Shadowed Blade (Colbana Files Book 6) Page 8

  Death whispered to me, but I ignored him.

  You need me, he crooned, his voice a seductive, sly whisper. With me, your enemies will know only pain.

  The blade was too sentient for its own good. It had fed on blood in recent months and ever since, he had been determined to make me feed him more. Death wanted to come out and play.

  Hearing a noise at the door, I looked up.

  Shanelle stood there, mouth open as if to ask a question.

  Her gaze darted over the weapons, face freezing.

  “Get back,” I said.

  Some of these weapons had odd effects on other NHs, including shifters.

  Shanelle didn’t move.

  “Get back!” I snapped.

  A hand appeared in the door, hauling her out of the way. Scott’s voice drifted to me. “Is everything okay, Kit?”

  “It’s fine. Just…both of you stay back.”

  Flipping a cloth over Death, I shifted my attention to one of the other weapons—the Druidic bow. Warmth flooded my hand and after a moment, I let myself grip the bow.

  I’d spent months researching it, had even talked to several less-than savory folks who had run with a Druid pair or two—or so they claimed. If there was anything elven-like in our world, it was the Druids and they were a secret, reclusive lot. From what I’d heard, their weapons were prized above all others, known for striking true, even in the hands of amateurs.

  Not that I’d ever needed help hitting my target, but even knowing I needed to hurry, I ran my fingers along the carved surface, felt the weight of the weapon’s age crashing into me.

  Her song had been…wild.

  Blood, tears and death. Raw magic pulsed from her.

  I’d keep her out.

  For some reason, I had a feeling I’d need her.

  The last of the weapons were a few charmed blades and one short sword that had been crafted to poison whatever blood it tasted. I really didn’t like that one.

  If I could find a way to destroy it, I might have already done so.

  After I had all the weapons out, I packed them up in a trunk, each going into a spot made just for it. I’d spent a fortune having that trunk made and Justin had already set basic protections on it, but he’d have to do more. I had no idea where I was going to put this thing in the Lair and I didn’t want curious noses poking around it.

  After I snapped the lid shut, Scott glanced around the corner, his eyes wary. “What do you have in there? Mustard gas?”

  “No.” I crooked a smile at him. “Death on a stick, a little bit of wolf’s bane. Hemlock, eye of newt, that sort of thing.”

  “Eye of newt and hemlock wouldn’t have me wanting to tuck my tail and run off and hide,” he said bluntly. With a shake of his head, he added, “I hope you plan on keeping whatever that was locked away in the chest.”

  “It’s staying locked up.” Taking the bow, I hooked it over my chest and fastened the quiver full of arrows to my belt, opting to carry my blade for now.

  “Can you help me carry this?”

  “Shanelle.” Scott stepped aside as she came in and he jerked his head toward “Let her get it. I want my hands free.”

  Shanelle snapped off a smart salute, but there was no real irritation in her eyes and when I stepped forward, she cut me off. “I’ll get it.” A faint grin curled her lips. “Probably not a bad idea for you to keep your hands free, too.”

  “Are you two aware of something I’m not?” I asked, tightening my grip on the blade.

  “No.” Scott’s reply was level and easy. “But I’m being careful. The Alpha will have my ass if I’m not.”

  I gave him a long, lingering look before I nodded and shifted my attention back to Shanelle. “You square now?”

  She didn’t pretend not to understand. With a stiff shrug, she said, “I smell death. I don’t like it and the cat in me wants to get the hell away. But it’s not screaming at me anymore. I’ll deal.”

  We were out the door in under two minutes.

  It wasn’t until the car rolled into the solid protection offered by the Lair’s underground garage that I breathed easier.

  Even then, it was too soon. I just didn’t know it yet.

  Chapter Ten

  Now that I had my weapons cache stashed in the Lair—apparently Damon had a place in his dungeons for special cases—I breathed a little easier. All of my other weapons, books and clothes had migrated over here in the past few weeks, but I’d been reluctant to move the deadlier items.

