Vicki Pettersson - The Scent of Shadows

“Only if she’s willing to relinquish it to them, but for reasons unknown to all but her, she’s not. We’ve asked her, begged her, even, but she just starts spewing obscenities, making illogical accusations, tries to injure anyone who approaches.”

I remembered the first of these accusations from the pages of Stryker’s comic. There’s a traitor among us.

“So, did my mother relinquish the Archer sign to me when she…left?” I asked, changing the subject.

Warren inclined his head, looking relieved. “Your mother believed that when the time came, you alone would be able to create this house anew.”

The house of the Zodiac. The first sign. The Archer, agent of Light.

I shook my head, only able to grasp one thought at a time. I voiced the one I thought most pressing. “But she’s still out there, right?”

“She’s alive, we know that much. Her power is muted, diminished because she gave it all to enshroud your identity, so she’s essentially a mortal. It’s a dangerous position for a member of the Zodiac to be in, but one that has, ironically enough, kept her safe.”

I folded my arms over my chest. “I want to see her.”

He shook his head, began to open his mouth.

“She’s my mother!” I pounded my fist on the locker with a sudden fierceness that surprised even me. It had been growing there, I guessed, ever since I saw her belongings hanging in a closet. I had smelled her on them.

“There are some doors, Olivia, that are closed even to us.”

I stared at him, thinking that of all people, a superhero shouldn’t have to hear that.

“Come on,” he said, turning. His limp made an exaggerated slap-and-drag sound on the concrete floor. “There’s more to see.”

Something other than Stryker’s fate, or Tekla’s, or my mother’s? I wanted to ask. Of course, Warren—the bum—could give me no assurances. It seemed that even a supernatural life, for all its benefits, didn’t come with guarantees.

“Okay, Warren,” I said, walking, walking right past him. “Then just promise me one thing.”

“If I can,” he said gravely.

I shot one last glance back at the unyielding locker and the centaur glowing with six other star signs. “Shoot me if I ever grow hindquarters.”

We bypassed another series of hallways on the way to Saturn’s Orchard, Warren pointing out the children’s ward—the tinkling of bell-like laughter punctuating the air in confirmation—and then made a quick stop by the animal habitat, where cats of every shape and size were striding, sitting, playing, or sleeping purposefully around the room.

“We breed them,” Warren explained, lifting a pure white Persian kitten from behind the guard gate, his face softening as the two wide blue eyes stared unblinking into his own. “Cats are wardens. They’re naturally territorial, so good guardians of our space. They can also identify a Shadow agent no matter what they’ve done to mask their identity.”

“I wonder if Luna came from this bunch,” I said, inching closer.

“Did Zoe give her to you?”

“To Olivia.” I ran a finger along the soft fur tufting from the kitten’s cheeks. “For her eleventh birthday. She’s had her ever since.”

The kitten’s eyes slitted shut and she pushed her cheek against my hand, a purr rising from the little body that could have shook the entire building. Warren chuckled, then dropped a kiss on the ivory head and returned her to her litter. He blushed when he saw me watching.

“They are wonderful little gifts. And fiercely protective.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” I said, an image of Butch’s sheared eyelids and gouged retinas popping into my head. Just then a young boy darted into the room, scrambling nimbly between us, an outraged cry rising in his wake. He lunged for the gate, climbing so quickly I knew this wasn’t the first time he’d hatched this particular escape plan. Warren plucked him up with one hand, and I stared down at the blond crown of his head as he proceeded to wiggle and squirm, struggling toward the kittens that lay just beyond his reach.

“Marcus!”

A tall woman in a simple white robe reached around me and snatched the child from Warren, pulling him to her in a possessive and practiced grab. An immediate screech rose from the child, but the woman only smiled up at us as if to say, Sorry for the inconvenience, but you understand . I’m sure this would have been accompanied by an eye roll…except that she didn’t have any.

“They’re so boisterous at this age,” she said, smiling tightly.

“They are that,” Warren replied, his own smile a bit wider.

I said nothing, just continued staring at the skin, shriveled and wrinkled and scarred, where her eyes should have been.

Marcus, however, had no interest in her looks. When he saw there was no escaping her grasp, and no chance of retrieving one of the kittens, his face turned a bright shade of red, a howl like winter wind rose from his throat, and then his face, literally, burst into light. “Give me my warden!”

I whirled away, covering my eyes with one of my forearms, clutching my furry little charge to my chest as heat from the child’s anger slammed against the back of my neck. The rays of light blasted past me into the concrete walls, and his voice did the same. I heard a muffled smack, a howl of outraged pain, and then a scuffling before the light disappeared, like a wick snuffed between wetted fingers.

When I uncovered my face, the boy was gone, but the woman remained. She shot us an easy smile and serenely folded her hands together in front of her. “Somebody made the mistake of telling Marcus he was next in line for the Virgo sign, and he’s bedeviled us ever since. Wants his warden, wants his conduit. He’s a bit headstrong these days.”

That, I thought, was an understatement.

“Need some help?” Warren asked, inclining his head toward the hall where chattering, screaming, shrill little voices rebounded off the concrete interiors. The sound cut a path straight to my lingering headache.

“I might,” she admitted, with a frazzled lift of her brows. “There’s only Sondra and I for the lot of them. The other ward mothers are in classes. But first…”

She angled herself toward me, raising her brows.

“I’m sorry,” Warren said. “Where are my manners?”

“I’ve been wondering the same for years.”

I smiled at that, instantly liking her, and held out my free hand. “I’m Olivia.”

She found my hand, and held fast as she tilted her head, regarding me in some unknown way. “Rena,” she offered. “Ward mother of the Zodiac offspring, charged with overseeing their development until the first life cycle. As you can see, Marcus has a way to go in the control department.”

“Is that why…uh—”

“My eyes?” she asked, smiling. She would have been beautiful, I realized, if not for those dual scars blooming where said eyes should have been. “I’m afraid so, though not him. Another child of Light, long before little Marcus came along. I’ve been ward mother here for nearly forty years now. Saw Warren here through his first life cycle.”

“Really?” At closer glance, I saw light wisps streaking away from her temples to mingle with the ginger hair she’d secured into a low bun. Creases that had to do with age, not scarring, also lined her face, though I noticed the ones where she smiled were deepest of all. Given her words, I placed her around sixty. A very young and vibrant sixty.

“Er, let’s not get into that,” Warren said, wedging between us.

“Another time, then,” she told me in a conspiring whisper, then waved good-bye and headed back out into the melee in the hallway.