Shadow Fall (22 page)

“No, not without good reason,” he agreed. “Reason is one of your greatest gifts, Kira. Your mind and your heart drive your will. You must remember to gather all the facts and consider all of the possibilities. See truth in all its forms.”

“See truth in all its forms,” she murmured under her breath. “What does that even mean?”

“You’ll know, my girl.” His body slowly became ethereal. “You’ll know.”

Kira blinked rapidly as reality reasserted itself. Bit by bit she pulled herself back together, wiping at her eyes with the backs of her hands. Her gaze fell to the knife nestled in the wooden puzzle box, then to the arrangement of gilded deities. If she believed Comstock, she’d have to add an icon of Set to her collection.

Why wouldn’t she believe him, with the proof lying before her? The existence of Lightchasers and practitioners of Balance magic shouldn’t have surprised her as much as it did. It made sense on a philosophical scale—Universal Balance and all that. The part that was harder to accept was that this Lightchaser’s blade belonged to the being who had sired her.

Her eyes fell to the dagger again. She’d seen enough through her mother’s eyes to know that she didn’t want to wrap her bare hands around any part of the blade. She didn’t want to know what a Lightchaser did in service to Shadow.

Are you sure?
Another part of her mind wondered.
That’s the kind of information the Commission would love to have. Think of what you could do with the knowledge. It would be easier to fight Shadowlings if you knew more about them than war stories gleaned from dusty volumes.

She looked at the gilded statues again. Despite what Bernie had told her, she needed Ma’at in her life. Ma’at had saved her, had claimed her. Kira couldn’t conceive of turning her back on her goddess, no matter how strong her Shadow nature became.

“I could really use some guidance right now, and a healthy dose of intestinal fortitude.”

Closing her eyes, she allowed her breath to flow out and back in. Her concentration focused on the mark at the base of her throat, the feather brand that claimed her as the Hand of Ma’at. The tattoo stung, heated to a burn, a reminder that truth sometimes wasn’t an easy thing to bear.

“Ma’at. Lady of Truth and Justice. You chose me to be Your Hand, to be a bearer of Truth and of Order. I know I should have known what that meant, that I would need to be able to bear my own truth, no matter how hard that is. All I ask is that you give me the strength to walk in truth, to stand in justice, stare truth in the face and be worthy of the honor you have given me.”

She touched the feather mark at her throat again. She’d gotten a lot of truth in the last few days. She had a feeling she was going to get a lot more.

Kira tented her hands above the dagger, called up her extrasense. Magic and logic slid against each other, fighting for dominance. The air shimmered. Suddenly, as if she’d thrown a switch, everything magical in her office lit up. The gilded deities glowed golden-white. Comstock’s watch glittered a deep turquoise. The Lightchaser’s blade emitted a deep lemon-citrine light.

Kira focused her energy into her hands. If she concentrated, she might be able to slice away the memories etched into the blade, leaving only the magic behind. She didn’t want to know anything about her sperm-donor father that she hadn’t already seen.

Patterns swirled around and through the dagger, resolving themselves into two distinct frequencies: one of magic and one of memory. She’d learned through her years of cataloguing and defusing ceremonial objects that magic, whether Light or Shadow based, had its own metaphysical feel and taste, and she used her extrasense to differentiate between the auras that contain impressions of memories and the auras that contain magic.

She had no idea how much time had passed since she’d begun what was essentially magical surgery. All Kira knew when she finally pulled the Veil back over her sight was that her back, eyes, and brain all ached.

She cracked her knuckles, then rubbed at her eyes. Khefar was probably upstairs somewhere, waiting for her to return. She appreciated that he gave her space to work, to attend to her prayers, to have solitude when she needed it. It almost made her feel guilty for keeping things from him.

Before she could change her mind, Kira stretched out her right hand, gripped the bone hilt of the Lightchaser’s dagger, picked it up.

Light seemed to explode from the blade, sunshine yellow. Her extrasense burst through in pure self-defense, battering into the Chaos magic like an opposing storm front. Pain wracked her body from her head down, bowing her back, spasming her hands, throwing her back in the chair. Perception bent, stretched. It shattered beneath the onslaught, searing her senses. Her brain, realizing that her body was in danger of overloading, did the only thing it could do: it shut down, sending her headlong into blackness.

