Nascent Shadow (Temporal Armistice Book 1) Read online

  They’re somewhat stiff when flexed, and tender like I’d recently slammed them in a door, but the crippling pain is over. Out of nowhere, I get a sudden craving for a cheeseburger. Must be an aftereffect of healing myself. I sit up, covered in Eaves. The room looks like a red-lens photograph. He’s been reduced to a fine crimson mist, plus a few stray bits.

  Ugh. This is nasty.

  I can’t burn this out, not in a hotel with hundreds of people. Showering, though tempting, might leave DNA behind. Then again, I already did that with wherever my fingers went, but it’s probably too mixed into liquid Eaves to be isolated. A shower drain would be obvious. The last thing I need is to be linked to an exploding mage, especially an exploding mage I have a motive to want dead. Even if I had been trying not to kill him. Oh well.

  “That’s for Lawrence.” I kick a piece of him the size of a grape across the room.

  Better get out of here before someone comes to check on all the noise.

  A running leap sends me over the patio railing. I yank off my hoodie and sprout wings in mid free-fall, pulling up and climbing well out of the glare of the city lights, into the cover of a dark night sky.

  Some distance off to the west in a suburban area, I land in a backyard with a nice, big pool. Motion activated lights chase me off, cursing under my breath. The fifth house I try has an even bigger pool, and no automatic lights. It’s easier to explain soaking wet than covered in blood and gore. With my phone and keys safe on land, I fall, fully dressed, into the pool, and slosh around until I stop leaving blood trails in the water.

  Dripping, but free of blood, I snag my stuff from the patio table, pop wings, and zip back into the air to head home. Not a drop of Eaves’ blood is coming with me. Hell, it’s not even leaving New York.

  aturday morning, I lay in bed with little desire to move. I stayed up late both Thursday and Friday night with Jason. Thursday, we hit a few bars and caught an indie band, and last night, we burned the candle at both ends in my apartment on the PlayStation. We even wound up playing ‘strip’ Mortal-Kombat, though aside from roaming hands and wandering tongues, we haven’t gone all the way yet.

  He’s cute in not wanting to hurry. I love that he loves simply being with me.

  Lawrence is doing much better, he came out of his fog Wednesday on a lower dose of pain meds and could carry on a coherent conversation. Talk about awkward? He commented about the hot young nurse who’d visited him and how if he’d been twenty years younger, he’d have put the moves on her. Yeah… No, I didn’t tell him it was me. I did tell him I found Eaves, but startled him into messing up a portal spell and he… burst.

  Much to my surprise, Lawrence doesn’t want to retire right away, but he’s going to be on medical leave for a while longer. Looks like I might wind up being an assistant investigator again, but really, I’m happy just being a plain ol’ firefighter. I’ll still help out if they ask, but my heart is pulling me into the flames.

  Jason’s stuck on the swing today, so he’s gotta be at his station tomorrow as well. Next weekend is my turn. Groan. We might get together later, but I’m not going to let him stay up past his bedtime again. Three nights in a row is going to leave him in no shape to be of use to anyone in an emergency situation.

  After a while, I get up and walk naked to the kitchen for a bowl of cereal. Once I polish it off and wash the bowl, I debate clothes. If I wear something, I have to wash it. Ultimately, I decide on a knee-length ‘sleeping tee.’ No plans to go out, so today equals comfort.

  There’s nothing on TV I want to watch this early on a Saturday, so I flip over to the PS4. I’m clicking back and forth between two games, trying to decide which one to pick back up when a flash of golden radiance from my balcony sets me on edge.

  Laniah steps out of the cloud of light, brilliant, white feathery wings folding up behind her like the paintings you always see of angels. Only, her wings are quite a bit bigger by comparison. Physics, right? They’re on par with mine for size, about half her height up to the bend, and a foot or two longer than her height from there to the tip.

  My patio door clicks and opens on its own. She steps in.

  “Hi.”

  “Come in,” I deadpan.

