Chapter 1
Ellie Russo halted her Camry at the
massive gate to the Segue Institute. Two guards in some kind of
body armor, their hands resting on automatic rifles strapped to
their chests, took position in front of the car. Her tingle of
anxiety grew to a full burn of near panic. She was officially here.
The thick metal and concrete gate was twenty feet high, cutting
into the heavy white fog of the morning. It extended off to both
sides of the road, running along the perimeter of the grounds
within. Segue was a fortress, a high-security prison. It was also
her only hope for a normal life.
“Not even this place can hold me,” said
her shadow from the passenger seat next to her.
“We’ll see about that,” Ellie replied.
She’d have to talk to the men, of course, to get through the gate.
The thought made her stomach tight—she didn’t get out often. Okay,
she didn’t get out at all. What she wouldn’t give for a blanket to
throw over her naked shadow twin, but the material would just go
right through her dark self’s body. It was the same reason her
shadow couldn’t wear clothes—she had no substance to hold them up.
The least the woman could do was cross her arms over her breasts,
but no, her dark half couldn’t be bothered.
Her shadow shrugged indifference, those
breasts lifting and falling with a little careless jiggle.
“Whatever you say.”
A third guard, similarly outfitted and
armed, exited the mini bunker in front of the gate.
They sure looked prepared for anything.
Good.
“Oh my,” said her shadow, “that one
looks cute.”
Ellie powered her window down, cold air
wafting in to disperse the heat inside the Camry, and smiled
brightly at the guard. “I’m Eleanor Russo. I have an appointment
with Dr. Kalamos at ten.”
The guard’s gaze flicked from her to
her shadow, and then back to her again. She had to give him credit;
the man didn’t even bat an eye. Her shadow’s matte, dusky grey
nakedness got a reaction out of everyone.
No, wait . . . somebody must have
signaled a problem because a fourth guard left the bunker and
joined the others around the car. The two up front were moving,
prowling to new positions. Ellie’s heartbeat kicked up, but she
forced herself to stay calm and steady. She expected
this.
“Our list has only one visitor,” the
guard at her window said.
Here goes. Nothing but the truth.
“We’re the same, though,” she explained. “I mean, she is me. She’s my shadow. Dr. Kalamos knows about it, and
he’s expecting us.”
Her dark self leaned over, breasts and
all, purring, “Hi there, soldier.”
For the love of God.
“Whither she goest,” her shadow
continued, smirking, “I goest.”
Ellie’s gaze darted from guard to
guard. One’s mouth was moving, as if he were speaking into a
concealed microphone, probably signaling a wider alarm. She didn’t
blame him. His call for help made sense; her shadow scared
everyone, including her.
“I’m going to need some
identification,” the guard at her window continued.
Right.
Ellie reached for her purse in the
passenger foot well.
“Slowly!” the guard
commanded.
She brought out her wallet, and with a
pang of reservation, decided to confess as well. She was here to
solve the problem; lies would only complicate it. “I paid a lot of
money for the license, but it’s a fake,” she said, handing the card
over. “I can’t exactly walk into the DMV with her in tow. But there
you go.”
The guard didn’t take the card. “I need
a valid form of identification, ma’am.”
“I have a fake birth certificate,”
Ellie offered. “A stolen credit card, too.”
“I can’t let you in the gate without
verifying your identity,” the guard said.
He probably wouldn’t let her in period.
This had to be a stall while they figured out what to do with her
and her shadow. She just hoped Dr. Kalamos would intervene at some
point and see what he could do to help her.
“I’m being honest here,” Ellie replied.
No more concealing the truth. She was at the end of the road. “My
guess is you’d find out they were fake anyway, and then there would
be trouble. I’ve got enough of that already.”
The guard frowned. “I’ll be a moment.
Stay in your car.”
He headed back to the bunker while
numbers Two, Three, and Four kept watch. They were all blocks of
muscle and menace. Their concentrated interest made her mouth dry.
Ellie had existed housebound all her life fearing men like these,
ones who’d shoot her down like the freak she was. But enough was
enough.
