Nascent Shadow (Temporal Armistice Book 1) Read online

  Surrounded by a massive koi pond and trees, we hold each other and kiss for a while until a couple with two small kids, a boy and a girl, cross the bridge. The father gives Jason a disdainful look.

  Ugh. Seriously? I am so sick of being mistaken for underage.

  Huh. I wonder. I’m half-human. How long do Shaar’Nath live? Maybe I still technically am a teenager. My impulse control is weak, but much better than it had been when I lived at home. I even manage to get to work on time without the ‘screw it, I’ll find a new job’ that happened a few times when I didn’t want to roll out of bed. Good thing summer work for seventeen-year-olds with perky boobs and big eyes came easy. Made some decent money waiting tables that year, and I didn’t mind the later hours.

  Judgmental-Dad wanders to the edge of the island, still evil-eyeing Jason over his shoulder. A small telekinetic nudge to his foot makes him trip over himself and go face-first into the lake. Oops. There’s that poor impulse control again.

  His kids laugh while his wife screams… until she realizes the water’s only thigh deep.

  Our romantic island crowded, we leave and wander all the way across the park to the Mann Center, but they’re doing some sleepy theater thing instead of a band. Jason whips out his phone to check on something, and after a moment or two, smiles up at me.

  “Wanna grab dinner? There’s some open seats left at Maxwell’s. It’s like a dinner-theater thing. Stand-up comics tonight.”

  “Sounds great.” I wrap myself around Jason’s arm. “Let’s go.”

  It’s not easy to have a conversation over a meal while a parade of up-and-coming comedians are doing their routine on stage nearby. Some are okay, some are on the bland side, and one guy was so horrifyingly lame that the switch on his microphone kept turning itself off. When he tried to brace the switch with his thumb, I telekinetically yanked the wire out the end. Gotta give him a little credit though. He changed up his act into a self-deprecating routine about his jokes sucking so bad even the ghosts hated them.

  We make plans to hang out at my place for a little while and see how compatible we are with video games. Maybe we’ll do more, but I’ll let him lead for now. For once, I’m willing to wait and see what happens.

  The show ends a minute or three after 10:00 p.m. Parking in this section of Philly is a pain. We walk the three blocks back to where Jason’s pickup truck is, only to find a little Honda Civic stuffed so far up his back bumper, it’s probably violating sodomy laws. The Lexus in front of him is less than an inch away.

  “Shit,” mutters Jason. “Asshole.” He scowls at the Civic. “That’s not even a full space. The idiot’s double parked.”

  “That’s not what double parked means.” I stand by the passenger door. “If he parked here, that would be double parked. Two lanes.”

  “Still. How the hell am I supposed to get out?” He groans. “Guess I call the police or something.”

  I saunter over behind the Civic, since there’s not enough room to get between it and Jason’s truck. “Wait. I think I can get this.”

  He stares at me for a second before looking around. At this hour, there aren’t too many people out and about. I stoop and grab the back bumper of the little Honda. No sense being subtle since Jason already knows my secret.

  “Anyone watching?” I ask.

  “Hang on.” Four seconds later, he says, “Clear.”

  The Civic’s a lot lighter than I expected. It doesn’t take much straining for me to lift the rear end off the ground, edge to my right, and drag the little POS onto the sidewalk. I face it toward the street before telekinetically floating it sideways so it’s wedged with the nose at a telephone post and the back bumper against a hair salon. Let the guy explain that to the cops.

  “Holy shit,” says Jason.

  I dust off my hands, again giving the area a quick scan for dumbfounded eyewitnesses. I’d prefer not being tabloid fodder if I can help it. One thing about a big city. The locals tend not to see anything that doesn’t directly concern them. Case in point. No one’s reacting to my idiot-relocation project.

  No one, at least, except for the almost seven-foot tall guy with model looks and straight blond hair, who’s walking straight toward me.

  Shit.

  “Uhh, let’s get going,” I say over my shoulder, while staring at the bartender from Niflheim.

