Shadow Reaper (Shadowlands Series) Page 11

  “No. I just don’t like being held prisoner.”

  Freya was looking at me as if I’d grown two heads. “If you hadn’t noticed, our world has gone to shit, and this place . . . it’s the best fucking thing that could happen to you. You get fed, you get a roof, you get to live.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t get to leave, do I?”

  She planted her fists on her hips. “And where would you go?”

  “I’d go to Inferna and save my friend.”

  Her fists slid off her hips just as the lift pinged and the doors slid open. She ushered me into a dimly lit corridor and then turned me to face her.

  “I’m sorry about your friend, I really am. But Inferna . . . it’s not somewhere you come back from unscathed, if you come back at all. If she’s been taken there then she’s either dead, or no longer the woman you know. You need to forget her and move on.”

  “I can’t. I understand what you’re saying, but I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try. I know it’s dangerous out there, which is why I was asking for help. Why can’t they help me? Just get me there, give me directions. I mean, I’m just another human, why does it matter that I stay here?”

  She frowned. “Yeah, that is kinda weird. I was wondering about that, but then you’re pretty hot, so I just thought Avery has taken a shine to you, and . . . um . . . you know.”

  “Does he do that?”

  Freya smiled, her eyes going dreamy. “If you’re lucky. He’s an empath, you see, so he can sense your emotions, manipulate them to heighten . . . ahem . . . anyway. It’s either Avery or Daemon and, trust me, you don’t want it to be Daemon.” Her eyes lit up then went all shifty. She was hiding something, and it had to do with this Daemon.

  “Freya? What aren’t you telling me?”

  Freya winced. “Shit! My mum always said I had a crappy poker face. Look, if you’re serious about Inferna, then Daemon is the Shadowlander to speak to. He’s one of the bosses.”

  “Like Avery and Jiva?”

  Freya chuffed. “No. He’s nothing like Avery or Jiva. Daemon is . . . he’s something else entirely, but he’s your best bet.”

  “Why?”

  “Because to find Inferna you have to have been there before, or been born there. Neither Avery or Jiva qualify, but Daemon, Daemon is an Infernan.”

  She said it as if it should mean something to me, all hushed tones and wide eyes.

  “Okay, so where can I find him?”

  “You don’t.” Freya moved off and I followed her past door after door. “Daemon is his own beast. I’ve never actually seen him, but his girls have some stories I can tell you.”

  “Girls?”

  She stopped outside a white door and looked me up and down, assessing. For a moment, she reminded me of Jiva, and I was about to say something, but then the similarity was gone, and she was pushing open the door. “If you’re as interesting as Jiva and Avery think, then I’m sure Daemon will summon you . . . eventually.” She stepped into the room. “When he does, I’m not sure you’ll be so pleased.”

  She flicked a switch and the room was bathed in soft amber light.

  I stared in awe at the high cushy-looking bed, the soft, plush-looking sofa, and the small kitchenette to the left.

  “This will be your room,” Freya said. She took my chin and forced me to look at her. “This is a safe place, babe. There’s no harm in allowing yourself to feel safe. No harm at all.” She turned to leave and paused at the door. “Oh, if you feel up to it, get washed up and changed and come down to the lounge. Down the corridor and turn left, you can’t miss it. You can meet some of the girls.” She winked and closed the door, leaving me all alone.

  I stood in the centre of the room, suddenly bone weary and achingly alone. There was so much to process. The intact streets that made up Jiva’s museum, the fact that there was no treaty and therefore nothing stopping my people from coming and going as they pleased, aside for the threat of Traders and critters. It made me question who’d invented this fake treaty? Why don’t the Traders just go beyond the Horizon and take humans? I’d have to ask Freya about that one. I made a mental note to do so and then moved toward the bed and sat down. I meant to just take a minute to gather myself. I had every intention of heading to the lounge. I needed to speak to these girls, find out what they knew about this Daemon. He was my only hope at getting Bernadette back, but the bed was so soft and comfortable against my aching butt that I couldn’t resist laying down.

