The Touch Of Twilight (4 page)

We always came when mortal lives were threatened.

“All right, here’s the plan.”

As Warren outlined our attack formation, I glanced at Hunter and waited. Feeling my gaze on him, he shook his head imperceptibly, so I returned my attention to the grouping of our combat positions. I’d asked if we should tell Warren about Regan’s reaction to the initial blast, and that the Shadows hadn’t been responsible for the plague of explosions upsetting the vibrational matter of this reality prior to now. He was telling me to wait; this particular event
was
the work of the Shadows, and it was all we needed to occupy our minds now.

I agreed. Though new to the troop, I was no longer the least experienced star sign. Jewell and Riddick had joined the ranks after me, and though
they’d
been raised in the troop’s sanctuary, trial by fire inspired martial proficiency in a way a textbook couldn’t.

Plus Jewell hadn’t initially been tagged for the Gemini sign. Her sister too had died last year, and she’d unexpectedly inherited the post, like Riddick. A teacher by day, she turned into the quintessential Vegas party girl at night. The Shadows, we thought, wouldn’t look too closely at the girl walking around with stamps marring the back of her hand. As for Riddick…he was exceedingly fond of those dental tools. I shuddered again.

Warren finished explaining our groupings: three tight triangular formations staggered and designed to interlock if we had to fall back to defend. Warren would go first, leading point, and his voice was clipped and strong as he told us to “fucking focus,” before disappearing.

We palmed, primed, and honed our weapons in silence until Felix said, “I can fuck and focus at the same time.”

Jewell laughed as she disappeared to back Hunter and Riddick, but Vanessa and I traded eye rolls. From somewhere in the haze to our right came Tekla’s caustic reply.

“We’re all well aware of your sexual prowess, Felix. And that you wake every dawn in a different bed.”

“Hey, I’m like a good breakfast cereal,” he called back to our Seer, causing Micah and Gregor to shush him. He whispered, “I help the ladies get going in the morning.”

“Snap, crackle, flop.”

I snorted as we headed out. “Speaking from personal experience, Vanessa?”

“Not in this reality,” she scoffed, and when she saw me glance her way, quickly added, “Or any other.”

Hunter’s voice bloomed to the left of me. “Hey noob, keep that tooth hook away from me.”

“Sorry,” came Riddick’s reply. “The gas in the air is disorienting.”

“Just another day at the office,” said Felix, but even he sounded muted. I suddenly noticed they’d all fallen back. Realizing I was leading a flanged assault with no backup, I immediately backpedaled.

“That’s not cool, you guys. You didn’t—”

I was going to say they hadn’t given me a warning to pull back, but that’s when I realized they were all moving in slow motion, their limbs wheeling forward as if swimming in Jell-O, straining with the effort. Hunter was trying to motion them back, but it was taking too long. I did it for him, then dragged Vanessa backward until I felt a second gravity field release around her body. A coincidence that the gaseous sheets lessened upon retreat? I think not.

I’d managed to pull Riddick from the smoky quagmire before the other teams reached our rendezvous point.

“The air’s too heavy. It’s like breathing in foam,” Micah said, gasping. At nearly seven feet tall, he was by far the largest member of our troop, and seemed to be having the most difficult time breathing, though everyone was panting hard. Everyone, that was, but me.

“I can see well enough,” Tekla said, bending over so her thin frame was almost hidden in her soft gray salwar-kamiz. “But I can only go so far before it feels like I’m being smothered.”

I looked at the others, and they each nodded. So we huddled in silence until Warren popped up next to Tekla, his footsteps muffled in the heavy air.

“The air repel you too?” Gregor asked him, as Hunter and Micah swiveled to guard our perimeter, close enough to hear our words. Warren nodded, rubbing at red-rimmed eyes, and I realized that was exactly the smoke’s purpose. We weren’t meant to reach the center, our beard, or the detonation’s origin.

Back against mine, Micah broke into a hacking cough. Alarmed, I put my hand on his great shoulder, and he spat on the ground at our feet. It was black. “Shit. This stuff is toxic.”

Warren straightened. “Let’s try it again together. I think it’s just a wall, and not one thick enough to be sustained for any depth.”

