Daughter of Gods and Shadows (21 page)

“I've got lots of cars,” he announced proudly. “This one's great for road trips.” He smiled and motioned for her to get in.

“But we can fly,” she reminded him.

“First of all, it gets pretty cold at ten thousand feet. Second, they're shooting down anything—or anyone—without a clearance to fly, and though I'm not quite as big as a jumbo jet, I'm pretty damn big enough to shoot down with a missile. And third”—he smiled broadly—“I love driving.”

She shook her head, smiled, and climbed into the passenger seat. He climbed in next to her, started the engine, and then just sat there.

“Do we know where we're going?” she asked.

“Well, we'll start by getting down off this hill.” He looked at her.

Eden swallowed and nodded. “Baby steps.”

“Baby steps,” he repeated, pulling away from the house.

 

CASUALTIES OF WAR

“He who is the author of a war lets loose the whole contagion of hell and opens a vein that bleeds a nation to death.” It was a quote from the English-born American writer Thomas Paine that Kifo recalled as he surveyed the results of his work on the humans. He'd chosen not to be seen by Sakarabru's Brood Army, so that he could study each of them more closely. The lines had been firmly drawn in the sand, and the groups divided into those who had been changed by Kifo and his Djinn mystics, and those who had been spared. Spared. Had they been spared? No. They'd just been cast into another kind of hell.

The unaffected humans rummaged through what was left of their societies like scavengers, hoarding what they could and hiding where they could, arming themselves like militia from a
Mad Max
movie. Sanctuaries sprouted up like weeds, surrounded by barbed-wire fences and snipers. Lines to get into them stretched for miles, and people waited for days, hoping to be let inside.

Despite the plight of the humans, it was the Brood who truly captured and held Kifo's attention. These transformed humans, these slaves to Sakarabru's will, stirred an unexpected curiosity in him. Kifo watched them as they organized into platoons, strategized attacks on military installations, government headquarters, even cell phone and cable companies.

“Entry points are here, here, and here,” one of the Brood generals told the others gathered around him hovering over a blueprint laid out on the table. “I can guarantee you that they'll be snipers here and here. You can see everything from up there.”

“So we come in behind them,” another responded, shrugging.

“We send a decoy,” the general offered. “An expendable.”

Expendables were captured humans or lesser Brood, those who weren't soldiers.

Kifo wafted through them like a spirit, listening to their conversations, some of them whispered in huddled groups.

“I told her, when this is over, we're getting married.” The young man's eyes lit up like beacons as he spoke of his fianc
é
e. “I never thought it was possible to love a woman as much as I love her, but damn! She's my life.”

“Yeah, well, I met somebody, too,” his friend said, blushing.

“Where'd you meet her?” the first young man asked.

The second man thought for a moment and then smiled. “In my dreams.”

They all laughed.

“I'm serious, man! I don't know. One minute it was dark. And then I opened my eyes and there she was, standing over me in the hospital, smiling at me and staring at me with the biggest, bluest eyes I'd ever seen before in my life.”

The other young men glanced nervously at each other, but they stopped short of saying her name.

“When she made love to me,” his eyes glazed over, “I knew that I'd never want anybody else. Being with her erased every bad thing that ever happened to me.”

Kifo knew that feeling, having experienced that same kind of love himself.

*   *   *

Kifo had grown tired of listening to the news reports. Music annoyed him. He sat alone in the darkness in his penthouse apartment, staring out the floor-to-ceiling window across from him. The city used to be lit up like a Christmas tree, but now it was nothing but darkness and the sound of gunfire.

Memories as old as his were buried so deep that he almost couldn't reach them, but Kifo concentrated long and hard. Searching for a history almost as old as he was. He'd remembered the images of the Dragon soaring over them in the sky spewing fire down on this village. Kifo remembered wandering the desert lost and alone and being rescued by the Demon. He remembered the making of Sakarabru's first Brood soldier. But there was a blank space in his soul, hollow and empty, that eluded him, like an itch that couldn't be scratched. Kifo felt things he couldn't explain, a sense of panic and apprehension cowering in the recesses of his thoughts. Thinking about it now, it had always been there, but he'd always turned away from it just before it came into view. This time was different. This time, Kifo didn't turn away. He concentrated, took a deep breath and stared into the darkest void of his life until he finally found them, and he wished with all of his heart that he never had.

“
Never go looking for what you do not wish to find, Kifo,
” one of his mystic brothers had told him once.
“Some things are better left hidden.”

“There are no screams left, little Djinn, because there is nothing left of what you once were.”

Kifo lay on that table, staring up at the ceiling, wondering why death had forsaken him and left him here to suffer.

Sakarabru stalked slowly around Kifo's naked, raw, and bloody body, but Kifo was not afraid anymore. The Demon had done too much to him, so much that nothing else could add to the agonizing pain that enveloped him now.

“You have no family, Kifo. The mystics are all gone. The Dragon killed them because she knew that I would come for them. And yet she made the mistake of leaving you behind and alive.”

Khale had killed his teachers, his family, and all of those he had loved. She should've killed Kifo too. She had made the mistake of overlooking the boy.

Sakarabru stopped where Kifo's head lay, leaned down, and whispered to him. “I am all that you have left, little mystic.” His warm breath singed Kifo's exposed muscles and burned his lidless eyes.

He had no strength left to fight for what small glimmer of life was left in him. He had no desire to resist. Kifo just wanted the pain to stop; he wanted the quiet to linger and a cool glass of water to coat the back of his throat.

The Demon seemed to read his mind. A flask appeared suspended in the air close to Kifo's face. Sakarabru held it over his mouth and allowed a few drops of cool water to coat his lips. Kifo traced a trembling tongue around them to take in as much of the liquid as he could. He was so grateful.

