The Touch of Twilight

12

In addition to booby traps, and bombs, and anything one would need to manufacture indestructible weaponry, Hunter’s workshop boasted a panic room. If Shadows ever found the warehouse, an agent could retreat here until backup arrived. It’s where we went after everyone else had arrived, chatting about nothing in particular until we’d all gathered in the weapon-and soundproof room.

An old-fashioned card catalog was shelved along one of the shorter walls, and another two drawing tables were pushed together as a center workspace. A blow-up bed, currently deflated and stowed in a giant cabinet, could be pulled out in emergencies, but the room was otherwise utilitarian, without even a chair to sit on. We spread out along its perimeter, and I leaned against one of the cabinets used for archival storage. This one held meticulous records of Shadow appearances and attacks, tracking their movements and dates, and triangulating their positions.

We also kept duplicates of the valley’s street maps here, the residential roadways as well as the main thoroughfares, though they differed from maps that could be bought at the corner gas station in one very significant way. These pinpointed the location of previously known portals, when they opened and closed, who accessed them, and where they led in Vegas’s corresponding flip side. These records were constantly updated, usually by Gregor, whose cabdriver persona gave him the most obvious pretext to canvass the streets, though we all kept daily logs of our encounters that went to Warren at the end of the week.

But the personality of the room, the thing that made it come alive despite a lack of warmth or personal effects, came from the flat stacks of hand-drawn maps in the climate-controlled case beneath the drawing tables. These historic depictions detailed the Las Vegas known to previous generations, all the way back to the early 1700s, and an independent agent who’d been tagging along with a desert expedition led by a Spanish scout. He was the one who’d dubbed this fertile swath of land “The Meadows.”

Of course, Las Vegas hadn’t become large enough to warrant a true troop until long after that; first came the fort that acted as a refuge for the original Mormon settlers, then the trading posts and railroads that brought saloons and prostitution and, eventually, the workers who’d labored over the Hoover Dam in the nearby Black Canyon. No, it wasn’t until the Second World War was over, and tourism turned a sole dusty boulevard into a flashy desert oasis, that the true battle for Vegas’s soul began. So the city grew, our troop formed, and the maps reminded us of how far we’d come, and in a way allowed us to pay homage to those who were here first.

Our generation’s map was splayed like a banner over one full wall, the population boom of the early nineties penciled beneath the expansion in the millennium and the mid-decade rise of the city as it began to spread up as well as out.

Warren rolled up the giant sketch currently splayed across the tables and stuck it in an upright file so that Felix could deposit the pizzas on the center tables. The rest of us fell on the food like we’d chased it down ourselves. The troop pecking order was made clear in the process. First Warren, then Tekla and Micah; Gregor and Hunter were followed by Vanessa and Felix, then came me, Riddick, and Jewell, with special allowance made for Chandra due to the time she’d served with the troop. The last to come forward was the girl who’d entered with Felix, who accented her blond dreads with a nose piercing, black nail polish, and quotidian black clothing. This was presumably Kimber, our soon-to-be Libra, and I inched over to give her room next to me, but she backed away to prop herself up by the door instead.

Tekla, who was only picking at her pizza, wasted no time in getting to the point. “Chandra told us about the changeling at Master Comics. How you broke her, halting the publishing of our manuals.”

I’d figured as much, though a part of me had held out hope that I could be the one to tell them. Yet the way Tekla said it, matter-of-factly and without an ounce of anger, and the way Warren went after a third slice of pie, reassured me it could be fixed. I glanced at Chandra and smirked. “Thanks. Partner.”

She scowled back.

“She also said she was the one to steal this.” Warren roused himself enough to pull Xavier’s mask from somewhere behind him, tossing it onto the drawing table next to the now-empty boxes. Nobody moved, though a shiver jackhammered its way up my spine as the mask stared up at us, a scream captured in its throat. Which was exactly where the pizza I was swallowing caught as well. I lifted my gaze and was startled to find a maniacal glimmer of barely contained excitement alive in Warren’s. “Why didn’t you bring it, or one of the many others hanging around that house, to us sooner?”

I forced myself to take another bite and shook my head. “These masks have been hanging in Xavier’s home for years. I told Chandra that.”

“And you never connected Xavier’s peculiar love of Tibetan art with the culture that created the Tulpa?”

