Charlie Madigan: Shadows Before The Sun Part 3

But argue they did, softly and with pity. The arguing I could take, but the pity-not so much.

My gaze found the chief and latched on. He leaned back against the small kitchen counter and wiped the inside corner of his eye, his large shoulders sagging in defeat. My fists closed tightly. I wanted to scream at him. How could he give up so easily and accept what they were saying?

A woman stepped forward. Human. Cla.s.sy. One of the attorneys, I remembered. Her hesitant look to my left where our resident ITF psychologist, Doctor Berkowitz, stood almost made me laugh. Like Berk could do anything. Like Berk could protect them if I went psycho.

"We're truly sorry, Detective Madigan," the attorney said. "I know your source identified Hank as being in one of the towers, but the Circe took us into each one. Your partner was not there. He was exec-"

"Don't. Don't say it. Just . . . don't."

But she pressed on. "Without Hank's testimony, we have nothing to put pressure on Fiallan and the Circe to end the Malakim practice. Nor do we have any cause to bring a case against them for the execution of someone they consider a known traitor and murderer. One of the things that enables the Federation to function is respecting the cultures, customs, and laws of its members . . ."

Blah, blah, blah.

All I could focus on was the fact that she said the one word I told her not to say. What did she not understand about Don't say it? I wanted to kill her for that, wanted to wrap my bare hands around her throat and choke off the lies spewing from her painted lips. It would feel good and right, justifiable after they just left him there and- "Charlie."

An echo, a whisper of my name, nothing more. I shrugged it out of my head and went back to considering murder.

A gentle hand touched my shoulder. I shrugged that off, too.

A second hand landed on my other shoulder. Hurt and anger filled me with a rush that stole my breath. A crash sounded somewhere far off. Power pushed at me, filling me, searing me from the inside out.

And, for once, I didn't care.

I didn't care that my power had become a beacon. Let Sachath come. The weird shadow being I'd first encountered back in the oracle's club was drawn to my power like a heat-seeking missile. Chances were good it'd knock me out and everything would turn into blackness like before. And blackness would be an easy escape.

No, some inner part of me rose up and said. Hank deserves more than you falling down now, Charlie. Stand and fight.

I tried to concentrate, to think, to battle against the sorrow and listen to that inner voice. I had to figure out what went wrong and fix it.

Had to fix it.

Because the idea that Hank was gone and would never come back . . .

Hot grief stabbed my chest as their words breached my defenses. We're sorry to inform you, your partner was executed upon his arrival in Fiallan. There was nothing we could do . . .

A sharp pinch to my bicep made me flinch. I swatted at it, wishing they'd all just shut up and leave me alone. My face was wet and hot. I couldn't see, couldn't get enough air into my lungs.

They didn't understand how it was. The bond of friends and partners, the things we'd been through, facing down death together, what that meant. If they were right . . . he didn't deserve to go out like that. Not like that. Like a criminal. Hank . . .

The ache . . . the squeezing wouldn't stop. I dropped to my knees. I leaned over until my forehead touched the carpet. My nails dug into the fibers. "It's too short. This carpet is too short." I couldn't even grab it, pull at it.

"Charlie. Listen to me." Berk placed her hand on my back. "You're going to be all right."

A wet laugh burst from my lips. Right. I fell slowly to the side until my face pressed into the floor.

"I gave you a shot, a sedative, something to calm you down."

Someone sat down behind me and pulled the hair back from my wet face, and I knew it was Sian. She'd stayed in the corner, watching, always trying so hard to not draw attention to herself. But now she was here on the floor next to me, her lavender scent filling my nose and her strange, calming vibe working alongside the sedative.

And I just lay there. On the office floor, eyes open but unable to see.

He's not dead. He's not dead. He's not dead.

"Momma?"

Emma's soft voice jerked me awake. I stayed still, the side of my head deep into my pillow, my brain feeling as heavy and overworked as a wrecking ball.

"Mom?"

"Yeah," I forced out through scrunched lips.

The bed dipped with her weight as she sat behind me and put her hand on the comforter covering my hip. "How do you feel?"

"Peachy." Just peachy. My gut clenched into an empty sour ball and I groaned. Once the romance wore off, sedatives and I had a hate/hate relationship. "Can you grab me some saltines?"

After she left, I rolled onto my back, threw off the comforter for cooler air, and cracked open my eyes to the sound of panting. Brim's bald gray head rested on the mattress, his expression pathetic, worried, and hopeful. His tiny ears twitched as if trying to determine my state, and his rear end swayed back and forth as he wagged a tail he didn't have.

I lifted my hand. Immediately the h.e.l.lhound rooted my palm with his wet nose. "I'm fine, you big stinky beast."

Emma returned and tossed me a half-eaten pack of crackers. I caught them with my left hand, scooted back against the headboard, and stuck a dry saltine in my equally dry mouth.

