Shadows Before the Sun

Disciple and see if anything comes up, will you? And run the name Leander through the database. Let me know if you get a hit.”

“Sure. That all?”

“No,” I said, chewing my bottom lip. “Can you get a courier up here? I need to send a message to the mages’ headquarters in Ithonia.”

“I’ll call downstairs and see if one’s available now.”

“Thanks.” Edainnué Lightwater was an Elder in Ithonia’s League of Mages. And I had her marker. If there was anyone who might know how to defeat Sachâth, it was her. And Leander. Leander knew way more than he let on . . .

After working all morning, I broke for lunch and headed into Underground to eat with my sister Bryn. We chose Abracus since it was right across the street from her shop. Using the same details as I’d given Emma and Rex, I filled her in on the happenings in Fiallan, leaving out Panopé’s “gift” to Hank and me, which I knew she’d love to hear all about, but I just didn’t want to talk about it; it was too new and tenuous at this point, and honestly a little unreal.

Bryn made up for my surprising lack of appetite, eating her burger and fries, and then picking at mine. “I take it things are better,” I said.

“As in?” she asked, mouth full.

“As in your health and relationship with Aaron.”

She grunted and swallowed a drink of sweet tea. Emma and Bryn looked so much alike it was scary. Big brown eyes and wavy brown hair—though Bryn’s coloring on both was lighter than Em’s. They had the same full lips, slightly upturned noses, and that impish quality to their look. “Ash is still kicking my ass. But I’m managing. As for the warlock . . .” She rolled her eyes and snagged another fry. “Irritating. You’d think a guy like that with a couple hundred years of mage training and scholarly pursuits wouldn’t be so . . . pigheaded and alpha all the time, you know?”

I laughed. “Shouldn’t surprise you.” With all the scholarly pursuits, Aaron was still a warlock—a warrior class of mage.

“It doesn’t. It’s just annoying. After everything, now he wants to take things slow when before he wouldn’t leave me alone. And now, suddenly, I’m the one who wants everything right now and he doesn’t.”

“I think he’s just worried about you. You’ve been through a lot. So has he.”

“I know. But”—she pointed a fry at me—“what better reason to grasp love by the horns while you can, before something comes along and snatches it away from you?”

She did have a point and as she went on about her complex relationship with Aaron, I smiled. I hadn’t seen Bryn this animated since before her exposure to ash. She still had shadows beneath her eyes, still had gray threaded through her aura, and I knew she suffered, but even with all that she seemed more like the little sister I knew and loved.

I’d held that stone tablet in my hands, the very thing that could’ve freed her from addiction, and then watched it shatter along with Ephyra. Gone.

But the cure still existed . . .

And if Leander had it, then I sure as hell was going to find a way to get it. Tablet or not.

After lunch, I walked back toward the plaza where Mercy Street joined with Helios Alley and Solomon Street. The scene—people shopping, goblins pushing their sale carts, patrons sipping coffee at the outdoor tables in front of the imp’s bakery, the sound of the fountain and the traffic echoing from the city above—it was comforting. It was what I knew, what I loved, and I hoped to God my inter-dimensional travel days were over.

I hadn’t told Bryn about Sachâth. Doing so would involve her in knowledge that was far too dangerous to have. And while I’d turned a corner when it came to including those I loved in details of my life, this wasn’t something I would or could share. Pen, Hank, and I had made a promise when we hid Ahkneri in the lake. No one would know. No one.

For Bryn or Rex or Emma, even the chief and the ITF, to know that a First One existed, that a divine weapon existed, was knowledge that’d get them killed, used, targeted . . . And I couldn’t reveal details about Sachâth without getting too close to the truth.

As I came to a stop in the middle of the plaza, I felt Hank before I saw him.

I turned slowly and watched the main stairs that led from Topside Atlanta down into Underground. First his combat boots stepped casually down the steps, then tan cargo pants, standard issue equipment belt with hip weapon, black tee . . .

His eyes were on me the second they came into view and it felt like the crowded plaza vanished. Wavy blond hair, sardonic tilt to his mouth, five o’clock shadow. I knew what those arms felt like, how the skin tasted, knew how it felt to suck on that slowly curving lower lip.

Partner. He was my partner. As in work. As in: how the hell was I supposed to separate the work from the relationship?

I let out a shaky breath as he strode toward me, all large and male and greedily taking up all the oxygen and space in the plaza. “Charlie,” he said, purposefully making his voice lower and deeper than it already was.

“Hank,” I countered, narrowing my eyes, but not being able to keep from smiling. Damn him.

“So, listen . . . I know it’ll be tough, but try to keep your dirty thoughts to a minimum. Once we clock out, we’ll go back to my place, and you can have your wicked, wanton way with me. Sound good?”

He was enjoying this way too much. But then, I guess, so was I. He waited a beat, and when no response came out of my idiot grinning mouth, he leaned in, kissed me, and walked around me, saying, “Awesome. It’s a date.”

Nice, Charlie. I rolled my eyes at myself, spun on my heel, and fell in step beside him. On one hand, I was glad he was trying to fall back into his old routine—the easygoing, likeable, flirtatious guy. On the other, I wondered how he really was and how he was dealing with the wounds on his mind and soul. I knew what it was like. To forge ahead, to pretend something didn’t happen or just deal with it in the quiet of your own space, in your own time.

We entered Helios Alley—or as I often called it Elysian Territory—and headed down the middle of the street, avoiding the busier sidewalks. “How did it go at legal?”

“The usual barrage of boring, repetitive questions. The Feds are sending a group to Fiallan to help with the fallout. The king has abdicated the throne . . .” He slid a glance my way. “I hear the delegates told you I was executed.”

“Yeah.” Not a pleasant memory.

He bumped me with his shoulder. “Thanks for not believing them.”

I bumped him back. “You’re welcome.”

Helios Alley dead-ended into the underground lobby of Helios Tower. After a quick walk through the tunnel, we emerged into the spacious lobby complete with restaurant and bar/lounge. We bypassed the receptionist’s desk and took the elevator.

“This is giving me flashbacks,” Hank muttered.

“Tell me about it. At least we’re only going to the fourth floor this time.” Instead of the rooftop, or the forty- sixth floor from whence we took our tumble . . . I shuddered with the memory.

The lower floors of the tower were devoted to businesses. The address that had been on Leander’s card had said 4th Floor, Suite 107. No name. Nothing else but a phone number. The plaque indicating Suite 107 was also otherwise blank.

I opened the door to find a typical waiting room and a desk behind which sat a thin middle-aged woman whose fingers tapped efficiently on a keyboard. She stopped typing, looked up, but didn’t say a word in greeting. How lovely.

“We’re here to see Leander,” I said.

She peered at me, then Hank over the rim of her glasses. “Who may I ask is inquiring?”

“Detectives Madigan and Williams,” I answered.

“One moment, please.”

As she left the room, I glanced around the small front office, noting that it looked like my accountant’s office, and not what I expected from the mysterious Leander.