  The too-perfect man fires a stare at Jason, who seems to freeze in terror. Something supernatural happened, but I have no idea what. That gets my hackles up, so I step in front of Jason defensively. Mr. Perfect strolls right up, close enough to reach with a fist, but merely stares down at me.

  “I tire of these games,” says Mr. Perfect.

  I narrow my eyes. “Got a problem with me moonlighting as a meter maid?”

  “Your deception is as thin as your blood.”

  “What’s your fuckin’ problem, man?” I lean toward him, itching to hit him.

  He frowns. “Clearly, you are.”

  “Oh, wait.” I raise a finger and close my eyes as if thinking real hard. “I’ve heard about you. Only an Elestari could be such a sanctimonious fuckstick.”

  He sneers. “Uncivilized wretch. I have yet to figure out what your plan is, but I know you have been stalking me, and I intend to see to it that your machinations fail.” With that, he gracefully sweeps his right arm out to the side and a glimmering gold-and-silver broadsword appears out of thin air, surrounded by a wisp of golden light. The blade has a mirror finish with hairline engravings, while the golden hilt is stylized like feathery wings. At the pommel, a silver pyramid holds a glowing ruby as big as a grape.

  The sight of it makes me forget about being pissed. “Wow, that’s like pretty and shit. So cool.”

  “What game are you playing at?” He leans his nose higher, evidently not expecting the genuineness in my awe.

  “Probably something we can co-op like Special Operations: Panama. Oh. Wait. You’re not talking about PlayStation, are you?”

  “Quite not.” He glowers.

  “You know of all the guys I’ve met, I’ve never had one show me his sword so fast. Then again, I’ve never seen one so big.”

  “Crude.” He grumbles. “You surely are your sire’s offspring.”

  Oh yeah, I’m pissed at this guy. Screw the pretty sword. “Look, shithead. I’m not stalking you. We went to Niflheim once.”

  He raises the blade, pointing it at me.

  It’s astoundingly pretty, but I don’t like having it waved in my face. I take a step back. “You’re overreacting, man. There’s no plan. I’m not up to anything but trying to be on a date.”

  He narrows his eyes. “Your kind are known for deception.”

  “You’re an Elestari, aren’t you? If you’re supposed to be the ‘good guys,’ why are you threatening an unarmed girl?”

  “Oh, spare me.” He lowers the blade to his side. “You’re far from helpless.”

  I stare into his glimmering emerald eyes. If I was totally superficial, I’d be all over him. This guy could be in movies. But I don’t care how pretty a guy is if he’s such an arrogant prig… “Slow it down a bit, bud. I only found out about this whole Shaar’Nath thing a couple days ago. It happened on its own when Jason was about to die. I had to drag half a building off him and carry him out of a blazing inferno. Where were you guys, huh? Aren’t the ‘angels’ the ones who’re supposed to be helping humans?” I smack myself in the forehead. “Oh, that’s right, humans are ants.”

  At the word ‘angels,’ he scowls harder. “The humans are misguided.”

  “So are you.” I jab a finger at him. “The only scheme I’m up to is to go home and relax for a couple hours before bed, and then I get to go back to work helping people. I don’t give a shit about any interdimensional war, Armistice, or how long your fancy sword is. The only reason there’s a problem right now is because you’re in my face.”

  “Hmm.” The Nordic god gives me a long, condescending stare. Eventually, his sword dissipates in a glowing who
rl of golden mist. “There is something different about you. If you are involved in some greater plan, I’m almost ready to accept that perhaps you are truly unaware of it.”

  I edge closer, as ‘up in his shit’ as a five-foot-six girl can get on such a titan. “I don’t know much about any war, and honestly, I don’t care. I’m no demon. I don’t consider myself evil. Okay, so I killed two guys, but they both were the worst kind of scum.”

  He scoffs. “As if I would care what you do to humans? They’re little more than moss growing on the bricks of the wall protecting us from your kind. You will not be permitted to threaten the Armistice.”

