Shadowstorm (The Shadow World Book 6) (43 page)

She imagined him armed.
Damn.

She glanced at David. He was biting his lip against a grin. “Stop reading my mind,” she said.

“Oh, I didn’t need to. I know that look.”

“You act like you haven’t already planted a flag in that particular mountain,” she replied, eliciting a snort from her Prime.

“I highly recommend the climb,” he said with a smile.

She started to make a sardonic comment, but the momentary respite was broken. “Let’s go,” Deven said. “David, you have the toy surprises?”

David held up a silver briefcase. Unfortunately for Miranda’s sense of the stereotypical he didn’t have it handcuffed to his wrist. “Ready.”

“Remember, stay back unless I call. The fewer targets we give them the better.”

Much as she preferred a straightforward battle, Miranda had to concede the point he’d made on the way here: if Morningstar killed one of them they weren’t just fracturing the Circle anymore, but killing all four of them in one shot, leaving what was left of the Circle crippled and without its leader. Miranda and David were immune to heart-shots with wood, but they had no idea if that extended to the other Pair, and there really wasn’t a good way to find out.

The plan was simple enough: draw as many of Morningstar’s soldiers to the front of the building as possible while two teams of Elite went in the back way from different directions, doubling the chance that one of them would find Kai. They were to vacate the premises the second the order came, even if they hadn’t found him. They weren’t planning on a big battle, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t get one.

Miranda wasn’t sure what Deven intended to do in order to catch their attention, but she had a feeling it would be theatrical.

There was an empty storefront across the street from the warehouse. Its front window was boarded up, but had gaps aplenty they could watch through, and the half-rotted plywood and 2x4s would be easy work if they needed to break cover.

It was pretty disgusting on the inside, having served at some point as a drug den and, possibly at the same time, a toilet.

“What is it with bad guys and warehouses?” Miranda muttered, taking up position at one of the gaps. “Can’t someone who wants to kill us operate out of a nice bungalow or something?”

David echoed her motion, except that he took hold of the bottom half of one of the boards and snapped it off, making the gap wide enough to get his arm through, and wide enough that they could all see out of it. Nico stood just behind him, arms crossed, anxiety written both in his face and posture.

“Here we go,” David said. “Both of you—strengthen your shields.”

Miranda would have asked why, but they all fell silent watching the solitary figure stride purposefully into the middle of the street.

Deven stopped right in front of the warehouse, in the glow of the streetlights, cold and impassive with his Signet out where its own light was visible. He turned his back to their hiding place and faced the warehouse.

Miranda remembered, just in time, to do as David had said, and thank goodness she did.

A voice thundered through her head, loud enough to rattle her bones—but completely silent. She could feel it seizing every mind it could latch onto in the building.

COME OUT AND FACE ME.

She knew the words would easily reach underground. If she hadn’t been solidly shielded it would have been incredibly painful—she would have expected it to knock everyone unconscious except it was expertly modulated, exactly loud enough that it couldn’t be ignored.

Out on the street, Deven pulled back the side of his coat and drew Ghostlight before speaking again.

NOW.

Miranda stared, amazed, at its source. “Did we know he could do that?” she asked.

“Telepathic projection,” David said. “Any telepath can do it, but it takes power to get it that loud.”

Nico leaned in closer. “Is being frightening something all Primes strive for, or is that just the two of you?”

David smiled without looking away from the window. “Where do you think I learned it from?”

The moment stretched out long enough that Miranda started to think they had been wrong about the warehouse, and—

Movement.

She saw shadows detach from the building…dozens of them. Then she heard the telltale creak of crossbows being raised.

“Go ahead,” Deven said. “Get it out of your systems.”

Clicks bit into the air like hailstones hitting pavement. She watched at least thirty arrows fly out from the warehouse, sailing toward the oh-so-easy target—all in black, in the middle of the street, they barely had to aim to hit him.

Miranda felt a pull at her mind, and she, David, and Nico all opened themselves up. Energy flowed out of her, and she grinned, watching Deven push the energy out around him in a circle as if he did such things everyday.