A parental sigh came out of my daughter's lips, the sound completely at odds with her twelve-year-old self. Her wavy brown hair had been pulled back into the usual ponytail and her round brown eyes rolled skyward. "Hold on. I'll get you some water."

"Thank you. Can you bring me a wet washcloth and the hand gel on the sink, please?"

Em returned, sat on the bed, and handed me a cup of water. "Here."

"Thanks." I washed the lump of cracker down my throat and then took the hand gel to remove the evidence of Brim's loving nose and tongue bath. "My head is killing me." I glanced at the clock. "Can't believe how late it is. It's Sat.u.r.day, right? Please tell me I haven't been out for more than a day."

The clock on my night table said it was nearing noon, but who knew what day it was or how much power Berk had packed into that sedative. h.e.l.l, I could've been out for days.

"It's Sat.u.r.day. You missed dinner and breakfast, though, so Rex is bringing up some food for you."

Thank G.o.d. Not too long at all.

Emma grabbed my wrist and turned my arm so she could look at the markings that had been emblazoned there after I'd wielded the First One's divine sword, Urzenemelech. Anguish by Fire. Aptly named. It had cleaved the Adonai serial killer, Llyran, in two, burning him to ashes as it went, and it had left me with bluish markings that ran from my hand all the way to my shoulder.

I'd told Emma only what was safe to know, only what she had to know. The same thing that was in the official report: the sarcophagus contained dust and bone fragments and the sword, all of which were destroyed. There was no such thing as a First One. And if those bones in the coffin were something from myth and legend, then they were long since gone from the world.

I didn't like lying to my kid, but the lies came easier when it meant her safety.

"I wish we knew what this said," she remarked in a wistful tone, releasing my arm.

"Probably something like: She Who Was Dumb Enough To Wield The Sword . . . "

Em laughed. "You have to put more gloom and doom into your voice when you say it."

I smiled and shoved her gently with my foot as Rex entered the room with a tray of food and drink. "I see the grizzly is awake."

"Rex said you snored like a drunken grizzly. But I thought it was more like a jackhammer turning on and off. On and off. On and off . . ."

"Great. Thanks a lot." I made a face at both of them. Rex busied himself with the tray. "Sedatives can do that to anyone, you know."

"Whatever you say, Momma Bear," he said with a smile. The smell of coffee made my stomach grumble. Rex turned with a mug and handed it to me.

"Thank you."

He set the tray on the bed near my knee. "Bagels. Turkey sammy with provolone. Some leftover macaroni salad from yesterday. That should hold you and your divinely morphing self a couple hours."

I set the coffee on the bedside table and picked up the sandwich. Ever since I began evolving, as Aaron put it, my metabolism had skyrocketed. My body was working overtime to readjust to the new DNA that had been introduced to my system. That introduction had saved my life, but it had also enabled me to call darkness over the city for the madman who'd engineered me. I'd done it to save Emma, and would do so again if need be, but would that I could find a way to fix things. Would that you could fix a lot of things.

When I glanced up, Rex and Emma were staring at me. Worry and sadness etched their faces. They knew about Hank. Of course they knew.

"He's not dead," I said, chewing.

But they didn't say anything, just stared at me. Tears sprung to my eyes. I set down the sandwich.

"Momma, please don't cry." Emma walked on her knees over the mattress to hug me. My arm slipped around her and I hugged her to my side, kissed the top of her head, and then drew in her familiar scent.

My exhale was rather shaky, but I proceeded on. "I'm sure the chief told you all about it . . . what they said about Hank. But he's not dead."

For a long moment, we just stared at each other. They loved Hank, too. Emma, certainly. Rex would in time. Right now he was having too much fun playing the protector. It wasn't so much that Rex thought I needed protecting, but more that he found it vastly entertaining to give "the siren" a hard time.

"So here's the way I see it," Rex broke the silence. "We have two choices. Accept the official government drivel, or give them the official Madigan salute."

"The official Madigan salute?" I was almost afraid to ask.

He rolled his eyes like I should be following (like it was ever easy to follow Rex's Crazy Train of thoughts). "Emma, dear one, close your eyes." She snorted, but did as he asked. Then he turned to me and said, "Let me introduce you to your new response to any and all comers who spew this particular party line." He made a grand gesture of lifting his hand, folding his fingers down, and popping up his middle finger. "Voila."

"I know what you're doing," Em said dryly. "I have seen the middle finger before."

Rex gave her a gentle shove. "Already she's a juvenile delinquent. What are they teaching you at this school of yours?"

"A bunch of boring stuff," she muttered, falling back behind me, drawing in her knees, and crossing one leg over the other, so that her knee rested against my shoulder. Brim's nose lifted her hand in a bid to be rubbed.

