Illusion (8 page)

His disembodied voice filtered through the shattered bars. “I’ve warded your home. It will offer sanctuary, disguising your presence from trackers and repelling those who wish you harm. But it won’t last long if fired on.”

“Why?”

“Let’s just say I’ve been hired to watch you.”

“What the hell is going on?” she whispered, half to herself.

“Hey, there’s someone in here.” One of the cops’ voices drifted into the alley from the basement.

She took off, boots slapping through puddles.

What a miserable fucking night. And it didn’t look as if it was going to get any better. Rain fell on her arms and ran down her neck as she raced through the dark alleys, cutting through side streets to her apartment. She only wore a tank top and a thin pair of jeans—her old coat was back at the bar. But right now, replacing her clothing was the least of her problems.

Khereb

Maya ran up the stairs of her building, keeping to the shadows and avoiding the unreliable elevator that stuttered to a halt every time she pressed one of the buttons. On the second floor, the smell of garlic and fried beans floated under the door from her neighbor’s flat. The key rocked in the chamber, struggling to engage the lock tumblers. When it clicked, she heaved a sigh and entered the dark room, flicking on a light and dead bolting the door behind her. A pile of laundry lay at the base of the half-open armoire and her newest pair of leather pants hung over one of the shutter doors. She dragged a duffel from under the bed along with the fetters of several dust bunnies, and started tossing clothes into the bag. She strode to the bathroom and collected toiletries, hesitating for a moment over a pewter owl sitting on the window ledge. She gnawed her dry lip, tasting iron, and walked back to the bedroom.

Ten minutes. She kept moving, throwing necessities into the bag and keeping it light in case she had to run. There was no time to pick up the money from Don. They were probably watching him anyway. She poked a handmade journal and charcoal pencils into a side pocket. Resheph had said her apartment was warded, but the tingles running over her scalp said she was out of luck. She checked the clock. She’d told Resheph she’d wait half an hour, but once she was packed she was out of here. The medi-charm might have blocked an adrenaline surge, but it couldn’t stop the voice in her head commanding her to move. She pried a loose floorboard with a knife and plucked out a small moneybag. It would get her to the next city, but God knew what she’d do next. The hover cars under the bridge were her best bet. The drivers paid the cops to leave them alone and the ride wouldn’t be traced. Either way, she had to keep moving.

There was a shift in air pressure near the window and she swiveled on weak legs. A huge silhouette and a flash of silver told her who was waiting. She stumbled to the window, battling with the frame before shoving it high.

“How’d you get away from the cops?” She plucked a tunic T-shirt from the side table and yanked it over her head, not bothering to ask how he’d found her apartment. He’d located her in the bar easily enough.

Resheph shrugged and the sword over his shoulder hummed a little, vibrating slightly. “They were more concerned by their dead comrade. Your friend was gone by the time I returned to the tavern. I encouraged the soldiers to search near the river. It will keep them busy awhile. May I come in?” He cocked his head. The light from her bedside lamp grazed his face, sliding over the ridged scars above his lip.

She stared at him, faltering. He cloaked himself, played with others’ subconscious, and created walls of stone. The hilt of his sword caught the light of the moon and twinkled. Right now she needed all the help she could get. She scanned his towering frame in a mixture of aversion and reluctant admiration, wondering what it would feel like to be that big and in control. For a moment she wished he’d fold her into those huge arms banded with muscle and whisper comforting words in her ear. But that didn’t happen in her world and it wasn’t her style to hide from the truth, especially with a mage.

She nodded.

He vaulted into the room with a fluid motion, stepping over rolled canvasses and clothes. She caught a breath and stalked back to the bed. The smell of incense cut through the cool air coming from the window.

“I told you they wouldn’t find you right away,” he said.

She crammed a pile of clothes into the bag. “I’ve got a bad feeling. By the way, why is a high-level mage helping me?”

There was silence for a moment and she looked up, caught a puzzled look on his face before it wiped clean. “I don’t believe executioners should play with their victims.”

She dropped the handkerchiefs she’d been folding and stared at her shaking hands.

