Shadows of Fate (Shadow Born) (7 page)

Gray snorted. “It would take days to make that list.”

“Those without sin shall cast the first stone.” Seraph quipped. His hand fell on Brenna’s shoulders. “If my loved ones were ripped apart, I would probably do the same thing. It’s not my place to judge.”

“You’re one of the few who feel that way.” She glanced at Gray. By all accounts, she had killed at least three hundred men. But she had no memory of it, only the events that had precipitated the massacre. She held her breath and lifted her mask so she could better examine the remains. The residue from the poison stung her eyes, but it had dissipated enough to be bearable. Xavier’s ashes held the signature greenish tint from the toxin.

She let her eyes slip closed and focused on the texture of the residue. The poison had to be mixed with blood to work. This made it easy to trace the substance back to the original creator. It was not commonly used because of this risk. The poison had been invented by her people, yet here there was no hint of Shadow Bearer blood. Instead the ashes held the stench of another creature.

“Demon.” She looked to Seraph. “I don’t know how, but the ash reeks of manticore blood.”

“Host blood?” Seraph asked.

“No possession. Pure demon blood.” She moved away from the table, replacing her mask.

“She’s right. The scent is too strong to be anything else.” Gray moved beside her. “The Veil must be torn. It’s the only way they could survive here without a host.”

“Impossible. The Guardians would have sounded the alarm.” Seraph moved away from the examination table. “Even if the Guardians were dead, we’d have noticed the destruction. A matter sucking chasm isn’t something you easily miss.”

Gray nodded. “True. But there’s no other explanation.”

“There has to be.” Brenna sighed. This was not the place to discuss a breach in the Veil. She liked Lucy, but the gargoyle was the worst gossip on the team. She had stopped working a while back just so she wouldn’t miss a word of their conversation. “We should leave Lucy to her work.”

Seraph nodded as they left. They made their way to Brenna’s office to continue the discussion. Brenna tossed her coat onto the back of her chair. “Demons aren’t smart enough to organize and execute these types of killings. They’re primal, bordering on instinctual. They would need help—.”

“—from a Shadow Bearer,” Seraph finished. “Which is why I can’t have you on the case. There have been traces of Shadow magic at every crime scene. My men can’t differentiate between yours and the killer’s. Having you involved might contaminate the scenes.”

“But you don’t have anyone capable of bringing a Shadow Bearer down. You need our help.”

Seraph blocked the door to the office. He placed a hand on either side of the frame. A shimmering wave sealed the door, then the rest of the room, giving them absolute privacy. He turned back to them. “I agree. I believe the Veil is torn, but I can’t prove it. I don’t know why it’s different this time, but it is. The resources of this world have not recovered enough to survive another war. You are the only ones that can help me stop it. That’s why I put you two together. At some point I’m going to need you. We all are.”

“So if we die, the world dies?” Chilled, Brenna crossed her arms as she met Seraph’s eyes. “No pressure there.”

“Pressure is all we’ve got. The Veil opening, the murders, the increase in demon possessions have to be connected and I don’t have anyone more qualified on that front. If we find the source of the possessions, it might also lead to the murders and stop what is happening with the Veil.”

She had known him too long not to know when he was holding out. “You found something, didn’t you?” She studied him. “Something that ties everything together.”

At first he wouldn’t meet her eyes. Then, with a sigh, he slipped a hand into his tailored pants and pulled out an evidence bag not unlike the one in Lucy’s lab that had contained the killer’s letter.

“I haven’t shown this to anyone.” He laid it in her palm. “It is up to you what to do with it.”

She opened the bag when she saw what was inside. Heart pounding, she pulled the pendant and chain free. Her other hand was drawn to the necklace she wore with the exact same pendant. It had been her husband’s and, although she kept it covered by glamour, she always wore it as a reminder of his death.

Whoever the bastard was, he had her number. The pendant was the only part of her past she had been unable to let go.

Seraph watched her carefully, as if he were afraid she would snap. “Is it yours?”

Ignoring his question, Brenna picked up her duster from the beat up aluminum chair. “Forward the files to me. Give my runs to someone else. I’m taking the day off.”

“I’ll get you what I have,” Seraph replied. “But this stays between us. My orders to keep you off the case came from way above my pay grade.” So, he was letting her pursue this after all. It just couldn’t be official. Fine by her.

“I’m keeping this.” Brenna held up the pendant. “It may have some residue I can scry.”

He nodded. “Let me know what you find.” He swiped the air and the privacy bubble dissipated. “Be careful. Don’t go after him until you have back up.”

“I won’t let her do anything stupid.” Gray’s eyes, however, were fixed on the pendant swinging on her fingers.

Seraph stepped out into the hallway. “Keep yourselves alive.”

Suspicions rose as Brenna studied Gray. Surely Seraph had checked him out. They didn’t give just anyone a badge. But how could she have missed two Shadow Bearers crossing through the Veil? Even if they had cloaked their presence she should have felt the disturbance or, at the very least, the call of their blood.

“I don’t know where to start,” she grumbled to herself.

Gray settled in one of her chairs, his heels made a sharp ping as they dropped on top of her desk. “Make a list of anyone strong enough to cross the Veil without the Council and a list of all the people who hate you enough to pull off something like this. Cross reference the two and see who is left. Should only be, what, six or seven thousand names?”

“Despite popular belief, I’m not universally hated.”

At least she didn’t think so. Immortals had a long memory, but it had been over ninety years since her banishment. What she had done had helped prolong an already endless war. But no one had cried tears for the men who died. They hadn’t deserved them.

Gray gestured at the pendant still clutched in her hand. “What’s the significance?”