  As her wings become pure light and shrink into her back, her little porno-toga shifts color and grows into a pink sweater and jeans, though she remains barefoot. Wow. That’s a neat trick. Maybe Natalie can enchant me some clothing that can survive shapeshifting. Not that I mind nudity, but it gets everyone around me uncomfortable and brings on undue attention.

  She sits on the sofa beside me, at the edge like a nervous fourteen-year-old in her boyfriend’s bedroom for the first time. “I wanted to talk to you.”

  I don’t bother sitting up from a slouch so deep a midget walking by could see straight up my shirt. “Okay. Want some iced tea or something?”

  “No, thanks.” She smiles. “I don’t want to bother you that long. It’s about your mother.”

  “What?” I shoot upright, staring at her. “What about Mom?”

  Laniah puts her hand on my knee, her expression comforting. “She is fine. I’m talking about the past.”

  “Oh.” I relax―a little.

  Like Daniel Graf, Laniah is not giving me any feeling of intent, other than by body language. If ‘innocent’ had a picture, she’d be it. Still though, I find myself not quite trusting her all the way.

  “Your mother sought out your father under the influence of magic. Someone else―neither of your parents―wanted you to exist.”

  “How do you know that?” I ask. “Where’s this coming from?”

  “I’m an Elestari.” Laniah makes a satisfied face as if that simple statement ought to explain everything.

  “Right.” I roll my eyes. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why do they want me?”

  “There’s numerous reasons, but the one I, and others who think like me, fear the most is that you are the key to destroying the Armistice. There are groups within both the Elestari and Shaar’Nath who want the war to resume. As long as the mortal world exists, they are held back from slaughtering each other.”

  I fidget. “Graf almost cut my head off the other day. If they’re so bent on killing each other, why not meet for duels here?”

  “Because, it’s small. A few at a time, and if our kind are destroyed here, it’s only a nuisance. Our energy reforms in our home realm, though it can be human decades before we return. To us, it doesn’t feel like any time has passed. Only if they slay each other in our realms is death true.” She stares at me with such sadness in her eyes, I almost want to hug her and say it’ll be okay.

  Almost.

  “Great. No pressure. What am I supposed to do?”

  Laniah’s innocence hardens and she stares into my eyes. “What is your intention toward the mortal world?”

  “It’s my home. I’m not going to burn down my house.” I raise a finger. “I didn’t burn down the last one. There was a drug lab a few trailers over.”

  Her sweetness returns with a broad smile. “Then you should worry only about being the woman your mother raised you to be for now.” Laniah stands. “If you need help, you will have it.”

  “Uhh, thanks.”

  She walks to the patio. Her toga and wings return, and she zips off into the sky like someone shot her out of a huge crossbow. I can’t help but feel jealous at her flight. Something tells me the Elestari are better in the air than us. Mom would say be happy I can fly at all. Most people can’t.

  Before I can grab the controller again, the phone rings. Sigh.

  I trudge to my bedroom and grab it off the desk. “Hello?”

  “Miss Amari?” asks a man with a Spanish accent.

  “Who wants to know?” I ask in Spanish.

  He laughs. “My name is Ernesto. I believe you are at least partially familiar with me.”

  “Yeah, some mage who blew himself up seemed to be pretty scared of you. Is your breath really that strong?”

  Again, he laughs, though
it’s taken a patronizing, insulted tone. “It would be wise of you to back away from matters concerning Rossellini’s restaurant.”

  “Oh. Whee. I guess I’m important if the Mob’s threatening me. Look, man. There’s nothing to back off on. For one thing, I’m not a cop. I’m with the fire department. Two, as far as I know, there’s no evidence to go anywhere with. If anyone needs to be told to back off, it’s the police or the DA. I’m not involved anymore.”

  “Hmm.” Ernesto taps the phone for a few seconds. “You seem to have rather interesting skills. We may be in touch.”

  He hangs up.

  Don’t hold your breath.

  After returning to the couch by way of the bathroom, I spend a minute staring at the controller, knowing the instant I touch it, some other interruption is going to land in my lap. Sure enough, a minute later when I click on Fractured: The Endless Waste (I do love a good post-apocalyptic game), my doorbell rings.

  I jam one of the little sofa pillows in my mouth and bite it to muffle my growl of frustration.

