Kelly Gay - Shadows Before the Sun

“Uh, hello? What about me? What the heck kind of gratitude is that? Why don’t I get kisses on my forehead and I love yous?”

“Aww, what’s wrong, Wexie Poo?” Emma teased. “Are your whittle feel-wins hurt? I bet Brim will kiss you, won’t you, Brim.”

Rex’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you dare tell that hound to kiss me.”

I stopped by the bathroom door. That was the thing about my kid. She could communicate with the hellhound, and poor Rex was about to get slimed.

Rex stood on one side of the bed and Brim was on the other, attention fixed on Rex with perked-up ears and a drooling mouth. The look on my daughter’s face was priceless. She so wanted to do it. Like she was on the edge and already falling.

Rex must’ve realized she was a goner. “You realize I will get you back for this evil,” he told her.

Her grin was wide. “I know, but it’ll be worth it,” she said, right before pointing at Rex and commanding, “Smooch!”

Happy to oblige, Brim leapt onto my bed and off the other side, tackling Rex to the floor. He fell with a loud oomph and screamed like a girl, vowing revenge as Brim laid wet kisses on his face. I couldn’t help but laugh. Em rolled on the bed, holding her stomach and yelling that she was going to pee her pants.

“Don’t pee on my bed!” I said, laughing as she jumped off and called Brim after her, running for cover, thumping down the stairs and out the back door.

Rex moaned from the floor, arms flat out, panting, face screwed up and wet. “Call 911. Hurry. I’m not . . . gonna . . . make it. Tell my wife . . . I lov—” he gasped dramatically, lifted his hand to some unseen apparition, and then died a painful, glorious pretend death on my floor.

“Nuts,” I muttered, shutting the bathroom door. “I live in a house full of nuts.”

I hadn’t thought beyond the shock of what the delegates claimed, beyond the denial, but with everything already taken care of and the path cleared for me to go into Elysia, the idea settled easily into place.

I hurried through the shower, dried off, wrapped a towel around me, and then brushed my teeth. When I was done rinsing and glanced into the mirror, I paused. The face staring back at me was weary and pale, a drawn shadow of what I used to be. I couldn’t look at this face and not acknowledge the worry and the question I refused to allow anyone else to see. My eyes stared back at me with grief, broadcasting my greatest fear.

What if it was true? What if he’s really gone?

No. I couldn’t think like that. If I was going, I had to go strong and with purpose. With belief. Otherwise, I might as well have given up right then.

I squared my shoulders, giving myself a long, hard scowl, trying to make the determination brewing inside match the worried face that stared back. God, I looked so tired. And sad. Acknowledge it and move on. Dwelling on the fear and grief wouldn’t do me any good, I knew that.

I dipped my shoulder, turning in order to get a good look at my shoulder blade and the mark Hank had given to me during our fight in his apartment.

I’d given him the same arrow-shaped symbol with two slashes and a dot on his chest. The Throne Tree ink now embedded into my skin was used in ceremonial markings, bindings, and, once upon a time—and now highly illegal—death markings.

I hadn’t had the mark all that long, about three or four weeks and—

Goose bumps erupted all over my arms and thighs.

The mark.

Images seemed to emerge from the mirror. Me lying on the grass in Stone Mountain as my mark warmed and Hank knelt down beside me. Going down the steps into Underground and the mark warming even before I saw Hank stand from his seat on the fountain ledge.

I could find him. The mark connected us. I had my own built-in radar system right here, embedded into my skin. Before all this, I hadn’t given it much thought. I hadn’t needed to. Hank wasn’t lost; he was in the grid. I’d known exactly where to go. But now that he was missing, the mark would be instrumental. If Hank was in the city, I’d find him.

All I had to do was get into Fiallan, tour every inch of the place if I had to, and see if the mark warmed. And when it did, the Circe and I would have a nice little chat from the end of my fist.

Feeling more hopeful than I had since the delegation invaded my office the day before, I hurried into my bedroom and found a pair of clean cargo pants and a black T-shirt. I gave my hair a quick blow-dry in front of the mirror; it had grown since being chopped off in the black crafting ritual that saved Aaron’s life, and could now be worn in a ponytail that actually stayed—mostly. The bangs still slipped out of the band to curve around my chin. I’d have to dye it, I realized suddenly.

The game had changed. The sirens who had apprehended Hank behind Station One had seen me. Sure, they’d seen me covered in blood, grime, and the gray sand of Charbydon, and while I doubted any of them could pick me in a lineup, I didn’t want to take any chances. I flicked the ends, remembering when Hank had done the same after it had been chopped, remembering the crooked grin he gave me when he did it. My throat grew thick. Determined to see that grin again, I looked away from the mirror and finished getting ready.

I jogged downstairs and asked Rex to run to the drugstore for a box of dye, while I pulled on my boots and then selected weapons from my own personal arsenal.

After Rex returned, Emma helped me bleach and then dye my dark reddish brown hair to a dirty blonde. “Why not a glamour spell?” she asked from behind me, working the dye into my hair as I sat on the vanity stool.

I watched her through the mirror. “Because the Circe are said to be very powerful. If they see through the glamour, they’ll wonder who I am and why I’m trying to hide behind it.”

Once my hair was done—and no one liked the new color; Brim even growled at me—I stood at the front door and hugged my kid tightly, kissed her several times on her forehead, breathed her into my lungs, and prayed for her safety and my safe return. I threw caution to the wind and kissed Rex on the cheek, gave Brim a ruffle on the head, and then left the house, reminding Em to eat well and do all of her homework.

I gazed out the window of the taxi as it entered Hartsfield-Jackson airport, a place that had once seen two million people pass through its terminals every year. Now those giant buildings were silent and dark, locked up along with all the hangars, offices, and other buildings until the day the darkness lifted and air travel safely resumed.

The darkness above had no effect on inter-dimensional travel, however, so the off-world terminals continued operating as usual. Atlanta was the city where genius scientist Titus Mott discovered the other dimensions of Elysia and Charbydon. The first official portal into those worlds had been built here at Hartsfield-Jackson. Other terminals eventually followed: New York, L.A., London, Paris . . . But ours remained the busiest and our city housed one of the largest off-world populations around.

As the taxi swept along the curve of the road, the terminal came into view. Made of glass and steel, it shone brightly like a beacon rising from a world of darkness.

Instead of entering through the security wing, I had the taxi driver drop me off at Arrivals and entered through the main doors. My backpack was filled with a couple changes of clothes, a shower bag, and essentials. The small black duffel I carried over one shoulder held backup clips for my Hefties, additional rounds for my firearm, and capsules for my Nitro-gun just in case I ran into any Charbydons—which wasn’t likely since only two Charbydons had ever set foot in Elysia since the discovery of worlds. And those two were delegates of the Federation. But, it never hurt to be prepared . . .