Surprised, I looked over at Kimber like she’d suddenly sprouted another dreadlock. “And the fuck you are is who?”

Vanessa and Riddick, closest to Kimber, both took a step back.

“Okay, okay,” Warren said, moving into the vacated space, wary eyes on me, but addressing Kimber. “It’s not something that would be readily apparent to someone new to our troop. Olivia’s had her hands full these last few months.” That was the understatement of the year. “And she’s still learning. She just needs to be more vigilant in the future.”

“Oh, I will,” I said pointedly, noting that Kimber and Chandra had almost unconsciously moved closer together.

“For now,” Tekla said, from her corner, “tell us your version of what happened when you entered Xavier’s office.”

Warren looked like he was going to object, but Tekla shot him an arch look that had his mouth snapping shut, so I told them about the music and scent and smoke roiling in the air of the attached room I’d never before seen, then of Xavier’s strange behavior, and how when we spoke afterward he’d somehow looked…smaller. “I’ve never smelled anything like that before, but Chandra said it was his soul essence being sacrificed to another.”

“She’s right. It’s what the Tulpa demands of his acolytes,” said Warren, unable to contain himself any longer. He rocked forward onto his toes, eyes on the mask that he’d barely been able to stop studying during my telling. “But now-”

“But now we need to know what you saw when you entered the office a second time,” Tekla interrupted sharply. “Alone.”

Warren stepped back with barely contained impatience, and I looked at Chandra again. If there’d even been a sparking hope that we could work together as partners, if not friends, it was gone now. She’d no doubt told them of this second visit to the office in order to cast suspicion my way, so that I again had to deflect it from my own allies. I sighed, and threw my half-eaten pizza back onto the table in disgust. “The masks littering his home made me wonder what might be housed in his giant resort. I asked Xavier to give his darling daughter a job in Valhalla so I could find out.”

“No.”

All heads turned toward Hunter, who looked like he wanted to yank the single word back out of the air, his jaw clenching reflexively as he turned to Warren. “The place is overrun with Shadows. It’s too dangerous.”

“You work there,” I pointed out, eyes narrowing.

Calm now, he faced me again. “I’m not as visible as you are…in either of our worlds.”

I pursed my lips, wondering why he was really objecting. If there was ever a time to play the call boy card it was now, but Warren spoke up before I could pull it out of the deck, actually agreeing with me. That was enough to have Hunter’s mouth falling open and mine snapping shut.

“It’s a good idea, and a natural step for Xavier Archer’s sole heir,” he said, speaking quickly. Tekla was frowning in disapproval, but he ignored her this time. “She’ll most likely be assigned to the executive offices, and can keep an eye on upper-level management while you scout the blue collars. The more agents we can plant in the Tulpa’s den, the better our collective data will be.”

I didn’t even need to shoot Hunter a victorious look; my satisfaction could be sensed like it’d blown in on a spring wind.

“For now let’s go back to the changeling.”

The wind died in my sails. Hunter smirked.

“I did a little research after Chandra came to us with this information.” Warren pulled out the last manual drawn, one that had come out two weeks earlier, and showed Tekla bringing down hellfire in an abandoned warehouse. “You did indeed return Jasmine’s aura to her on time. You obviously meant no harm, so your motives are not in question.”

“Yet it’s a serious problem, Olivia,” Tekla said, stepping forward. Her face was drawn, and she took the manual from Warren and placed it behind her back, clearly wanting to forget its contents. “If the manuals aren’t written, the children can’t read them, in which case we don’t receive the energy generated from their imaginations. Which means eventually-”

Warren stayed a hand on her arm. “Eventually I’m sure we’ll get to the bottom of this and reverse the process.”

Both Tekla and I gaped. Warren’s tendency was to overreact rather than the opposite, and though one needed only to know his family history in order to understand this, understanding didn’t make it any easier to weather his emotional storms.

I looked around to find everyone else similarly nonplussed. Even Kimber looked like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. I turned my attention back to Warren, who shrugged philosophically. “Changelings are an undeniably important piece to the supranatural system, but they’re still mortal, and thus fragile creatures.”

For once Warren was sticking up for me-first with Hunter, then with Tekla-and I was going to blow it by telling him how serious the Jasmine problem was, and how the Tulpa, through Regan, had managed to reach out and touch me in a safe zone. So I did it quickly, explaining how Li had somehow absorbed the injury. Warren’s face was more appropriately grave when I’d finished.