The guard had said to stay in the car,
so of course, her shadow crawled right through the windshield,
shifting effortlessly through the glass, then stood in front of all
and sundry. She stretched, long and sexy, in the misty low-hanging
fog. Her breasts lifted as her dark body arched, her rear on
display. At least her legs were crossed, making a neat triangle at
her pubis.
This kind of behavior was exactly why
Ellie had come. Her shadow was determined to undermine her life.
Why make everything so hard? These people might be able to help
them.
“Down on the ground!” number Two
shouted, leveling his weapon at her shadow.
“What position?” her shadow
asked.
Face burning, Ellie dropped her head
against the steering wheel, which honked.
There was a dart of movement in her
peripheral vision, and when Ellie turned her head to look, she
found a gun aimed at her, too. More soldiers approached the car.
Lots of guns. Too bad none of them could kill her
shadow.
“Sorry,” Ellie said helplessly. “She
doesn’t like to be bossed around.”
“Out of the car!” the guard demanded.
“On the ground, now!”
“It’s probably an id thing,” Ellie
babbled. But deep down, she’d known this would be difficult. They
had little experience with men, so to be surrounded by all this
testosterone was bound to set her shadow off.
A soldier yanked open the door. Ellie
got out and went immediately to her hands and knees. Somebody had
to follow directions. “Just shoot her and you’ll see. It won’t do
anything to her anyway.”
Ellie was forced down to her belly, her
legs kicked apart, a boot to her shoulder immobilizing her on the
pavement, while her shadow called, “Me next, me next!” Ellie was
pinned, cheek on the rough cold concrete, facing into the trees, so
she couldn’t see what her shadow was doing. A male shout had her
straining to lift her head to see more, but it only made her head
hurt. Better to wait it out and let whatever would happen,
happen.
No matter what, she was off icially out
of the house. Her life was going to change.
An engine growled far off, slowly
approaching through the trees. Ellie guessed the alternate
approach, rather than the road she was kissing, was to avoid
opening the gate. Footsteps scuffed on the concrete. There was a
shuffling and murmured words.
“Where’s the creature?” a new male
voice asked. Had to be the man in charge.
More footsteps scuffed the pavement,
drawing closer.
“Holy hell,” said another man. “Look at
the way she can move through matter.”
She couldn’t see her shadow, but she
got the sense that the dark version of herself was prowling among
the men. One of them growled, “Get her away from me.”
“Get the woman up,” the first
commanded.
Ellie was hauled upright. It took a
moment to get her bearings. There had to be more than a dozen
people present, more than she’d ever seen in one place at a time.
It wasn’t even possible to look at them all at once, yet so many
were looking at her. Made her skin feel prickly.
She found her shadow crouched like a
wary cat in the midst of the action, attention twitching from
soldier to soldier. Among them were a couple non-guard
types.
Mr. Black Pants seemed to be the boss.
He had grey hair, a clean shave, and a pink nose of burst
capillaries. He wore a white dress shirt, open at the collar, cuffs
rolled halfway up his forearms.
Next to him was a scruffy guy with a
big yellow-green bruise under one eye. He wore jeans and a World of
Warcraft T-shirt, a lab coat thrown over his shoulders like a cape.
Good body. His sandy hair was too long and he was starting a
beard—or hadn’t shaved for a while. But his green eyes were
perfect, dreamy. He had to be Dr. Cameron Kalamos, per a journal
image she’d found during her online research. He looked different
now, though, leaner and older, except for his eyes.
“Ms. Russo,” Black Pants said with a
head jerk toward her shadow. “What is that thing? And is she
dangerous?”
Ellie gulped. Mr. Black Pants was
straight to the point. Okay. She’d give him the same
back.
“That’s my shadow,” she responded. “I—I
don’t think she’s dangerous.” Full disclosure, she reminded
herself. “But she might be able to do stuff, it’s possible. I, um,
had heard about Dr. Kalamos’s work with shadows and hoped he could
help me.”
Mr. Black Pants turned to Dr. Kalamos.
“Cam?”
“She e-mailed me several times asking
for help,” Kalamos responded. “I had no idea what she was talking
about, but agreed to meet her.”
Black Pants turned back to Ellie. “Can
she be contained?”
