Shadowglass

Jake inhales in early morning sun, the warm smell of cooking wheat and sugar mixing with sour traffic effluent and last night’s spilled beer. His nose twinkles with sensation. Invigorating.

Dangerous. Even the air is a temptation in this place. Clever, sneaky demon. At home, they never told Jake about this.

Eyes open. Dazzle. Water. Blink. Smeared pavement, folding kitchen windows open to warm breeze. The street is quiet, only a few cars and one or two cafés opening for breakfast. Beside him, Ella sniffs the crisp white blossom on a potted shrub, her fingers smearing in dusty pollen as she fondles each petal one by one.

Jake breathes and watches her, the dusky fall of her hair, her skirt lifting as she bends, the shimmer of her thigh in sunlight. She’s getting dirty, street dust and fingermarks and her stolen body’s sweat. Perhaps he should wash her. The idea pleases him. Water, running on her pretty arms, his fingertips gliding on her skin.

Yes.

He squints happily, enjoying stinging tears. A new thing, this hot glare, the malice of an unkind sun. No wonder Jinxx thrives here. The air burns, heat shimmering over rude black tarmac, and the stink is unrelenting. The very light is from hell, stark and hot and inexorable, and colors burn brighter than any rainbow.

Jake is starting to like it here, and distantly he wonders if something’s wrong with him.
If Shadow knew that, and if that’s why Shadow sent him here, on this strange, impossible mission . . .

But to what end?

He glances at the sky, but the sky blinks back and doesn’t answer.

A twitch against his palm. He blinks, distracted. He’s holding something. A wrist, pale skin inked with a thorny red rose. “What?”

A banshee in a swimsuit and sarong points a painted fingernail across the sunlit street. She scowls, a passing tram’s breeze ruffling her rose-pink ponytail. “That’s the place. Danny’s.

Above the take-away. Okay? Can I go now?”

Jake moves his lips into his best smile. “That’s a lovely song you have.”

“Whatever. Get off me, you freak.” She pushes back her sunglasses, threat swelling dark and melodic in her throat.

He just squeezes her wrist tighter. She struggles, but he drags her with him, off the street into a greasy alcove, where a big rusted blue trash bin hides behind a dented metal gate. Such a dirty place, greasy with fish stink and grime. Delicious.

The banshee yowls for help. He crushes her jaw shut. “Quiet, pretty.”

Silken sarong threads catch on splintered brick as he tosses her against the wall. Her delicate jaw bruises red under his fingers. His inked forearm quivers as blood and adrenaline swell his veins. He’s kept his strength, and in this chemical-rich body, it feels even better.

“Mmm phm!” Her thin face whitens, and her wide eyes turn to Ella for help.

But Ella ducks around the gate, sniffing for observers. “Quickly, Jake. Someone will see.”

“Quickly,” he agrees, and squeezes the banshee’s mouth open for a kiss.

Fresh youth, and the bloody taste of fear. Her struggles force more strength from his muscles, more chemicals, more pleasure. Inside her mouth, it’s smooth and cool, the remnants of some fizzy drink tingling his tongue. He pulls her jaw open to thrust his tongue deeper. She writhes and scratches at his face with curved pink nails, her magical voice strangled in absent air. Too easy to fight her off.

He grabs her tongue with his, searching. She screams down his throat. Vibration sizzles. He swallows. It’s agonizing, his throat stretching, the thorny magic ripping his flesh as it goes down.

He retches, warm pleasure flooding his guts, but he keeps it down. The banshee sighs one last sad melody and slumps, her eyes rolling back.

Jake lets her body slide and turns away, catching bloody breath. The banshee’s stolen song purrs and thrashes inside him.

Ella slides her warm hand into his. He laughs, a fresh musical edge on his voice. “Good.”
“Good,” agrees Ella, and stretches up to kiss his cheek.

Warmth sparkles from her lips, spiking a shock down his hormone-swelled spine. It’s the homage he deserves from an underling, and he’s never thought about liking it before.

Impulsively, he kisses her in return, his bloody lip print staining her face.

Ella jerks back, genuine alarm widening her eyes, and slicks her hand from his grip. “No. Not right. Don’t.”

Tension pulls Jake’s muscles, awkward. He wants her mouth, her tongue, like the banshee but nicer. “Don’t be afraid. They can’t see.”

“They see everything.” She rubs the spot, smearing the corner of her mouth red.
“Not here, they don’t.”

She shakes her head rapidly. “They do.”

He tries to touch her face, but she ducks away, and something deep in his chest hurts.
Wounded, he glances at the sky. Nothing.

They cross the street without holding hands, slipping between jerking vehicles in single file.

Jake frowns at the empty space beside him. It doesn’t feel right to have her behind him.

Maybe later he’ll cheer her up. Play a game with her. She used to like his games. But first, an item to collect.

They step over the paper clogging the gutter, and Jake surveys the dirty glass door with satisfaction. “This is the place.”

“Here?” Ella eyes the narrow stairs, her eyebrows contracting. Very good. She’s improving her facial expressions.

“Danny’s in Brunswick. Jinxx’s mirror is here.” Confidently Jake strides forward and wrenches the metal handle off with a wristy snap. The lock clunks free, and the broken handle clatters on the concrete. Ella scrambles to catch up, sliding her timid hand into his as they climb the creaking stairs.

He lets her. She’s afraid, and it’s his place to comfort her. By rights, he should punish her for disobedience, but the idea of disciplining her with silence in this place sends a warm shiver along his bones. They’re isolated here. The sky is silent. Without her, he’s alone. Maybe there’s some other way to put her in her place.

The stairs curve into warm shadow, the air moist and thick with food’s oily stink. Carpet torn to strings, dust and broken glass, carpet rolls and shelves and boxes of hidden smooth-smelling objects. A cracked glass bench, dust-smeared. Unseen feet thump closer beyond a broken doorway, and a crumpled red person squeezes out, scratching his crooked nose. He squints at them through sleep-crusted lashes, sweat dribbling on his scrawny red rib cage. “We’re closed.

Whaddaya want?”

Jake halts before the counter, and Ella scrambles up. “Spriggan,” she identifies hopefully.

Jake doesn’t look at her. He’s still upset with her, and they’ve already got a red one anyway.

“Danny’s. In Brunswick.”

The spriggan stares, insolent, and scratches wiry orange hair, pulling short glossy pants up with his other hand. “Yeah, I’m Danny. Who the fuck are you?”

Jake leans his knuckles on the counter and gives the Danny his nicest smile, prickly banshee persuasion crooning in his throat. Her stolen song tastes like peaches. “I am Jake, from the sky, and you have something I require.”

The Danny blinks, glassy. “Mmkay. I’ll trade ya. Whaddaya got?”

Notes