The Shadow Guard Read online

  She’d never attended a funeral where she’d have to walk unprotected amid so much sorrow, let alone deliberately delve into it.

  She staggered—and Jake’s hand caught her elbow.

  He exhaled sharply as if he’d been struck in the chest. An instant later, his grip tightened and magick surged back into her, warm as the sun’s rays.

  “Are you okay? If not, I’ll have somebody drive you back to Belhaven.”

  “How big a team do you have?”

  “Both we and the FBI each brought a full surveillance team.”

  What a relief it would be to walk away—and what cowardice. The alternative was to let Jake and his farasha brethren hunt for a magickally armed killer. Sending puppies against a lion would be a more even fight.

  She was the only one here who could do this. Plus, she had a fledgling kubri to help her through.

  “I’ll be okay.” She gave him her best cocky smile.

  “Of course you will be.” She’d be happier if he sounded like he believed it.

  She slipped her prism out of her shirt and it instantly unfolded to meet her need. It was a perfect pyramid, as big as her thumb and more perfectly clear than any diamond ever found. For a moment, it hung free from its gold chain and spun rainbows of infinite possibilities over her and Jake.

  She’d never taken a kubri into a scrying spell before. Oh, she’d participated with them before. But somebody else had always been responsible for the precious kubri’s health.

  She’d rather kill herself than let anything happen to Jake. But he’d never accept that path.

  “Hold on,” she said softly.

  “Sure thing.” He braced himself, as if he stood ready to be inspected by an unpleasant taskmaster.

  She hummed and a spark lit deep within the prism.

  She hummed again and the spark built brighter until it filled its invisible cage.

  She shaped the ancient spell silently and cast it with the most powerful protection runes she knew. If this rebounded on anyone, she prayed it would only be her, not Jake.

  The spark burst into flame and leaped out of the crystal. It flared over her and Jake in an instant, brighter than the dawn yet soft as a hearth fire. Then it faded back into her prism and vanished.

  Astrid inhaled, then slowly released a cleansing breath.

  She opened her eyes and the entire world was luminescent, as if lit by great lanterns from inside. Every blade of grass, every tree trunk, even the church’s bricks glowed like a great artist’s vision. The hearse’s sleeping engine was threaded with flame, eager to carry its passenger forward to the next stage of life.

  At least there’d been no backlash from another sahir’s wards.

  Just how much power did Jake have? She’d never seen so much in a scrying spell before when linked to only one other person.

  Jake looked at her warily and Astrid shrugged, unwilling yet to confirm her full ability.

  She turned back toward the pathway to the church. A covey of women walked along it, chatting with the ease of old friends. Their ages were as varied as their clothing, although all had tried to be formal. A few paid attention to style but most favored durability, especially in their coats.

  “Their auras aren’t as soaked in grief as the others,” Astrid murmured. “There’s more jealousy here and some catty remarks about the departed’s fiancé being up for grabs.”

  “Holy shit,” Jake muttered under his breath.

  “What’s the problem?” She shot a quizzical glance at him. “Did your radio suddenly make nasty noises in your ear?”

  “Nah.” A hand wave dismissed any unexpected problems from his team. “Are you sure you haven’t read any FBI reports on this case?”

  “Jake.” She wouldn’t shake him in public, satisfying though that might be. “It’s not my job, remember?”

  “Then how did you know that those gals are Melinda Williams’s coworkers?”

  “Really.” She studied their departing figures until every aspect of how they moved sank into her consciousness. “There’s no murder in them. Not hard-core, deliberate planning, anyway. The little, skinny one wouldn’t lift a finger to stop it. But she believes she’ll get everything she desires sooner or later, without having to work too hard.”

  “Typical female. No money to hire a hit man.”

  “Too much effort to plan it.”

  “Is that your opinion?” He glanced down at her, one eyebrow rising.

  “Don’t you agree?”