Her shadow giggled, low and
throaty.
“Not that I know of,” Ellie
answered.
“Can she be killed?”
Her shadow dropped her humor and looked
daggers at Black Pants.
Eleanor went cold, her old fear
surging. But she nodded yes. “If you kill me.”
Cameron Kalamos stood toe to toe with
Marshall Grouper, Segue operations manager, whose eyes had gone
bloodshot with fury.
“What were you thinking to invite that
. . . that creature to Segue?” Marshall
demanded. “Especially when Mr. and Mrs. Thorne are due to arrive
tomorrow with their children.” Founder and financier Adam Thorne
and his family, as well as most of the staff, used the Segue
Institute as their residence and workplace. The building was well
suited to both, having first been a turn of the century resort
hotel. Its remote West Virginia location provided an ideal setting
for researching paranormal phenomena.
“How was I supposed to know . . . ?”
Cam began and dribbled off. He wasn’t really listening to Marshall,
so his explanation lacked effort. His brain was still processing
what he’d just witnessed: A shadow that existed as a separate
entity from a live woman. The silky grey of the shadow’s skin had
the gradations typical of shadows, making her body’s contours
perfectly smooth and three-dimensional, yet devoid of matter,
solidity, mass. The shadow’s features were the same as the flesh
and blood Eleanor Russo, the same swing of her hair and bat of her
eyes, though physics and biological function should have little
claim on the shadow. He’d never seen anything like those two, never
imagined anything like them either. Segue was the coolest place to
work on Earth.
“Have you any idea how many people
you’ve inconvenienced, let alone put in possible danger, with that
. . . that shadow moving through what is supposed to be a secure
facility?”
“You approved her visit,” Cam pointed
out.
“Don’t remind me,” Marshall cut back.
“I have to answer to Thorne, thank you.”
The lab door slid open, admitting Dr.
Leonard Shelstad, Cam’s research team leader. A soldier followed.
Cam hadn’t been at Segue long enough to learn all the soldiers’
names, but since this one was a little older and more scarred, he
figured he was a commander of sorts.
“Eleanor Russo has been confined in a
cell within the new wraith holding facility, but the shadow roams
the area at will,” the commander began. “Good thing the wraiths are
still being held up in New York, and not here. Who knows what havoc
that shadow would wreak. Two units are on watch, but I don’t see
how they can police it.”
“And Ms. Russo?” Marshall
asked.
“Compliant. Her custody required no
force. She seemed resigned to her confinement, extremely
cooperative. I’m guessing that her information is correct and that
bullets would have no effect on the shadow. Further, Ms. Russo
seems to have no ability to compel the shadow’s cooperation. She
claims that they are here only for help.”
“Your assessment?” Marshall was already
shaking his head.
“I don’t care what Ms. Russo claims or
how cooperative she is. Lockdown will remain in effect until this
is resolved or Thorne himself tells me otherwise.”
Marshall’s jaw flexed. “He’s due to
arrive tomorrow.”
Everyone knew that included his wife
and newborn boys. Now that the Segue renovations were finally being
completed, especially the new underground wraith holding facility,
the compound was filling up again with staff. Once the Thornes
arrived, Cam’s research with the fae would begin in
earnest.
“I advise against his family
accompanying him,” the commander answered. “I’d prefer that the
holding facility was jam-packed with wraiths, rather than our
cooperative Ms. Russo and her shadow.”
If the Thornes didn’t come, then Cam’s
work with Mrs. Thorne and the fae would be put off again. Ah, hell.
Maybe he shouldn’t have made that appointment with Ms. Russo after
all. The wrenches were flying everywhere.
Marshall turned to Cam. “Dr. Kalamos,”
he said. The fact that he’d reverted to Cam’s professional title
did not bode well. “This is your official notice that the privacy
settings on your Segue accounts are now void. I’ll be accessing
your e-mail, files, and history to put together a report for Mr.
Thorne.”
No, this did not bode well at all.
“There were only a couple of e-mails.”
“Nevertheless.”