  “Permitted?” I lean in more, my tits touching his chest. “Why would I want to threaten this Armistice thing? My father said some rather not-nice things about your kind, and I see you’re desperate to prove him right. I like the world just the way it is.”

  “Hmm.” He turns away. “That has yet to be seen. For the sake of your continued existence, see that your opinion does not change.”

  When he walks off, I flip open the wallet I pickpocketed when my hips touched his thigh. Hmm. According to his license, he lives in Philly.

  Daniel clears his throat.

  I look up. He’s standing over me again with his hand out.

  “Since I’m being stalked, I wanted to know who was doing the stalking, Daniel Graf.” I place the wallet in his hand.

  After a silent smirk, he walks away again.

  “Asshole,” I mutter.

  When I turn back to Jason, both he―and his truck―are gone.

  Son of a bitch. I turn, feeling alone in the middle of nowhere. How the hell am I getting home?

  Guess I could always wing it.

  onday morning, I get a call from Lawrence asking me to meet him at the department’s arson lab. Some cases get farmed out to third-party companies, but after a private lab in Florida getting caught tampering with results cast a shadow of doubt over a thousand convictions, the brass has become distrustful of outside contractors.

  I try calling Jason a few times, but he doesn’t answer his phone. Half of me is hurt/pissed off, but I’m also fairly sure Daniel Graf (he of the big sword) did something to him. Question is… what.

  My neighbors have been quiet, save for the occasional din of a television. Ashley doesn’t strike me as a yeller. When she was over, her voice didn’t get much past a whisper the whole time. Her mother has a set of lungs on her, but without the catalyst of an asshole, she doesn’t react. Silence is such a nice change. The next time Natalie is over, we’ll be able to watch a movie in peace.

  Lawrence’s call interrupted me checking out car dealerships online. Car services are going to get expensive if I have to keep going to random places. I don’t need anything too big, but with my job, I also can’t use ‘the roads are snowy’ as an excuse to stay home. Since I am still sans-car, I catch an Uber to the arson lab. My uniform keeps the driver quiet, though he’s probably itching to ask me why I’m not using an official vehicle.

  On the ride, the radio personality comments about a certain small car found in an impossible parking space, and throws around a few theories as to how it wound up that way. The sidekick suggests a mischievous imp. I’m not sure those are real. Then again, aren’t imps a form of demon? I grin the rest of the way to the lab.

  The front desk people don’t recognize me, and I wind up stuck there arguing with them for a little while until I call Lawrence on my cell. When he emerges from a back hallway and confirms I belong here, the two guys apologize and admit they thought I was an academy hatchling trying to work a dare.

  Sigh.

  He leads me down a corridor with plain white walls, shiny white linoleum, and life-draining fluorescent lights.

  “Lawrence, do I really look like a kid? Are my eyes that big?”

  He makes a show of looking me over before grinning. “To me, everyone who hasn’t hit forty yet is a kid. You’ve got a youngness to you, yeah, but you ain’t no down-covered chick.”

  “Thanks. So, any news on our guy yet?”

  “Not a damn thing.” He grumbles. “Cops are lookin’ for him, but they haven’t come up with anything more than a name yet.”

  “So, why’d you ask me to come in today?” I try not to sound annoyed at him interrupting my day off.

  He swipes an ID card at a reader and pushes open a heavy door, also painted white. “I’d like you to take a look at something else if you don’t mind.”

  “Sure, why not. I’m already here.”

  The room beyond is dim and full of shelves bearing cardboard boxes labeled with dates and place names. He heads down the middle row and plucks a box labeled Jul 2016 – Port Richmond from the shelf, which he carries to the far end of the room.

  A steel table stands along the back wall with three folding chairs tucked under it. Lawrence sets the box on the table, opens the lid, and removes a plastic bag containing a partially-melted wind up miniature grandfather clock about as big as a stick of butter.

  “This was ruled an ‘arcane device,’” says Lawrence. He’s hesitating―and concerned.

  “The other investigator, the one Hilleman wouldn’t talk about, he was working on this?”

