Charlie Madigan: Shadows Before The Sun Part 7

Once he was gone, I said, "Laying it on a little thick, aren't you?"

"A requirement when one plays with royalty. Be glad you have me along."

"As much as it pains me to say it," I admitted with a small smile, "I am glad. And grateful."

Sandra clutched her chest, her eyes squinting in humor. "Be still."

I ignored her and wandered around the room, taking in the luxurious appointments and the way the open balcony, which ran the length of the entire room, framed the blue sea. White curtains hung on either end and they moved ever so softly in the warm breeze.

"Is it just me or does this place have a bad vibe?" I asked, eyeing the view.

"Like being in a nest of vipers." She rubbed her arms. "With a gorgeous view."

The sky was striped with indigo, orange, and pinks from the setting sun. One of the towers by the sea was in the frame of that beautiful picture. Had Hank been there? Was he still there?

"I'm taking this room!" Sandra's voice echoed from one of the bedrooms. No doubt, it was the larger of the two. But I didn't care. What did it matter? I wasn't here to vacation; I was here to save my partner.

I leaned my shoulder against the column that framed each side of the balcony, crossed my arms over my chest, thinking I might just take a little night stroll through the city . . .

7.

I walked the streets alone, pa.s.sing sirens and other visitors. Lanterns and open fires burned, lighting the streets and the market, which had yet to close down. Waves crashed against the rocks and lapped gently into the shallow curves of beaches. But nowhere did I feel the warmth of my mark.

Sounds were all around me, but distant. Inside I felt silent and dark and alone, so still that every step I took, every breath I made sounded like thunder to my ears.

I followed the long curve of the inner wall, stopping at the base of each tower. I placed my hand on the warm, smooth stone, and felt nothing. At the end of the north tower, I could go no more unless I wanted to drop off the ma.s.sive cliff into the sea below, so I went down the winding walking path that led to the sh.o.r.e.

For a long time I stood on the pebble beach, listening to the waves and feeling an absence of emotion, of hope. Voices in melody seemed to go in and out with the waves, sounding faintly hypnotic and encouraging-inviting me into the sea. But those were most likely from the people on the docks and in the market.

Finally, I moved away from the water and continued my search.

In the center of the city was a ma.s.sive square with an impressive fountain and a statue of a mermaid sunbathing on a rock. Stone dolphins surrounded her like sentinels, water pouring from their open mouths.

I went slowly, past every building, every temple. The city hall. The treasury-and still nothing. My mark did not react.

I had no idea where prisoners were kept-if there was even such a building. And it seemed with every step, my hopes grew fainter.

I headed up a winding street toward the palace and then swung a left to where colossal houses were tucked against a sloping curve in the land that led back toward the sea. It was a dark area of the city. Old. Private. Wealthy. Commanding high vistas over the water.

The breeze turned cooler. I walked beneath a tree with gnarled limbs reaching over the street. A gate's rusty hinges whined in the silence. Unlike most of the low walls that defined the property of the wealthy homes I'd pa.s.sed, the wall I came to next was overgrown and crumbling. The gate was open. And down the drive, I could see the dark shape of a sprawling ruin.

It was a lot like the palace, only smaller. Columns were faded and broken. Weeds and vines grew unchecked. The courtyard was cracked and strewn with dead leaves. The doors were open, so I had to go inside. It was more than the usual curiosity, I thought as I went. Something inside of me related to the house, the desolation, the sadness.

Inside, it was hollow and gutted, except for a few broken bits of pottery. Scenes painted onto the walls were faded or chipped away. It was easy to imagine a family living there, the place filled with voices, the running feet of children, of gatherings. A home this large should be filled with family.

But now it was empty, the shutters on the windows gone or hanging askew, left open to the elements, the wind and leaves, the insects and birds . . .

The clip of boots sounded on the stones behind me and then stopped.

I stilled, a zing of alarm sliding up my spine.

Several seconds pa.s.sed. I didn't move. The visitor didn't move.

Then, slowly I turned to see a man leaning against the wall, arms folded over his chest, regarding me with an even but curious expression. Could've been a siren or an Adonai. He certainly had the looks-tall, golden brown hair, muscular build-but I wouldn't be able to tell for sure until he spoke.

One thing, however, I could tell. He was one powerful sonofab.i.t.c.h.

"When visitors come to Fiallan," he said in a deep baritone, "this usually isn't on the sightseeing list."

I didn't feel threatened . . . just wary and on guard. He, on the other hand, projected a calm indifference, and his aura was astounding-a rainbow of colors snapping like an energy field around him. Hadn't seen that before.

"It wasn't locked," I responded.

He didn't move, didn't answer, just kept staring at me with one corner of his mouth turned up in a faintly mocking smile.

