The Taste of Night (16 page)

Usually I kept missives like this in a keepsake box near my bedside. I figured it was as close to sleeping with Ben as I’d ever get again. But this time I stood, tore the page from the pad, and folded it before sliding it through the open slat. A buzzing rose from inside the locker, like a hive of bees growing closer. I took an involuntary step back, but there was only a sudden stillness pressing down on the room, and then the latch clicked softly open.

“Next time,” I said wryly, swinging open the door, “just give me a knife and ask for a vein.”

So what was this thing that’d required so much of me, demanding an admission I hadn’t even allowed myself to study too closely? It was small, for one. In fact, it fit in the palm of my hand; a gilt jewel box with a gold clasp, and velvet the color of the midnight sky cushioning what was inside.

“My precious,” I hissed, unable to help myself as I lifted the ring from its cushion. Holding it, however, all humor drained from me. I’d seen this ring before. It’d been years, and I couldn’t be sure when it had disappeared, but my mother had disappeared along with it.

It was too heavy and wide to be considered feminine, but the sheen off the metal—not gold or silver, and certainly not platinum, though it had that heft—was so muted it was nearly opaque, light catching only in the dual grooves hedging a cloudy gray stone. I tilted it back and forth in the light before slipping it on. It was too large for the ring finger of my right hand, but it nestled nicely against the knuckle of my middle finger and, I was pleased to see, looked like it belonged there. And when it began to glow, a gentle pulse in the dim, cavernous room, I knew it did.

“I hope you don’t think one ancient piece of tin makes up for leaving me.”

I was talking to my mother now, and because I could do that anywhere and garner the same result, I shut the locker and headed back to the elevators, careful not to leave the cat stranded behind me. But I thought about my words. My
mother had turned my life upside down by leaving, and even though I now understood why, sometimes I couldn’t help but wonder: did she even feel an ounce of the guilt and shame and ineffectiveness that I had after failing Olivia? Because that’s what she’d done by leaving. She’d failed me. No matter the reasons, she’d abandoned me when I’d needed her most.

And if she came to me with tearstained eyes and a face I barely remembered, would it be enough? Would it make up for my having to go it alone in the world—both of them—while she knew where I was, what I was going through, and chose to stay hidden anyway? I couldn’t answer that. My feelings for her were muddled now. She’d gifted me with weapons, power, strengths I had sought ever since someone had tried to make a victim out of me, and she was apparently still giving gifts. Everything, I thought sourly, except herself.

“And what kind of mother does that?” I whispered, rubbing the ring with my thumb.

I couldn’t answer that question. I had no maternal instincts. Whatever soft feelings I did possess had been reserved solely for my sister, Olivia, who was long gone. And for Ben, I thought. Though the only way I could show my love for him was to stay far, far away. So unconditional love was foreign to me now, and I didn’t even know if I’d want my mother to open up that part of me again. What if she left a second time? Would I be able to survive hurting that much again?

These questions occupied me so completely that it wasn’t until I was back in my room that I realized the sacrificial note I’d pushed through the slats, as well as the disks I’d deposited for safekeeping, had been nowhere in that locker. Like they’d never existed, I thought, studying the odd ring. Like they’d been eaten by the darkness.

The bloodline of both sides of the Zodiac is matriarchal. The lineage of the star sign runs through our veins. So generation
after generation, women took up the mantle of power and responsibility for the troop’s succession, making sure even if they died, their house’s legacy continued. But it was the first-born women who were most powerful, and some star signs—both male and female, both Shadow and Light—spent lifetimes attempting to make up for that lack.

Brynn DuPree, Regan’s mother, inherited her star sign after her three older siblings died in quick succession, what the Shadow manuals described as “mysterious and dishonorable” deaths. All had used their conduits to take their own lives, though there had been no perceivable impetus or inkling that any would do so. I’d have thought suicide was what made the deaths dishonorable as well, but that wasn’t it. They’d died outside of battle, and in the Tulpa’s judgment, that was a far graver offense.

Brynn, meanwhile, had been killed by her opposite on the Zodiac, a much younger and surprisingly handsome Cancer of Light, Gregor Stitch—our superstitious, one-armed taxi driver—who’d lured her into a confessional, heard her out, then gave her five Hail Marys before burying a flanged-bladed mace into her core. But it was as I read about her life, not her death, that I found the best explanation for her daughter’s actions the day before.

Regan’s father had been a mortal priest. The human element didn’t weaken anything, the bloodline still passed through the mother, but unlike the Light, Shadows didn’t fall in love with humans. They hunted them.