  Just a moment, I told myself.

  ***

  I awoke, I’m not sure how much later, to an amused Freya holding a mug of something that smelled delicious. I sat up, rubbed my eyes and offered her a smile.

  “I guess you needed that, huh? Here, drink this. It’ll put some colour back in your cheeks.”

  It was something Clay would say. I took the mug.

  “What is it?”

  “Viola’s special broth. Trust me, it’s good.”

  I took a tentative sip and sighed as spicy cinnamon flavour and heat exploded on my tongue. It hit my stomach and warmth radiated outward, leaving me tingling.

  “That is good.” I took another sip.

  “Told you. I’m about to start my next shift, but I thought I’d take you down and introduce you to Henry. He runs the bar. You’ll be working with him.”

  “How long was I out?”

  She grinned. “Twelve hours or so. It’s cool, don’t worry. Cal said to let you rest up. After what you went through, you needed it, but you gotta work for your place here, and you’ll need to make sure you get to your shifts on time, ’kay?”

  I nodded, all the time wondering when I could knock off, go to the lounge and speak to these girls that Freya had mentioned. The sooner I got to Daemon, the sooner I could get out of here, find Bernadette, and go home.

  Freya reached for the mug and I blinked in surprise to find it empty. Freya laughed. “Yeah, it goes down far too quick, doesn’t it?” She pointed to a chest of drawers in the corner of the room. “You’ll find fresh clothes in there. There’s no time for a wash now, but you can have one after your shift. Just grab a shirt and I’ll meet you outside in two.”

  She left me to it and I stretched and stood. I didn’t know what had been in that broth, but whatever it was it had taken away my aches and pains. I felt energised and ready for anything.

  I found several black shirts with “Apocalypse” scrawled in white letters on the back, black trousers and black socks. I reached for the hem of my shirt to pull it off, expecting the flare of pain from my back wound, but nothing happened. Strange. I pulled off the shirt and searched for a mirror. There wasn’t one in this room, but there was a door, which I was pretty sure led to a washroom. I pushed open the door and went in, flicked the switch and winced at the flare of light. How were they doing this? We were lucky at Shelter with the government generators powered by the Thames, but how were they getting their power? Another question to add to my ever-growing list.

  I found a small mirror located above an equally small sink. There was a narrow tub too, but I wasn’t interested in that at the moment. I needed to look at my back. It was awkward, but with some stretching and twisting, I managed to catch a glimpse of the wound. I blinked at it for a long moment and then moved back into the main room and pulled on the black Apocalypse shirt. It sat smoothly against my skin, against the wound that was now merely a faint pink line.

  CLAY

  There’s a strange sound coming from somewhere.

  It’s water.

  The air smells odd.

  He opens his eyes in a place he doesn’t know. Above him is rock, lit gently in silver light. He is in a cave. He sits up, looking beneath him at the soft leaves and white petals that have cushioned his body. He is very much naked.

  He gets to his feet. There’s lightness to him, a sensation of freedom. The air smells clean. He draws a deep breath, letting it fill his lungs. It’s cool and fresh and feels amazing in his chest.

  The silver light
is coming from outside, from beyond this cave he’s in. Out there, it’s raining, and he realises the light is from the moon.

  Moonlight. He has to see more of it. He needs to feel rain on his skin.

  He walks slowly across the rocky floor, taking his time.

  Pausing at the threshold of the cave, he looks up. So many trees, leaves dancing under the rain, all lit up beautifully by the moon. There she is, the moon. It’s enough to bring tears to his eyes.

  But he’s a little afraid. The cave is safe and holds him secure in a dark embrace. What if he steps out and the rain burns him? It’s water, yes, but where does it come from? “It’s so beautiful,” he says.

  And it is. Despite his anxiety, he cannot stay in the cave. He can come back later and rest in the leaves and the petals, but now it’s time to be outside in the night. It calls to him, asking him to come and dance.

