Seduced By Shadows
Marked Souls - 1
by
Jessa Slade
For my family—Mom and Dad and sister—who cheered over every success and commiserated through every rejection. You are my emotional bucket o’ cookie dough.
For MomMom, who published my “early works” and saw potential in that grade-school poetry chapbook.
And for my very own moody, broody bad-boy werewolf rock-star superhero lover.
You do inspire me.
CHAPTER 1
“The end is nigh.”
Ferris Archer braced his shoulders against the Chicago wind that whipped straight up to whistle around the balcony railing with savage glee. “Never nigh enough.”
“Nigher, then. For some poor soul.”
“Don’t pity the bastard, Zane,” Archer said. “Whoever he is, he could resist temptation.”
Zane squatted in the shelter of the wall, arms wrapped around his knees. “Like we could have?”
Archer faced the dark lake. Despite all his years at these latitudes, he’d still not gotten used to how night came so early in November and stayed so long.
At least the numbing chill anesthetized the memory of anything else.
The balcony door opened. The breath of warmth was snatched away in an instant.
Zane rose to meet the newcomer. “Nothing yet, boss.”
Archer lifted his chin by way of greeting. “Niall.”
“Archer. Haven’t seen you around lately.”
“Any reason you’ve been looking?”
“Just wondering.” In the glitter of city lights, Liam Niall’s Black Irish eyes were as enigmatic as the inky mark that rayed out from his temple and down his cheek.
“Still alive.” At the mocking whisper in the back of his mind, Archer shoved his hands in his pockets. He edged past the two men to the opposite corner of the balcony. “Still kicking.”
If the news brought Niall any joy, it didn’t show on his face, which echoed Archer’s own sentiments on the matter.
Zane cleared his throat. “What’s that? Due north, this side of Division.”
Archer had already seen the flicker near the raised train tracks, nothing like the strange fireworks that flamed in his dreams lately. “Reflections from the L. Keep looking.”
The burning dreams had hollowed him out, left him wanting, when he thought he’d long ago lost touch with the feeling—with any feeling.
He didn’t appreciate the reminder.
Zane gripped the rail. “Have either of you actually seen one before?”
Niall shook his head. “They’re usually drawn straight to their victims, who can’t see them until it’s too late. And they’re rare. Thank God.”
Archer coughed.
He felt Niall staring holes in the back of his head. “By the way, nice trick, catching this crossing,” Niall said. “Bookie’s been tracking activity since you warned us. With no telltale genocides or pandemics or famine in the city, we’re lucky you detected it so early.” He lifted one eyebrow.
Archer didn’t miss the implied invitation to share how he’d known. Since he couldn’t answer, he said nothing.
As if mocking his reticence, an unearthly shimmer drew his gaze to the shadowed depths of the urban valleys. He stiffened. “There. Toward the river.”
“My God,” Zane whispered.
This time, Archer didn’t scoff at invoking the Almighty.
Above the streets and buildings, an arch of vaporous luminescence unfolded in a slow ballet. Vortices of ghostly light pinwheeled out into the dark, highlighted in sprays of radiant sparks that caught, flared, and died.
Only the ceaseless hum of traffic and wind whining over concrete and steel accompanied the eerie sparkler. No screams. No sirens. The phantom lights played over the city, pulsing to an unknown heartbeat, unseen by human eyes.
Or merely human eyes.
Zane whistled. “Well, now we know what an unbound demon escaped from hell looks like.”
Like dragonfly wings glinting iridescent as the tiny predators hunted under a bright sun, fierce and lovely at once. The spectacle echoed through him as if someone were using his breastbone as a gong.
His whole body vibrated with the unheard note. He stiffened against it. “It’s going to draw every fucking djinni from Detroit to St. Louis.”
“Easy to follow, at least,” Niall said. “Get down there. Find whom it’s pursuing. I’ll send a team to run interference in case things go badly.”
“A demon has breached the Veil, the only barrier between us and hell, to possess some poor bastard’s soul,” Zane muttered. “How exactly could it go ‘goodly’?”
Archer didn’t bother responding. “Arm your people well.” He headed for the balcony door. “Every malice and feralis in the city is on the way to pay homage.”
Niall crossed into his path. “Bookie engineered a new demon shunt. Supposed to drain them twice as fast with half the mess. Want to give it a whirl?”
“Garbagemen shouldn’t care about the mess. No point when there’s always more of it.” Archer slid past him, careful to make no contact. “Unless Bookie has a way to send them back through the Veil forever?” When Niall stayed silent, Archer shrugged. “Maybe next time.”
Zane fell into step behind him. “If there is a next time. Did I mention the end is nigh?”
“So you keep promising.” Archer didn’t look back—he’d learned long ago never to do that—but still the demon lights strummed his bones like a call to arms.
As ends of days went, this one looked promising, indeed.
“Damn, Sera, you look like hell. And since when do you smoke?”
Sera Littlejohn sighed and stubbed out the cigarette on the brick wall of the ambulance bay where she’d come to find a little peace and quiet. The spinning red lights and scuttling EMTs had almost done the trick before Betsy showed up. “One of your interns quit—third time this month, he said—and gave me the last of his pack.”
Betsy’s eyes narrowed behind her John Lennon glasses. “That drunk driver didn’t finish the job, so you’re finding another route to rendezvous with your maker?”
Sera reached for the cane she’d propped against the bricks. “Good to see you too, Bets.”
“Chill, girl.” Betsy laid a heavy hand on her shoulder. “Sorry. I was just surprised to see you.”
“Supposed to be my first night back.” Sera gripped the head of the cane, the ergonomic rubber cold under her fingers. She kept telling herself she’d be rid of it soon. “But Marion’s sending me home again, until I’m ‘stronger.’ Said I looked like death warmed over and I was scaring the patients.”
Betsy snickered. “Death warmed over. You’re a thanatologist.”
“Apparently last vigils should be presided over by someone a little perkier and better coiffed.” Sera ran one hand over her simple blond braid. “I told her my lipstick was in the glove compartment, and that ended up somewhere in the trunk.”
“It’s been six months. You couldn’t stop by the Cli nique counter while you learned to walk again?” Betsy shook her head. “For being in charge of end-of-life care, Marion has all the compassion of your average vulture.”
She reached into the side pocket of Sera’s bag and snagged the cigarettes. Without looking behind her, she pitched them into the trash bin.
Sera raised her eyebrows. “Luckily I have friends like you.”
“Lucky is right. Give me any more of that washed-out lip and I’ll send you to Nutrition for a full workup.” Betsy eyed her. “You get any thinner, and when old Grim Reaper Man comes for your customers, he’ll think you’re the ghost.”
“Not a fear of yours then, huh?”
“Funny. We’re so busy tonight, if Death comes looking for me, I’ll triage him with the kids puking up stale Halloween candy. I swear, that club drug making the rounds is a nightmare like you would not believe, and on top of that, we’ve got the full moon bringing out the crazies.”