The Shadow manual Jasmine had found for me described Father Michael as ascetic, pious, and deeply committed to the Church, his greatest passion helping those in his flock attain immortal life. Brynn’s definition of immortal life was obviously a bit different from Father Michael’s, and
her
greatest passion was leading good men astray. Once Michael had fathered Regan, Brynn held his life in ransom. Blackmail was just the leverage she needed to involve him in some of her more heinous crimes, not only giving her a mortal ally to cover her own tracks, but ensuring he’d keep
his big mouth shut about his own multiplying sins. By the time he was caught stalking a schoolyard five years later, the man in the mug shot hardly resembled the kind young priest who’d started out with such hope at the beginning of his clerical service.

And that might explain why Regan had kept my true identity to herself when she discovered I was masquerading as Olivia. Like her mother, she possessed information she could use to her sole advantage. It also explained why she thought I could be so easily “turned” to the Shadow side when she’d allowed me to kill Liam. Unlike her father, I hadn’t even taken vows.

But what about her warning not to return to the sanctuary? Was it a ploy meant to try and draw me to the Shadow side? And why would a woman raised in the Shadow lifestyle really turn against another Shadow, give a sworn enemy the aureole, and hand that enemy complete control over her own life?

To gain my trust, she’d said, but that was foolish. If she was caught by the Tulpa, no matter her reason or excuse, she’d be dead before she saw another splitting dawn. Besides, would a woman ambitious enough to murder her own troop member really be content sitting at my “right-hand side”? I sincerely doubted it. There was a deeper motivation there, I thought, studying the pages detailing Brynn’s life. A dark passion inside her rivaling that of her mother.

So the question remained. What was Regan really after?

I couldn’t answer that yet, but that wasn’t enough to keep me from using her…and not just for the information she might provide about Joaquin. At least that’s what I told myself.

Our mythology tells us the second sign of the Zodiac will soon be fulfilled
.

And…

The Tulpa has found a way to wipe you all out in one fell swoop.

I didn’t believe either of those things, but Regan did, and
that’s what mattered. I’d play on those beliefs so that Regan DuPree remained useful to me. But she was useful and dangerous, I thought, tucking the manual into my bedside drawer. And
smart
. Because it was a good scheme to play both sides. And I’d go ahead and let her live as long as I could do the same.

Saturn’s Orchard, located at the top of a stunted and narrow staircase, reminded me of my Krav Maga dojo in the mortal world. Nondescript, spartan, and clean; if I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, I could pretend I was back in that heated little room, learning to protect my own life…rather than the Las Vegas valley as a whole.

Of course there were differences. For one, the paranormal version was also a mood room. I don’t know if being pyramid-shaped had anything to do with it, but the room reacted to emotion. The whitewashed walls acted as a blank canvas for dueling agents—and when engaged, glyphs soared over a colorful universe, indicating who was winning.

To get there I had to pass the children’s ward, where the sounds of high-pitched laughter and chatter floated down the hallway in a cacophony that was like nails on a chalkboard to me. I stuck my head around the corner, peering in the direction of the noise. I knew nothing about kids. I was rarely around them, and my own childhood had been blotted out by the trauma endured in my teens. I knew they ate a lot of mac and cheese, that play was the focal point of
their day, and most had limited impulse control, which made them do things like scream their little heads off for no reason. In truth, they kind of frightened me. Almost more than the thought of chasing Shadows.

“They don’t bite, you know,” an amused voice piped from behind.

I turned to find Gregor, his wide eyes crinkled with humor as he looked at me. Other than a subtle green cast to his skin from the exercise in the boneyard the night before, humor was the one thing that saved Gregor from looking fierce. Okay, that and the rabbit foot hanging from his belt. And while the symbols worn around his neck didn’t soften his image, they did speak of his superstitious nature; a cross, a Jewish star, and a crescent moon all clustered together in unlikely harmony. His warden, Sheena, was tucked beneath his good arm as usual, clearly unimpressed.

“Some of them do,” I replied, barely containing a shudder.

He grinned more widely. “That’s called teething. Only the little ones do that, and they’re long in bed. The others have been instructed not to bite the star signs.”

“Comforting that they had to be told,” I said, leaning over to stroke Sheena behind her ear. She pressed into my touch, trusting Gregor to keep her balanced. “Listen, have you been keeping up with the papers? Or the scanner? Anything going on that looks like Shadow activity?”

He shook his head, which gleamed even in the dim light. “I get the dailies first thing in the morning, local and national, and nothing’s popped. Nobody has a clue what the Tulpa’s up to, but we’re as balanced as we ever were, that’s for sure.”

I thought about that for a moment, and though his certainty was probably warranted, asked, “Do you think you could save them for me at the end of the day? At least the front page and the metro section? Warren wants me to stay in the sanctuary. Again.”

Gregor shot me a sympathetic look, showing me he’d al
ready heard. “Sure…looking for anything in particular?”

