Hunting Shadows by W. Michael Gea

Author:W. Michael Gea [Gear, W. Michael & Gear, Kathleen O'Neal]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781639773930
Published: 2023-12-18T16:00:00+00:00

41

SHADOW

I star at her in wonder. Raising my head, I sniff cautiously, drawing in her scent. She and I are so much the same—and so very different. I search for the odor. Has she been with him? Is he hers now? But my nostrils fail to detect the musk that lingers on a woman after she’s coupled with a man.

Sister looks at me, distress in her large dark eyes. She has never had my strength. “He is coming for you, Shadow. For you and Father.”

“Of course he is,” I reply. “I am the Summoning God. They all come to me. Some sooner than others.”

I place a hand to my belly, aware of the glow within. Father’s power never ceases to amaze me. Where others leave only the faded memory of pleasure, I am his fertile soil.

“Shadow,” Obsidian says, looking anxiously across the kiva to where Father lays moaning in his blankets, “you have no need of me here.”

I throw my head back and laugh.

Piper lies frozen, her breath-heart soul paralyzed in the air above her. What did Father do to her this time? How did he witch her so completely. Was it the turquoise necklace? When, and where, had she gotten that? Is Piper truly so weak? I expected more from her.

“Ah, Sister, I may have great need of you. Tell me, in what should I place more value? In your heart, or your body?”

Her face has become a pale mask.

“Tell me of Browser.”

“I think he knows where you are. Were I you, I would leave, Sister. Now, while you can.”

“I see.”

“Don’t take him lightly.”

“Browser?” I smile, remembering the times I have tempted him, fondled him, seen the battle in his eyes as his heart struggled with his manhood. Yes, he desires me. All I need is a little time. “He’s the most dangerous man I know, Sister.”

“You continue to overestimate him. You should have seen him, worry dripping from his skin like sweat. The desperation in his eyes was overpowering when he asked me to help him.”

I watch her, and she squirms, unable to meet my eyes. She is smart not to challenge my stare. I would reel her breath-heart soul out of her the way a hunter does a yucca cord string from a rabbit hole. Instead her eyes are fixed on the fragments of bone littering the kiva. She is particularly fascinated by a section of shinbone. It gleams like polished shell, stark against the ash-stained earthen floor.

“His name was Carved Splinter,” I tell her, gesturing at the length of broken bone. “I sucked the marrow from it for supper last night.”

She swallows hard, the color draining from her face.

“He was a Fire Dog. Not a real human like you and me, Sister.”

“I know…”

She is so weak. I hide my anger, saying, “I am disappointed with you, Sister. But for you, Bear Lance and so many others would still be alive. Perhaps you don’t understand, living as you do in the midst of Made People, but we are fewer as a result of your actions last night.

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