  “Far too often.” He slipped her arm through his. “Let’s go inside and take our seats. You need to be comfortable.”

  He meant she needed a good view. She’d have settled for someplace with good ventilation and a little distance from the people who kept crowding in.

  The church’s interior was as simple as the finest haute couture, like a Chanel suit’s elegant lines that continued to impress decades later. Tiny details in the masonry spoke of love and craftsmanship, where every brick was a gift of love. Stained-glass windows, too high to be readily damaged from outside, captured the light from above and gave it to the congregation, like protection or flowers.

  Even Astrid, who was usually uncomfortable in any religious institution, relaxed in this building.

  She sat beside Jake at the edge of the balcony’s front row, where they could see but not be readily seen. The rest of the pew was so stuffed with people that there wasn’t room for another fold of cloth, nor another person’s coat. The other rows were the same. People muttered and sniffled and flipped through the program, or simply stared at the larger gathering below.

  After all, this group represented the visitors on the edge of the tragedy—neither entirely there, nor entirely forgotten. But certainly not as important as the rustling, black-hatted, uniformed covey of mourners filing respectfully into the seats below.

  They’d long since filled the polished wooden pews that circled the great sanctuary. Now the white-gloved ushers sought to widen gaps and insert one, or perhaps two, more into a spot barely suitable for a large cat. Chairs appeared through a hidden door like Ali Baba’s treasure and slotted into place under the new arrivals.

  Marines sat in a solid phalanx beside the garden door. Some of them were so old that a cane steadied their pace or a wheelchair gave them ease. Some were young and tanned but hard-eyed and bitter mouthed. But all wore what medals they could and the same uniform as Melinda’s father.

  Black hats rustled and fluttered throughout the congregation like butterflies. Old women—and younger ones, too—had brought out their most spectacular millinery to pay homage to the beautiful lady in the picture above the casket.

  Grief—blacker, deeper than the ocean’s darkest depths—wrapped them all.

  Nausea surged into Astrid’s throat again. She clenched her teeth together and grimly fought it back.

  She hadn’t felt this sick since she’d hunted Nazis through the Parisian catacombs before D-day.

  Focus, Astrid, focus. You’re the best scryer in the Guard . . .

  Some people weren’t here to grieve, only to accompany the mourners. She filtered them out first.

  She wiped the children out of her search next, which was harder. Their thoughts and emotions were so undisciplined and randomly powerful that they could be overwhelming.

  “Anything?” Jake whispered.

  “Not yet.” She gritted her teeth against a curse.

  She scanned the throng, one by one, hunting for the never forgotten profile she’d seen by the river. The man who’d sent a young woman into that casket.

  Nothing, nothing, nothing. Certainly not his personal evil and complete lack of anything innately magickal.

  She leaned over to Jake. “He’s not here.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “No line of blood and violence between that casket and anyone in this room. Not even a whiff.” Maybe he’d show up at the graveside where the cops could physically apprehend him. Maybe.

  Jake rumbled discontentedly and s
hot an apologetic look at the casket.

  Grief surged through the crowd. Astrid blinked and glanced back down.

  The family entered the church, a long, rolling wave of young and old, all clad in black, both physically and mentally.

  Dear heavens, how they’d loved her.

  Astrid dug her fingernails into her palms and tested their emotions, one by one.

  “Well?” Jake demanded. He didn’t need to finish the question: Were any of Melinda Williams’s family members involved in her death?

  “Unlikely,” she answered. She felt as if small spikes were digging into her skull. “I’d bet against a connection.”

  His shoulders relaxed. An instant later, his hand squeezed hers. “Fiancé.”

  A tall man, his expression too rigidly controlled to be called handsome, strode down the aisle with an athlete’s grace. He stopped in front of the white casket and bowed his head. His shoulders were hunched tighter than if a thousand barbs sank poison into his flesh.

  An immense vortex opened up.