I thought about lying, then reconsidered. It would cost me nothing to tell Gregor about the lab—he didn’t need to know about Liam and Regan, or the information that’d led me to Joaquin at Master Comics—and if anyone could help me discover the mystery of what a scientific laboratory was doing in a casino, it was he. So I told him about the portal Hunter had pushed me through at Valhalla, and what I’d found behind it. “So I was wondering if you’d heard of any missing person cases in the last, say, three months.”

“I wonder what they’re up to…” All the humor was absent from his gaze as he squinted in thought. “I could go through the archives. Look for a missing doctor, scientist. Maybe a professor of science out at the university.”

“Yeah, someone like Micah. A lab rat.”

“Better yet, I’ll just ask him when we get to the Orchard,” he said, motioning up the stairwell.

I frowned, surprised. “That’s where you’re going?”

He nodded, and Sheena stretched to nuzzle his chin. “Same as everyone else.”

I’d thought my training session with Tekla was private, and was surprised to find he was right; the others were lounging about the room in varying degrees of green-skinned glory. Most had faded to a light jade by now…all except Chandra, I noted, with more than a little satisfaction. She was still a dazzling Day-Glo emerald, and I gave her a little finger wave from across the room. She merely returned a finger.

Micah, as large as a sumo wrestler and as tall as a basketball player, was stretching lithely on the floor, and Gregor dropped down beside him to fill him in before Tekla arrived. I remained standing, though I shot him an apologetic smile. “Sorry about the hit yesterday, Micah. Good job on the color, though.”

“Thanks.” He smiled wryly, examining his fading forearm. “Next time I’ll try to concoct something a little less durable.”

Micah and Gregor were the only senior troop members in the room. Warren was absent, and the rest of the star signs were juniors; Vanessa and Felix, Riddick and Jewell, and me. The training we underwent—such as the maze out in the boneyard—was a good way for those in the middle to jockey for position, and the initiates who were raised in this subterranean grotto started that practice young. Scoring kill spots against enemy agents also gained you more power within the troop hierarchy, and the foiling of a Shadow plot was a good way to earn brownie points too. But everyone knew their place at any given moment.

Everyone, I thought wryly, but me.

“Monkeys?” I heard Micah say, and turned back to find him gazing up at me questioningly. “Primates are generally used for more complex research…combating disease, testing transplantations and vaccines, new surgeries.”

“Things that would eventually be used on humans,” Gregor said, and the two of them looked at each other in the long stretch of silence. After a moment Gregor rose again and left the room. I knew he was headed to speak with Warren.

I swallowed hard. “It’s serious, then?”

“It’s probably nothing, but you were right to say something.” A swift smile flickered over his face as he motioned around the room. “Ready for class?”

I narrowed my eyes, wondering why he was changing the subject, but let it drop as I noticed all the training paraphernalia—heavy bags, pads, ropes, and mitts—had been put away, and the spongy mat with its opposing sparring circles had been removed to reveal a naked slab of concrete.

Micah explained that the mat’s removal deactivated the mood room, and in its place was a single mirrored panel propped vertically beneath the apex of the whitewashed pyramid; colorless, stark, and somehow intimidating.

I stepped forward, studying my reflection in the shiny slab, hands on hips, feet splayed wide, a stance that looked a
hell of a lot more assured than it felt. “So…what? We gonna practice our scariest superfaces on each other?”

Micah gave a shrug of his giant shoulders, and stood with a grunt until he towered at his full seven feet. “Probably another lesson on energy. We’ll find out when Tekla gets here.”

“She’s always late,” I grumbled, still peeved at the way she’d dug at me the day before. “You’d think a psychic would know we’re all waiting for her.”

“It’s an affectation,” Micah said, smiling sympathetically and ruffling my hair. “The troop’s Seer is allowed her eccentricities. Just look past the quirks, and you’ll learn something despite yourself.”

I was about to say that
quirk
was a nice way to word it, but Marlo walked in just then…followed by Hunter. I got that funny feeling in my gut again, and quickly looked away. Fortunately, Tekla’s appearance saved me from having to question why.

She wasted no time on niceties, instead heading straight to the center of the room, where it turned out today’s lesson would be on yet another of Tekla’s favorite subjects: controlling our thoughts.

“This wall beside me is made of glass, better to reflect the clearest sense of your goals. But beyond that, like the labyrinth in the boneyard, it’s made from thought.” She looked at each of us, and the room fell unnaturally still. “I created both walls with nothing more than the strength of my mind. I dreamed them into being. Does anyone recall what else had been wrought into being by the whim of a powerful mind?”

Her eyes landed on me, though we all knew the answer to that question. “The Tulpa.”

She inclined her head. “That’s right. A living being who moves, breathes, eats, shits, and sleeps.” And now she began to pace, her black salwar-kamiz flaring about her ankles. “A being who’s dedicated his entire undeserved life to destroying you. How much easier, then, to create a mere wall from
the ether.” She waved her hand, and the air shimmered about her fingertips. A second wall materialized, rippling, before solidifying into one identical to the first.

