12
After a few days of nothing happening-and I mean nothing, no reports of Shadow sightings, no paranormal activity threatening the balance of the mortal world, not even a hangnail to bitch about-I sank into a relatively boring routine of waking, training, eating, and sleeping. Nothing nefarious had happened after my return to the sanctuary, and after a week, I put the run-in with Regan out of my mind, knowing nothing would.
I still scoured the papers for odd events, but if Gregor and Micah and Warren were worried about Valhalla’s lab, they weren’t sharing their concerns with me. I got Vanessa to bring me the new manual of Light the day it came out, and though none of the agents could bring me the Shadow manuals, I did, at length, become confident nobody but Regan knew what had happened in Valhalla’s aquarium. She was supposedly keeping my hidden identity to herself, so I saw no reason to mention our encounter either.
It was true that I’d let a Shadow initiate live, but Regan was virtually harmless as an initiate, and as long as she continued to believe I might be persuaded to the Shadow side, I didn’t think she’d jeopardize that hope. Besides, Cancers metamorphosized in June and July-less than a month to go-and I figured I could kill her in good conscience after that. After all, she had spared my life. Letting her live until she’d reached her third life cycle was fair enough.
So I stopped worrying about lying to Warren and the rest, grew less paranoid about my compromised identity, and as the days veered from the warmth of late spring into the full furnace blast of high summer, even Regan and her dark machinations seemed like a dream.
Meanwhile, my relationship with Hunter was heating up as well. Or I should say my non relationship. I tried to avoid him, but my awareness of him was so great I knew almost to the minute when he returned to the sanctuary. And his presence there, I was finding out, was ubiquitous. He left only to put in his shift at Valhalla, returning each evening as dusk split the summer sky in two. Unlike the rest of us, he didn’t seem to occupy an address outside the sanctuary; that, or he preferred his tiny room in the barracks to any dwelling that lay on the outside. I didn’t dare ask why, fearing he might construe my curiosity for romantic interest.
Not that I could avoid him completely. He was too integral a part of the troop. Hardly a day passed when someone didn’t recommend asking the advice of the weapons master, or lauded the weapons master, or raved over the latest design of the weapons master. If the Shadow agents only knew that our beloved weapons master was planted as security in Valhalla, like a renegade bee from another hive, they’d shit bricks. And slay him on his very next shift.
And a part of me couldn’t help but think this was exactly what drew Hunter to his job. Hiding among the Shadows must give him a rush. He toed the line between disguise and discovery more closely than any of us, though it didn’t seem to frighten him. Not the need to be ever-vigilant and keep every emotion under control, not the discussions about infiltrating more deeply…not even me when I tripped out and inadvertently showed him my Shadow side. In those moments, just after the ebony iciness had left my gaze-when everyone else was still trying to get their glyphs back under control, incrementally backing away at the same time-he just tilted his head in that steady way he had, languidly expressionless, and flexed.
So I reconciled myself to the momentary need to remain where I was, played my game of sexual cat-and-mouse with Hunter, tried to bait Chandra whenever nobody was looking-a girl still has to have her fun-and almost began to believe Warren was right, and the Shadows had forgotten us completely. That the world was as our troop leader envisioned it: balanced, peaceful, and destined to remain that way.
That’s why I was so relaxed the night of the Valhalla event, perched alone atop the Silver Slipper, drinking directly from a bottle of Chablis because I’d forgotten to bring a glass. The wine slid into me like liquid peace, a cool sensory contrast to the lights I could see glowing along the Strip like a burning oil slick. Early June still had cool nights, but another month from now the concrete jungle would retain the heat of the day like a banked coal, waiting to spark again with the coming dawn.
A flash of light rocketed into the air in the distance, then burst into a bright bloom of raining purple color. That first colorful explosion was followed by a well-choreographed, and costly, display of fireworks, and as color bloomed in the sky, I leaned on my palms to watch the show. It wasn’t as exciting as New Year’s Eve, when every major hotel on the Strip fired a series of identical blasts into the air in perfectly synchronized choreography, but Xavier Archer was no slouch in the self-promotion department. I lifted my bottle high, saluting his masturbatory display of self-indulgence, then jolted when my cell phone rang in my pants pocket.
“Shit,” I said, wiping wine from the front of my shirt. “Hello?”
“Olivia? Can you hear me?” Cher’s voice came over the phone, the boom of fireworks sounding over the line before it reached me in the boneyard. I smiled. I’d known she’d be in the thick of it.
“You seem to be having a hell of a party,” I said, raising my voice as the first whiff of gunpowder wafted my way.
“Oh, we are! We are! Xavier showed up to start the fireworks show himself, and he ordered a whole round of champagne for everyone with balcony views. That’s us.”
“Of course it is,” I said, but frowned at the mention of Xavier. He may have had an ego for days, but was an infamous recluse. This, along with the bachelorette auction, would make two appearances in as many weeks. Virtually unheard of. “He must be celebrating something special,” I said, toying with my ring, which pulsed gently in the dim boneyard. “Probably a hostile takeover of some poor publicly owned company.”
“Maybe,” and I could imagine her shrugging as she said it. “He gave some speech about long-held plans coming to fruition. Said sacrifice is required to achieve utopian dreams.”
“Whatever that means,” I heard Suzanne add in the background.
Leaving the wine bottle where it sat, I rose and stared hard at the city, the light in the sky now bright enough to eclipse those blazing from the ground. The scent of sulfur was stronger now, almost noxious as the potassium nitrate began to assail me. I covered my nose with my free hand. Meanwhile my mind raced. I’d known of no big deals closed, and if there’d been plans to expand or take over another property, I’d have heard about it before now.
“It means we all get free Dom P.,” Cher said, her giggle drowned out by another round of starry blasts.
“Cher? I-I can’t hear you,” I lied, choking as the boneyard grew thicker with smoke and scent. “Call me tomorrow after you’ve gotten over your hangover.” And I hung up without waiting for her reply.
Meanwhile the debris in the boneyard floor had disappeared into a misty haze, black fog rising to claim the signs, dragging them into a proper grave. From my perch I could see beyond the walls and cyclone wire to where the streets were disappearing as well. Filmy clouds continued to rise, swallowing the terrain until the streetlights glowed like eerie beacons.
“What the fuck?” I said, and nearly choked on the sharp, peppery toxins.
My phone rang again.
“I seriously can’t talk, Cher. I’m busy…getting a massage,” I managed, before choking off into a fit of shallow coughs. My eyes were watering, and the lining of my nose itched, making me sneeze.
Laughter, tinkling like bells, sounded over the line. “You don’t sound like you’re getting a massage…but if you are, you’re missing all the fun.”
“Who is this?” I asked, but the answer came to me before another word was uttered. “What do you want?”
“I already told you that, Archer,” Regan said, derision seeping over the line. “I want you to come to the Shadow side and live happily ever after.”