  That solid, stone tomb that Damon showed me proved to be ideal.

  Apparently he paid an arm and leg once a year to have a freelancer come in and lay the works on it. In a magic not dissimilar from the spells that had protected my weapons cache, the wards around the stone bunker were fed by the energy of the shapeshifters. Their power was a form of magic and it pulsed in the air around the Lair. If magic were light, this place would be lit up morning, noon and night. There was no lack of energy, even if for some reason the place managed to empty out a few hours at a time.

  The Lair would have to be abandoned, left empty for weeks, or even months, before the spells powering the protection around this room would falter.

  “It’s perfect,” I said wryly, shrugging. “But you’re overpaying whoever is handling the wards. Justin would do it for half that. Might even be able to do it better.”

  “Sure. Your pretty witch does everything better.” Damon rolled his eyes.

  “Not everything.” I made a face at him. “But as far as magic goes…” I let my hand hover over just a few inches above where the wards started. “This is loud. It’s showy. It’s kind of like putting iron bars covered with gold over the windows of a tacky jewelry store. You’re telling people there’s something expensive in there—something valuable. Sure, you might have a pit bull inside and a man with a .45 Magnum waiting to blow the head off any would-be thief, but you could have made the place a little less obvious—and attractive to the thief to begin with.” Sliding him a sly smile, I added, “Trust me. I’m a thief. I look for showy things.”

  Damon studied the stone walls, the plain wooden door skeptically, but shrugged. “I’ll talk to him. Will this work for now?”

  “Yes. Although you probably need to put somebody on the door to make sure nobody comes in until Justin can tone things down some.” Rubbing at my neck, I asked, “Will you need another…tomb?”

  “I’ve got two. If we end up with a couple of assholes who need special treatment, they can share. Or I’ll just kill one of them.” He gave me a toothy smile that made it clear he wasn’t concerned with the idea.

  On our way up the stairs, he sent word to Scott about having somebody on the door. Doyle’s name came up and I gave Damon a vehement no on that, but he was already declining. So nice to know that he’d figured out that Doyle would share my same sick fascination with the weapons…and Doyle wasn’t mature enough yet to get how dangerous some of those were.

  Once that was done, I was tempted to take his hand, tug him to our room.

  Chang stepped out of nowhere.

  At least that was how it seemed.

  “Kit, you have a call coming in…” He checked the slim watch on his wrist. “Four minutes. If you and Damon could please move along to his chambers?”

  “Don’t you have someplace else to be?” I said sourly.

  “I do.” With a close-lipped smile, he inclined his head. “And I’d much rather be there. But things being what they are, it seems wiser to deal with this…client you have acquired.”

  He said client the way one might say cancer or disease.

  “I’ll make sure he has my new cell,” I said tiredly.

  “Perhaps hold off doing that.” Chang’s mouth went tight. When I went to ask, he simply shook his head and indicated that I walk. Damon would wait for me and if that kept Whitmore waiting…well, fuck it.

  Damon wouldn’t give a damn. Most of the NHs in the country wouldn’t for that matter. Our voting rights were strictly l
imited and each election year stripped away more of them. Currently, NHs who had a minimum of fifty percent human DNA, who’d been born human and forced to change or those who had actively served in the military for a minimum of eight years could vote. Of course, if it was determined that you were NH while serving, you could be discharged. The military went back and forth on that one. What a conundrum.

  Frowning, I thought back to Whitmore’s platform. Had I paid much attention?

  I doubted I had. There was no point.

  The bottom line was that the US was as far as I could get from my native home since they still hadn’t colonized the moon or Mars, and that made me an illegal alien. One with very convincing papers, but I wasn’t about to register my status as anything other than an offshoot and if I even wanted to consider trying to vote, I’d have to prove my human parentage.

  I wasn’t giving them blood for anything. I didn’t want to make it that easy for my kin to come looking for me should they ever decide to try.