  He takes a step into the rain, embracing its chilly kiss on his skin. The sensation is amazing, an endless curtain of wetness cascading over him. The ground is grass and mud at his feet. He stomps around and twirls and throws himself down in it, rolling about in the pool he creates.

  He doesn’t care about the dirt or how drenched he is. This is life, this is living.

  Everything seems so bright. The moon is a powerful beacon, the raindrops sparkle like diamonds. Every leaf is the richest green, a new kind of green invented just for him.

  He has to touch the leaves.

  He sees a tree with low hanging branches, as if it’s trying to pick something up off the ground but can’t quite get to it. He reaches for the nearest leaf. It’s big and has five points to it. It’s a star!

  “Star leaf,” he says.

  So pretty, so splendid and wet. It loves the rain, loves to soak it all up and grow. He smiles as he strokes the leaf, tracing its veins with a delicate touch.

  His finger starts to glow.

  He jumps back, letting the leaf fall back into place.

  His finger still glows. It’s a golden light; a gentle glow like the moon. But it’s not the same.

  After a moment, he reaches for the leaf again. The light on his finger brightens and every other digit does the same. The veins of the leaf absorb the glow, feast upon it. It tingles and feels so amazing. The leaf swells in the middle and sprouts a bud. The golden light smothers the bud and makes it grow.

  He looks down and sees the glow all over his body, right down to the ends of his toes. The sodden ground loves the light, takes it in and brightens. Things grow at his feet, tangling around his ankles.

  The bud on the leaf releases a violet flower and a sweet perfume. He smiles at it and he could swear it does the same.

  At his feet, a garden is growing. Tomatoes. More flowers. The tops of carrots in the dirt. He reaches down and pulls out a magnificent orange creation. It’s big and ready to devour. And the tomatoes are so fat and juicy and a blinding red.

  “Let the garden grow!”

  ***

  Clay woke up, the right side of his face planted firmly on his worktable. Drool pooled beneath him.

  He sat up, a little unsteady, and wiped the drool with his T-shirt. Man, what a weird dream. Maybe it was a sign that his new grow light would be a success. He really was obsessed if it had started to infiltrate his dreams.

  And now he had vegetables on the brain. All he could think about was how damn delicious those carrots looked.

  He glanced at his clock. “Crap!” He’d slept for three hours.

  Ash would be back by now, surely. A wave of panic swept over him, and his heartbeat sped up. He had to see his sister. Now!

  He dashed out of his workshop and headed for Ash’s room.

  She wasn’t there.

  His chest felt tight.

  Bernadette. Yes, she was with Bernadette. Clay wasn’t sure where Bernadette’s quarters were, but a quick stop at the rota board and a careful survey of the street map told him what he needed to know. Heart still pounding with a strange premonition, he headed to Bernadette’s room.

  He knocked three times and waited, but there was no answer. No panic, he’d try the gym, the infirmary, the Eye. Yes! The Eye. Blake would help him locate Ash using the monitors that surveyed the whole complex.

  He ran up the metal steps to the entrance of the Eye.

  “Clay?” Ryder called from behind.

  He stopped and looked down the stairway. “What?”

  Ryder’s face was grim, his eyes too bright.

  The heat that had been flooding Clay’s veins was replaced with ice. “What do you want?”

  “It’s Ash.”

  “No.” He didn’t want to know what he already suspected. That horrible sick sensation in the pit of his stomach made sense as he finally accepted that something was terribly wrong. “Where is she? How bad is she hurt?” He clambered back down the steps. “Is she at the infirmary? Damn it Ryder, did you leave Nina with her?” He made to storm passed, but Ryder grabbed his arm.

  “Clay, she’s not at the infirmary.”

  What the hell was he talking about?

  Ryder swallowed. “Blake spotted something on the monitors about an hour ago, in one of the tunnels just off Shelter. He sent a team to investigate and they found her.”

  “Found her doing what?”

  “They found her, Clay, they found her dead. Ash is dead.”

  Something was wrong but that wasn’t it. Dead. What a crock. “Fuck off,” Clay shook him off. “She’s not dead.”

  “Clay! She’s at the morgue.”