I glanced back up at the tight black nucleus sitting atop the fractured building and bit my lip.

“One large phalanx might breach it, especially if we focus our energies on a sole entry point. So on my count. Go.”

We marched like Spartans…for a few feet. Then the others slowed, molasses-limbed, eyes bulging along with their lungs. Despite the foreign environment, I was breathing easily. So while the smothered coughs and gasps continued to vibrate feebly at my back, I faced the heart of the smothering sheets and drew in a deep breath. Blackness sank past the porous barrier of my skin, filling my muscles, replacing the water hydrating them with a density that made me feel like an outcropping from the earth itself. I was granite, with petrified veins and a solid heart that didn’t need oxygen because it didn’t need to beat. The air coated my tongue like wet ash, lining my throat until my not-breathing allowed it to harden and bake in my marrow. The others—still filmy, floating, fleshy beings—fell behind.

I caught Warren’s gaze, his eyes large and white above the coat sleeve covering his mouth. He motioned me back with his head, an achingly slow movement, and one I could see pained him. We fell back, and I waited until they all recovered. This time it took minutes.

“We have to pull out,” Warren said, sucking in great mouthfuls of breath. “Get masks and breathing apparatuses of some sort.”

Masks would crumble like wadded paper under the weight of this concrete matter, I thought, rubbing an arm that felt like marble beneath my touch. I told Warren this, and what the air felt like inside me as best I could, adding, “The Shadows will make it impossible to clean up if we wait much longer.”

There was a grace period before the mortal world recognized paranormal influence, almost like the interference had time sliding off its tracks so that it needed to stop, back up, and redirect. This period was less than twelve hours, and we could usually clear up whatever mess the Shadows had made before then. After that, time stitched the veil between our two worlds into a new tapestry, and the best we could do was cover it up with excuses and reasonable explanations, and make sure as few humans were affected as possible.

“I’ll go,” I said quickly. “If you guys cover the perimeter I can make it to the center.”

I took a testing step backward into the curtained mire, and Warren’s eyes widened. I dodged even before he reached for me, because if I waited until I saw him move, it’d be too late.

“Dammit, Olivia! There’s too many of them.”

“Warren, listen to me.” I was only a few feet away, but utterly alone in the heavy air. My voice sounded leaden, and I knew the rest of the troop was hearing it seconds after I actually spoke. “Micah’s right. It is toxic, but not for me. I promise I won’t take any unnecessary risks, and if there’s even a chance of being ganged up on, I’ll turn tail immediately.”

There was silence in the lag time, and then I could hear Micah reasoning it out. “It’s a power that shouldn’t be denied.”

What he meant was that it was all right for me to use the power of the Shadow side as long as it benefited us. Tricky argument…and one that’d been a sticking point within the troop ever since my emergence.

“Listen to my voice,” I added, knowing a part of what was motivating me was a need to prove myself. Still. “I can be up and back with our guy before they even know I’m there.”

Because if
we
hadn’t known I could do this, they wouldn’t either. I was that unpredictable, that new. More silence, this time a full minute passing before I heard a resigned sigh. I’d begun feeling cut off in a rich web of oil, and was surprised to find the weight heavy and comfortable, almost peaceful.

“You retreat if even one of them spots you,” came Warren’s reluctant orders. “Use your intuition—don’t wait for your glyph to begin glowing before heading back.”

“I swear it,” I said, not reminding him that my glyph—drawn in comic books as a large letter or symbol on a character’s chest—might start smoking instead. Yes, I was both Shadow and Light. My troop, even my leader, could often ignore the implications of that. I was finding more and more that I could not.

“And if I pick up a manual next week to find you’ve done any different, I’ll save the Tulpa the trouble and kill you myself.”

Surely that was hyperbole, so I nodded as I silently headed back into the swirling fog. Besides, manuals—and the activity they reported in such bright and meticulous detail—were the least of my worries.

I lowered into a crouch, preparing to charge the base of the tower crane. The lack of air was blunting my senses. I could see as I vaulted off the concrete pad and onto the crane’s mast, but it was with a mortal’s gaze, and tasting the air was impossible with a leaden tongue. Sound was stamped out under the heavy black boot of this particular mushroom cloud, but so was scent. My pace on the crane’s mast faltered when I realized how vulnerable all this made me.