He leaned forward, putting a hand on her arm and she stopped, frozen. His skin was several shades darker than hers. Tattoos wound down to his fingers like thick black arteries, along with raised battle scars. It was then she realized she’d been on autopilot, pleating a pile of her grandmother’s handkerchiefs, an obsessive monotonous movement that had clued the doctors in to her troubled past. Her last doctor had told her she was repeating the same grim patterns in an attempt to undo the outcome. She forced her hands to unclench, releasing the squares, and letting them drop into the bag. Despite the nightmares, she wasn’t a helpless child anymore.

“Can you draw another picture like the one in the factory?” he asked, his voice low and steady.

“Maybe.” She walked to the armoire. “Unless it was a fluke last time. I’ve never seen them act like they’re alive before.”

There was a whisper of movement.

“What are you doing?” she asked, watching him over her shoulder. The words came out fast and she cleared her throat to disguise the high note.

He was sitting on her bed, turning the pages of her journal. “These pictures are of old stelae. They’re burial mounds for children.” His voice was calm, and maybe even a little demanding. He pointed at a page with a blunt finger. “This is a bronze statue, or Tophet.”

“So?”

“It’s a roasting place.” He watched her face. “Before the Punic Wars my ancestors sacrificed humans to their gods.” He stroked the cupped hands of a horned god she’d sketched years ago.

She swallowed, hard. “God, that’s horrific.”

He shrugged again. “After a while the practice became unpopular with a small section of our community. When some complained, the elders were murdered and their followers thrown into exile. Have you seen this in old texts?”

“Maybe. I can’t remember. I guess I must have.” She selected a pair of boots from the bottom of the wardrobe and tugged them on.

He ignored her. “He is the repudiated god, the
daeuua
. The false god still receives worship on Earth. Goes under many names. You’ve marked one such name on the stelae.”

She looked down to the tiny printed name.
Molokh
. The last letters looked like an
X
. “I drew it in my teens. I can’t recall the inspiration,” she muttered.

She reached into the armoire and pulled out a leather thong and silver pendant from a hook at the back. Her grandmother had left it to her. Apart from her journal, it was the only thing she had of value from the past. She slung it over her neck, tucking it beneath the T-shirt and seized her old bomber jacket.

“There’s an odd association between you and my people,” he continued.

“Right. Well, I have enough problems without a strange connection with your family. Anyway, I don’t believe in reincarnation. If that’s what you’re hinting at.”

“Believe as you will. But you know more than you should. It’s in the magi’s interest to keep this knowledge hidden.”

Stress was making her hands weak, the tingling in her palms letting her know she was overtired and, despite the medi-charm, close to panic. But as usual, it didn’t stop her mouth from working.

“What do the magi have to do with it?”

“My people share the same genomes. As I said, we divided years ago.” His tone was darker.

The reminder of his casual deflection and head slicing of the officer made her wince. The male was brutal, didn’t seem to care who he hurt. She’d hate to be on his shit list.

“So, are you finally going to tell me where this Balkaith is?” she asked.

“Realms away.”

“Reams away?”

He raised a brow. “Dimensions, realms.”

“Oh, realms. Well, you drop your
l
’s, so I can’t always understand what you’re saying.”

She walked to the stove and pried at the loose countertop with her nails. Did this guy believe he came from the past? She contained a sigh. “Are you positive the cops can’t find me?”

She stretched her neck, hearing the subtle crack of her spine. The adrenaline had left her deflated, with a killer headache that was trying its damnedest to drill its way out through her eyes. She flicked a glance at the duffel containing her spells.

“Nothing living could find you, I promise. I’ve planted wards around the building.” He inscribed a sigil in the air over her bed. It lit up like burning coals before fading to a smoky cuneiform.

She raised a brow.

“It is the signature of the guardian Besmelo,” he explained. “I’ll evoke him if needed.” By the sound of his tone, the spirit didn’t get called often. “What are your plans?”

“Leaving town.” The heel of one hand held up the stovetop, while the other palm groped beneath, hunting for the package. She grasped rough silk with her fingers and released the top. The counter fell back with more force than necessary. She tossed the package into the open bag on the bed.

