wet. “Call 911. Hurry. I’m not . . . gonna . . . make it. Tell my wife . . . I lov—” he gasped dramatically, lifted his hand to some unseen apparition, and then died a painful, glorious pretend death on my floor.

“Nuts,” I muttered, shutting the bathroom door. “I live in a house full of nuts.”

I hadn’t thought beyond the shock of what the delegates claimed, beyond the denial, but with everything already taken care of and the path cleared for me to go into Elysia, the idea settled easily into place.

I hurried through the shower, dried off, wrapped a towel around me, and then brushed my teeth. When I was done rinsing and glanced into the mirror, I paused. The face staring back at me was weary and pale, a drawn shadow of what I used to be. I couldn’t look at this face and not acknowledge the worry and the question I refused to allow anyone else to see. My eyes stared back at me with grief, broadcasting my greatest fear.

What if it was true? What if he’s really gone?

No. I couldn’t think like that. If I was going, I had to go strong and with purpose. With belief. Otherwise, I might as well have given up right then.

I squared my shoulders, giving myself a long, hard scowl, trying to make the determination brewing inside match the worried face that stared back. God, I looked so tired. And sad.
Acknowledge it and move on.
Dwelling on the fear and grief wouldn’t do me any good, I knew that.

I dipped my shoulder, turning in order to get a good look at my shoulder blade and the mark Hank had given to me during our fight in his apartment.

I’d given him the same arrow-shaped symbol with two slashes and a dot on his chest. The Throne Tree ink now embedded into my skin was used in ceremonial markings, bindings, and, once upon a time—and now highly illegal—death markings.

I hadn’t had the mark all that long, about three or four weeks and—

Goose bumps erupted all over my arms and thighs.

The mark.

Images seemed to emerge from the mirror. Me lying on the grass in Stone Mountain as my mark warmed and Hank knelt down beside me. Going down the steps into Underground and the mark warming even before I saw Hank stand from his seat on the fountain ledge.

I could find him. The mark connected us. I had my own built-in radar system right here, embedded into my skin. Before all this, I hadn’t given it much thought. I hadn’t needed to. Hank wasn’t lost; he was in the grid. I’d known exactly where to go. But now that he was missing, the mark would be instrumental. If Hank was in the city, I’d find him.

All I had to do was get into Fiallan, tour every inch of the place if I had to, and see if the mark warmed. And when it did, the Circe and I would have a nice little chat from the end of my fist.

Feeling more hopeful than I had since the delegation invaded my office the day before, I hurried into my bedroom and found a pair of clean cargo pants and a black T-shirt. I gave my hair a quick blow-dry in front of the mirror; it had grown since being chopped off in the black crafting ritual that saved Aaron’s life, and could now be worn in a ponytail that actually stayed—mostly. The bangs still slipped out of the band to curve around my chin. I’d have to dye it, I realized suddenly.

The game had changed. The sirens who had apprehended Hank behind Station One had seen me. Sure, they’d seen me covered in blood, grime, and the gray sand of Charbydon, and while I doubted any of them could pick me in a lineup, I didn’t want to take any chances. I flicked the ends, remembering when Hank had done the same after it had been chopped, remembering the crooked grin he gave me when he did it. My throat grew thick. Determined to see that grin again, I looked away from the mirror and finished getting ready.

I jogged downstairs and asked Rex to run to the drugstore for a box of dye, while I pulled on my boots and then selected weapons from my own personal arsenal.

After Rex returned, Emma helped me bleach and then dye my dark reddish brown hair to a dirty blonde. “Why not a glamour spell?” she asked from behind me, working the dye into my hair as I sat on the vanity stool.

I watched her through the mirror. “Because the Circe are said to be very powerful. If they see through the glamour, they’ll wonder who I am and why I’m trying to hide behind it.”

Once my hair was done—and no one liked the new color; Brim even growled at me—I stood at the front door and hugged my kid tightly, kissed her several times on her forehead, breathed her into my lungs, and prayed for her safety and my safe return. I threw caution to the wind and kissed Rex on the cheek, gave Brim a ruffle on the head, and then left the house, reminding Em to eat well and do all of her homework.

I gazed out the window of the taxi as it entered Hartsfield-Jackson airport, a place that had once seen two million people pass through its terminals every year. Now those giant buildings were silent and dark, locked up along with all the hangars, offices, and other buildings until the day the darkness lifted and air travel safely resumed.

The darkness above had no effect on inter-dimensional travel, however, so the off-world terminals continued operating as usual. Atlanta was the city where genius scientist Titus Mott discovered the other dimensions of Elysia and Charbydon. The first official portal into those worlds had been built here at Hartsfield-Jackson. Other terminals eventually followed: New York, L.A., London, Paris . . . But ours remained the busiest and our
city housed one of the largest off-world populations around.

As the taxi swept along the curve of the road, the terminal came into view. Made of glass and steel, it shone brightly like a beacon rising from a world of darkness.

Instead of entering through the security wing, I had the taxi driver drop me off at Arrivals and entered through the main doors. My backpack was filled with a couple changes of clothes, a shower bag, and essentials. The small black duffel I carried over one shoulder held backup clips for my Hefties, additional rounds for my firearm, and capsules for my Nitro-gun just in case I ran into any Charbydons—which wasn’t likely since only two Charbydons had ever set foot in Elysia since the discovery of worlds. And those two were delegates of the Federation. But, it never hurt to be prepared . . .