“Is there anything else, Olivia?” he said, vocal cords tight with control. For a fleeting moment I considered leaving out the Tulpa’s offer to work with me to find the doppelgänger. The third sign of the Zodiac was the rise of my dormant side. The Tulpa thought that meant my Shadow side, and while I knew that was bullshit, who was to say my troop didn’t believe that as well? If not, the Tulpa’s offer to work together might turn them into believers. But I’d kept information from my troop in the past, and though it’d seemed like the right thing to do at the time, the results had been disastrous.

“We had a doppelgänger in Phoenix,” Kimber said, as soon as I’d finished. “It was years ago now, I couldn’t have been more than seven or eight, but he took out almost a dozen mortals while trying to get to a particular agent before he was stopped.”

“Children too,” Jewell added grimly. “I know this story.”

“Not children,” Kimber corrected. “Embryos. In particular, their developing pink spinal cords.”

I couldn’t help myself. “What?”

“Concentrated energy,” Tekla provided.

“How’d your troop finally stop him?”

Kimber looked at Hunter. “They didn’t. He was targeting a Shadow agent. The Shadow Zodiac just handed that agent over, and afterward took in the fully realized doppelgänger as their own.”

“Oh my God,” said Vanessa.

“Wow. With friends like that…” Felix began.

“Who needs an opposing Zodiac troop.”

And if I’d ever seriously considered joining the Tulpa’s organization, the image of someone devouring another man’s quivering spinal cord would’ve cured the impulse.

“All right, then,” Warren said, after a moment, but I had a feeling he said it less for my sake than his own mounting impatience. “Let’s move on.” And he eagerly picked up the mask. “Has anyone seen one of these before?”

“I have,” Kimber said immediately, then cleared her throat and came down off her toes when Riddick groaned next to me. I smirked. “In my studies, I mean. All of my electives for the past five years have been in Tibetan myth and culture. Animism, the belief everything has a soul, is a big part of it.”

She looked at me, and I had an unreasonable urge to shoot a spitball into her dreads. Teacher’s pet.

“That’s right. The Tulpa is a diehard animist. Someone who believes wholeheartedly in imagined entities, and that souls inhabit ordinary objects as well as animate beings.”

I snorted. He was an imagined being who’d turned into the leader of the paranormal underworld. Of course he believed it. And that’s what mattered. His belief would spur his thoughts into actions.

“I too have seen masks like this one before, though not in texts.” Warren held the mask in both hands as he stared down into its screaming face. “They direct soul energy from the wearer and convert it into raw energy for the Tulpa. I expect he ordered Xavier to meditate, though I doubt he told him why.”

“Didn’t we destroy an entire cache of these things a decade ago?” Gregor asked, the first to step closer to the mask.

“All but one,” Warren said softly, causing Gregor’s head to jerk in surprise. “But it was plain wood, not decorated.” He looked at me, waiting for me to indicate that Xavier’s mask had been plain as well, and I nodded my reply. Eyes shining, he fought back a smile. “If I’m right, this one is special, and infinitely more powerful.”

Gregor ran a tentative finger over its shell. “I remember making a bonfire of those masks. They screamed as they burned.”

Warren nodded as the memory played itself out in his mind as well. “It was the same night we destroyed the Tulpa’s home. It was why he built Valhalla, with its guards and security and cameras studying every person who enters the place.”

I shook my head, wondering if Xavier had known what he was getting himself into when the Tulpa approached him with his offer. Selling one’s soul for money wasn’t a new concept, and even though Xavier had more cash than one man could ever spend, I remembered how he’d looked with smoke billowing from his masked face, and would have even felt sorry for the guy…if I thought he’d had a soul to begin with.

“So if this isn’t one of those, what is it?”

Now Warren smiled.

“This is a tool. An animist’s mask designed to show the wearer his greatest desires…and the means to achieving them. I believe it’s also how the Tulpa has been able to anticipate our moments, foil most of our plans, and stonewall us at every turn.”

“The one of legend?” Tekla stepped forward to stand beside him, all her previous annoyance gone.