Every last arrow hit the barrier and snapped in half, clattering to the ground harmlessly.

“Send out the Prophet,” Deven ordered. “And bring me the Elf.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” came a voice.

A man in cleric’s clothing stepped out into view.

He didn’t seem at all concerned with the situation; his demeanor was actually affable, like he and Deven were old drinking buddies.

“I know you,” Deven said. “You’re the Shepherd I met in California.”

“I am indeed,” was the reply. “I’m touched you remember me.”

“Where is the Elf?”

The Shepherd stuck his hands in his pockets a little too casually, but it didn’t look like there was anything in them. “Don’t worry—he’s perfectly safe with us. I think you’ll be pleased with how well he’s been treated.”

“The only thing you can do to please me, besides die in a pool of your own blood, is bring him to me.”

“What will you do if I refuse?”

Deven said, “Do you really need to ask that?”

“I suppose not. Well, it turns out you’re in luck—the Prophet wants to meet you.”

“That’s not what I asked for.”

“I’m afraid it isn’t my call. I’m only a soldier of God like anyone here; a leader of men, perhaps, but still a servant. I’m happy to, say, order explosives set at a Haven, and make the call to arm them, but ultimately the Word comes from the Prophet, and I work his will, as he delivers it from the Highest.”

Deven laughed quietly. “Are you suicidal, or is your Prophet trying to get rid of you? Because either way…”

A whistle, and the Shepherd flew backwards, knocked off his feet by the dagger protruding from his chest. Miranda stifled a gasp with her hand over her mouth—she hadn’t even seen Deven move. She ought to be used to that kind of thing by now—she’d done it herself more than once—but it still blew her away.

“Now,” he said, more loudly, “If the Prophet wants to speak to me, let him come forth. I’m running out of patience, and since I don’t have enough knives for all of you, your ends will be far messier.”

There was a slow clap from the warehouse’s open door.

“Excellent,” someone said. “Truly, very impressive.”

Miranda froze.

She knew that voice.

Next to her, both Nico and David had gone very still as well. She saw Nico grab David’s arm in a death-grip.

No…no, no, no.

David said softly into his com, “Elite teams fall back—you have two minutes.”

“As you will it, Sire.”

Miranda barely heard them. All she could do was stare.

The Prophet walked out into the light, smiling as if this was all a play written solely for his amusement. He wore all black, like the Shepherd, but instead of a clerical collar, there was an amulet hanging from his throat, glowing a strange, sickly blue.

A Signet.

That wasn’t all he’d stolen.

He walked around Deven in a slow circle before coming to stand about ten feet in front of him—an easy striking distance…but the Prophet knew there was no way in hell Deven would attack him.

His dark violet eyes fixed on the Prime’s. “Please, do go on,” he said. “I love a good threat display, especially when it’s empty.”

Deven’s reaction to the man standing in front of him was shocking, but echoed exactly what they were all feeling.

He dropped his sword.

“What…the hell…is this?” he demanded softly, hissing the words and taking a step back.

The Prophet smiled again. Miranda felt nausea washing over her. How many times had she seen that smile—only nothing like this, not nasty and cruel, not enjoying someone else’s pain.

“It is remarkable,” he said, holding out his arms, looking at his hands with what looked like genuine pleasure. “I’ve worn many bodies in the last two thousand years, but they were all human. Humans are so fragile, and so disposable—you have no idea how many I burned through in the last year alone. Then I had a delightful idea: Use another breed. Obviously I couldn’t take one of yours. Your flesh is beneath me. But the Elentheia…once I discovered they still exist, I knew I had to at least give it a try. The Sanctuaries were still inaccessible, so I had to work with what I could get. I knew they were strong, but I couldn’t be sure they would be able to contain me any more than a human.”

“Who are you?”

“Oh, come now. Don’t you have a guess? You’re nearly half as old as I am…or, perhaps older, in a way, given how little of that time I was awake. We’ve been asleep for a very, very long time, thanks to your merry little band’s first incarnation.”