She looked down at the replica, trying to find an appropriate response. “It was a gift from my husband the night he was killed.” Reaching forward, she handed it to him. “You can keep it. It’s not real.”

He cocked a brow. “How do you know?”

“I just do.” She grabbed a pink duffle bag next to the filing cabinet and filled it with her essential papers. “Let’s get out of here. I can smell Xavier’s blood, and it’s making me want to kill something.”

Gray grinned. “Demon hunting might help. I wouldn’t mind getting my hands bloody.”

“I’d be afraid I’d kill the host. If you’re craving violence, you can get that at home.”

With a snort he followed her back to the parking lot. The drive home was made in silence, Brenna contemplating her next step. Leaving Gray in his room, Brenna sought comfort in some solitude of her own. She tried to calm her nerves, but whenever she managed to reach a restful state the next breath brought horrible images of the past.

It had taken nearly fifty years to come to terms with what she had done. When her father’s men killed her husband, she had slipped into a rage so great nothing could break through. Even now in the theater of her mind, rage simmered in her blood. Those men deserved to die. Her only regret was that she had not gone straight to the Council, forcing them to act and serve justice.

Instead she had destroyed the men her father had sent to attack her new family. And when at last she reached the Council, she’d been blamed for the whole affair, as though she was the mastermind. Her father had laughed,
told her he had more men, then ordered Orien, his general, to be executed for the loss.
It would have hurt less had he impaled her on his sword.

Brenna slammed the door. She hated being a delusional ninny. Dunham was dead and she could never return home. She needed to move on. She couldn’t waste another hundred years mourning the impossible.

The marriage had been a sacrifice on both sides—the mating of the two most powerful clans, the Vires and the Sors. Two clans that had been at war for as long as she could remember. It should have brought peace. But her father had ensured it would bring only death. She had been both the sacrificial lamb and the scapegoat on his altar of hate.

He had given her no choice, threatening to kill her if she disobeyed. But she had seen it as a sacrifice for the good of their people. Had believed it would bring reconciliation. When she had been presented to Dunham, her body had shook with trepidation. But when they were alone, away from prying eyes, she learned that beneath the stern exterior lay a man who wanted what was best for his people as well. They had shared their first blood oath and she accepted him as her mate. The ceremony marked the beginning of a process that would tie their souls together in an unbreakable bond. Dunham had died before the ritual had been completed, so their bond could be severed.

Perhaps it was denial or stupidity, but once the rage had subsided she’d refused to accept he was dead. There wasn’t the gaping hole in her soul others felt, even without the completion of the bond. Sadness, yes, but there was an underlying belief that one day she would see him again. Perhaps that was true—in death.

Sick of self-pity, she threw on a pair of old jeans and a tight wool sweater and decided to hunt Gray out. He hadn’t stayed in his room. She found him in what had once been a study. Now it was more like walk-in junk drawer with a table in the center. He looked up as she pressed open the door.

Gray waved her to a chair. He was looking through a sheaf of paper. “Seraph had a runner drop off the files. I’ve been going over them.” He stopped to pick up the plate that lay beside him. “Marissa made cookies, want one?”

Brenna made a mental note to check on Marissa. Cookies only came when she needed to occupy her hands while she worked through a problem. Grabbing one, she slid into the chair.

“What are we looking at?” The pages seemed like gibberish. Numbers, symbols and letters arranged in no particular pattern.

“I’m going back over the older murders to find a connection between the victims. The nature of the killings should tell us when the demons became involved.”

She shook her head. “Seraph would have already spotted those things. What did his reports say?”

“It’s not even mentioned. The team he assigned didn’t know what they were looking for.” He paused. “We do.” He leaned back in the chair, hands behind his head. His enthusiasm was catching. “I’m guessing, but I’d say you noticed something?” Brenna leaned forward and puzzled over the drawing the Kenaz killer had made. It made her brain hurt, but eventually things began to click into place.

“It’s a puzzle,” she said, turning the page the opposite direction. “But for what?”

Gray leaned forward. “Look at the symbols found at every crime scene.” He pointed them out with his pencil. “These are from our world. But
these
symbols—” he slid another paper over top the first, “—are demonic and only show up on the last four victims. The bodies of all the victims except Xavier were recovered and the demonic symbols were carved on the palms and the bottom of the feet as if they were used in a sacrifice.”

“So the demons only came into the picture recently.”

“It appears that way.” He rose to his feet, pacing around the small room. “I’ve been turning it over in my mind, but the symbols together don’t mean anything. And the only connection I can find between the victims is that they all have some link to the IRT. Some were victims. Some were criminals. And Xavier was a hunter.”

Brenna sighed, her body slumping in the chair. “Yeah, but in this world victim and criminal doesn’t narrow things down much. Where do we start? Do you think someone is feeding information about our cases to the outside? Is that how he’s picking victims?”

“It’s a possibility.”

She needed a drink, the tension in her head was overpowering. “Any other options?”

“Someone could be watching you.”

Her hand froze over the glass. “What do you mean?”      

Gray pursed his lips. “The connection between victims goes beyond just the IRT. They are all from
your
cases. If someone had been watching you, they would already have the information. It wouldn’t take a leak.”

“And it would make it easier for Seraph to believe I did it.”

“Exactly.”

She drew a deep breath and sank further into the chair. “There is only one person I can think of who has the strength and the determination to pull all that off.” Gray said nothing but waited for her to continue. “Orien. My father’s general. He was executed after the attack for allowing me to kill his men. At least that was my father’s public reason. I suspect it was so he wouldn’t spill the truth to the Council. It’s impossible. But there is no one else. Even among the dead.”

“What about your husband’s family? Surely one of them would have motive.”