“The same. See the stylized curve of the mouth? The mismatched brows? I studied the texts after Zoe left…” He paused, quickly addressing me. “She was a fervent student of animism-”

“As she had to be,” Tekla added, “living with the Tulpa.”

“This is where he gets his omnipotence, his seeming omnipresence,” Warren took over again, with the fervency of a zealot. “But he isn’t godlike. He isn’t even that powerful. He simply had the right tool.”

And the satisfied smile that swelled on his face said what he did not. And now we have it.

“So what are we supposed to do with it?” Vanessa asked, picking up the mask between a thumb and forefinger. Her straightforwardness made me smile. I liked her because she was quick, witty, and unerringly practical. She was also tough without sacrificing her femininity, which had gone a long way to helping me feel more comfortable in my sister’s curvaceous body. Where I’d once dared people to point out my femininity, Vanessa had never been at war with her body. It was simply hers to do with as she pleased, like her mind or her time; and while others sold, squandered, or cheapened these gifts, she owned and improved upon them, and took joy in every return on her investment. I felt more comfortable with her than any woman since my sister’s death.

“We try it on.”

“Oh, hell no.” She tossed the mask onto the table, obviously unconcerned about the spirit trapped inside. “I’m not letting my soul essence ooze out of me like air from a leaky tire.”

“It doesn’t work that way. I know this legend too,” Kimber spoke up.

Of course you do, I thought, as she stepped forward and leaned on the table to peer into the face of the mask. “You’re already aware of its purpose, and you have a will strong enough to match the spirit buried within the wood. If your wills are opposed, the only thing that will happen is a sort of private interchange, like a song heard by someone wearing headphones. I suspect Warren wants us to try it on in order to learn the secrets it already holds, am I right?”

“Very good.” Warren inclined his head, then picked up the animist’s mask and held it out to her. “And since you’re the resident expert, we’ll start with you.”

Her sure smile wobbled, and I snorted, crossing my arms. Nobody likes a know-it-all.

Unsurprisingly, Kimber didn’t back down. She bit her lip as she reached for the mask, chipped black polish running over the painted features before she raised the mask to shoulder height, a move that looked stiff and overly formal-like she’d studied but never performed it-and brought it to her freckled skin.

If I hadn’t been looking, I’d have never seen the wood grain shifting, though her quickly indrawn breath as the carved ears bent inward would have betrayed the activity.

“What do you see?”

Her fingers splayed to begin her explanation, but nothing came out at first. “I see myself…except it’s not me. It’s a future me. I’ve metamorphosed into a full-fledged agent and I’m holding a blowgun. I’ve slain the Shadow Scorpio with a dart to the artery in his neck.”

I glanced at Hunter, and he at me. I’d seen the template for the conduit she mentioned, but I could tell by his face that she hadn’t. He hadn’t even finished making it yet. After another few seconds where she was left too breathless to talk, she lifted her hands and removed the mask. Her steel blue eyes seemed to catch all the light in the room, and her face was glowing with excitement. “It was just like the textbooks said. All you have to do is stare through the eye slits, but use your mind to see what’s on the other side, not your vision. I could feel the other spirit residing in the mask, but it was peaceful, almost welcoming. It wanted for me what I wanted most. We were in harmony for as long as I chose to wear it.”

Warren only grunted, and I was relieved to hear skeptical consideration in the sound as he motioned Kimber back and prepared to lift the mask to his own face.

“Stop!” Tekla shouted suddenly, rushing forward. She grabbed his arm so roughly, he fumbled the mask. Offering him a half-apologetic smile, she pulled away, and said more calmly, “It’s not that I don’t believe Kimber, but I’d like a little more proof before my troop leader dons an obvious totem of spiritual power. It may be what…”

What the Tulpa wants. She didn’t have to say it. Warren had been targeted before, and none of us had seen it coming. So everyone understood Tekla’s concern, but nobody stepped forward to take the mask from Warren’s hands.

Tekla smiled and reached for it. Warren outranked her, but the troop’s Seer was given an equal amount of respect, and a good deal of leeway for what was kindly described as her more erratic behavior. “I’ll go next.”

“Your mind is as valuable as mine,” Warren began, but Tekla turned away, shielding the mask from his reach with her body.

“You’ve survived without me before. You’d do so again.”