Cam cocked his head with a shrug,
signaling acquiescence. What else could he do? Segue had had issues
with staff before. One guy, Spencer Something-or-other, had let a
wraith in to ransack the place, hence the uber-renovation. Another,
some lady doctor, had been selling info about Mrs. Thorne. Segue
had cause to be suspicious, but Cam didn’t mind. This was his dream
job—the subject matter blew his mind, nice digs, and a sunny
paycheck, though he’d never tell Shelstad that he’d do this work
for free. Well, at least . . . he’d do this work for enough ramen
noodles to keep him alive. This was where science met
magic.
If Marshall wanted to mess around on
Cam’s computer, he could have at it. He’d find an awful lot of
sports blogs, RPG data, and in his backlog of e-mails, a few from
Eleanor Russo.
The commander went still as his
earpiece buzzed. He pressed at his throat to answer, but was
already moving out the door. “Where is it now?”
He exited, asking, “And Ms. Russo . . .
?”
Apparently the shadow was giving them
more trouble. Cam felt the first flush of guilt. But really, how on
earth could he have known? Eleanor Russo’s e-mails had demonstrated
that she’d read every word of every article he’d ever published. If
she wanted to travel all this way, why not meet with her? The staff
was allowed guests. Of course, that probably referred to normal
people, shadows properly attached.
The phenomenon still boggled Cam’s
mind—a shadow, separate from its host. How was that even possible?
It defied basic laws of physics, unless . . .
Cam turned to Dr. Shelstad. “Could the
shadow be fae?”
Shadow, after all, was the term
assigned to the world contiguous to Earth, the Shadowlands. In that
place, shadow was magic. Was this an instance of magic being
harnessed (even unknowingly) by a human being? Or was Eleanor
Russo, in part, fae?
“I have it on good authority that the
shadow is not fae, nor of the Shadowlands,” Marshall
answered.
“Whose authority?” Cam asked. He looked
from Marshall to Shelstad.
Shelstad shrugged, a look of irritated
consternation on his face. “I have no idea. Marshall?”
Marshall raised his hand to stop them
both. “A contact of Thorne’s. It’s above everyone’s security
clearance; I wish it were above mine. An aide of sorts is on his way to assess Ms. Russo. In the
meantime, Kalamos, she’s your problem.”
Shelstad dropped his irritation. “Just
as long as Cameron has to deal with her. I have a team meeting in
five.”
The words “your” and “problem” echoed
in Cam’s mind, so that he barely connected the last statement. “If
you have a team meeting, don’t I as well?” After all, they were on
the same team.
“I’ll let you know what your assignment
is,” Shelstad said.
“You’ll let me know . . .” Hell, no. He’d busted his ass to get on that team. He
wasn’t missing any meeting, especially one that gave out
assignments. Ms. Russo’s problem was very interesting and all, but
the fae . . . The fae were his passion. The ghostbusters on
sublevel three could deal with Ms. Russo and her doppelganger.
Wasn’t that their field of study?
“For the time being,” Marshall said,
“Ms. Russo belongs to you, beginning with a detailed personal
history. Adam Thorne will want a transcript of your
interview.”
Cam had to work hard to swallow his
arguments. Adam Thorne. Interview Ms. Russo? This mess-up was not
the way he wanted his work to be made known to Thorne.
A litany of curses sprang to mind, but
he kept them bottled. The effort probably cost him a year of his
life. Best thing to do was get the interview done, and flawlessly.
Give Thorne meticulous information on Russo and her experience with
the shadow, and then fight, double-time if necessary, for a plum
assignment on the fae.
“I’ll get on it right way,” Cam said,
stony. “What kind of time frame are we looking at for this
aide?”
Aide. What Eleanor Russo needed was
clergy.
“I have no idea,” Marshall said. “But
see that you’re ready by then.”
Fantastic.
Ellie leaned against the window of her
concrete prison, anxiety riddling her composure. She hated her shadow, and here she was near desperate to get
a glimpse of it. Separation anxiety, that’s what this was. Ellie
almost always knew where her shadow was—it never strayed far—but in
this new place, she had no idea. She felt as if a limb, an unwanted
one, was missing. No, more like, misplaced,
which was a very weird, gut-crawling kind of feeling.
Where was her shadow?
