Anthology: SHADOWRUN: Spells and Chrome

Okay, Daniel considered, that was true. He was suddenly conscious of the weight of Rachel's silver and amethyst mezuzah that hung from his neck beneath his shirt. A ward against evil, yes; a focus, perhaps. So why had she left it behind…?

He said, "So you're sticking with traumatic amnesia." When the doctor nodded, Daniel went on: "Will her memory return?"

"Maybe si, maybe no." The doctor steepled his fingers the way a professor does when lecturing to the dumbest kid in class. "The head injury's legit, but not that bad. But you tell me: Just how likely is it that six lights malfunctioned? That their directional guidance beacons failed? That Lee Harriman's cyber-eyes chose that moment to go completely black? If we believe her story, every single artificially-powered system-from communications to propulsion to dive computers-went on the fritz. So tell me this: How did she get from depth to the surface without a dive computer calculating her decompression stops? Hell, how did she get up without air? All she had was a drysuit. No gear at all."

"Maybe it was magic." He meant it as a dig, but the doctor frowned.

"Trust me, she's a mundane. No bioware implants even. The CSI team had an adept check her over, and he found nothing: no astral signature, nothing in her history to suggest a latent ability. As for the whole systems' failure stuff, land-based monitoring systems didn't pick up a single communications hiccup or Matrix glitch that entire day. So, all we've got is her story and pieces of a dead guy's suit."

"Eifo?"

"Where did it happen?" asked Daniel.

"She either doesn't remember or isn't saying. The evac team touched down about a half mile west of Waipi'o Valley. There are, maybe, fifty people in the place and about half are named Dave. Anyway, the Menehune have claimed the whole place. Nasty little buggers."

Privately, Daniel doubted that anything could be worse than a shedu and although the beings that oozed into this world bore little resemblance to the "no-gods" of Jewish lore and mysticism, their malevolence was identical. (Well, all except stories about the ones who studied Torah and followed the commandments… but those must be exceptionally good shedim. He'd never met-or bound-any of those.) "Anything on her boyfriend, Harriman?"

"Nope. Did a lot of tech diving, sometimes hired himself out to places like the Atlantean."

"A relic hunter."

"Not by choice. I got the impression that it was mainly contract work, but Harriman wasn't working for anyone that we know of, and he wasn't a shadowrunner."

Daniel didn't bother pointing out that if you knew a shadowrunner when you saw him, the guy either wasn't very good or you were three seconds away from a morgue slab. "So, back to either a lie, or an accident."

"Or a little of both. He could've gotten into trouble, and she might've panicked. But the police have closed it, and I've got enough work to do. So." The doctor yawned and stretched. "We're pretty much done here. She can leave whenever."

"Tov, tov, good. Get her away from this godforsaken place. We don't have that much time, Daniel. You must find it before-"

"So you have no objection if I speak with her," said Daniel.

"Hell no, knock yourself out." The psychiatrist eyed him curiously. "But what's S-K's interest in all this? I mean, she's an archaeologist, for Christ's sake."

Daniel scraped back his chair and stood. "You've been very helpful, Doctor. A pleasure." A lie, on all counts. "I'd like to see her now."

The doctor might be a jerk, but he wasn't an idiot. His face smoothed into a mask of professional neutrality. "Sure. I'll have someone bring her to an interview room."

"Lo, get her out of there."

"Actually, if you don't mind, I had something a little more comfortable in mind. Something outside the hospital," said Daniel.

"What makes you think she'll go with you?"

Daniel said nothing.

The doctor thought another moment then said, "Well, there's the little problem of her expenses…"

Daniel was already punching up numbers on his commlink. "How much?"

It was late afternoon by the time they stopped in Hawi at a little restaurant, an old hotel converted into a popular eatery still going strong after a hundred and fifty years. Their waitress, a cheerful woman as round as a raspberry named "Auntie," recommended the macadamia-encrusted ono with jasmine rice.

They sat over sweating glasses of passionfruit iced tea, Daniel still a little… unsettled. When the psych tech led Alana into the doctor's office, he'd done a double-take, his heart suddenly twisting in his chest.

Because Alana looked that much like Rachel: petite and bronzed, with high cheekbones, the same widow's peak, the identical set of jaw; a narrow, aristocratic nose though Alana's was a little off-kilter, like she'd broken it way back when. Her aura was strong: a scintillating blood-orange.

(Had Rachel's been the same? He couldn't remember and that made him sad.)

The main difference between the two women, though, was in the eyes. Rachel's had been an arresting hazel flecked with green, vibrant and alive. Alana's were dusky black pearls, haunted and drawn.

"Tell me something." Alana traced a finger in the dew of her glass. "Why do you keep staring at me?"

"Am I? Sorry. You remind me of someone, that's all. Your aura is… interesting."

"I see." Pause. "Did you love her?"

Daniel blinked. A sudden talon of grief dug at his chest, and he recognized it as the danger signal it was.

The Rebbe, silent for the last two hours, sensed his distress because he broke in: "Careful, my son. Focus on getting the information. The rest is…" But even he didn't finish the thought.

"Very much." Daniel tried a smile that he knew failed. "You don't waste any time."

"I'm sorry." She touched the back of his hand. "It's just that your eyes are so sad and… hungry."

"So what made you come with such a mad and melancholy man?"

"The shrinks weren't helping. I didn't like being treated like a criminal."

"Well, shrinks are paid to be skeptics." He should know. Mossad's psychological screening included an exhaustive battery of tests, interviews and neural scans. Not pleasant to have someone finger-walking then dissecting your thoughts and dreams. And, of course, after Rachel had disappeared and his handler tracked him to that safe house where Daniel had been considering the merits of a well-placed bullet to the brain… then he'd had to see another shrink, a dyspeptic shrew who seemed to get off on his suffering.

"Please. Did you spend any time with that doctor?" A fleeting spasm of her lips as she tried for a smile. "A good thing he kept me kind of dopey the first couple days, or else I'd have broken his nose. He thought I was faking, the asshole." Her shirt was open at the throat, and her fingers crept to a shark's tooth dangling from a black cord. The tooth was perhaps five centimeters long and tawny with serrated edges. She played with the charm. "But it's the truth."

"I know," said Daniel, gravely. "That doctor is an asshole." She laughed out loud this time, a good sound, and he grinned. "That's better."

"Yeah." But she sobered, the smile leaking away. "You think you're never going to be happy again."

Their salads came. As he stabbed arugula and mango, Daniel chinned in the general direction of her necklace. "That looks pretty old."

"This?" Chewing, she glanced myopically down, swallowed, said, "My gran claimed that it came from an extinct great white, but who knows. I've never bothered getting it dated. It's supposed to have big-time mojo, but since no Menehune ever appeared and I still had to study my ass off to defend my dissertation… Anyway, the story goes that all the first-born daughters in my family are supposed to wear the tooth and pass it on, etc., etc. We even get a tattoo." Thrusting her left leg from beneath the table, she pulled up her jeans to reveal a circlet of black-inked wedges lacing her ankle. "Not quite the same as the petroglyph for shark, but close."