Emma had gotten a partial scholarship to attend the League of Mages' school in Atlanta, a very private, very expensive school that taught gifted children, human and off-worlder, how to craft and best grow their powers. They also, to Emma's great dismay and my delight, were keen instructors of math, science, grammar, languages, and believed in laying a solid foundation to crafting long before students were able to actually craft.

"Since you were going into Fiallan anyway and Bryn and Miss Marti are already watching me for the week, I think you should stick to the plan. Still go."

Rex joined in. "The chief is still cool with giving you the week off to go to Fiallan if you want to. He wanted me to tell you that. Thinks you need closure, to see for yourself or you'll always have doubts. And you already have the necessary paperwork to travel . . . Everything is still on, Charlie. Only question is, when are you leaving?"

A feeling of such relief and hope erupted inside of me. They weren't going to take anyone's word for it, either. They'd stand by me, by Hank, no matter what.

"Well?" Rex prompted.

My stomach was doing somersaults. Right. Okay. "Well, as soon as I get a shower and pack then," I heard myself say.

Rex slapped his hands on his knees and then stood. "Awesome. I picture you walking out the Circe's door with the siren thrown over your shoulder, giving your new salute as you go."

Emma laughed. "That'd be so cool. You totally have to do that."

"Yeah, I'm sure Hank would love to be thrown over my shoulder and rescued like a sack of potatoes."

"Oh, but that's the beauty of it," Rex said with longing. "He'd never live it down and I could spend years reminding him of it." He looked off into nothingness. "Good times. Good times."

I got off the bed. "You guys are nuts." But they believed in me. Believed in Hank. And I was fine living on the funny farm as long as I had them in my corner. I leaned down, grabbed my daughter's face, and kissed her on the forehead. "I love you. I'm taking a shower." I turned to walk away.

"Uh, h.e.l.lo? What about me? What the heck kind of grat.i.tude is that? Why don't I get kisses on my forehead and I love yous?"

"Aww, what's wrong, Wexie Poo?" Emma teased. "Are your whittle feel-wins hurt? I bet Brim will kiss you, won't you, Brim."

Rex's eyes narrowed. "Don't you dare tell that hound to kiss me."

I stopped by the bathroom door. That was the thing about my kid. She could communicate with the h.e.l.lhound, and poor Rex was about to get slimed.

Rex stood on one side of the bed and Brim was on the other, attention fixed on Rex with perked-up ears and a drooling mouth. The look on my daughter's face was priceless. She so wanted to do it. Like she was on the edge and already falling.

Rex must've realized she was a goner. "You realize I will get you back for this evil," he told her.

Her grin was wide. "I know, but it'll be worth it," she said, right before pointing at Rex and commanding, "Smooch!"

Happy to oblige, Brim leapt onto my bed and off the other side, tackling Rex to the floor. He fell with a loud oomph and screamed like a girl, vowing revenge as Brim laid wet kisses on his face. I couldn't help but laugh. Em rolled on the bed, holding her stomach and yelling that she was going to pee her pants.

"Don't pee on my bed!" I said, laughing as she jumped off and called Brim after her, running for cover, thumping down the stairs and out the back door.

Rex moaned from the floor, arms flat out, panting, face screwed up and wet. "Call 911. Hurry. I'm not . . . gonna . . . make it. Tell my wife . . . I lov-" he gasped dramatically, lifted his hand to some unseen apparition, and then died a painful, glorious pretend death on my floor.

"Nuts," I muttered, shutting the bathroom door. "I live in a house full of nuts."

I hadn't thought beyond the shock of what the delegates claimed, beyond the denial, but with everything already taken care of and the path cleared for me to go into Elysia, the idea settled easily into place.

I hurried through the shower, dried off, wrapped a towel around me, and then brushed my teeth. When I was done rinsing and glanced into the mirror, I paused. The face staring back at me was weary and pale, a drawn shadow of what I used to be. I couldn't look at this face and not acknowledge the worry and the question I refused to allow anyone else to see. My eyes stared back at me with grief, broadcasting my greatest fear.

What if it was true? What if he's really gone?

No. I couldn't think like that. If I was going, I had to go strong and with purpose. With belief. Otherwise, I might as well have given up right then.

I squared my shoulders, giving myself a long, hard scowl, trying to make the determination brewing inside match the worried face that stared back. G.o.d, I looked so tired. And sad. Acknowledge it and move on. Dwelling on the fear and grief wouldn't do me any good, I knew that.

I dipped my shoulder, turning in order to get a good look at my shoulder blade and the mark Hank had given to me during our fight in his apartment.

I'd given him the same arrow-shaped symbol with two slashes and a dot on his chest. The Throne Tree ink now embedded into my skin was used in ceremonial markings, bindings, and, once upon a time-and now highly illegal-death markings.

I hadn't had the mark all that long, about three or four weeks and- Goose b.u.mps erupted all over my arms and thighs.

The mark.