  Sorry little guy. I spit the pillow out, pause the game (which had only just loaded), and pad over to the door, ripping it open a little too hard.

  Tracy and Ashley are standing outside. Tracey in her Starbucks uniform, Ashley in a bright yellow dress and pink flip-flops.

  “Uhh, hi,” I say.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, but I got called in and… I can’t find anyone to watch Ashley. Is there any chance she could stay with you for a couple hours?” Tracy stares at my chest the whole time, but not because of tits. She’s dodging eye contact.

  “Please?” asks Ashley with a huge smile.

  “I’m being watched by angels who don’t trust me, a mage’s guild is probably hunting me, and I think the Mob’s pissed off at me.”

  “Cool!” yells Ashley.

  Tracy bites her lip. “It’s all right. I’ll find someone―”

  “Naw. It’s cool. Just letting you know. I can keep an eye on her.”

  “Wow, really?” Tracy’s head pops up. She looks shocked, but smiles. “Oh, thanks! You’re a lifesaver.”

  Ashley jumps in and hugs me.

  “Sure, no problem. I wouldn’t be a firefighter if I didn’t want to help people.” I pat the kid on the head.

  “You’re awesome.” Tracy grins. “You have my number, right? I’m on the hook ‘til five, but they might ask me to stay ‘til eight. It’s cool if you wanna bring her somewhere, just shoot me a text or something.”

  “All right, and yeah, I still have your number.”

  Tracy takes a knee, tells Ashley to behave herself, that she loves her, and she’ll back soon. Once she trudges off, I ease the door closed. Well, so much for Fractured. That game’s not for kids. We flop on the couch and I pull up a child-friendly adventure game with co-op play.

  A few minutes of jumping over little red jellys with eyes and fanged fuzzballs later, Ashley asks, “Are you really a demon?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  She scrunches up her face. “That’s what Mom said when I asked why she didn’t tell Frank to beat it.”

  My character gets stuck in a slime trap, so I mash buttons as fast as I can to break free. “I’m kinda a demon but not really. Maybe I’m a half-demon.”

  “It’s okay,” says Ashley. “Mom says stair-types are bad. If you were bad, you wouldn’t have killed Frank to protect me.”

  Her remark catches me off guard and I wind up mistiming a jump and falling to my pixelated death. I bite my lip, staring at the controller dangling in my fingers between my knees. “You saw that?”

  Ashley pauses the game and gives me the most precious, serious look I’ve ever seen on an eight-year-old. “Only a little. But you threw him outta window, and he don’t have wings.” She grins. “It’s okay. He deserved it.”

  “Yeah. Guess he did.” I flick my nail at the controller for a few seconds. “A man tried to hurt me like that when I was a little older than you.”

  “Was he dating your mom, too?” Ashley digs her toes into the carpet.

  I shake my head. “No. He tried to get me to go in his car.”

  She gasps. “You didn’t!”

  “No. I’m still here, right?”

  “Whew!” Ashley fake-wipes her forehead. “He would’a taken you away and you’d never be back.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  She smiles. “Did you kill him?”

  I laugh, caught off guard again. “No, my father did.”

  Her eyes widen so much I feel guilty. “Is he the demon? Or is your Mom?”

  “Dad.”

  “Your mom’s normal, right?”

  “Yeah, a lesser mage. But we’re not really demons. We just kinda look like them. Demons are made up.”

  She ponders for a little while, staring at her controller while her eyebrows do tricks. Eventually, she looks up at me with disappointment on her face. “Does that mean you can’t teach me black magic?”

  “Hah!” I giggle. “I don’t know any black magic… and even if I did, I couldn’t teach you. Don’t let fear open you to darkness. It’s not strength. It’s weakness. Fear only causes more fear.”

  “Ugh.” Ashley rolls her eyes. “Great. I summoned the lamest demon.”

  “Who are you calling lame?” I tickle her sides, laughing.

  She squeals, trying to squirm away. A few minutes later, she wails, “Stop,” so I let her breathe. Giggles and laughter continue for a little while before we get quiet and serious again.

  When the silence gets awkward we, resume playing.