The view was narrow, facing the inside
of the facility where Ellie was detained. A soldier was on guard at
her door—she could see a bit of his shoulder—and another stood at
the end of the hallway. The place looked brand-new, technologically
advanced, the construction spacious in a greyish, impending doom
sort of way. She’d done her research on the Segue Institute and
knew where they were keeping her—in a wraith cell. This was where
they kept the monsters.
And she was one-half monster. Although,
and this made her smile bitterly, the scary half was roaming about
while she, as ordinary as could be, was locked up in the monster
cell. It was the story of her life.
Where was her damn shadow
anyway?
If Ellie had to guess, her shadow would
be hiding. Dumb thing. The moment Ellie had admitted her theory
about how to kill the shadow, the dark half of herself had gone on
the defensive. Well, she’d just have to deal. Ellie didn’t want to
die either, but if they were going to get help, and that was now
doubtful considering the guns and prison, then they had to
cooperate.
No matter what, they were not going
back to that house, that confined existence.
Okay, fine—so far this confined existence wasn’t exactly an
improvement.
Brisk movement down the wide hallway
had Ellie pressing her face to the window, but it wasn’t her
shadow. It was Dr. Kalamos, flanked by soldiers. He’d changed his
clothes and was now more professional in grey slacks and a blue
button-down. She was his business then. Good. Great. Finally. As he
approached, she stood back from the window, and noticed he’d shaved
as well and combed back his too-long hair. It made the bruise on
his cheek stand out. How’d he get that?
A soldier entered first, an insulting
precaution. Hadn’t she been the soul of cooperation? Hadn’t
she contacted him?
“Ms. Russo,” Dr. Kalamos said. He
smelled good, dark and soapy at once. She hadn’t expected that. “If
you wouldn’t mind coming with me?”
The presence of the soldiers suggested
she didn’t have much of a choice, but she nodded yes. Dr. Kalamos
was why she was here.
As she was marched down the hallway,
she noticed additional wraith cells off to the right, all empty,
and was directed into a larger space, where a table and chairs had
been set up. Dr. Kalamos gestured to one, and he took a seat across
from her. The soldiers stood in front of her, just behind the
doctor. The door closed, locking them all inside. Like the scene at
the gate, it was too many people all over again, too many eyes on
her, but now in a small room. Was there even enough air in here for
all of them?
Didn’t matter. She could take anything
as long as she got help.
“Ms. Russo,” Dr. Kalamos began. “Your
shadow hasn’t been seen in the past thirty minutes. Can you tell me
where it is?”
Ellie shook her head. “I have no
idea.”
“How far can it separate from you?” His
tone was hard.
She hadn’t known what to expect from
him, but had hoped for understanding. She started to get
light-headed, the crawling sensation intensifying. She’d never
talked about this. Not with anyone. And where was her shadow? She
needed her here. This was for both of them. It was
time.
Ellie inhaled to answer, and held the
breath while she tried to put it into words. “I don’t really know,
but I don’t think that far.” How to possibly explain? “She’s
connected to me. Part of me. She sticks to my life and won’t make
one for herself. I tried to encourage that a long time
ago.”
“Can you call it?” Again, that clipped
tone. Not afraid, which was good. More like annoyed. She didn’t
know what to think of him. All this was so new.
“Shadow?!” she obliged. She flicked her
gaze around, waiting for her shadow’s emergence. Then she shrugged
again. “She doesn’t listen to me.”
“What does she respond
to?”
“Whims. Impulses.” Ellie didn’t add
that those impulses originated in herself. She’d work up to that.
“Most of the time she’s kind of infantile in her
behavior.”
“Is she dangerous?”
Ellie had answered this earlier, and
repeated her response. “I don’t think so.”
“Our first priority is the safety of
the men and women working at Segue. Can you please
clarify?”
Ellie had promised herself that she’d
hold nothing back, but his sharp approach had her hesitating. “She
plays tricks,” she said, though this was the lesser truth. “And,
depending on her mood, she can try to scare, or disturb, or . . .
or confront . . .” Another dodge.
Kalamos leaned forward. “Can she
physically touch anything? Can she affect electricity or water or
light or air? Can she do
anything?”