A
hard jangle of sound cut through the room. Khefar rolled over Kira, snatched up her phone, and answered before Kira fully awakened. “Yeah?”

“It’s Zoo.” Barely restrained panic thrummed through the voice on the other end. “They’re taking Wynne to the hospital.”

Kira sat up. “What? What’s wrong?”

“It’s Zoo,” Khefar said, ignoring her grab for the phone. “What happened?” he asked into the receiver.

“I don’t know. She said she was going to take a nap. I came in to wake her up for dinner—it’s our date night. She wouldn’t wake up, and you know she’s not a heavy sleeper.” His voice wobbled. “I took her by the shoulders and shook her. I even tried ice water on her face. Nothing. My girl wouldn’t wake up.”

“Which hospital?”

“Hospital?” Kira leapt out of bed. “Something’s wrong with Wynne, isn’t it?”

“Memorial,” Zoo answered.

“We’re on the way.” Khefar disconnected. By the time he got out of bed, Kira had already thrown on jeans and a bra. She pulled a black shirt over her head before he could zip his jeans. “Zoo said Wynne wouldn’t wake up, no matter what he did. Paramedics are taking her to Memorial Hospital now.”

“You don’t have to go.” Her voice was clipped as she sat on the bed to pull her boots on. She hopped to her feet, stomping to settle her feet in her boots even as she reached for her Lightblade rigging.

“You don’t need to drive,” he countered, following as she raced out of the bedroom and down the stairs. He forced himself to stay calm for Kira’s sake. Something had been off with her ever since he’d entered her office earlier that evening to find her slumped over her desk, an old dagger in her hand. She’d passed it off as fatigue, but he wasn’t so sure. Even so, she didn’t need to be on her motorcycle after identifying an antique knife and a night patrol. The Marlowes were chosen family, the nearest and dearest she had left, and she wouldn’t be able to focus on driving while thinking about Wynne. “They’re your family, and they’re my friends. I’m going with you.”

“Okay.” She buckled on yet another dagger gunslinger style before shoving her arms into her battered overcoat and tugging on her gloves. “Let’s hurry.” On her way out, she grabbed Bernie’s spectacles and settled them on her face.

The drive from Kira’s East Atlanta home to the hospital in the center of downtown was blessedly short, a straight shot down Decatur Street to Jesse Hill Drive. It took longer to find an available spot in the Butler Street parking deck and make their way to the Trauma Center entrance.

Tension hung on Kira like armor. Khefar saw the set of her shoulders and knew she blamed herself. It didn’t matter that they had no idea what had happened to Wynne Marlowe. All that mattered to Kira was that her friend had fallen ill and she hadn’t been there to prevent it.

“Watch your dagger,” she said, speaking for the first time since they left the house. “This hospital has a bustling emergency room and the only Level I trauma center within a hundred miles. Not only are there life-and-death struggles going on inside, there are probably plenty of hybrids from both sides in there too.”

“I’ll control the dagger,” he said. He’d pulled on the long trench, enabling him to wear the dagger at his hip. “What about the hybrids?”

“Unless someone’s blatantly doing something they shouldn’t, leave them alone,” she answered, her voice curt. “My only concern right now is Wynne and Zoo.”

A cross-section of Atlanta packed the emergency room waiting area, and their needs were as diverse as the patients themselves. Feverish children, old folks wheezing and hacking or sitting ashen and still, people of all ages and races sporting injuries from minor to serious. Kira approached a curved information desk. A Hispanic woman held up a finger as she answered a coworker’s question, a phone tucked between her cheek and shoulder. She took her time completing the call and returning the handset to its cradle. “Yes?”

“We’re looking for an emergency patient that may have arrived comatose,” Kira told her.

“Stroke and Neuroscience,” the woman replied without looking up.

Kira’s eyes flashed. The woman behind the desk didn’t seem to notice it, but Khefar did. He reached up so that he could lay a bare finger against the back of her neck. Being touched was still a novel enough sensation for her that it instantly distracted her.

“We’re here for Wynne,” he reminded her when she turned to him.

She nodded once, not trusting herself to speak. Finding out what had happened to Wynne was the important thing, not some nurse who needed to come down from her power trip and show some compassion.