  He wasn’t listening, he wouldn’t listen because Ash wasn’t dead. She couldn’t be dead, because if she was gone, he would have felt it, surely he would have felt that.

  Despite his conviction, he had to see. He had to know. His feet carried him through Shelter straight to the morgue. The doors opened to him as if in slow motion. A gurney sat in the middle of the grey stone floor, a body covered by a white blood stained sheet.

  There were people around him. People he knew but it didn’t register. All that registered was the gurney. He approached and pulled back the sheet and stared at the body. Face a mess of flesh, eaten and torn. Auburn hair, long and tied back in a ponytail, Ash had hair like that. Ash owned a khaki green vest and black cargo pants too. A body, dead.

  Ash.

  Dead.

  There were voices around him, speaking to him, gentle soothing tones but he couldn’t focus on anything else but the thing most precious to him. The person he loved more than life itself. The person who was dead.

  “I’m dreaming.” He lifted a hand and slapped himself so hard he brought tears to his eyes.

  “Clay!”

  He fell to his knees and Blake was on him, pulling him close.

  “I’m dreaming.”

  “Clay.”

  “This isn’t real. No way is this real. My sister isn’t dead. My sister isn’t dead. My sister isn’t dead.”

  Blake rocked him back and forth.

  “Not Ash, not Ash.”

  A hand rubbed his head.

  He felt closed in, smothered. He was being smothered and sheltered.

  His body already ached from the shock of loss, an all-too familiar feeling he’d been hit with when he’d lost his parents. Ash wasn’t supposed to die.

  “I’m sorry, Clay, so fucking sorry,” Ryder said.

  This was Ryder’s fault. He’d messed with her head and she’d been off her game. The bastard had made her reckless.

  She was always reckless.

  No! She was just tough, a doer.

  Was?

  His hearts was swelling. He could feel it pushing against his chest, wanting to burst. The heartbreak was coming, a tide too strong to hold back.

  “She’s dead.” His lips finally formed the words. “Ash is dead.” His head swam, his stomach churned and he threw up. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see. His vision blurred and the world spun.

  “She’s . . .”

  Everything went black.

  ASH
<
br />   Bartending in a Shadowland establishment isn’t ever boring. During my six-hour shift, I served, and spoke to, no less than twelve different species of Shadowlanders. I learned that in many ways, they weren’t that different from us humans, aside from the wanting to rend your flesh from your bones, or considering liquefied digestive systems a delicacy. Yeah, some very strange customs. But I also learned that every Shadowlander belonged to one of three realms. The term Tri-realms now made sense. I wasn’t sure what these realms were all about, but I knew they bordered the Shadowlands: Inferna, Enchansa, and Saul. When I asked about the Shadowlands, though, or tried to get anything out of them about what had happened to bring down the veil between our worlds, or how my human world had become corrupted, they were less informative. To be honest, I got the impression that they were as clueless as I was.

  “Hey, daydreamer. Succubus at ten o’clock.” Henry, the bar guy nudged me. He smiled kindly but his eyes were wary as he studied the woman waiting to to be served farther down the bar.

  “What’s a Succubus?” I asked him in a whisper.

  “Just don’t let her touch you and you won’t have to find out.”

  “I thought we couldn’t be hurt in here.”

  Henry smiled slyly. “Oh, honey, if she touched you, the last thing you’ll be doing is hurting.” He gave me a shove in the small of my back, and I tottered toward the petite, dark-haired woman leaning against the bar. She pouted as I approached, her eyes sweeping me up and down. She looked harmless enough. I was so confused.

  “What can I get you?”

  She finished her visual assessment of my chest and raised her long lashes to fix me with her penetrating green eyes. “Oh, so many things, but for now I’ll take a Screaming Orgasm.” She licked her lips and my mouth went dry.

  What the fuck?

  “Um, okay.” I turned to search for Henry. I had no idea how to make a Screaming Orgasm, wasn’t even sure that was a drink, and Henry hadn’t left me any notes. So far, the drinks had been pretty straight forward.