The Scent of Shadows Free with Bonus Material (27 page)

“Also a fire sign,” Warren offered.

I looked from one to the other, feeling stupid. “Which means?”

“It means you two should make quite a team.”

“It means we kick ass,” Vanessa corrected, smiling, and that’s when everything average about her disappeared. Her smile was wide, brilliant, and infectious…or would have been if it had blanketed her eyes. This smile merely lifted the corners, like light blazing through a drawn curtain before being shut out again. Warren didn’t seem to notice, but knowing about such things, I wondered what past sorrow was presently denying her the right to smile. She turned her half smile on Warren. “Speaking of fire, I heard about the one at the federal building on Friday. Two Shadows, five innocent hostages. What’d you do, smoke them out?”

He nodded. “And sang ‘This Little Light of Mine’ at the top of my lungs.”

“Then they fled willingly. I didn’t know you were religious.”

“Recovering Southern Baptist,” Warren said.

“My brother,” she said, and they high-fived. Vanessa smiled wryly at me. “A style all his own, our Warren.”

“Different drummer and all that,” I said. “Yeah, I noticed.”

“So, see you in the Orchard?”

Warren said, “We’ll be right there.”

“Nice meeting you, Olivia.”

“You too,” I said, and watched as the elevator doors shut behind her. “Seems nice.”

“Vanessa’s one of our most dangerous agents. Sure, she’s nice, but nice like a sleeping cobra. Nice like the calm before a storm. Nice like you.”

“I can be very nice when I want to,” I said, following him into what looked like a dim foyer, though larger, more like a theater-in-the-round.

“Let me know when the urge hits. I’ll log the date and time.”

“Har, har.”

“Now, every city needs all the star signs, a full Zodiac, to be in balance.” He turned in a circle, centered in the middle of the bowed room. It was actually more octagonal than round, a large star stamped into the pavement where Warren stood, motioning to the steel paneled walls. Some of the panels were marked with brightly lit emblems that even I, with my spotty astrological knowledge, knew represented different signs in the Zodiac. “I won’t lie. Our ranks have been blighted in the past year. Either the enemy is getting stronger or we’re getting weaker. In any case, we’re missing five signs, and that’s with you taking up the Archer.”

“And how many star signs does the Shadow side have?”

He bit his lip, and worry swirled in my gut. “All twelve.”

“But Butch is dead.”

He shook his head, eyes clouding over darkly. “They’ve replaced him by now. Whomever it is simply hasn’t revealed themselves yet, and while the new Shadow won’t be as strong, not at first, their initiates are fast learners too.” His voice echoed through the cavernous room as he turned and approached one of the panels. I glanced up at the domed ceiling, a single speck, like a star, binding the corners of the room at the apex. I was sensing a theme here.

“Here,” Warren said. “This one’s yours.”

I lowered my gaze, latching onto the symbol he pointed
out, an etching of a centaur; the half-man part of the mythological beast looking suspiciously half woman.

“Go ahead,” Warren urged. “Touch it.”

I did, laying my hand flat on a palm plate, and the emblem flickered, blinked on, and remained glowing in a steadily pulsing heat. It made my eyes ache to look at it. Still, my stomach jumped, and unexpected pride swelled at seeing it, glowing there with the others. Then my eyes fell to a latch, waist height. I jiggled it, and felt an incredulous expression bloom on my face. “It’s a locker?”

“Well, Superman had a phone booth, didn’t he?” he asked, brows raised. “This is much more useful.”

A superhero locker? I drew back. I mean, what was in it? A cape? A mask? Not those gawdawful tights, I hoped. I turned back to Warren. “So, what’s the combination?”

He shrugged. “Only you know.”

I felt my brows climb my forehead. I did? “No, I don’t.”

“Sure you do. Push the button next to the middle slat and speak into it slowly. Think of a password, a phrase, something meaningful to you. Something symbolic.”

I looked back at the locker doubtfully, then grudgingly pressed the button. “Open up, motherfucker.”

“Colorful,” Warren commented.

“Open Sesame!” I tried again. “Abracadabra! Hocus-pocus! Shazam! Shalom! Anyone home?” Then I smacked the panel a few times with my palm.

I straightened and smiled innocently at Warren. “Still not opening.”