“You need me, little Djinn,” the Demon whispered softly, letting a few more drops of water drip onto Kifo's tongue. “You are so young. You are alone in this world now.”

Yes. Kifo was all alone. He had lost so much and there was no one—nothing—left.

“You need someone to care for you, Kifo,” he continued, gently. “To protect you and to heal you.”

The sadness Kifo felt was overwhelming, even more overwhelming than the open wound that was his body. Who would want him? Kifo had been abandoned by his own mother and left to the mystics to raise. She hadn't wanted him. The mystics were dead. Who would want him now? Who would take care of him? Teach him? Feed and clothe him? Who would be there for him when he was afraid? Who would love him?

“There are times,” Sakarabru said, crossing the room, “when one must break the body to free the mind, Kifo.”

The sounds of chants—healing chants—began to fill the room. The melody from them rose up like a cool mist, soothing the parts of him that felt as if they were on fire.

“Forgive me, little Djinn,” Sakarabru told him. “It was the only way.”

He didn't have to see it to know that his skin was being regenerated, starting at the tips of his toes and fingers.

“I am all you have, Kifo. I can and will be here for you. I can keep you safe. I can heal your wounds.”

The sound of Sakarabru was in harmony with the melody of the chants. And as he spoke, Kifo's body began to heal. His mind began to rest, and he focused on the beautiful sound of the chanting mystics around him and on the hypnotic voice of Sakarabru.

“I will swear myself to you, little Djinn, if you swear yourself to me.”

How long had Kifo been here? How many times had Sakarabru said these very words to him before? He'd been here too long, and he had said these same words to Kifo too many times.

“I can take the pain away, Kifo.”

Kifo let his eyes close. He hadn't been able to close them before, but now … Tears slid down the sides of his face at the joy he felt to finally be able to release them. He sobbed quietly, grateful for the relief enveloping him.

“I will swear myself to you, Kifo,” Sakarabru said again, “if you swear yourself to me.”

A beautiful and fragrant scent filled the room, and soft hands moved the wisps of hair from his face.

“Drink, Kifo,” she said, the sound of her voice compelling him to open his eyes. “Drink.”

She held up his head, put the flask of water to his lips, and waited patiently as he greedily gulped it down until it should have been gone, but the water in the small flask continued to flow as if there was no end to it.

Her beautiful blue eyes locked onto his, and a timid smile spread her full crimson lips. “I am Lilith,” she said. Her long dark hair brushed across his cheeks.

“Swear yourself to me, Kifo,” Sakarabru said again. “I need to know that you are obedient.”

Kifo had no one. He had nothing. Sakarabru had taken away the pain.

“Say it,” she whispered to him. “I promise you will not regret it.”

Kifo managed to sit up. Lilith's fingertips grazed a trail down his spine as she came around the table soaked with his blood, pressed her mouth to his, and kissed him.

“Do I have your loyalty, Kifo?” Sakarabru asked. “Do I have your obedience?”

The boy nodded. “Yes, Lord Sakarabru.” He looked at the Demon. “Yes.”

“Kifo?” the sound of Lilith's voice broke through the silence of his apartment. “You should come to bed.” Her hand rested on his shoulder.

She conveniently came to him when his thoughts were darkest. It was as if she knew when it was time to cast her spell on him to keep him true to his word. He was loyal to Sakarabru. The Demon had saved him, and above all else, Kifo was obedient.

 

GOODWILL HUNTING

Paul Chapman studied that video footage every chance he got. The damn thing had gone viral. Too bad that the person who'd shot it didn't live to see it. Paul stared at the small screen of his own phone, watching the video feed and studying every single nuance of it.

“Oh God! Oh God!” the person shooting the scene whispered over and over again to himself.

He was hidden underneath something. Paul assumed that it was a seat or something, since it looked like the video was being shot from a train or maybe even a bus. Bodies lay everywhere, and moans came from all around, and then screams, as the ones inside the train or bus were attacked by others. He could make out blurred images of people being pummeled and pounded on by others. The shaky hand of the person holding the camera made it nearly impossible to see the details, but Paul knew instinctively that the attackers had been Brood. And he knew that the Brood were feeding on those people.

All of a sudden, another image streaked across the screen, a person wearing a gray hoodie, jeans, and sneakers. At first he thought it was a boy, but when the hood came off, he could tell that it was a girl, and she was kicking Brood ass in a big way, breaking jaws, arms, and legs. She was strong and fast. She jumped out through the main window, and Paul lost sight of her for a while, but then a huge dark figure appeared on-screen, overshadowed her, and—
poof!
—she was gone.

The polarizing effects of Sakarabru had divided the world dramatically into three very distinct kinds of individuals. There were the humans, who had pretty much stayed the same, except for the fact that they were now afraid for their lives. And then there were the nonhumans. Most of them seemed to be littered in among humans, but they were different. Paul had never noticed them before when he was … well, who he used to be. But he saw them now, and they were everywhere. Some looked as human as Paul, but ever since he'd been changed, he could tell the difference. It was as if this transformation had given him a superpower like X-ray vision or something. Paul could see a hundred humans standing together lined up next to one another, and he could pick out every single one of those pretenders as if it were nothing. They weren't of this world but had become a part of it. Aliens.

Finally, there was another type of being in this world now, brand new, and precariously straddling the fence between life and death, human and nonhuman. Monsters were real. He knew this because he had become one.

Sakarabru had commanded him to find the Redeemer. At first, Paul had no idea what the hell that meant or how he was supposed to find her. But the master had sent him out into the world with this one mission, and Paul was driven to see it through to the end.

It made sense to him that the humans would know nothing of this woman. So Paul sought out the nonhumans. Most were ordinary enough, but others were changelings and witches and even some vampires. Some helped him when he showed them the video of the girl being swept away.