Shadows Before the Sun (30 page)

“I believe so. Why?”

He walked to another wall of cabinet and bookshelf combinations, and pulled out a drawer. Inside he retrieved a metal cylinder and then walked back to me. “Here.”

I took it. It was cold. “What is it?”

“Your antidote.”

My hand tightened around the metal, and my heart lurched inside of my chest. “What do you mean? This”—I shook it at him—“is the cure to
ash
?”

“Yes. But maybe you shouldn’t shake it like that.”

I froze. “But why?” And I didn’t mean the shaking.

“Because,
Detective,
the entire point of retrieving that tablet was to read it, out loud, and in the language of the First Ones. Since you have done that, I’m upholding the bargain.”

Wariness flooded down my back, setting off every warning bell I had. “What the hell did I read, Leander?” But based on what he told me before about the tablet, I had a good idea. “I woke a Disciple.”

He grinned. It wasn’t happy or smug or even satisfied. It was feral.

“Tell me something, Leander,” I said. “Where did the Disciples come from?”

“They were among the first generations born to the First Ones when they seeded the worlds. The first Adonai, the first humans . . . There were none more powerful than them save the First Ones. They offered their swords and their lives. Some guarded mothers and fathers, some guarded lovers, husbands, wives . . .”

And then I took a chance. “I saw you in the vision.”

There was no reaction at all in those golden eyes, almost like he’d been waiting for me to say it. “You saw what you wanted to see.”

“I know what I saw.”

His voice was soft, but lethal. “No, you saw your precious
Ahkneri
turn her back on her own Disciple to save another. That is what you saw.” He moved back to the pinball machine. “As for Sachâth . . . If your plan will work”—he shrugged—“who knows. But I will lend my aid at the time and place. Just call my secretary. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m extremely busy running my empire.”

He turned back to the pinball machine, pulled the lever, and set the ball free.

•    •    •

Hank wasn’t happy with me. I could tell. It might’ve been the heat radiating off his hand when he grabbed mine and pulled me to a private spot in the lobby. Or it might’ve been the pissed off gleam in his eyes, or the plowing of his fingers through his hair and then the exasperated way he parked two fingers on his hip, dropped them, and paced before me.

“When did you plan on telling me about this
idea
?”

“Today.”

“Christ, Charlie!” he hissed and dragged me over to some tall palm trees in pots. “You can’t seriously think . . .”

“You’re the one who said in the cab we had to get rid of it!”

That seemed to take some steam out of him. “I know what I said.” He stared up at the ceiling, blew out a deep sigh, and then faced me again. “We have one shot. One. And that’s it.”

“Well, no pressure or anything,” I said, knowing exactly the risk involved. “And what the hell were you and Leander talking about anyway?”

He gaped for a minute, his focus still on Sachâth. “The NecroNaMoria.” Completely deflated, he slumped into a nearby chair. I did the same in an
adjoining one. “Whoever he is, it happened to him. Even if he hadn’t said anything I knew . . .”

“What do you mean, you knew?”

Hank shook his head as though he was confused by it all. “I don’t know if I can even put it into words. It’s a sense of him being . . . not whole . . .” He let out a heavy breath, and gave up. Obviously not really something he wanted to think about.

I let that simmer for a moment, honestly not knowing how to respond, and disconcerted by the notion that if Leander exhibited a sense of not being whole, then Hank most likely did, too. I stared at Hank, this big, capable guy, sprawled on the chair, his head back against the cushion, who was still cracking stupid jokes and trying to fall back into the person he was before the Circe got ahold of him, and knew he was struggling. On the inside. Where no one could see. Where he wouldn’t
let
anyone see.

“You get a feel for what he is?” I finally asked.

He lifted his head off the back of the chair and scrubbed a hand down his face, leaning forward in the chair, knees apart, hanging his forearms over them. “He’s not siren. I don’t know what he is, Charlie. You really think he’s a Disciple?”

“I don’t know. I was hoping to get more of a reaction out of him.”