“No.” The lie came out smoothly, with
zero outward angst, but—oh thank God, there she
is—the lie, or maybe the memory underneath, had brought her
shadow. Her naked self emerged through the wall—a bare leg, arm,
breast, and shoulder.
“Contact!” shouted a soldier. The two
moved in tandem, taking new positions to face her shadow, guns
aimed, ready, and utterly useless.
Her shadow was coming slowly,
carefully, a look of extreme distrust on her face as her gaze cut
from soldier to soldier. She snarled at them.
Lovely.
Ellie looked over at Dr. Kalamos. He’d
gone a little wary, too, but she didn’t miss the way his expression
shifted from sternness to wonder. Ellie almost groaned her
frustration; his interest was only going to encourage her
shadow.
The shadow took another step.
“He likes me.” She was looking at Dr.
Kalamos, but Ellie knew she was speaking to her. Or rather, arguing
a point.
“I’m pleased to meet you,” Dr. Kalamos
said. “Won’t you join us?”
Her shadow smiled in gratification,
then abruptly frowned. “There’s no chair for me.”
“Please have mine,” he answered,
standing and holding the chair back.
Ellie watched the exchange. He’d have
done better to ignore her shadow, but she supposed he’d have to
learn the hard way.
Her shadow walked around the table,
which was unnecessary for her, part of the game, and seated
herself, ladylike, on Dr. Kalamos’s chair. The chair wasn’t holding
her up, of course. Rather, her shadow was mimicking Ellie’s
position, but with legs crossed, preening with the pleasure of
attention.
“I’d like to be friends,” Dr Kalamos
said, crouching to her shadow’s eye level.
“Friends,” her shadow repeated,
husky.
“But in order to be friends,” he
continued, “you need to follow the rules of this
place.”
Ellie bit her tongue to keep from
interrupting. He was trying to reason with her shadow. If her
shadow had been capable of seeing reason, they wouldn’t be at
Segue, risking everything for help. They could have gotten along
just fine back at home, coexisting with a degree of
equanimity.
“Which means,” he clarified, “you need
to stay in approved areas. No one here can go everywhere they want,
not even me.”
Her shadow rubbed a breast
suggestively.
Ellie sighed.
Dr. Kalamos’s face reddened, but he
pressed on valiantly. “Can you agree to stay in approved
areas?”
Her shadow arched her back so her
breasts jutted. “No,” she answered. “Who hurt your
face?”
Dr. Kalamos ignored the question and
looked over at Ellie for direction.
“She tells the truth,” Ellie said.
“I’ve never heard her lie.” Not like me.
“I do what I want to,” her shadow
added.
Way to put him at ease. Chances were
they’d never let Ellie out of that cell now.
A question glinted in Kalamos’s eyes.
“Can I touch you?” he asked the shadow.
“Oh, please touch me,” her shadow
answered, spreading her legs on the seat of the chair and flaring
her hips.
Ellie wanted to die. Her shadow had
always been bad, but this was mortifying to the core. Tears of
humiliation pricked at her eyes, but she steeled herself against
them and got to the point. “Can you help us? Your research said you
were studying shadow.” Ellie gestured to her own. “Can you help me
with that thing, or not?”
But Kalamos was reaching toward her
shadow. He grazed his thumb over the smooth surface of her
shoulder, then tried to palm it. His hand went right through what
appeared to be dark flesh.
“You can do better than that,” her
shadow said.
Kalamos glanced back over at Ellie. “Is
she a ghost? A manifestation of spirit, but tied to you somehow?
Like a dead twin?”
“I’m pretty sure she’s my shadow.”
Ellie didn’t cast one, but it was hard to demonstrate in this
ambient light.
“Segue has ghosts,” Kalamos continued.
“They are three-dimensional as well. And my understanding is that
they are variably conscious of the living, though fixed on their
own agendas. It’s similar to this behavior.”
“Bor-ing,” the shadow
said.
The fact that Dr. Kalamos didn’t
understand or accept the basics made Ellie’s humiliation all the
more acute. She was going to have to articulate the worst. “No,
she’s not a ghost. She’s my shadow. My dark
half. She’s the most terrible part of me. Think Freud. Think id.”