“I can’t imagine why,” he said dryly, before suddenly shooting me a smile of his own. Quickly, before I could react, he pulled the photo of Ben from his pocket and shoved it through one of the tilted openings in the locker. My cry of protest was met with a stone hard stare. “When you can open that locker, you’ll be ready to face, and mask, your emotions for Ben.”

Ruthless, Greta had called him…but this was just
downright cruel. I clenched my jaw, preparing to argue, but in the middle of my first eye roll my vision snagged on something peculiar, on something that wasn’t there, actually. “That’s the sign of the Scorpio, right? Stryker’s sign?”

My question knocked him off balance. Warren swallowed hard, the cords working in his neck like the breath had caught there. “It was.”

I stared at the symbol; vacant, dark, dead. And though Greta had already explained it, I wanted to hear what Warren had to say. I needed to discover for myself just whom I could trust. “You said the lineage of the star signs was matriarchal. Didn’t this sign revert back to his mother when he was killed?”

“Stryker’s death…” He paused, searching for the right word. “…unhinged Tekla. She’s been in solitary confinement, recuperating in our sick ward for months.”

And he’d put her there. Left her there. I pursed my lips at that. “So the Scorpion sign remains empty? Even though she’s alive?”

“Half alive, and not especially happy to be so.”

This time I felt a sorrow that wasn’t mine coursing through my core. It felt like raw onions curdling in an empty stomach, and I touched a hand there, surprised. I didn’t know it worked both ways. I also didn’t think emotion that strong could be fabricated. “Well, maybe that’s because she’s alone, and has no one to talk to.”

“Maybe it’s because her son was torn apart in front of her eyes,” he said shortly.

I swallowed hard and thought of Olivia, limbs pinwheeling into the night. I nodded. “Can someone else take her place in the Zodiac even though she’s alive?”

“Only if she’s willing to relinquish it to them, but for reasons unknown to all but her, she’s not. We’ve asked her, begged her, even, but she just starts spewing obscenities, making illogical accusations, tries to injure anyone who approaches.”

I remembered the first of these accusations from the pages of Stryker’s comic.
There’s a traitor among us.

“So, did my mother relinquish the Archer sign to me when she…left?” I asked, changing the subject.

Warren inclined his head, looking relieved. “Your mother believed that when the time came, you alone would be able to create this house anew.”

The house of the Zodiac. The first sign. The Archer, agent of Light.

I shook my head, only able to grasp one thought at a time. I voiced the one I thought most pressing. “But she’s still out there, right?”

“She’s alive, we know that much. Her power is muted, diminished because she gave it all to enshroud your identity, so she’s essentially a mortal. It’s a dangerous position for a member of the Zodiac to be in, but one that has, ironically enough, kept her safe.”

I folded my arms over my chest. “I want to see her.”

He shook his head, began to open his mouth.

“She’s my mother!” I pounded my fist on the locker with a sudden fierceness that surprised even me. It had been growing there, I guessed, ever since I saw her belongings hanging in a closet. I had
smelled
her on them.

“There are some doors, Olivia, that are closed even to us.”

I stared at him, thinking that of all people, a superhero shouldn’t have to hear that.

“Come on,” he said, turning. His limp made an exaggerated slap-and-drag sound on the concrete floor. “There’s more to see.”

Something other than Stryker’s fate, or Tekla’s, or my mother’s?
I wanted to ask. Of course, Warren—the bum—could give me no assurances. It seemed that even a supernatural life, for all its benefits, didn’t come with guarantees.

“Okay, Warren,” I said, walking, walking right past him. “Then just promise me one thing.”

“If I can,” he said gravely.

I shot one last glance back at the unyielding locker and the centaur glowing with six other star signs. “Shoot me if I ever grow hindquarters.”

We bypassed another series of hallways on the way to Saturn’s Orchard, Warren pointing out the children’s ward—the tinkling of bell-like laughter punctuating the air in confirmation—and then made a quick stop by the animal habitat, where cats of every shape and size were striding, sitting, playing, or sleeping purposefully around the room.

“We breed them,” Warren explained, lifting a pure white Persian kitten from behind the guard gate, his face softening as the two wide blue eyes stared unblinking into his own. “Cats are wardens. They’re naturally territorial, so good guardians of our space. They can also identify a Shadow agent no matter what they’ve done to mask their identity.”

