The Scent Of Shadows Part 42

My blood pooled in my feet, and my thoughts drained from me on an escaped breath. "Oh, s.h.i.t..."

I'd had a girl child. She was now in her first life cycle. "Oh, s.h.i.t," I said again.

"Don't worry about it now. We'll figure it out-"

I panicked at that, shaking my head hard, then harder. "No one can know. No one does know! And you can't-"

"Shh," Hunter put a steadying hand on my shoulder, and I fell silent. "I said we'll figure it out."

I swallowed hard, then nodded as I stared at my feet. He was right. There was time yet. I'd figure out what to do-Hunter would help-and I'd find a way to keep my secret as well. I looked back up at him, gave another small nod, and when he smiled back it was almost as if I were seeing him for the first time. A tendril of hair had come loose from his back knot, and after a moment I reached up to tuck it behind his ear. My fingertips skimmed his warm cheek, the delicate folds of his left ear, trailing down his neck. I remembered the softness of his lips, the way they'd yielded beneath mine; and I recalled the memories that were a part of this fierce, complicated man. And, I thought, were now a part of me as well.

"Thank you again," he said, covering my hand with his own.

"You're still welcome," I said softly.

"And don't ever do it again."

I peered up at him. "Can we go back to the thank-you part?"

We both smiled at that, momentarily at peace with the hand life had dealt. We were like cats bathing in the morning light, reveling in the freshness of the day as we took inventory of our body and limbs, each of us genuinely surprised, and nearly giddy, at being alive.

That was how Ben Traina found us. Stretching, smiling, happy. I sobered quickly when I saw him. "What are you doing here?"

"Whatever happened to 'h.e.l.lo'?" Ben said, looking amused. He looked better than when I'd last seen him. Still too thin, but not reeking of desperation, and no longer quite as wild-eyed. I tried to read his aura, but I was too spent from my time in the Gauntlet, and all I saw was Ben.

"h.e.l.lo," I said. "What are you doing here?"

My voice was too sharp, the query inappropriate, but he was too close to Valhalla and its still-fresh horrors for my liking. Certainly too close to me. I shuttered my expression and emotions before anything telling could leak out.

"You must be Ben," Hunter said, covering for me in the ensuing silence. Ben looked down at the hand stretched before him.

"That's right," he said after a moment. "Traina."

"Hunter. Lorenzo." They shook, civilized-like, sizing each other up. Hunter inhaled deeply. I cleared my throat in warning, which merely amused him.

"In answer to your question," Ben said, turning back to me, "I heard reports of something strange happening here this morning. Some sort of power outage or explosion or something. Thought I'd come down and check it out."

"Back on the force, then?"

He shook his head, one quick jerk. "One of the guys called me in. They know I've been...interested in this place for the last few months."

So he was still looking into my death. Looking for answers he didn't even have the right questions to. I didn't know whether to be alarmed or gratified.

"Anyway, I don't want to keep you guys. You've obviously been up all night. Just come from a concert or something?"

"Or something," Hunter said with a smile.

Ben nodded absently, then leaned in to politely kiss my cheek. "Olivia."

The air sparked, crackling between us. We both jerked back.

I shook my head. "Whew. Lots of static electricity. Must have been some explosion in there."

"Yeah." Ben rubbed at his mouth before backing away, frowning. "Well. See you later."

I bit my lip and watched him walk away.

"Static electricity?" Hunter said after a moment. I smiled, as he meant me to. "More like chemistry, I'd say."

"It's merely sensory-evoked nostalgia," I told him, turning away. "Micah explained it to me. Ben's scent is connected to pleasant memories, and my brain's limbic system is reacting to those memories. That's all."

"Uh-huh."

"It is," I said, but glanced up to hold his eyes with my own. "The only chemistry Ben Traina ever felt was with and for my sister. Joanna."

Hunter trailed his eyes over my face, his eyes hooded again, his expression unreadable. "Well," he finally said. "She must have been quite a woman too."

I acknowledged the compliment, and his silent agreement to keep my ident.i.ty secret, with a tilt of my head. "She was."

We started walking again, and Hunter draped a comforting arm around my shoulder, surprising me by pulling me close. "Come on, Olivia Archer. It looks like we get to live to fight crime another day."

"Whoopee."

Still I leaned my head on his shoulder and let him wheel me away from the Hall of the G.o.ds, following him into the crisp air of dawn while the city sparkled around us with the same hope it held for every new day. We walked down the Strip, kept walking, beyond Tropicana and Flamingo, Spring Mountain and Sands, Sahara and Charleston, to where the bones of the old city lay. I welcomed the light rising in that sky, bathed in the touch of the cool air against a whole and healthy body, and welcomed Hunter's warm and rea.s.suring presence beside me. I was happy to be here. To be alive. To be Olivia.

Happy, even though I could still feel Ben's hot stare burning a hole through my back.

30.

