SHADOW KIN
A novel of the Half-Light City from M. J. Scott.
Available in print and e-book from Roc.
The wards sparked in front of me, faint violet against the dark wooden door with its heavy brass locks, proclaiming the house’s protection. They wouldn’t stop me. No one has yet made the lock or ward to keep me out. Magic cannot detect me, and brick and stone and metal are no barrier.
It’s why I’m good at what I do.
A grandfather clock in the hall chimed two as I stepped into the shadow, entering the place only my kind can walk and passing through the door as though it wasn’t there. Outside came the echoing toll of the cathedral bell, much louder here in Greenglass than in the Night World boroughs I usually frequent.
I’d been told that the one I was to visit lived alone. But I prefer not to believe everything I’m told. After all, I grew up among the Blood and the powers of the Night World, where taking things on faith is a quick way to die.
Besides, bystanders only make things complicated.
But tonight, I sensed I was alone as I moved carefully through the darkened rooms. The house had an elegant simplicity. The floors were polished wood, softened by fine wool rugs, and paintings hung on the unpapered walls. Plants flourished on any spare flat surface, tingeing the air with the scent of growth and life. I hoped someone would save them after my task here was completed. The Fae might deny me the Veiled World, but the part of me that comes from them shares their affinity for green growing things.
Apart from the damp greenness of the plants, there was only one other dominant scent in the air. Human. Male. Warm and spicy.
Alive. Live around the Blood for long enough and you become very aware of the differences between living and dead. No other fresh smell mingled with his. No cats or dogs. Just fading hints of an older female gone for several hours. Likely a cook or housekeeper who didn’t live in.
I paused at the top of the staircase, counting doors carefully. Third on the left. A few more strides. I cocked my head, listening.
There.
Ever so faint, the thump of a human heartbeat. Slow. Even.
Asleep.
Good. Asleep is easier.
I drifted through the bedroom door and paused again. The room was large, walled on one side with floor-to-ceiling windows unblocked by any blind. Expensive, that much glass. Moonlight streamed through the panes, making it easy to see the man lying in the big bed.
I didn’t know what he’d done. I never ask. The blade doesn’t question the direction of the cut. Particularly when the blade belongs to Lucius. Lucius doesn’t like questions.
I let go of the shadow somewhat. I was not yet truly solid, but enough that, if he were to wake, he would see my shape by the bed like the reflection of a dream. Or a nightmare.
The moonlight washed over his face, silvering skin and fading hair to shades of gray, making it hard to tell what he might look like in daylight. Tall, yes. Well formed if the arm and chest bared by the sheet he’d pushed away in sleep matched the rest of him.
Not that it mattered. He’d be beyond caring about his looks in a few minutes. Beyond caring about anything.
The moon made things easier even though, in the shadow, I see well in very little light. Under the silvered glow I saw the details of the room as clearly as if the gas lamps on the walls were alight.
The windows posed little risk. The town house stood separated from its neighbors by narrow strips of garden on each side and a much larger garden at the rear. There was a small chance someone in a neighboring house might see something, but I’d be long gone before they could raise an alarm.
His breath continued to flow, soft and steady, and I moved around the bed, seeking a better angle for the strike as I let myself grow more solid still, so I could grasp the dagger at my hip.
Legend says we kill by reaching into a man’s chest and tearing out his heart. It’s true. We can. I’ve even done it. Once.
At Lucius’ demand and fearing death if I disobeyed.
It wasn’t an act I ever cared to repeat. Sometimes, on the edge of sleep, I still shake thinking about the sensation of living flesh torn from its roots beneath my fingers.
So I use a dagger. Just as effective. Dead is dead, after all.
I counted his heartbeats as I silently slid my blade free. He was pretty, this one. A face of interesting angles that looked strong even in sleep. Strong and somehow happy. Generous lips curved up slightly as if he were enjoying a perfect dream.
Not a bad way to die, all things considered.
I unshadowed completely and lifted the dagger, fingers steady on the hilt as he took one last breath.
But even as the blade descended, the room blazed to light around me and a hand snaked out like a lightning bolt and clamped around my wrist.
“Not so fast,” the man said in a calm tone.
I tried to shadow and my heart leaped to my throat as nothing happened.
“Just to clarify,” he said. “Those lamps. Not gas. Sunlight.”
“Sunmage,” I hissed, rearing back as my pulse went into overdrive. How had Lucius left out that little detail? Or maybe he hadn’t. Maybe Ricco had left it out on purpose when he’d passed on my assignment. He hated me. I wouldn’t put it past him to try to engineer my downfall.
Damn him to the seven bloody, night-scalded depths of hell.
The man smiled at me, though there was no amusement in the expression. “Precisely.”
I twisted, desperate to get free. His hand tightened, and pain shot through my wrist and up my arm.
“Drop the dagger.”
I set my teeth and tightened my grip. Never give up your weapon.
“I said, drop it.” The command snapped as he surged out of the bed, pushing me backward and my arm above my head at a nasty angle.