But the Shadows were laboring under the same circumstances, right? I hit the top of the mast and began to make my way across the crane’s long arm. I couldn’t help but wonder if my Light side would make me slower or less able than them. Yet it hadn’t so far. Indeed, my dual sides seemed to fuel each other, and why not? I was the Kairos, the only one who’d ever been
both,
and could draw on powers no one else could. So then why were nerves winging themselves around in my gut like butterflies trapped in netting?

I patted the extra crossbow bolts I’d clipped to my waist, pulled my conduit so I was holding it upright, and continued to climb.

The density of the airless space lessened the closer I got to the building, and without it bearing down on—and
in
—me, I felt like I was suspended in space. Peacefulness threatened to slip over me again…until I glanced down to find the glyph on my chest warming like the coil of an electric burner, the razor-slim outline of a bow and arrow appearing like a beacon in the blackened sky. Warren was going to be pissed, I thought, before the prospect of imminent death pushed the worry from my mind.

Remaining perched on the jib wasn’t an option, and I couldn’t turn around and show my back. Backing up like a tightrope walker would take too long, and while I could feasibly jump to the platform below this one, even a cat needed to spot the ground. I couldn’t see shit, and didn’t see the purpose of breaking a leg just to flee an unseen threat. I might not heal in time to actually run away. So I continued forward, leaping to the steel scaffolding in a noiseless jump.

I ducked behind a bright red vertical beam, and had just caught my breath when a hoarse, off-key voice sang out over the lifeless air. “‘You are my sunshine, my only sunshine…’”

Now I wanted to jump.

“Tulpa,” I whispered, then charged the largest platform, dead center of the unfinished building. Not safe, but safer. I slipped halfway and ended up straddling the beam, my pelvic bone smarting under the weight of my fall. Jostling my conduit, I fumbled it like a second-string quarterback, and ended up lunging to catch it, my thighs clasped tightly around the steel. I ended up upside-down, thankful I wasn’t saddled with a man’s more fragile parts.

A chuckle joined the name—and me—still hanging in the air. “That’s me.”

It
was
him, I thought, righting myself. His description, his title, and his identity all rolled into one distinctly foreign word. A tulpa was an imagined entity, one wrought into being by thought rather than birth. For centuries Tibetan monks had practiced and perfected the skill of creating thought-forms real enough that they could influence the mortal realm, though the man who’d created this tulpa had been a Westerner. An evil one.

Even when drawn from the most benevolent mind, the creation of a tulpa was considered a dangerous accomplishment. Wyatt Neelson’s original intent was to use the thought-being for personal gain. The Tulpa couldn’t be killed. It could be sent into the most dangerous situations, deal with the most nefarious beings, and come out unscathed. Yet the Tulpa didn’t want to come out, and he quickly grew tired of the evil mind that had created and commanded him. Once he was actualized in the world, he began exercising his own will and judgment, and in the process, became even stronger and more wicked than his creator.

In short, the dude has some powerful fucking juju.

“You caused the vibrational chaos.” It wasn’t a question, but the way the air suddenly moved about me, whistling across all the empty floors below, I knew he’d given me an answering nod. It also gave me his approximate location. I angled sideways, putting a second pallet between us. “And there’s no one else here, is there?”

I didn’t need to feel the air shift to know the girl in the smoke—the one Felix had been so sure was Dawn, the Shadow Gemini—had really been the Tulpa. Able to take the shape and form of anyone he chose, he’d been reacting to Felix’s expectations. Like I said, powerful.

“Disappointed? I can call in some backup if you’d like.”

And do it with nothing more than a thought. “No, no,” I said airily, and quickly. “Let’s just keep this between the two of us.”

It wasn’t necessarily an improvement, but what were my options?

“Good. Because I think it’s time you and I cleared the air…daughter.”

I have mentioned this depraved, wrathful thought-form was my birth father, right? And he just loved to rub it in.

I tensed as the gases cleared around us, and peered from behind the pallet to find his outline materializing across from me, a breeze rushing in to surround his body, slowly expanding to leave a clearing on the unstable platform. From below it must have looked like a light had been turned on across the entire floor, though we were still standing in the pitch of night.