"What is this place?" I asked, trying to get a better feel for him. "Seems a shame to leave it abandoned. The view is incredible." I glanced at the wide terrace. Columns framed out either side. It was completely open, no doors, no curtains . . . but it was similar to the room Pelos had given us in the palace. I could hear the sea from where I stood. It was easy to imagine it as it might have been, framing the view like a ma.s.sive picture window, maybe soft sheer curtains blowing in a breeze, a fire burning in the basins beyond each corner of the pool, now dried up and crusted with algae.

The stranger pushed off the wall and strode to the opposite side of the opening where he stared out at the sea, giving me a better view of him. Nice profile. Straight nose, stubborn chin, hair that had a bit of wave to it, the length brushing the collar of the thin leather jacket he wore over a white dress shirt. The shirt was open at the neck and he wore faded jeans.

Well, one thing was sure; he'd been around humans for a while.

He drew back the sides of his jacket and shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. "This was the house of Elekti-Kairos. A place of grave dishonor. Of horrors better left in the shadows." He turned to look at me, his eyes a startling golden brown. "Left like this as a reminder."

"A reminder of what?"

"What brings you here, to this place in particular?"

I had no good answer for that. "Curiosity, I guess. You?"

His lips curved up again into that same mocking smile. "Following you."

Inside my senses were screaming red alert! but at the same time, I knew there was no imminent danger, no menace or malice coming from him.

"Confusing, isn't it?" His grin grew wider. "On a primal level, your body is telling you I'm a threat. I'm predator, you're prey. Yet, your signals are crossing." He shrugged in a casual yet arrogant manner. "Confuses the enemy. Lets me strike at will. Useful, no?"

Point taken, I wanted to say, but instead moved on. "So what happened to the people who lived here?" I stepped off the main floor to the terrace stones and then sat down, angling myself to see the stranger as he stood at the far column. I wanted the chance to get a deeper read on him, to figure out if he was friend or foe, and show him that I wasn't interested in a battle of wills or powers.

"Bad things. Very bad things." He leaned against the column behind him, hands still shoved in his pockets. Very relaxed, it appeared. "Tell me, Charlie Madigan, if you find Nierian is dead, will you leave or stay to right the wrong that was done here, in his home?"

His words were like a stun gun to my brain. Thank G.o.d I was sitting down because I might have fallen. My mind scrambled to get past the shock and process what he'd said.

Oh G.o.d. I was in Hank's home. He had changed his name when he came to our world, to start fresh, make a new life for himself . . . Christ. I was in his f.u.c.king house. The house of Elekti-Kairos. A place of dishonor.

This guy knew my name and why I was here, which meant I couldn't let him leave. Guess I was getting that fight I was itching for, after all. I stood slowly, shaking on the inside but calm on the outside. My hand moved back the cloak and rested on the grip of the Hefty. "Who are you?"

He eyed me for a long, calculating moment. "You're definitely making a name for yourself in . . . certain circles."

"What else is new?" I said dryly. "You have about three seconds to answer my question before being in a world of hurt."

A light of humor appeared in his eyes, making the gold seem brighter, as though it was lit from within. "Threats already?" He pushed off the column, removing his hands from his pockets, and moved toward me with an easy, deadly stride. In an instant, his expression went from humorous to predatory. "I can be friend or foe." The smooth warning gave me chills. "The choice is yours."

"Not interested in either, thanks."

"Oh come, now. You're too involved now not to choose sides. And if you don't . . . well, wild cards always get hunted and killed."

Now I was getting mad. I moved toward him, not stopping until we met in the middle of the room. "Are you threatening me?"

"Seems fair."

I pulled my Hefty and aimed it at his heart. "I'm going to ask you one more time, who are you, and how do you know about me?"

He regarded my weapon as though I was pointing a pencil at him, and sighed as if in pain, like he'd rather be anywhere but here. "My name is Leander. I err on the side of good. Usually. As long as I get to kill things. I'm here to"-he glanced down the length of my body and up again, his eyes meeting mine with an arrogant light-"feel you out and see if you're worthy of my offer. And I must say, I prefer your natural hair color better. You had a beautiful shade, like polished mahogany."

"How do you know Hank?"

"First I must complete your interview."

"Well, let me help you speed things up."

I pulled the trigger, done with whatever weird-a.s.s game he was playing. The tag would stun him for only a moment, but it'd be long enough for me to subdue him-hopefully.

The tag embedded in his chest, shuddering through him. His eyes fluttered closed and his arms spread wide as though he liked what the sound wave did to him. Psycho. His arms went down, his eyes opened, and he grinned. "They said you were a hothead. My favorite kind."

I didn't ask who "they" were, nor did I want to know his "favorite kind" of what.