“Was he in the vision or were you just bluffing?”

“I don’t know. I thought . . . if not a Disciple then what is he?”

“He didn’t deny it.”

“No . . .”

Hank opened his hand, staring down at his palm for a long moment. “Well, I know how to solve the Elysian part of your problem. Straight from the deity herself.” He lifted his head and held out his branded palm. “Primal Source Words.”

Since we were comparing weapons . . . I lifted my arm, the one with the symbols, and smiled weakly. I hadn’t told him everything. “Ancient divine weapon.”

His crooked smile threw me off-balance. “Some arm you got there, kiddo.” At my confusion, he said, “I saw you use it. In the cave. When Arethusa died.”

Oh. Right. “Yeah, well, I was a little distracted.”

“You and me both.”

“So now what?”

“Well, now we work on the third power problem.”

And what was likely to be the impossible one. “Charbydon.”

The cure for
ash
had been passed along to Titus Mott. It would need to be studied; its properties identified, then re-created and put through a series of tests before using it on live subjects. For now, we were keeping it under wraps—no need to get anyone’s hopes up if it didn’t work. But I was pretty sure that whatever Titus discovered in that cylinder would be the key to
ash
’s demise.

I’d sent out the courier the day before and had just gotten a reply. Lightwater said no. Apparently a stickler for details, she required her two days with me
before
giving me her marker. That had been the deal struck, and that’s the way it would stay. I wanted to send another courier saying that if I
died
then she’d never get her two days, but decided it was pointless. Lightwater wasn’t a fool; she knew exactly the kind
of gun I was under. And she’d had the nerve to write
Good luck
.

I couldn’t exactly go into Ithonia and give Lightwater her two damned days first. She wanted to study me, and my power. No way in hell I was going to chance Sachâth coming again. The next time it did, I was sure it would be my last.

And I’d yet to go to Hank’s apartment to have my wicked, wanton way with him, and was pretty sure this contributed to my bad mood. Last night, he’d come back to my house and eaten dinner with me, Emma, and Rex. And since I hadn’t told Emma anything about a relationship existing between Hank and me, I wasn’t going to go home with him after. We ended up back at the station to work late with Sian, researching the sidhé fae, every myth and legend I could get my hands on concerning the First Ones and their Disciples, and the ITF database for Charbydons in the city (and beyond) who were old enough and powerful enough to beg, blackmail, or threaten into helping me.

Lost cause, really.

I’d made enemies of the two most powerful Charbydons in the city: Grigori Tennin and the Master Crafter of Atlanta, the ghoul, Nuallan Gow. Hank was willing to put his life on the line to fight Sachâth, and Pen had an ulterior motive he thought was worth the risk, but there was no Charbydon who’d be willing to do anything of the sort. In fact, they’d stand on the sidelines cheering Sachâth for the win.

The following morning, I was tired and cranky as I sat at the kitchen table eating a bowl of cereal, not looking forward to starting yet another day of endless frustration and roadblocks. Soon Sachâth would come whether I used my power or not. I had to be prepared, had to face it on my own terms. I had to win.

The Creator didn’t account for everything.

I kept coming back to those words Sandra wrote in her letter. I felt certain she was telling me Sachâth wasn’t perfect. There was a flaw in the First One assassin, the flaw being, in my opinion, that it was only created to kill First Ones. Not other beings. Sure, the fail-safes were there, but had those other races been taken into account? They were only in their infancy, not even a blip on the radar during the time of the First Ones. Had the Creator taken into account that ages later those “blips” would become intelligent and powerful?

I was sure I was on the right track, but I hit a wall when it came to the Charbydon issue.

Emma flounced down the stairs, dropped her backpack in the middle of the kitchen floor, grabbed a bowl and spoon, and then slid into a chair at the table. She grabbed the cereal and milk from the middle of the table and poured. After her first bite, she said, “So?”

“So what?”