Ellie sharply gestured again to her shadow. “She is me. And I am
her.”
The shadow leaned forward. “I hate
myself.”
“Ditto!” Ellie cried.
Dr. Kalamos furrowed his brow and stood
up again. “She is you,” he repeated. “Like a reflection of your
inner being?”
Ellie sat back, exhausted. “Yes.”
Finally, he was getting it. Really, she’d hoped for more. “And we
need your help. I can’t live like this. I won’t.”
Kalamos leaned against the door, his
arms crossed over his chest, seeming to consider the problem with a
bothersome nonchalance. “I’d like to help you, really I would. But
this is out of my field of study—”
“But you study shadows!” Ellie
interrupted. At last she’d found someone whose life work was
researching her condition. There was no way she’d let him stand
there and deny it.
“Ms. Russo, I study Shadow, which is
completely different from your ‘shadow.’”
The dark version of Ellie had her
attention on the soldiers, whose guns rested at their
chests.
“Sounds the same to me,” the shadow
said.
Had she exposed herself for nothing?
Ellie wondered. After all this, she’d made her life worse. The
thought made the room tilt into a slow careen.
“Shadow is Segue’s term for a newly
discovered . . . element. My research involves examining its
properties.” He shook his head. “It has nothing to do with an
actual shadow, certainly nothing like”—he flicked a
glance—“her.”
Ellie felt weak. “Now what am I going
to do?”
Dr. Kalamos’s expression filled with
pity, which he could save because it would do her no good
either.
“Segue has some powerful connections,”
he said. “I’ve been told that an aide is on his way, and that he
might be able to help you.”
Aide? “What kind
of aide? From where?” Ellie asked. She frowned as her shadow slid
off the chair and into a defensive, almost feral crouch regarding
one of the soldiers.
Dr. Kalamos was watching her shadow as
well, but answered, “I don’t know who’s coming, but I need to get a
complete personal history before they arrive. I need to detail your
experience.”
So there was a chance after all? “Okay.
Sure, I’ll tell you everything.” Almost.
Her shadow interrupted. “He’s going to
shoot.” And she hissed like a wild cat, prowling on all fours
toward the opposite wall, attention fixed on the
soldier.
Gunfire assaulted Ellie’s ears. Sparks
flew in her peripheral vision as the concrete wall chipped,
fragments and dust flying. Dr. Kalamos was suddenly in front of
her, swinging her around so that he shielded her body, but Ellie
still saw her shadow leaping at the soldier’s head.
The soldier yelled, shots riddling up
the door, but her shadow went through him and the wall behind,
fleeing the room.
“Cease fire!” the other soldier
yelled.
The door was flung open, more soldiers
at the ready.
“Dobbs, out. Report to the watch
officer.”
The soldier who had fired, Dobbs, left
the room, shaking, red-faced, chest heaving. He was quickly
replaced by another soldier.
“How’d she know?” Dr. Kalamos asked,
arms still tight around Ellie’s waist. “How’d she know he was going
to shoot?”
Ellie pushed him away. Hard. He had no
idea what he was doing, holding her like that—smelling so good and
feeling so strong. Did he want to encourage her shadow? “She reads
people extremely well.”
Kalamos looked after her shadow at the
blank spot on the wall. “She’s psychic?”
“No, just very in tune.” Like woman’s
intuition. Instinct. “And she’s right most of the time.” Too bad
her shadow usually exacerbated the situation at hand. Like
now.
“But not dangerous,” Kalamos said, as
if the event had proven something. “She tried to defend herself,
but couldn’t. She had to run instead.”
So he didn’t get it. Not really. And
here she’d been counting on him saving her. With her whole heart
she had believed he could, the brilliant young doctor who studied
shadow. She wanted to cry.
Maybe the aide . . . ? But she didn’t
have much hope.
Ellie looked away to keep herself from
telling Dr. Kalamos the truth: If he’d wanted to see a fight, one
that warranted these scary monster prison cells, that soldier had
fired on the wrong person. That soldier would be dead right now if
he had fired on Ellie herself. Her shadow would see to
it.