Shadows Before the Sun

“Right this way,” the receptionist said, returning to lead us down a long hallway to an end door, which she held open and then closed behind us.

The room was the size of my entire downstairs cottage in Candler Park. Two gigantic windows offered views of the city. The chair behind the massive desk was empty and it looked as though neither one had ever been used much. To the left were two couches with a coffee table between them and beyond that an entire wall of books from floor to ceiling.

Leander, however, was to the far right with his back to us, playing a pinball machine.

Hank gave me a look that said, You’re shittin’ me. This is the guy?

Oh yeah, this was the guy. There was no mistaking the power in the room. We walked over. The words Bally’s Wizard! were painted across the back glass along with some curvy, barely clad women, and if I wasn’t mistaken a guy that looked like the Who’s Roger Daltrey in the middle wearing a Pinball Wizard T-shirt.

From the less than impressive score, either Leander had just started playing or he sucked at pinball. I was guessing sucked, since he lost the ball seconds later.

Leander barely acknowledged me. His gaze went straight to Hank. They stood several feet apart, about the same height and weight, both broad shouldered, both powerful, and easy on the eyes. “So you brought back the last son of Elekti-Kairos,” he said to me while studying Hank.

“Actually, he kind of brought me back,” I said, giving props where they were due.

Hank stared so intently at Leander that my hand moved to rest on the grip of my firearm. The energy in the room shot up and the hairs on the back of my neck rose.

Leander folded his arms over his chest. “Ignoring it won’t make it go away, siren.”

“So what does, then?”

“Nothing, really. Time. Distraction. Women. Killing things . . . they just make you forget for a little while.”

“What are you?” Hank asked.

Leander cocked a smug eyebrow and then finally turned his attention to me. “Where’s the tablet?”

“Destroyed.”

He leaned back against the pinball machine, his casual stance deceptive because I could feel the surge of anger that ballooned around him. “Then you waste my time.”

“I’m going to face Sachâth,” I said, surprising both Leander and Hank.

Leander recovered first and snorted. “Didn’t figure you for a total head case.”

Hank was watching me, his eyes narrowed, his mind working. “What makes you think you can defeat it?” He knew I’d never face Sachâth unless I felt I had a chance.

“Yes, do tell,” Leander added, amused.

“Since you know about Ahkneri’s existence . . .” I said to Leander. “She gave me a vision. She showed me the last battle she fought with Sachâth.” Leander straightened and the quiet intensity that stole over him made me stutter.

I forged on, though, and told them about the vision, what Ahkneri had told me about the nature of Sachâth, and of my talk with Pendaran. Leander looked a little pale, and strode over to a cabinet and poured himself a drink. He tossed it back in one gulp and then turned to us, cradling the empty glass in his large hand. “So you think all you have to do is pull together three primal energy sources and that will be the end of the Creator’s assassin.”

“Do you have a better idea?” I shot back.

But Hank was watching Leander. “Has that ever been tried?”

“Not to my knowledge,” Leander admitted. “Sachâth was always engaged by First Ones and their Disciples. Every weapon conceivable was tried, to my knowledge,” he felt the need to add again.

“The indigenous people of Elysia and Charbydon developed outside of the Creator’s influence,” I said. “They sprung from the primal deities and energies that emerged in those worlds’ infancy. Like the sirens, fae, and nymphs,” I said. “And the jinn and the ghouls . . .”

“So you want to hit Sachâth with powers that aren’t connected with the Creator,” Hank said.

“Right. I just need to figure out how to bring them together. Pen can direct the Earth’s arcane energy . . .” I looked at Leander. “I just need a means to use Elysia’s and Charbydon’s. I don’t know what you are, Leander, but you must have some idea of how I can do this.”

He eyed me for a long time. “Did you read the tablet?”

I blinked at his change of direction. “Um . . . yeah. I read it.”

“Out loud?”

“Yes,” I said slowly.

“In the ancient tongue?”

“I believe so. Why?”

He walked to another wall of cabinet and bookshelf combinations, and pulled out a drawer. Inside he retrieved a metal cylinder and then walked back to me. “Here.”

I took it. It was cold. “What is it?”

“Your antidote.”

My hand tightened around the metal, and my heart lurched inside of my chest. “What do you mean? This”—I shook it at him—“is the cure to ash?”

“Yes. But maybe you shouldn’t shake it like that.”

I froze. “But why?” And I didn’t mean the shaking.

“Because, Detective, the entire point of retrieving that tablet was to read it, out loud, and in the language of the First Ones. Since you have done that, I’m upholding the bargain.”

Wariness flooded down my back, setting off every warning bell I had. “What the hell did I read, Leander?” But based on what he told me before about the tablet, I had a good idea. “I woke a Disciple.”

He grinned. It wasn’t happy or smug or even satisfied. It was feral.

“Tell me something, Leander,” I said. “Where did the Disciples come from?”

“They were among the first generations born to the First Ones when they seeded the worlds. The first Adonai, the first humans . . . There were none more powerful than them save the First Ones. They offered their swords and their lives. Some guarded mothers and fathers, some guarded lovers, husbands, wives . . .”

And then I took a chance. “I saw you in the vision.”

There was no reaction at all in those golden eyes, almost like he’d been waiting for me to say it. “You saw what you wanted to see.”

“I know what I saw.”

His voice was soft, but lethal. “No, you saw your precious Ahkneri turn her back on her own Disciple to save another. That is what you saw.” He moved back to the pinball machine. “As for Sachâth . . . If your plan will work”—he shrugged—“who knows. But I will lend my aid at the time and place. Just call my secretary. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m extremely busy running my empire.”

He turned back to the pinball machine, pulled the lever, and set the ball free.

* * *

Hank wasn’t happy with me. I could tell. It might’ve been the heat radiating off his hand when he grabbed mine and pulled me to a private spot in the lobby. Or it might’ve been the pissed off gleam in his eyes, or the plowing of his fingers through his hair and then the exasperated way he parked two fingers on his hip, dropped them, and paced before me.

“When did you plan on telling me about this idea?”

“Today.”

“Christ, Charlie!” he hissed and dragged me over to some tall palm trees in pots. “You can’t seriously think . . .”

“You’re the one who said in the cab we had to get rid of it!”

That seemed to take some steam out of him. “I know what I said.” He stared up at the ceiling, blew out a deep sigh, and then faced me again. “We have one shot. One. And that’s it.”