Vicki Pettersson - The Scent of Shadows

The memory of Warren’s suspicion as it roiled hot in my gut flashed in my mind. One guess, I thought, pursing my lips wryly, as to what this “session” was about. “Then trust must be one of your major talents,” I said, so low only he could hear, turning my animosity on him.

He shot me a look of bland disapproval, which I returned with a wrinkle of my nose and a little finger wave. Just like Olivia.

“So what is it?” Micah said, leaning forward to look at my glyph after Warren’s strange slap-and-slide gait had receded from earshot. I used the opportunity to back away from Hunter, glancing down as the others crowded in closer. The shape of it was pale against my skin, a birthmark in reverse, and I shuddered, recalling how it had burned on my chest, pulsing there like a second heart. “It’s a stiletto.”

Chandra scoffed. “It’s not a stiletto. It’s a fucking bow and arrow.”

I looked again and saw that she was, just possibly, right. Oh, God. Peroxide poisoning. Already . I glared at Micah as embarrassment washed over me. This was followed by a surprising flash of disappointment. A part of me, it seemed, had wanted it to be a stiletto.

“It’s just smeared,” I said stubbornly, and turned to the mirrored wall behind me.

“Chandra’s right,” Hunter said, slipping behind me. Studying him through the mirrored surface, I decided my first impression of him had been wrong. He wasn’t devoid of expression at all. The quirk of his mouth gave away a little spark of humor, and intelligence swam beneath hooded eyes. There was something commanding in the way he’d used up the room when he’d crossed to me, noting everything and nothing at the same time.

And despite the warning bells pealing through my mind, I had to wonder, Was there anything more alluring than a dangerous man?

Hunter reached out, broad shoulders blocking the view of the others, and lifted a hand to trace the lines of my glyph, lighting little arrows of fire along my flesh. “It is a bow and arrow. See?”

Olivia’s voice, a happy twittering bluebird, bounced off the soft tissue of my mind. How lucky am I? It sang. First day on the job and I get a superhero boyfriend!

Meanwhile my own voice had fled me entirely. I just stood there, staring at my chest. Total nipple hard-on. Great. I glanced up into Hunter’s face, now clearly amused. “And what’s your talent?”

He smiled. “I have many.”

I’ll just bet .

“A bow and arrow is a strong talisman,” he continued, his gravelly voice louder now. “Obviously it’s the Archer’s symbol, but it’s a personal motif as well. I’ll bet one of your talents is honesty—”

“To a fault,” Micah chimed in.

“Determination. Loyalty. Pride.”

“Don’t let Hunter charm you,” Chandra broke in. “All Archers have those qualities.”

I turned to find myself facing hollow eyes, and knew then that she and I would never be friends. I raised one slim brow. “Do you?”

“In spades,” she said, her upper lip curling.

“What do you know so far about conduits?” Hunter asked, moving to stand between us.

Conduits are conductors of energy; conductors of the agent’s express will. Each conduit is specifically made for its handler; to compliment his or her talents, and channel his or her will through means of violence, death and gore . Though Olivia, of course, would never have put it that way.

“Uh, well, most of them are pretty sharp,” I said, drawing laughs from Micah and Felix. Hunter narrowed his eyes, Chandra rolled hers. “I know they come in different shapes, sizes, some of them are pyrotechnic, and each one is made to complement the strengths of its owner.”

There. That was a nicely balanced answer. Not too embarrassing.

“That’s right. When I design a weapon, I take into consideration the agent’s particular physical and mental strengths, then fashion a conduit specifically for their hands. It takes on a life of its own that way. Becomes your companion, your match. Of course, that means I need complete honesty if the weapon is to maximize all your gifts. Do that, though, and I’ll create something to suit your temperament, your mind, and your heart.”

“Something that blows bubbles from its tip, perhaps?”

“Jesus, Chandra.” Felix dropped his head into his hands. I could tell he, and the rest of them, thought I wasn’t going to be able to handle this angry little hermaphrodite. Laughable, though it meant I was doing my job at being Olivia. I picked lint off my jacket, as if I hadn’t heard.

Hunter unsheathed—or unraveled, rather—his own conduit, and offered it to me. It was a twelve-foot-long whip, with barbed tips studding the lower half of the slim black leather.

My heart began to pound. Down, girl .

“What else do you know about their use?”

I took the whip in hand, studying it carefully, and this time pride had me elaborating a degree. “I know if you’re struck by an enemy’s conduit, you’ll die, even if you’re more than human. But if you use a conduit against its own agent, its companion,” I said, using his word for the weapon wielder, “you win a little something in their death. A bit of their power, and a rush of energy, a temporary high. They die, and you have twelve hours to walk this earth undetected. Nobody can find you; human, Shadow, or Light. It’s like you don’t even exist.”

Hunter held out his hand. I glanced at it as I handed his conduit back. You could tell a lot about a person by studying their hands. His were tanned and elegant, despite the calluses studding his palm.

“Butch?” he asked, coiling the whip.

I nodded.

“How did it feel?”

I glanced at Vanessa. “I felt invisible. Invincible.”

The room was silent. “No one else has ever done that. Used a conduit against its own Shadow companion. It’s a powerful magic.”

“It fits the legend—” Felix said, looking at Hunter.

“Oh, come on,” Chandra said abruptly. “This? This…cream puff is the Kairos? The gifted individual on whom all our fates hinge? I mean, get real!”

Nobody said anything, though, and she folded her arms over her chest. “Didn’t any of you hear what I said about Tekla?”

“And didn’t you hear me say that if you were going to start that up again you should do it in front of Warren?” Micah answered sharply. “You know how he feels about…her.” He motioned my way, and for the first time I saw a shadow flicker across his gaze. I straightened with a jolt as it struck me that Micah might not fully believe in me himself.

“Warren was there! He saw Tekla accuse her!” Chandra said, challenging me to deny it. “She did, didn’t she? She called you a traitor!”

“Oh, and your perception wouldn’t happen to be skewed in any way, would it, Chandra?”

“Shut up, Felix.”

“Shut up, Felix,” he mimicked.

I’d stopped paying attention to the two of them, though. The room had darkened, and I felt a shift as though the ground itself was moving. Then color swirled over the mirrored walls, psychedelic waves turning the room into a cavernous love shack. Charles Manson’s love shack, I thought, shuddering as an onyx wave washed over me.

“It’s a mood room,” Vanessa said in answer to my unspoken question. “It reacts to emotion. When we train it follows the battle, tracking who’s winning. See those circles over there?”

I did. Through the colorful spears of light bounding across the mat, two diametrically opposed ovals faced off against one another.

“Go stand on one,” she urged.

I stepped forward and found the surface spongy, rather than firm like a normal dojo mat. But there was no risk of twisting an ankle. It just seemed to move with my feet, reaching up through my arches to support my movement. Gaining the first circle, the colors suddenly whipped away from the floor and walls, replaced by infinite blackness, as if I was standing on a platform in the middle of the universe. Thus, I realized, the spongy floor. If not for the support, I’d have lost all sense of equilibrium. Then tiny lights popped up, stars pricking the universe, and floating among them was a tilted cross with an arrow on one end.