"Did you really call the Tulpa 'Pops'?" Warren asked, holding up the latest manual from Master Comics. I glanced at the t.i.tle. It arched across the cover in bold silver letters. The Archer, it said. Agent of Light.

I'd picked it up for Warren the previous day, thinking he'd enjoy reading it while he recuperated. My experience in the comics store was markedly different than the first time. Carl had nearly flown to my side, taking liberties by grabbing my chin with one fuzzy palm, twisting my head from side to side, ostensibly to get his drawings right. I finally had to tell him I'd shoot an arrow up his nose to get him to stop. The twins peppered me with questions about the sanctuary and my eye shields, and even Sebastian had asked, shyly, to see my bow and arrow. Zane, however, merely nodded my way and said my trading cards would be in soon.

"Your twisted sense of humor must be rubbing off on me," I told Warren, inwardly pleased as he chuckled and continued to leaf through the comic. He'd been in the sick ward for over a week, and his color was only now coming back. Still, Micah said he'd been lucky. Ajax had skewered his insides with a mortal weapon, not his conduit. The latter, he'd said, would have killed Warren too quickly for Ajax's liking.

Instead I had arrived, Ajax had died, and Warren would now heal. Meanwhile, the latest comics, both Shadow and Light, showed our enemies backing off, licking their wounds, forced to rethink their strategy against us now that Greta was no longer marking us for destruction.

And now that there was a new Archer among the agents of Light.

"Lunch," Chandra announced, entering the room with a loaded tray. She was careful not to look my way-as she'd been for the past week. Goaded by Greta, it was Chandra who had slipped the newspapers under my barracks door that night, and she'd since apologized unflinchingly, like a recalcitrant inmate waiting for her sentencing. I'd acknowledged her apology gracefully, if stiffly, but if anything, it made her more antagonistic toward me.

This was further inflamed by my swift, unanimous acceptance into the troop the day before. She hadn't opposed the vote when given the opportunity to do so, and there'd been no further jabs about my resemblance to a rogue agent, but she'd been sure to wonder loudly about my true ident.i.ty in front of the others. It was a little obvious, even for Chandra, not to mention totally unnecessary. Ever since Greta had revealed that I was not really Olivia Archer, they'd all been watching me curiously. Though that, I thought, was certainly better than suspiciously.

"Wonderful!" Warren set the comic aside. "Lasagna, chocolate cake, and a nice pinot, I hope."

"Try oatmeal, water, and a few sliced greens."

"d.a.m.n."

That drew a smile from Chandra, but after running a quick hand over his forehead, she only nodded her satisfaction and left the room without another word.

"She's still not talking to me."

"Give her time. She's a good person deep down." He dug into his oatmeal, while I wondered exactly how deep that was. "Meanwhile, the first sign of the Zodiac has been fulfilled, and the legacy of the Archer grows. You've become rather well known in the paranormal world. How does it feel?"

I shrugged, recalling that I'd once told him I didn't want to be a part of this world. A superhero, I'd scoffed. A freak among freaks. "It's easy to idolize someone from afar. Most of the people reading those," I said, pointing to the comic, "don't know me at all."

"Rena knows you. She thinks the sun rises and sets on your shoulders."

I quirked a brow. "I don't know if you've noticed, but Rena is a bit impaired when it comes to matters such as, oh, say, the sun."

"But she's a d.a.m.ned good judge of character."

And I had to agree with that. She'd been willing to trust me when no one else had. I'd have never been able to prove Greta's culpability without her. For that, I, and Warren, owed her much.

He turned back to his comic, and I watched him for a bit. Greta had told me that something in Warren's past had made ruthlessness a virtue, and knowing what it was-that the man lying before me had killed his own father-I also wondered what he'd do from now on to make sure it'd been worth it. He'd already proven himself willing to give up everything for the troop. The group was worth more to him than the individual. I liked Warren...but I was going to be careful to keep that in mind.

"Tell me something, Warren," I said at last.

"If I can."

"Did you know there was a traitor in the sanctuary?"

After a long pause, he shook his head. "No. I didn't believe it. I wouldn't believe it."

"Then why was it so important to you that my true ident.i.ty be kept a secret from the rest of the troop?" I asked him, shaking my head. That had thrown me. It'd even made me wonder, for a time, if he wasn't the real mole. "Why didn't you want that revealed if you trusted these people so much?"

"Because your arrival was the last prediction Tekla made before Stryker died. She knew...something." Warren dropped his head back on his pillow, his expression glossed over in one of pain, but it wasn't for himself. Guilt popped up in him, washing over his outline in a wave of mustard yellow the thickness of tar, its scent as sharp as tear gas. "I don't know if she foresaw his death or her own imprisonment, but she made me swear never to reveal your true ident.i.ty once you were found. I didn't want to break my last promise to her."

That made sense, I thought, nodding slowly. If Greta had discovered who I really was, it wouldn't have been long before the Tulpa did as well.

"Okay, but there's one other thing I don't understand." I pointed to my chest, where his second heartbeat had once resided. "Why did I stop feeling you in here? Did the mark Micah gave us wear off?"