“I see you’ve been packing,” he said in a low voice, gesturing to the half-empty boxes leaning against a wall.

She wondered if he was being sarcastic and flicked him a quick glance. He appeared older than she’d first thought, beating her by ten years or so. His shoulder-length hair was tied back with string, and his posture appeared poker stiff and alert. She’d never liked the brawny, muscle-bound type. They were always too confident. This one didn’t seem so wrapped up in himself as aware of everything around him. He was always watching her, his eyes a glittering black and not blinking as much as they should. It was as if he knew something she didn’t. It was irritating.

“I moved in a few months ago.” She had to work to keep the defensive note out of her voice.

The handle on the cutlery drawer compressed her stomach. The butcher’s knife nestled inside, within easy reach. She usually kept a knife close, especially in her apartment where she wanted to feel safe. There was one under her pillow, another in the bedside table, a blade in the bathroom cabinet, and even a serrated steak knife under the mat.

“You shouldn’t have left the apartment. I told you we needed to talk,” he said.

“I didn’t agree to anything.” She zipped her bag.

“I thought you understood your situation. Given the magi’s interest.” His even tone was starting to piss her off. She fumbled with the strap of her bag.

“I don’t need a keeper.”

“That may be the case, but your life has changed. You’ll need all the help you can get. And if that doesn’t appeal, then perhaps think on this. You won’t live long without my help.”

She looked up quickly and saw his lips had thinned to a hard line.

“What do you get out of helping me? The higher magi and military cops are looking for me. At the moment, hiding is my best option—or taking my chances with the mundane cops.”

He didn’t move and his grim look didn’t lighten. “Your allies lack power. And by your own definition, the magi are untrustworthy and cruel. But there are far, far worse things than the magi, believe me.”

His words ground in her ears and her pulse rate quickened.

“I doubt anything could be worse than the magi.” She threw the bag on the floor with a
thud
. Hands on her hips, she turned to face him. “Spill. What else should I be afraid of? And how did you step out of my drawing? Tell me.” She fought back the hysteria rising in her voice.

He looked nonplussed by her rage, and then his face softened.

“Let us sit down, Maya.” She remained standing, and he sighed. “I’ve dealt with this badly. Can we start again?” He stared straight into her eyes.

Her gaze snapped away. She’d listen. Then she’d get out of this damn city. It was too late to score funds. Her friends needed to keep their distance.

“Look at your picture,” he said.

She perched on the edge of her bed and looked down at a scene from her journal. The warmth of his body passed into hers and she leaned back, banging into the bedside table. The lamp rocked and long shadows moved over the floor. His fingers tightened on the journal and she stilled, staring at his thumb stroking over the page.

It was the same fortress as the one she’d drawn in the mirror. The scene shifted and light dawned, brightening the night scene. A surreal moving picture stuttered to life like an old black-and-white movie reel. A black-haired woman in a tight red dress ran closer. She gestured to a tree lifting from the ground, creating massive fissures in the earth. The clouds buffeted one another and lightning split a gray thundercloud, striking the castle. Huge winged shapes appeared in the sky. The smell of earth and ozone sank into Maya’s lungs. Then the woman folded in half, disintegrating into multiple shades of red. The parchment went blank.

Maya’s heart gave a hard pulse. Resheph leaned forward and unzipped her duffel, poking the journal inside. He didn’t give her time to think, but spoke rapidly.

“It’s my homeland. I’ve been sent here from Balkaith. Of the Enim Empire. Your paintings appeared in our dimension several months ago. Like a looking glass, they reveal scenes of different worlds. They change and move as if they have a life of their own. Some are portals. I’m here to find the source.”

“You’re a fool if you think I’ll help you.” Maya was silent for a moment, watching his eyes flash with rage.

“Our elders believe you may be an enchantress. Others think you ply the dark arts. Clearly you are unaware of your powers. But you will need to come to grips with your skills because we don’t have much time. Dangerous creatures can use your doorways, Maya. Once they realize they can cross realities they’ll hunt you. You need to control what you’re doing.” His unblinking stare told her he meant what he said.