My actual weapons were secured on my person. 9mm on my hip. The Nitro-gun snug against my right rib cage. The Hefty tucked against my left. I was right-handed, and depending on what perp I was going after, I liked to keep the most effective weapon on my left, so I could grab it easily with my right hand. The Hefty was extremely effective at subduing Elysians. The High Frequency Tag emitted a sound wave capable of dropping most any from that world. The Adonai, however, proved a little harder to detain, but still we managed.

Game face on, armed to the maximum allowance
by law for an officer engaged in inter-dimensional travel, I strode through the automatic doors and into the terminal.

The center of the long rectangular terminal where I entered was the hub of activity. There was seating, a few kiosks selling books and maps, a café, coffee shop, and bakery . . . The center area was pretty much neutral, designed to be comfortable to beings of all three worlds. But walk left or right and things began to change. To the right was the Charbydon ticket counter and checkpoint for those traveling to the city of Telmath, the capital city of Charbydon. There was seating and a few more kiosks run by goblins and then the final security checkpoint before the giant blue sphere glowing at the end of the terminal.

Been there, done that.
I swung a left and headed toward the glowing sphere that occupied the other end of the terminal—a two-story sphere lit with swirling pinks and oranges.

Every world, every planet, had its own unique frequency, a natural emission of electromagnetic sound waves. Its own “music.” Titus Mott’s harmonic resonance generator had accidentally dialed into the unique frequency of Elysia, creating a portal into a world that had inspired our myths and ideas of heavenly paradise, a world where the beings within could no longer hide, no longer deny they’d been visiting us for eons, meddling, and inspiring myths of gods, angels, faeries, and other paranormal creatures. The discovery of “hell” or Charbydon as it was called,
wasn’t far behind and we were to learn the same—the nobles, jinn, ghouls, darkling fae; they were the beings behind the legends and fears of demons, monsters, and dark gods.

And though it wasn’t the biblical Revelation, the term had stuck. Fourteen years ago, the world changed. Laws and policies were put into place, and the Federation of Worlds was created along with the Integration Task Force, ITF, which policed and monitored the influx of new beings into our society.

Now there were terminals in several major world cities. But unlike air travel where you could leave from one place and arrive in most any chosen location, the spheres were only connected to one location apiece. Atlanta’s Charbydon gate only took you to Telmath. The Elysian gate only opened to the Adonai’s capital city of Ithonia. Yet another reason Atlanta was the hub for off-world travel and immigrants—we had the only two spheres that lead to both off-world capital cities.

Unfortunately, this meant I wouldn’t be arriving directly into Fiallan. I had to go to Ithonia first and then contact a Magnus-level mage to whisk me to my final destination. And they didn’t come cheap, either.

Since I already had my government travel arrangements, I bypassed the ticket counter and headed straight for the main gate guarded by a gate agent, a highly trained security expert with loaded weapons beneath his desk and a license to take down any threat.

The terminal in Ithonia had been created with much reluctance on the Adonai’s part. They considered their city and land pristine. They thought any influx of off-worlders would pollute the beauty and sanctity of their world. Never mind that they’d been coming to our world since the dawn of civilization, using Earth as a battleground in their war with the nobles.

Travel to Ithonia was limited by visa and stays longer than a week required special permission. Ridiculous given that terms were different should any Adonai want to come to Earth.

The Adonai took entrance into their city very seriously, so I wasn’t surprised to find the agent was an Adonai, a tall, blond-haired, undeniably beautiful male. Easy to see why they’d been called gods and angels by early mankind. And it probably killed him every time he had to allow a human to pass through the gate.

“ID and papers,” he said, holding out an expectant hand.

I gave him my travel papers and then set my ID on his desk. His brow rose at what he read, and then he took a moment to compare the face on the photo to mine, the hair color having thrown him off. He set the paper and ID down and pierced me with an unimpressed, arrogant look that instantly got under my skin. I returned his lovely welcome with a smile that dripped smart-ass.

He slid my information back to me. “Bags on the counter.”

I rolled my eyes. “Really?” My credentials and permits were in order. He didn’t have to search my stuff, but in the end it was the prerogative of the gate agent, and not something I could or would argue about. Even so, it annoyed me because I knew he wasn’t holding me up due to any threat or suspicion I posed, but because he apparently got off on being a jerk.

With a martyred sigh, I lugged my duffel onto his desk followed by my backpack. “Enjoy yourself. The underwear is near the bottom.” I turned, intending to plop myself dramatically onto one of the seats against the opposite wall.

I froze midstride.

It took several seconds to wrap my brain around the sight of the veiled person sitting there, radiating power without even trying. Her hands moved with speed and grace, bright red nails flashing.

I stepped closer to the oracle. “Alessandra. Are you . . . knitting?”

Her hands stilled and her chin lifted a notch. The veil dropped back slightly, revealing more of her features than I’d ever seen in the smoky haze and dark lighting of her theater where she held court like the Queen of Underground, dispensing riddles and prophecies at a hefty price.

Alessandra and I weren’t friends. In fact, she seemed to take great pleasure in making things as difficult as possible whenever I procured her services—which I always thought a huge waste of time since
she made the department pay dearly and then never gave us much but cryptic answers and sarcasm. The one time I’d used her prophetic services for personal reasons, to find out if my sister Bryn was possessed, she’d been little help.

The oracle was actually quite pretty, her coloring—otherworldly mossy green eyes, deep red lips, and curly raven hair—vivid against pale skin. Of course, this was Sandra, so her expression was the usual sly amusement and the monumental smugness that came from two thousand years of being a world-renowned know-it-all.

“Yes, I’m knitting, blondie. It calms my mind,” she said, setting the blob of fuzzy pink and white yarn into an open bag next to her. “Sit down, Charlie.”