  Like so many other NHs, since I had no voice, I’d grown…apathetic about so many things. It was dangerous to be that way, but after years and years of being told you don’t matter…after growing up being told you don’t matter…apathy is just easier.

  But now, I had to wonder.

  NHs rights, the NH problem…all of it was always a big issue with politicians.

  What had been his stand on it?

  It hadn’t been anything pushing for us.

  He’s human, Kit. I had my hands on him.

  “Kit?”

  Chang’s voice cut through the tangle of my thoughts and I looked up, realizing we’d arrived inside the rooms Damon and I shared without me even realizing it.

  Chang shut the door behind us, closing the world out.

  More often than not, Shanelle was on hand to take notes and answer any tactical questions I might have, but Chang hadn’t ferreted her out this time. I would have asked him about it, but the phone rang before I had the chance.

  “Just made it,” I said, wondering why my heart was racing. Without thinking about it, I reached up, took the Druidic bow off, and laid it on the couch—adding the quiver of arrows as well.

  A voice came on the line before I finished, and Chang was the one to answer since I was half way across the room.

  “You told me that she’d be available when I called this time,” Whitmore said, his voice biting and cold. The phone’s visual display was active, but Chang had adjusted it to a narrow window so that only those standing right in front of it would be visible.

  He caught sight of me from the corner of his eye and without addressing the man on the screen, he turned—and in full view of President Whitmore—or the wannabe, I still hadn’t decided—Chang gave me a deferential nod. Then, still ignoring the man on the screen, he stepped out of view.

  When I took his place, I saw Whitmore’s face was slightly flushed, temper burning in his eyes.

  Chang’s subtle slap hadn’t gone unnoticed.

  “I am here,” I said mildly. “Chang moves a little faster than I do. He got to the phone first. Should we have let it keep ringing, sir?”

  Immediately, Whitmore’s face was all smiles. “Of course not, of course not…” Hands spread wide, he leaned in closer to the screen, oozing sincerity. “Ms. Colbana, I’ve just been trying to get in contact with you for days. Surely you can understand my urgency. You went completely off the grid.”

  “Yyyeeaahhhh…” I averted my eyes, reaching up to rub at my neck as if I wasn’t quite sure how to proceed. It wasn’t entirely an act. Lying to an NH was an art form. Telling an outright lie could be read, almost like the lines of a book, even on something like a phone call. Granted, taking away something like body chemistry made it trickier. The body chemistry changes a person’s scent with each and every lie, but there are other differences—slight fluctuations in the voice, in the breathing, and heart rate. All of those are signals that something isn’t entirely as it should be. But sidestepping the truth or presenting your version—or just answering a different form of question? That’s where the art comes in. “There wasn’t much choice there. That easy job you sent me on ended up being not so easy. It’s a good thing I’d taken a friend along for the ride—my partner, sir, and I trust him implicitly before you get upset. But if he hadn’t been there?” I lifted a shoulder. “I wouldn’t be here.”

  That faint red color came and went. “You had your…partner. I wasn’t aware you had a partner.”

  Bullshit. Talking about lying being an art form—he’d just gone and used his own version of the truth there, I’d bet my eyeteeth on it.

  It was pretty damn common knowledge that I frequently worked with Justin Greaves when the need arose. Whitmore either hadn’t heard that Justin had come out of his death-like sleep or he’d decided I wanted all that green for myself, but if he knew jack about me, then he knew about Justin.

  A knock at the door, quiet and discreet, distracted me for a moment and I looked away, watched as Chang opened the door, frowning at the sight of Scott standing there. He beckoned him in, though, one hand up, indicating for silence.

  “Ms. Colbana,” Whitmore said, tone sharp, severe.

  “Don’t worry about it. It wasn’t anything important.” From the corner of my eye, I could see that Scott had eased over to the far side of the room and had all but gone dead, breathing so shallowly, I could no longer hear him. “You have my undivided attention, sir.”

  “I’m not sure I do.” He leaned in even closer, as though trying climb through the screen. “You see, when I hired you on, I thought I made it clear I was hiring you on. I do not want the risk of exposure that comes with extra…bodies. I can’t risk others being made aware of my endeavors.”