“Mom.” The expectant look she gave me was wan and no-nonsense, and very much like . . . me. “The problem. What is it, what’s bugging you? We only have fifteen minutes, so be quick.”

I returned her look, shaking my head, and deciding
to play along. “Okay. Fine. Say you had a project where you had to draw on power. Not just any power, but the arcane energy from each world, really primal stuff. So three different sources. And you have Earth and Elysia covered, but not Charbydon.”

She chewed thoughtfully for less than ten seconds before she said, “Simple.”

I smiled. “Oh, is it?”

“Yeah.” She flipped her spoon until it was pointing to the ceiling. “You just take it from the darkness overhead. It’s all raw energy from Charbydon anyway.”

And just like that my twelve-year-old kid floored me.
Floored
. I dropped my spoon, clattering milk and cereal all over the table. My mouth hung open and she just looked at me, then around the room. “What?” she asked, cheeks full of cereal.

“Nothing. Nothing.” I grabbed the spoon and bowl, standing up, shaking. “You’re just . . . that’s just . . . genius. And right. It’s right.”

Her mouth split into a smile, and she continued chewing cheerfully, completely in bliss at being right. After she swallowed, she said in a very aristocratic tone, “I shall mark this day down in the annals of the Madigan Family Saga. The day Emma Riley Garrity, the
Genius,
was right. Right, I tell you! Right, I say! Right, right, right!” She punched her spoon into the air with each word.

Rex shuffled into the kitchen, all sleepy and grumbly. “Right. Whatever. Coffee. Emma. Stop being happy. It’s too early for happy.”

She laughed and resumed shoveling cereal into her mouth as I stood at the sink, rinsing my bowl out, amazed and embarrassed that I’d been so intent on the Charbydon races that I’d missed the obvious hovering right over my head.

And I didn’t need a Charbydon to use the darkness, just like Pen didn’t need to be human to draw out Earth’s energy. All one needed was strength, knowledge, and a shitload of power.

“Rex,” I said, turning to eye him. “I don’t suppose you know any jinn rituals for calling down or commanding the darkness, do you?”

He shut the fridge and gave me the blandest expression, like I was wasting breath even asking him such a ridiculous question. One that didn’t even warrant an answer.

Well, I had to give it a shot. But I was already well on my way to solving the problem because I knew another who had manipulated the darkness. Llyran, the level-ten felon who had stolen a tome from the Adonai’s Hall of Records, one that told him exactly how to command the darkness.

And guess who had that book? The Druid King.

I wiped the table, kissed Emma on the cheek. “Hurry up, we need to get going.”

•    •    •

After dropping Emma off at school, I placed a call to Hank, filling him in on Emma’s brilliance, then to Pen to let him know we were on our way.

As I parked by the curb near the 10th Street entrance of the Grove, Hank ducked out of his car and my belly went light. I ignored the feeling, turned off the engine, and got out.

Hank approached as I shoved one side of my hair behind my ear and locked my vehicle. I slipped my keys into my pocket. My mark grew warmer. The darkness overhead made me tingle. And my heart rate rose at the idea of facing Sachâth again.
Ugh. Talk about edgy.
And it was only going to get worse.

“Morning,” Hank’s rich voice broke the quiet.

I drew in a deep, steadying breath and turned. “Morning.” I continued, stepping past him and onto the sidewalk. “Sure you’re ready for this?”

His answer was a casual shrug as he fell in step beside me. “You call Leander yet?”

I stopped. Hank walked a few more steps before turning around with an eyebrow lifted in question. “Hank, are you really sure about this? Sachâth might be designed to kill First Ones, but it’ll attack anything if provoked.” And that meant Hank and Pen were as much a target as I’d be.

He took three long strides, coming to stand directly in front of me, so that I had to lift my chin to look him in the eye. “Were you sure when you left the city to find me?” Of course I was. I didn’t even need to think about it. I nodded. “It’s the same thing, Charlie. We defeated my demons, now we defeat yours.” He tossed a look over his shoulder toward the gate. “Come on.”