  Astrid flinched, overwhelmed by pain, and quickly etched a silent rune to block it.

  He turned away and stumbled on the carpet. Melinda’s mother caught him in her arms, as if he were a teenager. Shared understanding flashed between them, more powerful than a song, and she handed him a handkerchief before guiding him to the front pew.

  Melinda’s father, gallant but gaunt in his Marine uniform, squeezed the newcomer on the shoulder, then gave him a hymnal.

  The three sat down together and centered the great room’s mourning.

  “Not him,” Astrid reported to Jake.

  “Sure?”

  “He doesn’t know how to kill.” Astrid sought the right words. Telepathic links were often more convenient, since they conveyed a wider range of emotion more easily than speech. “At least not someone he loves.”

  “Thought not.” Jake settled back against the pew and flipped open his hymnal with an experienced hand.

  She flicked a glance at him. Would he notice that she hadn’t relaxed yet? Never mind; she still had work to do.

  Her head was pounding like the combined drum sets at a rock festival. It shouldn’t be this hard to read grief, even when it was extremely strong and came from many people.

  Someone was hiding among the mourners, someone who didn’t want to be seen by a sahir. But she was a member of the Shadow Guard, one of the strongest hunters. Who could hide from her?

  Could she find him, despite this headache? Or was the pain making her imagine things?

  She closed her eyes and concentrated. Sorrow from hundreds of voices washed over her. A thousand different visions of loss filled her mind and she shuddered. She wrapped her arms around her stomach and fought forward.

  No Melinda at Christmas, or graduation. No wedding, no babies with Melinda . . .

  She bit her lip and staggered on, searching through the room with the same grim concentration she’d once brought to the struggle for women’s suffrage. The fight that had landed her in jail with a tube down her throat and brought her to the sahirs’ attention.

  The headache tried to rip her skull off, worse than dueling other sahirs in school when nobody knew how to focus their energy.

  “Are you okay?” Jake whispered. His big, warm hand closed over hers—and the pain faded to an endurable agony.

  She whimpered deep in her throat for a moment before she could answer. “I’ll be fine.”

  Maybe so much grief had just made her relive her own sorrows too well. Besides, nothing had tested her wards.

  She took a deep breath, then another, and focused on cleansing her energy.

  Jake frowned at her. The organ started to play doleful chords and the mourners stood up. The baleful aura began to fade, tempered by the congregation’s focused love.

  Astrid rose and hoped nobody would notice if she didn’t sing.

  “We’ll leave now,” Jake muttered. His fingers wrapped around her wrist like handcuffs.

  “Jake!” She yanked her arm away from him but couldn’t free it. Dammit, had he already been infused with enough magick that counterthreats wouldn’t penetrate his hide?

  “Excuse me?” A man’s voice broke their absorption.

  Both of them stared at the newcomer and Jake’s hand fell away.

  “May I sit there?” The gentleman indicated the seat on the other side of Jake, who quickly nodded. Eagerness flashed through his eyes for an instant.

  “Sorry,” the fellow apologized as he stepped over Astrid’s feet. “I had to work late at the office.”

  “No problem.” She did her best to become invisible and shifted her scrying spell to eavesdropping.

  “John Curtis.”

  “Jake Hammond.” They shook hands in the awkward, abbreviated stroke of two large men in cramped quarters.

  “I was Melinda’s boss.”

  Astrid nodded silently and clutched her stomach under her suit. He’d carried that news on his aura like a Times Square billboard.

  “Come see me sometime when you’re in D.C., okay?”

  Jake’s jaw dropped almost to his lap.

  “They”—Curtis cast a significant look at the obvious FBI agents by the rear door—“said I could talk to you about her boyfriend.”

  “Glad to.” Jake nodded, his brow furrowed.

  But only the FBI was supposed to discuss her job, since she was a federal employee. Why was Melinda’s boss bypassing them in the investigation?