“I wonder if Luna came from this bunch,” I said, inching closer.

“Did Zoe give her to you?”

“To Olivia.” I ran a finger along the soft fur tufting from the kitten’s cheeks. “For her eleventh birthday. She’s had her ever since.”

The kitten’s eyes slitted shut and she pushed her cheek
against my hand, a purr rising from the little body that could have shook the entire building. Warren chuckled, then dropped a kiss on the ivory head and returned her to her litter. He blushed when he saw me watching.

“They
are
wonderful little gifts. And fiercely protective.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” I said, an image of Butch’s sheared eyelids and gouged retinas popping into my head. Just then a young boy darted into the room, scrambling nimbly between us, an outraged cry rising in his wake. He lunged for the gate, climbing so quickly I knew this wasn’t the first time he’d hatched this particular escape plan. Warren plucked him up with one hand, and I stared down at the blond crown of his head as he proceeded to wiggle and squirm, struggling toward the kittens that lay just beyond his reach.

“Marcus!”

A tall woman in a simple white robe reached around me and snatched the child from Warren, pulling him to her in a possessive and practiced grab. An immediate screech rose from the child, but the woman only smiled up at us as if to say,
Sorry for the inconvenience, but you understand
. I’m sure this would have been accompanied by an eye roll…except that she didn’t have any.

“They’re so boisterous at this age,” she said, smiling tightly.

“They are that,” Warren replied, his own smile a bit wider.

I said nothing, just continued staring at the skin, shriveled and wrinkled and scarred, where her eyes should have been.

Marcus, however, had no interest in her looks. When he saw there was no escaping her grasp, and no chance of retrieving one of the kittens, his face turned a bright shade of red, a howl like winter wind rose from his throat, and then his face, literally, burst into light. “Give me my warden!”

I whirled away, covering my eyes with one of my forearms,
clutching my furry little charge to my chest as heat from the child’s anger slammed against the back of my neck. The rays of light blasted past me into the concrete walls, and his voice did the same. I heard a muffled smack, a howl of outraged pain, and then a scuffling before the light disappeared, like a wick snuffed between wetted fingers.

When I uncovered my face, the boy was gone, but the woman remained. She shot us an easy smile and serenely folded her hands together in front of her. “Somebody made the mistake of telling Marcus he was next in line for the Virgo sign, and he’s bedeviled us ever since. Wants his warden, wants his conduit. He’s a bit headstrong these days.”

That, I thought, was an understatement.

“Need some help?” Warren asked, inclining his head toward the hall where chattering, screaming, shrill little voices rebounded off the concrete interiors. The sound cut a path straight to my lingering headache.

“I might,” she admitted, with a frazzled lift of her brows. “There’s only Sondra and I for the lot of them. The other ward mothers are in classes. But first…”

She angled herself toward me, raising her brows.

“I’m sorry,” Warren said. “Where are my manners?”

“I’ve been wondering the same for years.”

I smiled at that, instantly liking her, and held out my free hand. “I’m Olivia.”

She found my hand, and held fast as she tilted her head, regarding me in some unknown way. “Rena,” she offered. “Ward mother of the Zodiac offspring, charged with overseeing their development until the first life cycle. As you can see, Marcus has a way to go in the control department.”

“Is that why…uh—”

“My eyes?” she asked, smiling. She would have been beautiful, I realized, if not for those dual scars blooming where said eyes should have been. “I’m afraid so, though not him. Another child of Light, long before little Marcus
came along. I’ve been ward mother here for nearly forty years now. Saw Warren here through his first life cycle.”

“Really?” At closer glance, I saw light wisps streaking away from her temples to mingle with the ginger hair she’d secured into a low bun. Creases that had to do with age, not scarring, also lined her face, though I noticed the ones where she smiled were deepest of all. Given her words, I placed her around sixty. A very young and vibrant sixty.

“Er, let’s not get into that,” Warren said, wedging between us.

“Another time, then,” she told me in a conspiring whisper, then waved good-bye and headed back out into the melee in the hallway.

“I’ll be right back,” Warren said, following. “Then we’ll head to the Orchard.”

I nodded, but he was already gone, and soon so were the crisp, bell-like voices of the children and the slap-and-slide of Warren’s uneven gait.