“Whoa,” Riddick said, awed. I had to agree. The most awesome thing about it, though, was that the wall’s appearance hadn’t seemed magical or miraculous at all. It was as natural as if someone had just walked in a door.

“Your thoughts create your reality,” Tekla went on as we all crowded closer. “What you believe is true and real becomes true and real for you.”

She paused, then looked at Felix, just as he was opening his mouth to speak. Tekla’s stare had nothing to do with her being psychic. We all knew Felix would be the first to ask a question, and he caught the look and laughed self-consciously. “We know that…but that wall’s not going to disappear just because I say it’s not there. It’s tangible. It’s a wall.”

“I agree,” Jewell said, clearing her throat nervously. “You can’t just lie to yourself about things already in existence.”

“Not lie and actually believe it,” Riddick agreed.

Tekla raised her brow, a subdued challenge. “You don’t think so? What about this: I’m not too drunk to drive. He’s just working late. The glove doesn’t fit.” Tekla allowed her mouth to quirk. “People
do
lie to themselves, and they get away with it because every action affirms and reaffirms their perception. That’s the power of the human mind. That’s the power of thought, which is nothing more—and nothing less—than energy. And when you have a particularly powerful mind, extraordinary things can happen.”

She made another wall appear, effortlessly, then turned back to us and smiled.

“So what’s the practical application?” Riddick asked, moving forward first to touch the wall, then knock on it loudly when he found it solid.

“Good question,” she said, automatically folding her arms before realizing she wasn’t wearing her robe. She linked her hands instead. “One answer is the element of surprise. Say
your back is against a wall, literally, and a Shadow makes a move against you. Instead of making the choice to flee or fight—”

“I never flee,” Felix said, cocking his fists on his hips.

“We know, Felix,” Tekla said, and he wilted slightly. “Thus the Shadows already know how you will act when backed against that wall.”

“Except you don’t have a choice in that instance,” I said in his defense. “You fight or die.”

She smiled like she’d been expecting me to say that. “Ah, but you always have a choice. It’s like dropping a footprint on the moon. Once you take a step, the landscape of your life is forever changed.

“So the question I pose to you today is, what do we want that landscape to look like? Which direction do you want that footstep to lead? What walls need to come down before you reach your goal? Once you have the answers to these questions, the Universe will conspire to bend to your wishes.”

She inclined her head and folded her hands together like a Jedi knight. Impressive, it was. She then shifted her gaze to Riddick, motioning him to the wall. “You first.”

He swallowed hard, but strode forward with determination.

“What were you thinking yesterday when you were all scattered in the labyrinth?” she asked him. “What was your intent going into that maze?”

“To win,” he said, running a hand over his rust-colored hair. “To kick some ass.”

The rest of us laughed, but Tekla’s smile was close-lipped as she motioned to the wall in front of him. “Focus that on the wall now, projecting that intention, and will it away.”

Riddick squared his shoulders and stared at the wall like it was a mortal enemy. For a moment nothing happened, and I thought that’s what Tekla wanted us to see—that nothing happened when we faced our obstacles with the wrong intent. Instead, the base of the wall shimmered briefly, setting the length of it to swaying, and looking as though the whole
thing would topple. I felt myself go cross-eyed as I stared too hard at the spot, and had to blink. Beside me, Vanessa shook her head. When I focused again, I’d found that another wall had appeared instead, thickening the first.

“A second thing you might want to remember,” Tekla said wryly, “is that the wrong intention can generate the exact opposite of your desired effect.”

Riddick scowled. “What’s wrong with wanting to kick ass?”

“Nothing. But it’s not a strong enough motivation to create lasting change. It needs to be linked to a higher reason.” She jerked her head at Felix, who immediately clapped Riddick on the shoulder, backed the frowning man up, and smiled broadly at the rest of us as he rubbed his hands together.

“My intention was to have green friends,” Felix said, grinning. There were snorts and scattered chuckles—none from Chandra, I noted—but they died down as he turned his focus on the second wall. Felix was close to being a senior agent, and I had no doubt he was keyed in to a “higher reason.” We all held our breaths as the entire wall began to shimmer, then shake. The unmistakable scent of burning wood rose in the air, and a low whirring sound ebbed up from beneath Felix’s wide stance. It died down when a fourth wall materialized out of nowhere.

“What the fuck?” Felix said, disbelief in his face and voice as Riddick thumped his back in mock sympathy.

“Humor is one of your gifts, my boy, but I doubt you’ll be winning over any Shadow agents with wit alone.” Tekla raised her brows until he acknowledged her point with a meek nod, and stepped back with the rest of the group. Then she turned to me. “Olivia? You were one of the last players standing. What was your intention yesterday?”