Kira and Khefar followed the directions to the Marcus Stroke and Neurosciences Center. It was like stepping into another world, a peaceful, high-tech oasis far removed from the chained chaos of the general emergency area. Surely someone in a place like this would know what had happened to fell a healthy young woman like Wynne Marlowe.

They found Zoo pacing in a brightly lit waiting area. He wore well-worn jeans, a splattered burgundy sweater that had seen better days, and sneakers that probably had been tan at one point. He must have been crafting spells before the accident. He kept rubbing the owl tattoo on the top of his shaved head, as if seeking comfort or inspiration from his personal totem. Worry etched his olive features, making him look older than his twenty-eight years.

“Zoo.”

He looked up at their approach, stumbling to a stop. Kira took a step toward him, then halted. The normal thing, the human thing, would be to hug her friend and offer comfort, Khefar realized, but Kira wouldn’t do that. She was dressed for winter’s cold from head to toe, but still she was careful not to touch anyone else. Instead, she shoved her hands deep into her pockets and nodded her greeting. “How is she?”

“They don’t know.” Zoo shook his head. “At first they were thinking stroke, but they’re saying they couldn’t find any evidence of internal bleeding, no hemorrhage in the brain, no stresses to the heart.”

His eyes brightened with unshed tears as he clenched his jaw. “So they started asking me about drug use.”

“That’s part of the normal screening they’d do,” Kira said, trying to reassure her friend.

“If they’d asked about anything else, I’d believe you,” Zoo retorted. “But they didn’t ask about anything other than drugs.”

“Wynne doesn’t even use painkillers for PMS,” Kira said. “She’s the healthiest person I know. Do vitamins and herbal teas count as drugs?”

“That’s what I told them.” Zoo set his jaw. “They didn’t believe me. Started asking where we live, what conditions and environments we’ve been in, and where we’ve been in the last couple of days. They took a look at me, at how I’m dressed. They find out what kind of business I own, and they decide that we’re drugged-out neo-hippies doing something shady.”

Anger burned his cheeks. “They kept saying I might as well tell them now, so they can treat her. It would be worse if they found it in her blood, because then they could hold me responsible for hurting her.”

“What?” Behind the glasses, Kira’s eyes did that dangerous flash to yellow again. Dread formed a fist in Khefar’s gut. Kira’s emotions were threatening to unbalance her. Somehow, she needed to find a target for her feelings before they got the best of her. “Green hair doesn’t make someone a drug user.”

“That’s what I told them. I demanded they screen her blood, and offered up mine too while they were at it. Then I called the section chief.”

Kira stopped short. “You called Sanchez?”

“What else was I supposed to do?” Zoo demanded. “We did physical and psychological evals for them when Balm brought us on board, the whole nine. Gilead’s got the most updated records. Besides, Sanchez has pull. Someone from Gilead is coming to deliver Wynne’s files, and then the doctors here will know that Wynne doesn’t do drugs.”

Khefar had an inkling of who would hand-deliver Wynne’s records. From the sour expression Kira wore, she had the same person in mind. Section Chief Estrella Sanchez would be extremely interested in any member of her forces being sent to the hospital, especially since Wynne was a tactical officer assigned to Kira. The Shadowchaser’s irritating disdain for the system would ensure Sanchez’s personal involvement.

“Do you have a problem with Gilead getting involved?” the witch asked.

“Of course not,” Kira answered. “It makes sense, and you’re part of the organization now. Gilead’s records will show that Wynne’s perfectly healthy. The hospital staff can stop making wild assumptions and focus on other causes for her condition.”

“Maybe they should focus on you.”

Khefar looked at the other man, surprised at the vehemence in his tone. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“This is magic-based, and we all know it!”

“You’re probably right,” Kira said then, her tone soothing. “Has Wynne been around any assault magic? Shadow magic?”

“The only magic she’s been around besides mine is yours, and mine isn’t Shadow based.”

Something in the other man’s voice made Khefar want to reach for his blade, an instinctive gesture in the face of imminent threat. Zoo hadn’t looked at Kira directly since they’d arrived, and everything about his demeanor from his stance to his tone of voice screamed antagonism. Khefar knew Zoo was upset about his wife, but there was no need to take his frustrations out on Kira.