Vicki Pettersson - The Scent of Shadows

“You’re going after him. You think the mark Micah planted will lead you to him.”

“It will,” I said flatly, “and I’ll bring him back safely.”

Abruptly, she howled with laughter, throwing her head back like a wolf to the moon. When she was done, finally, she wiped the tears from her cheeks. “You are your mother’s daughter. Always thinking you can do the impossible. Always wanting to be the hero. Always doomed to fail.”

“I won’t fail,” I said, tucking my hands into my cargo pockets, finding what I needed in the right-hand side. “You’re going to ensure that.”

She hooted again. “Don’t count on it.”

I slipped an ugly smile over my pretty face. Her malicious grin wavered, then fell.

“Have I ever told you about my sister?” I asked, pushing off from the wall to stand in the middle of the room. Greta didn’t answer, giving a good imitation of a person at ease. “She was similar to you in that she was half Light, half mortal, though I always thought of her as being entirely good. All innocence. Completely pure of heart.”

“Not like you, then,” Greta murmured, taunting me with what she knew.

“Not like you either.”

There must have been something jagged in my voice, something I couldn’t hold back, because she did look at me then. She studied me for a moment, then shrugged and fixed a petulant expression on her face. “She sounds like a bore.”

I didn’t rise to the bait. My love for Olivia had lain plain on my face, hanging like ripened fruit to be plucked. It was an easy target for Greta, and I couldn’t be angry she’d taken it. Besides, I was hoarding my anger, letting it build inside me until later, when I’d call upon it. When it’d be most needed.

I closed my eyes and conjured up the clearest picture of Olivia possible. I wanted Greta to be able to see. “She was anything but boring. She was beautiful. When she walked into a room, people used to stop just to watch the magic in her movement. She was so blond the sun could have taken lessons in shining from her. So voluptuous the mountains around this valley shook with envy. ‘Too much woman,’ I used to think. Too much hair and flesh, too many curves and softness. It was overwhelming.”

I could sense Greta’s interest despite herself. “So she looked like you. So what?”

I opened my eyes and smiled. “Yes. She looked exactly like me. Exactly.”

Greta’s brows furrowed, then rose in twin surprise, eyes going wide as realization dawned. “You’re the sister! You’re her, the one who died!”

“What? Didn’t you do your homework, Greta?” I asked, head tilted. “Don’t you even know my name?”

She looked at me, her face bleeding one emotion into another—fear, amazement, doubt, surprise—eyes zipping around my face like furious flies, never landing. “But you’re her ! I studied Olivia, and you’re her!”

“I studied her too. And, remember, I had a lifetime to do so.” She had no response to that. “You want to know what I learned in becoming someone else? Something you apparently never picked up?”

She flinched at the insult.

“I learned it doesn’t matter what mannerisms you pick up, or what clothes you wear,” I said, sweeping my left hand down my body, “or what mask you try to hide behind…be it beauty or psychology. The shadows inside you can’t stay hidden forever.”

We both knew I was talking about her, but she jerked her head at me. “You remember that when what you’ve tried to keep hidden becomes unearthed like a rotted corpse.”

“That’s the difference between us,” I said. “I’m not trying to hide my shadows anymore.”

And I pulled back the curtain on my one-woman play, just enough to let her glimpse what lay beneath—anger and pain over Olivia’s death; hatred for the Tulpa, Ajax, and anyone aiding their side; disgust over the wasted lives of people meant to be super…and the inherited and shadowed urge to take it all out on her.

“I’m not afraid of you,” Greta said, voice shaking.

I didn’t answer, but turned instead toward the door like I was ready to leave.

“You never told me your real name,” she said quickly, thinking I’d leave and she might never know. “Who you really are.”

“I did,” I said, not turning. My hands were busy in front of me. “When you tried to hypnotize me. I told you it depended on who was looking.”

She scoffed, annoyed with the answer. “So who are you right now?”

How to answer that? All the qualities I’d mentioned while under hypnosis still existed inside of me—the bitch, the goddess, the daughter, the sister, the friend, the enemy, the huntress, the predator, the Archer—and needed only to be called upon. But I wanted to give her the truest answer of all. I owed her, and all of us, that much.

So as I slowly turned to face her, one of her slim needles, pumped and primed, spiking from my hand, I slid open the curtain, revealing to her the whole of the shadows inside of me. “Right now, Greta? I’m my father’s daughter.”

And Greta screamed, finally afraid.

I met the others at the launch pad near dawn, approaching by stealth, testing myself…and the weapon Greta had given me, albeit unwillingly.

“Jesus!” Felix jumped as my hand landed on his shoulder.

“Olivia!” Vanessa whirled next to him. “I didn’t hear you arrive.”

“Neither did I,” Hunter said, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. I tried out Olivia’s most innocent smile as they all looked at me.

“Are you all right?” Micah asked, brows drawn, studying me.

“Peachy,” I said, my blood still whirlpooling in my veins, power still screaming through my ears. I didn’t try to read anyone’s aura. I didn’t need to now. “Though you guys seem a bit wound up.”

“You look different.”

“Brushed my hair,” I said smartly.

“Not physically,” Felix said, beginning to circle me. “Different beneath that. Under the skin.” He ran a finger along my nape and I stiffened visibly. I was strung drum-tight. “Feel different too.” After a moment he let his hand fall and, though it was almost imperceptible, backed away.

“We were just discussing tactics,” Gregor said, oblivious. All of his energies were focused on healing, but the others felt it. They’d begun to circle the wagons, so to speak, and were standing shoulder-to-shoulder across from me, a half-moon to my lone star.

“I’ll be staying behind for obvious reasons,” he continued, managing a wry smile from where he sat in a wheelchair. “Chandra will remain as well.”

I glanced at Chandra, who didn’t meet my eye. She couldn’t go, I knew, because as long as I was alive she couldn’t be a real and active member of the Zodiac.

“I’m staying too, because if you—” Micah cut himself off, clearing his throat. “I mean when the rest of you return I may be needed in a medical capacity. We’ve deemed that more important than my offensive skills.”

He meant he expected most of us to come back wounded. If we came back at all.

“So here’s the plan,” Hunter said, stalking over to me, his movements once again reminding me of a cat. A very large, very patient cat. “Felix will flank your left side and Vanessa your right.”

“Provided I can get out of here, you mean.”

His mouth quirked as he pulled his arm from behind his back, holding out an answer to my challenge.

“What is it?” Felix said, inching forward.

“A helmet?” I asked, taking it. I flipped it over in my hand. It was pliable, made of distressed leather on the outside, but with a strange crisscrossing of wires woven tightly beneath. It was designed to cover the eyes—twin mirrors shot my reflection back at me—and arched across the temples and over the soft tissue behind the ears. A leather toggle secured it around the base of my skull, or beneath a low bun like the one I was wearing now.