He snapped his fingers. A sheer dome surrounded us, its edges sparking until it was completely enclosed, and then shimmered like thin gla.s.s with millions of tiny air bubbles. I could see through it, but was pretty sure I couldn't go through it.

Cool air hit my skin, followed by warmth. Odd. I glanced down and saw that my cloak and weapons were missing.

Okay, now I was p.i.s.sed.

The f.u.c.ker did not just put me in a black leather bodysuit. Except, he did. And the fact that he was standing there grinning like a d.a.m.ned fool was more than I could take. "You are so going down."

"Be glad I didn't opt for more skin."

I shook my head, thoroughly disgusted and feeling the hot sweep of power tingle through my veins. We began circling each other. "So what, you like getting your a.s.s kicked by chicks in leather, is that it?"

He laughed. "Depends on the chick. You know, I wasn't happy about coming here, but now . . . I'm going to enjoy seeing what you're made of. What all the fuss is about."

"Which won't ever happen if you don't stop yapping," I pointed out. "You gonna talk or fight?"

"I do love you humans and your penchant for trash talking. No one does it better."

He cracked his knuckles. A maniacal gleam entered his eyes. He made a motion so quickly I couldn't follow it and then a bolt of blue energy shot from his hands and hit me square in the chest. I slammed into the sphere. All the breath went out of my lungs and a sizzling vibe radiated through me, lighting every nerve with pain.

s.h.i.t, that hurt. I slid down to my feet, knees bending until my hands. .h.i.t the floor. Head down, one steadying breath, and then I glanced up.

How the h.e.l.l did I fight him with no weapons of my own, unable to use my powers, and only reliant on my physical abilities?

I rose slowly and then charged him. Another bolt shot from his hand as I used my momentum to slide like a runner hitting home plate. The bolt slid an inch over my head. I slammed into him, taking him out. He fell forward over me. I rolled, popped to my feet, and roundhouse kicked him in the jaw as he tried to rise. He flipped to his side, rolled, and got to his feet. His hand went to the corner of his mouth and pulled away blood.

"You can't take me in a physical fight," I taunted him. Probably wasn't the case, but if I could get him to physically engage, get my hands on him without him using his power . . .

"You have no idea how much I'm holding back already."

I laughed. "Anyone who has to point that out tends to think they're stronger than they really are."

He came at me. G.o.d, he was fast. Every punch I blocked knocked me back several feet. And it was true; he was holding back. Way back. As long as I made him bleed, I didn't care. I'd learned a thing or two in my training on the job. I'd been fighting off-worlders for years, criminals who didn't fight fair and ITF trainers who did.

A punch to my side left me gasping for air and backpedaling. He pressed relentlessly. I went to grab his shoulder, but he grabbed both of my wrists as I knew he would, leaving the rest of his torso unprotected. I brought my knee up and slammed it into his groin, then spun out of his hold and slugged him as hard as I could in the jaw with both fists locked together. Before he could react, I grabbed his shoulders, dropped all my weight backward, and pulled him down. With my boots in his gut, I launched him over me.

He slammed upside down into the sphere, catching himself from landing on his head and flipping to his feet, but satisfactorily bent over due to the pain in his groin.

I could barely breathe, but I got to my feet, staying crouched over, holding my side, pretty sure one of my ribs was cracked. "Hope you weren't planning on having babies anytime soon."

"My ability to do that is just fine," he ground out. "It'd better be."

"You know, you didn't need this dome. I don't run from a fight."

He smirked. "It's not to keep you from running. It's so you can use your power without Death coming for you."

My jaw dropped. One, because he knew about Sachath. And two, because all this time, I could've been using my power, power that I'd had pent up for what felt like years. The idea of being able to release it almost made me weep. I forgot about the pain and stood. "Don't fight fair, do you?"

"People who do are stupid and don't live very long."

"Did I mention you're an a.s.s?"

"Did you? When a woman speaks, it just goes in one ear and out the other, especially when they're dressed in leather."

I made a face at him. I was going to love putting the hurt on this guy. Everything came flooding to the forefront; all the caged energy leapt and built, eager to find release. It burned hot and cold, fighting, wanting out. There was no way I could control it, not this time. This time I didn't have to.

Leander was about to taste a little divine retribution.

My arms and limbs tingled all the way to my toes, fingertips, and my scalp. I clapped my hands together and threw out both arms. Bolts of blue and red shot out as Leander's own power leapt forward to collide with mine.

It ate his up, wrapped around it, scurried down its length, and absorbed it all while speeding its way toward him and finally slamming into him.

He flew back into the dome as my power exploded, radiating around the perimeter and then shattering the dome in a shower of sparks and a boom so loud it shook the house. I fell to my knees.

Leander landed on his feet in a crouch. Now he looked serious. Now he looked deadly. s.h.i.t. I straightened.