  “Don’t mind helping the police in any way I can.” He glared at the FBI agents for a moment, then shook out his program. “My father’s a retired detective in Georgia.”

  “Always good to help family,” Jake intoned, hiding his puzzlement.

  The organ wound up with a flourish and the hymnals thudded shut. People began folding themselves back into the pews like origami, complicated to execute but orderly to behold.

  “Great.” Curtis sat down, looking innocent as only three hundred pounds of very well-dressed adult male can. The Cheshire Cat would have been proud.

  Astrid wished she could find an easy route to hunt the magick lurking somewhere in this room.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “Come on.” Jake wrapped his arm around Astrid and urged her into his living room. Damn, but she fitted comfortably against him. He could get used to feeling her there very easily.

  “Why are we here?” She looked a little dazed, eyeing his leather furniture as if she’d expected a fancy spa. She’d been far more alert an hour ago at Duffy’s, when the team had unwound after the funeral. “I thought you’d drop me off at Metro.”

  “Come on: do you honestly think I’d let you take the train home after a long day’s work? You need some pampering.” He gently removed her black wool coat from her hand and tossed it over the sofa. He’d hang it up properly later, after he’d taken care of her.

  “I need to go home and recharge.” She leaned her forehead against his chest for a moment.

  “Recharge?” That sounded like electricity. Or Argos, after a mage went through all his spells. Shit, that’s when mages got killed.

  “Magick. There must have been a thousand people at the service.”

  “You scanned them all, poor darling.” Shit, how many field generators would he need to power metal detectors to check that many suspects?

  He kissed the top of her head and savored the light, sweet scent that was so vividly Astrid. It was somewhere between spring’s first flowers and fresh-cut hay, yet all woman. Perfect.

  “The aerie where I live has partners who can provide me with sex to recharge my magick.” She flexed her shoulders to start moving away from him.

  Sex partners? She’d do that with others just to get more magick?

  Something deep inside roared for the first time in his life. Like hell she’d go anywhere else!

  “No way!”

  “Jake, what are you talking about?” She blinked up at him. Her green eyes held only pale shadows of their usual brilliance. “I tr
uly have to leave. Now.”

  He reined himself back in, startled by his own vehemence.

  These were deeper waters than he’d ever experienced before. He’d worried about one of his cops, who was close to burnout. He’d sat with a wife more than once—even a husband—while their spouse fought for life in a hospital bed. He’d held a policeman’s widow upright at a funeral, too.

  But his own heart had never been threatened before, not like this. Not like the red surge that threatened his eyesight when she mentioned another man in her bed.

  Cool it, Jake. Think about Astrid first; your own craziness can wait.

  “You said that kubris”—he stumbled over the strange word—“bring power to sahirs.”

  “Correct.” Her expression turned guarded.

  “I’m a kubri, right? I helped you to make magick today.”

  He’d save a better description for later. Talking about a bigass diamond which unfolded itself like paper, shot beams brighter than a bank of searchlights, then disappeared like a card trick up a magician’s sleeve was not something writing police reports had prepared him for.

  “That you did.” Her gaze became a little warmer. “You did very well.”

  “Then I can help you now. What’s more, I’m here and you don’t have to go anywhere else.” He kissed her hand in a fancy move he’d seen a few times on late night TV.

  Her fingers cupped his bristly cheek for an instant before falling away. He caught her hand and held it close. Damned if he’d let even that much of her slip away!

  “Jake, I’m a very powerful sahir.” She spoke gently, as if to a baby.

  “Of course, you are.” Like he’d be stupid enough to think some numbskull sahir could scan so many people! That would be like asking a rookie cop to thoroughly pat down a city council meeting without offending anybody. Yeah, like that’d happen.

  “Recharging me quickly will take a lot of power.”

  “Honey, you don’t jump-start a tractor trailer truck with a single AA battery, either.” He spread his hands wide. This was basic logic that any dude totally understood. Why was she wasting time?