  “Yeah. He jumped off a building after lighting himself on fire.” Lawrence bows his head, the grey in his afro glowing from the overhead lights. “The whole thing stank. Sam was a solid guy. They ruled it suicide-by-insanity, but the only way I think he’d have done that, jumped, is to make the burning stop.”

  I stare at the model clock. “You think someone else lit him on fire, and rather than die an agonizing death, he wanted it fast.”

  “If he jumped, it’d been on account o’ someone else lighting him on fire. Though I ain’t convinced he wasn’t pushed.” He gestures at the bag in my hand. “And I want to nail the guy who did it to him. Figured I’d ask you for help. Plus, the firebug who did it is still out there.”

  “All right.” I sit in one of the folding chairs, set the bag down, and open it. “Least I can do for your friend, but no guarantees.”

  He drags another chair out a bit and lowers himself with a grunt. “Understood. Thank you for trying.”

  “Okay to touch it?” I ask.

  “Yeah. Cops have tried to fingerprint it already, nothing.”

  I stick my hand in the bag, hesitate for a second, and grab it.

  A wave of glee passes over me along with visions of a tiny screwdriver tightening miniature screws and tweezers adding gears to spindles. I’m sure whoever made this was even more over the top with loving their craft than Serena. That woman treated her crystals like her children; this guy’s a hair’s breadth from having sex with his device.

  The vision shifts to the clock standing on a doily-covered table. Hands tick closer and closer to the witching hour. I brace for something, but midnight strikes with no effect. I focus in on the second hand creeping onward. At midnight-plus-thirty-seconds, something inside the clock flashes bright red, the only spot of color in an otherwise black-and-white vision. Flames burst forth and fill the room.

  With a jolt, I’m outside the building, hiding in an alley, watching flames fill the windows of a row-house. A great sense of gratification comes on, getting stronger when voices inside start screaming in terror and pain. The mood takes a disgusting turn that makes even Frank seem closer to human.

  The revulsion knocks me out of the vision. I shiver in the chair with a hand on my gut as I try not to throw up all over the evidence room.

  “That bad, huh?” asks Lawrence. When I only look at him, he gets up and rubs my back. “You okay, kid?”

  I shudder. “That man is disgusting.”

  “Can you talk about it?”

  “Yeah, as soon as I convince my breakfast to stay down.”

  “Oof,” says Lawrence.

  A moment or two later, all the foreign emotions are gone and I no longer have to fight to keep ownership of my fried eggs and toast. “The same man made that as set the fire. He got off on it, on the
screaming.”

  “Sick bastard,” mutters Lawrence.

  “No… I mean”―I pantomime a guy stroking it―“he literally got off when the victims inside started screaming. Hearing them die in agony aroused him.”

  Lawrence shakes his head, his expression somber. “I wish I could say I’d never heard of that before. Some pyromaniacs have a fixation from early childhood trauma. Could be his mother beating him, maybe he got abused. Somehow, he formed an association between fire and pleasure.”

  “More like burning people alive and pleasure.” I swallow bile and cough. “How many died there?”

  “Eight. It spread over multiple houses. The fatalities all occurred in the origin building plus the two closest. Everyone else had time to get out. Some firebugs like to watch their work, and it sounds like that’s what you saw.”

  “Yeah.” I cringe. “You already checked dashcams from the police cruisers, I bet, and didn’t get him. He was hidden in a tiny gap between buildings across the street.”

  “All the lights and activity out there, damn unlikely anyone spotted him in the dark. Don’t suppose you got a name or a look at him?”

  I rake my fingers through my hair and shake my head. “No. But I think I’d recognize his, umm, feel on another object. Have there been any other fires started by a device like this?”

  “Only your crystal at Rossolini’s Bistro.”

  “And that’s not the same guy.” I let out a long exhale. “Not even close. The crystal had little emotion from the guy who planted it, and I didn’t even see it being enchanted.”

  Lawrence nods. “Someone merely doing a job.”

  “Yeah.” I gesture at the clock. “This guy loved what he did.”

  “How would you feel about a permanent transfer to AI?”