“Well, now what?” I asked the fur ball snuggled tightly against my chest. With no answer but a soft purr, I decided to look around while I waited.

The hallway was empty, but as before, the strange symbols and strips of light marked my progress as I strode away from the habitat, still stroking the kitten’s cheek. I soon came upon a separate hallway I hadn’t seen before, blocked by heavy double doors, closed, but without a lock. “A clear invitation to enter,” I muttered into the soft, spiky fur.

But this hallway, if possible, was even more stark and cold than the rest. No lights lit up as I entered, and the rooms lying diagonally to one another were laced with viewing windows and bars, each dark inside. The kitten stirred restlessly in my arms. I took this as a sign that maybe I shouldn’t be there, and was backing up when one of the doors suddenly bounced open. Greta appeared, murmuring softly, and I would’ve called out to her except that
she was followed by Chandra. Both women were focused on a third, whom they had by the arms and were gently coaxing into the hallway.

I recognized her immediately. Her robe was grimy, and she looked thinner than she had in the manual, but it was Tekla. Shuffling forward almost reluctantly, her head was down, eyes moving over the floor vacantly, seeing nothing. The two other women continued to murmur soft encouragements, and I did back away then, not wanting to interrupt.

Then Olivia’s cell phone went off in my pocket. The kitten startled awake in my hands, and I scrambled to soothe her as “Viva Las Vegas” continued to chime from my thigh. I fumbled for the phone as tiny claws burrowed into my chest and Chandra cursed at me from down the hall.

“Olivia Archer,” I answered, shooting Chandra and Greta an apologetic smile. But whoever was on the line, and whatever they were saying, was lost on me as Tekla lifted her head and frowned, staring directly into my eyes. “I…I…”

I didn’t know what I was saying so I flipped the phone shut and swallowed hard as Tekla regarded me with utter clarity. “I’m sorry,” I managed, not sure which of the women I was talking to. Greta had noted the change in Tekla too, and her eyes were darting from her to me and back again. Chandra just continued looking pissed.

“I see you.”

We all froze, except Tekla, who’d uttered the words and was uttering them again, over and over, her voice cracking as it grew louder and louder. “I see you.”

“Tekla, love,” Greta soothed, taking her more firmly by the arm and trying to guide her the other way, “calm down now. Let’s go this way.”

But Tekla’s eyes had narrowed on mine, and she was suddenly heading my way. “I see you,” she said, and Chandra
cried out in surprise as Tekla broke free from their hold, while Greta fumbled in her pocket. She came out with a syringe, but Tekla was well out of reach by then.

“Get back, Olivia!” Greta yelled, but I was afraid to exit the sick ward. If I stayed where I was, she’d be contained, and Chandra and Greta could regain control.

In fact, Chandra had recovered enough to catch up to Tekla, but when she laid her hands on her this time, Tekla wheeled and struck out blindly, her arm crushing Chandra’s nose. Chandra fell backward, Greta yelled again, and Tekla began to run.

“Traitor! Traitor! Traitor!” She was on me so quickly I could only release the kitten. Hissing, it escaped out the double doors as I fell into them. Tekla tripped me up, fell on top of me and climbed my chest until her face was inches from mine.

She smelled of unwashed skin and sour memories, and I swallowed hard, not wanting to fight or hurt her. Thankfully, Greta was suddenly there, a syringe prepped and already angling toward her shoulder. Tekla whimpered when it struck, whipping her head around to face Greta before slumping without another peep.

I relaxed beneath her as Chandra reached her other side and she and Greta began lifting the unconscious woman to her feet.

Then her head jerked back up, and
he
was alive in her face.

The skin and even the bones of Tekla’s face stretched, and the Tulpa leered out at me. “I see you,” she repeated, but it was his voice, rotted and threatening. “You think you’re safe in there? You can’t hide from me. I’m your bogeyman…I’m your poisoned fate.”

“Jesus!” Warren was suddenly there, pulling her—him, it—away, and it took all three of them to do it as the Tulpa’s face continued to leer at me. Halfway back to her room, Tekla’s head again dropped, bobbed, then lifted, her
gaze returning to mine. It was imploring again, as was her whisper. “Traitor…”

Then the door to her cell slammed behind them all, and I was left lying alone on the floor, my glyph once again burning a hole through my heart.