He shook his head. "Once I knew you were coming for me, there was no need for you to feel that kind of pain. It would have hampered your ability to perform. You needed all your concentration for the task at hand."

"So you took it all upon yourself," I murmured.

"I knew you wouldn't keep me waiting long." He shrugged, but there was a world of pain in the movement. It made me want to kill Ajax all over again. Seeing it, Warren changed the subject.

"What do you think of Tekla?"

I couldn't help but smile. He knew what I thought of her. I'd been spending nearly every waking hour with her since my return, listening to her rant about the "quacks" who read palms or tea leaves instead of looking to the skies. I tried to follow her astrological lectures on planets and houses, elements and polarities, meridians and angularity, but it wasn't easy. She spoke in code more often than not, had a tendency to begin mumbling to herself in the middle of a conversation, and-most disturbing-mourned Stryker's pa.s.sing at the beginning of every hour. I also caught her studying me in the odd moment, worried eyes roving my face like she was reading something interesting and possibly disturbing there. Still, I found her fascinating. "She's been telling me stories about my mother."

Warren's face took on a faraway cast, and one side of his mouth lifted in a bittersweet smile. "There's a lot to tell."

"Do you..." I had to stop, and try again. "Do you think I'll ever find her?"

"In time. If it's safe. And if Zoe wants to be found." I caught his hesitation and lifted a brow. "For now, don't you think it's enough that you've found yourself?"

I nodded slowly. There were still things I didn't know, still places I couldn't go-like Olivia's computer, her true mind-but there were other doors open to me now.

"Thank you," I told him. "For that. And for...well, all of it."

His reply was cut off by Gregor's arrival. He appeared in the doorway and waved his lucky rabbit's foot at me. "Anyone who wants to cross with me had better come now. My shift starts in an hour."

Gregor had recovered more quickly than Warren, and was already back to driving cabs, fighting the evil in Sin City in his own superst.i.tious way.

"I have to go," I told Warren, and stood.

He waved me away, flicking his hand in the air like it was nothing to him. Like there hadn't been tears in his eyes a moment before. "Good-bye, Olivia. Be careful."

"Aren't I always?" I said. I ignored his sudden coughing attack, and smiled as I looked back from the doorway. "See you on the other side."

Las Vegas, my Vegas, has two faces. There's the frenetic carnivalesque face of the Strip; pliable, garish, and bright, catering to forty million visitors a year, and striving to make each of their dreams come true...for a price. Then there's the small-town desert face; dusty, lined with age, and artless, with no pretense or need for it...the one I grew up in. One is all glitz, while the other is barren, but I see both faces-the light side and the dark-as one big, blank slate, like the great baby blue swath of sky arching over the valley itself. You can scribble your own fate across that relentless skyline, and I love that about this city. I also understand why others come here, taking refuge among the glitz and gild, the noise and lights, the talking and screaming and singing and laughter, the smoke and the drink...and forgetting there's anything at all beyond the garish casino walls.

Being a local, I'd always taken my refuge in my home. Being a loner by circ.u.mstance and profession, I also found it in my darkroom. But now my home was no longer mine, and my darkroom-where I spent as many hours lost in the smell of developers and toners as those tourists do in front of the green felt tables-was just a sad reminder of the person I could no longer be. So after I left Warren and the sanctuary, I decided to do what people had been doing in this valley for over a hundred years. I had to create a new refuge for myself. After all, anything's possible in Vegas, right?

But first I had to say a proper good-bye to Olivia.

"Are you sure you want to do this, darlin'?" Cher looked at me over the top of her shades, blue eyes filled with concern above the mirrored rims. She was driving again, and I jerked my head at the road, swallowing hard, though that wasn't the entire reason I was feeling shaky.

"I've already stayed away too long."

We turned into the long gravel lane of the cemetery's back entrance, b.u.mping along in silence until we were dumped into the graveside lot. I looked out the window at the yawning stretch of lawn and let my eyes blur so the headstones didn't hump out quite so much, and the flowers left by those still living weren't as garish against the dying winter sky. I grasped my own bouquet tightly in my lap and wondered if my mother had been by yet to visit.

"Olivia?"

I jolted in my seat. Cher had been saying my name.

"Yeah," I said, shaking my head to clear it. "I'm coming."

I could do this, I told myself. I would do this. I would stand outside this car with my sister's best friend, then I'd walk across the lawn in my sister's shoes and bend over and place these flowers on my sister's grave.

Which bore my name.

"Who's that?" Cher asked when I'd finally found my legs.

I shielded my eyes, looked where she pointed, and sighed. I knew just who it was, even from that distance. "That's Ben Traina."

He was sitting cross-legged at the foot of a headstone, and he could have been a statue himself if the wind hadn't betrayed him, rustling the dark curls that kissed the nape of his neck.

"Poor boy looks lonely," Cher said, and he did. But he also looked self-contained, straight-spined, and resolute.