  “I still think you’re a lame demon,” says Ashley. “Guess I shouldn’t have used strawberry syrup instead of blood to draw the star.”

  I throw a sofa pillow, bouncing it off her head. “No ritual magic until you’re at least eighteen.”

  “Aww, but Brooklyn!” she fake-whines.

  “No buts. I mean it. Besides. You have to be eighteen to sign a binding contract, even with the powers of darkness.”

  She stares up at me with a ‘really!’ face. It takes all I have to keep myself from laughing. “Yeah. You don’t need to be afraid anymore. You were scared with that man around, and you had every right to be. I think you still are.”

  Ashley leans against me. “Yeah.”

  “My mom didn’t have a lot of money when I was a kid either. I know how it is.” I put an arm around her. “Hey, I got your back. ‘Kay?”

  She raises her head and smiles. “Okay.”

  I sigh. Guess the kid’s got herself a pet demon.

  Well, good for her.

  I’d like to thank you for reading Nascent Shadow, the first book in the Temporal Armistice series!

  Also, many thanks to the team at Curiosity Quills for their help in bringing this book into the world. Especially to Lisa Gus for both suggesting this series as well as editing it.

  Additional thanks to Merethe Najjar for her wonderful assistance proofreading.

  Lastly, to Eugene, thank you for the amazing cover art!

  ungry. The word circles around in my head the way the water spirals into the drain at my feet. Diego, my boyfriend of the past two-some-odd-years, is still screaming at someone over the phone in the other room.

  He’s got enough of a Spanish accent that it sounds like there’s a foreign drama on the TV turned up loud. The rush of water and a closed bathroom door don’t do a whole lot to tune him out, but hey, his neighbors get free stock advice. How that man could go straight from mind-blowing sex to shouting at his coworkers in under a minute, I’ll never understand. Okay, maybe not ‘mind-blowing,’ more like mind-poking, as in poking the brain with a turkey baster.

  So… yeah. Hungry.

  I’d been having that word thrown at me a lot lately, usually by my boss Fenton. Hungry for a big break, major story, ‘the great opportunity’, as he always says. Now, hungry for the food I ordered. Anyway, somewhere between all the ridiculous nonsense he sends me to take pictures of, I get a real story now and
then. Not that anyone believes a word of it. I suffer the curse of working for a tabloid. And The Spiritualist isn’t merely any tabloid. No ‘bat baby’ or ‘bigfoot fathered my child’ stories here. No, we go after cases of magic or unexplained phenomena. Just last month, I got a picture of a real gargoyle. Yes, a real gargoyle. Nasty thing. Almost tore my arm off. They get kinda grumpy when you sneak up on them with a camera flash. And did anyone believe a word of it? Nope.

  At least the shower is relaxing. Diego’s got one of those waterfall deals I’ve been standing in for almost twenty minutes. One of these days, I’ll probably tell him that I’m only sleeping with him so I can use his bathroom. Emerald green tiles, a sheet of warm water falling on my head, some Kiwi-banana body wash; I could stay in here for hours―or at least until he stops shouting on the phone. But I can’t. Remember that whole ‘hungry’ thing? Yeah… I ordered Chinese, our tradition for afterward. It started as a joke a couple months after I first started seeing him. He said something about having sex with me makes him want more in half an hour, and somehow, that related to food.

  I roll my eyes. Diego can be an asshole sometimes―as whoever’s on the other end of that phone is finding out. The half-hour thing is probably some racist joke I should be upset over, but it’s not worth the time. Either way, food’s almost here and I’m not going to get any cleaner. All the post-sex sweat and everything else went down the drain long ago. I sigh to myself. If I’d known Diego would be spending most of ‘our night’ on the phone with his office, I would’ve stayed home with Mr. Moody.

  I have no doubt my cat is going to be all over me when I get home for not stopping by to put down a can. Since I went straight to Diego’s from work, he has to suffer the horrors of dry food from the auto-feeder. Not that he doesn’t have enough food. That thing’s loaded. Enough for probably a whole ‘nother day. But it barely counts. My cat’s world revolves around moist food.