  Heat began to pulse to in the room, along with a growing tension that I couldn’t quite place. I couldn’t take the time to do it either, not when I was playing a very strange game with the man on the phone. “See, this is where it gets tricky, sir. When you hired me, what you basically hired was Colbana, Incorporated. And Colbana, Incorporated sometimes takes on a freelancer by the name of Justin Greaves. It’s in the contract you refused to sign.” I plucked at a non-existent thread on my sleeve. “The contract that you wanted me to sign, the one I refused to sign that would have leased my services to you indefinitely might have prevented me from bringing along aid when I deemed it necessary, but again…well, I didn’t sign it. We ended up agreeing to a term of four weeks.”

  This time, I was the one who all but tried to climb through the screen. “And since I was the one who was almost fricasseed, fried and flambéed not once, but several times over by that quiet, low-power witch you sent me to watch? Forgive me if I don’t give a rat’s ass if you’re pissed. I signed on to help you with work of a sensitive nature.” I said it mockingly and watched his mouth draw tight. “And during said time, you and I would also work to uncover information on individuals connected to the facility known as Blackstone—and FYI, we didn’t turn up half the information I would have liked. That is what I signed on for. I did not sign on to die for you.”

  He wasn’t red faced. His eyes were icy, expression so stony he might as well have been a statue.

  “Is that quite enough, Ms. Colbana?”

  Lips pursed, I cocked my head to the side as though I were thinking it through. “Well…I got a hell of lot more questions, like why that woman was running us down like there was a price on our tails, but…she’s kinda dead and I doubt you have the answers to that. I’ve got other questions, too, like why it was such a big fucking deal that you send me to the caves in Alabama—caves you insisted I explore and I said hell no, not without backup and you shut down like I’d asked if you wanted to catch the virus. I’m curious why some pretty little dryad decided she’d rather die than talk. She was pretty convinced that she’d be tortured if she lived. I’d like to know why you sent me looking for a Green Man, yet I can’t find shit-all information on one ever being reported in Alabama, but…well. Yeah, that’s enoug
h for now.”

  “Indeed.” He sniffed, sounding as outraged as some prissy little debutante who’d gotten her dress soiled by rain—the outrage. “Are you finished?”

  “Some tea, Kit.”

  The presence of Chang at my side was disconcerting, but I managed to hide it. I took the cup he presented me and lifted it to my lips, taking a drink to wet my throat—it had gone as dry as the desert. When our eyes met, I saw the warning there. Be careful...

  Then he angled his head toward the screen, stared Whitmore dead in the eyes and I understood why he emerged.

  Chang stepped away.

  Damon, as if they’d choreographed it, came up and stood behind me. He placed a hand on my spine and stroked up, then down—just that one touch before retreating and taking up a spot on the wall behind me. It was the only spot in the room where the person on screen could see anybody besides me.

  I knew why my growly cat had decided to emerge from the shadows. He had no desire to speak to the man who’d hired me. But there had been an implied threat hidden somewhere in Whitmore’s voice. I couldn’t quite place where it had been, but the cats had heard it, too.

  Whitmore wouldn’t think twice about making me disappear.

  I was just a lone woman, some strange offshoot. If one dug deep enough, it could be discovered that I was unregistered—which meant I had no rights here at all.

  It was a bigger deal when I was a woman affiliated with the leader of one of the larger shifter clans in the country. Whitmore could make me disappear, but doing so would cause a lot of problems—a few thousand, and all of them roared.

  Damon had just reminded him of that.

  But I didn’t want to be responsible for the hell it might bring down on the Cat Clan—or the wolves, either. Damon was the leader of the largest shifter faction here. By all appearances, he was the leader of the shifters in this general area. In reality, what he shared with the wolves was an alliance. Alisdair MacDonald wouldn’t take it lightly if something presented a huge threat to the cats, because if they were threatened, the smaller wolf clan was also threatened.