Deven shook his head. “You’re insane. That’s just a myth —”

“So is Persephone, so are Elves, so are vampires. You’ll have to do better than that, boy. I know you’re used to being the apex predator around here, but…”

Before Miranda could register the motion, the Prophet had crossed the space and wrapped his hand around Deven’s throat, hauling him up off the ground. He shook his hand hard like he was shaking a rag doll, and Miranda heard a dull crack.

Deven went limp.

“It would be very easy for me to kill you right now,” the Prophet said. “But I have much more entertaining plans for all of you. Before I’m done, you will all kneel to me.”

He dropped the Prime on the ground—Deven was still conscious, but Miranda knew his spine was broken. The Prophet stood over him, and moved as if to step on his neck.

She didn’t have a chance to react. She heard the storefront’s door slam, and next thing she knew, the Prophet was thrown aside, where he hit the ground rolling and was back on his feet in seconds.

“Aha!” he said, pleased. “I was wondering if you’d survived.”

“Keep your hands off of him,” Nico snarled, standing between him and Deven. “And
get the hell out of my brother!”

“Fascinating,” said the Prophet in Kai’s stolen, melodic voice. “You’re actually willing to hurt your twin’s body to save your Prime’s. I suppose it’s to be expected—mere self-preservation would drive you to protect that pathetic little creature you’re anchored to.”

“Give him back, you bastard.”

He went on as if Nico hadn’t spoken. “But I know that if you think there’s even the slightest chance he’s still in here, you won’t lay a hand on this body. Is he? Or did I annihilate his soul to make room for my own? How could you ever possibly know?”

Miranda, breathing hard, looked at David. “We have to do something.”

But he was way ahead of her; he’d snapped the briefcase open, exposing three spherical devices in a nest of foam. He hit a switch at the top of each, and she felt him tap firmly on the back of Nico’s mind.
Ready.

“You’ll be happy to know that thanks to your contribution, your dear brother didn’t have to suffer nearly as much as you did in the process of emptying out his body. Well, not physically anyway. Having all the power sucked out of you is pretty hideous, or at least it sounded like it was.”

“You know,” Nico said, regaining his calm in spite of the Prophet’s baiting, “I’ve learned a lot about good and evil since I came here. I learned that the first, and most obvious, flaw of evil is something none of you can seem to help.”

“And what’s that?”

Nico smiled. “Monologuing.”

Nico threw himself backward, turning so he landed covering Deven, and across the street, David took the three spherical devices from the briefcase and, drawing on both Nico and Miranda, threw them, hard, with his mind.

The second the devices hit the building, they exploded.

The force of the blast shattered the remaining glass in the storefront window. Miranda dropped to her knees, covering her face with her arms, and felt glass shards hitting the sleeve of her coat. The air was thick with smoke and dust, and distantly she heard screaming.

She knew at least a few of the soldiers had survived, but if she had her way right now they would all be burning.

There was a grunt from both impact and pain. Nico and Deven lay on the floor where the Elf had transported them, the Elf still shielding the Prime.

“What did he do?” David demanded. “Can he Mist?”

“I think so,” Nico ground out hoarsely, rolling sideways. He was sooty and bruised, his coat badly singed. “I know he lived. Stolen or not, I would have felt it if he died that close to me.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Miranda said. “The police and AFD will be here any minute. Harlan will be at the rendezvous point—we’ll have to carry Dev.”

“No,” David said. “I’ve got it.”

He didn’t finish the sentence. Miranda felt a sickening lurch, and next thing she knew, she was tumbling to the ground next to the Escalade.

Groaning, she turned a gaze of astonishment on her husband. “Did you just Mist four people at once?”

David had sagged back against the vehicle, looking faintly ill, but he nodded. “It was faster.”

Miranda shook her head. “I don’t even know how to react to that.”

From the look of it, neither did he.

Nico, too, was leaning on the car, ghostly white, breathing hard—from exertion or shock, or both, she wasn’t sure. She pushed herself to her feet, went over, and hugged him hard.

“We’ll get him back,” she said. “We’ll find a way.”

“What was he talking about?” Nico asked. “I don’t understand—how can he be two thousand years old?”