Not too long ago Tekla had turned away from her visions, her gifts, and her star sign. She was newly returned to her position, so while her skills and power were stronger than ever, her confidence was shaky. There were times she could be heard ranting in the astrolab, screaming at the domed sky above her, arguing with the fates. Other times she disappeared into her room in the barracks, unseen for days.

But now she was hooking the heel of her hand upon the chin of the mask to bring it to her face one-handed. A small click, the pinning of the wood behind her ears like sunshades, and she fell utterly still.

“Tekla?”

“Oh my,” she whispered, clasping her hands tightly together in front of her. “That’s just…”

Warren was immediately by her side. “What is it, Tekla? What do you see?”

“Wonderful,” she breathed, and an almond-soft scent bloomed in the room. Hope. “My son’s spirit is at rest. There’s a new constellation forming even as we speak, born of his goodness and purity and potential. Moving past his death has given me the ability to read messages born of this new star system. Shadows will die because of it. My son will still fulfill his legacy as a member of this troop. I can see it all as if it’s happening right now.”

Tekla fell silent, and when it became apparent she wasn’t going to remove the mask without prompting, Warren put a gentle hand to her shoulder. She startled, jumping like she’d forgotten where she was, and when she removed the mask, her face was wet with tears. She let Warren take it away, expression disoriented and mildly disappointed as she stepped back again, tucking unsteady hands into the sleeves of her robe.

Three more people tried on the mask and three times it showed various predictions of success; Vanessa’s vision spoke of love, Jewell’s of worthiness, and Gregor physically overcame a Shadow agent he didn’t recognize, besting the giant man even with just one good arm. When it came time for Hunter to reveal what he saw, he only said the others were right; it was most definitely the near future. And though the look on his face was benign enough, I sensed chaos swirling through his bloodstream. I studied him as he avoided my gaze, but by this time even Warren was displaying uncommon excitement. He turned to me, eyes gleaming.

“Your turn, Olivia.”

I didn’t want to. I knew it was my almost pathological need for control, a knee-jerk reaction caused by past helplessness that had me mentally rearing back when he held the animist’s mask out to me, but I thought I saw the wood twitch in his hand, and it didn’t look benign to me at all. It looked anticipatory. It looked hungry.

You’re safe, I told myself, taking the mask, feeling nothing but smooth wood in the weight against my palm. I was in the warehouse, in the panic room, surrounded by my troop. What could happen?

The magic slipped on easily, dimming my awareness of my surroundings like a sun visor, and the muscles in my thighs twitched as a facsimile of me strode forward to knock on the door of Xavier’s home office, a reproduction of my conduit loaded and locked.

The door was ajar and swung open like every horror movie cliché I’d ever seen. Apparently none too bright, the faux me made my way through the smoke of the exterior office to the hidden room beyond the far bookcase. I stepped through the threshold…and onto the roof of the tallest hotel in Vegas, recognizing the view from the apex of Valhalla. It was night, and the Strip was spilled out below me like a blinding waterfall, headlights and digital billboards cascading to and fro in a rapid river of activity that couldn’t reach me up here. Even the wind had been muted, I noted, looking around, which was when I spotted the two chairs balanced on the hotel’s ledge.

Not chairs, I thought, drawing closer. Thrones. Gold-plated, cushionless monstrosities I’d seen before, and I tilted my head as I slipped in front of the larger one, lifting my bow when I saw the Tulpa reclined there, dressed like a mafia don. I’d been anticipating him.

He tracked me with his eyes, the rest of him still, balanced on that ledge. I edged over to the smaller throne, and took a seat opposite him, my left foot dangling off into space. I wasn’t afraid, and I don’t know if his smile was because of that or in spite of it.

“All of this,” he said, motioning below, “Can be yours.”

I looked at the vibrant city, and despite the zinging neon, random flares, and bustling crowds, saw peace. The smooth currents of air rippling over the quiet desert made me homesick, if only because I was so clearly removed from it. “If?” I asked, returning my gaze to him.

He chuckled in answer, and bent forward to pick up a brown paper lunch bag. His throne wobbled, one gilt leg halfway over the ledge. Bulging at the bottom, the bag snapped open crisply, and he lifted out a sandwich wrapped in foil.

“Split it with me?”

The city danced below us. The air continued to swirl. I glanced back at the sandwich and after a moment more, inclined my head. A truce, if possible, would be nice.

He handed me half, not a barbed claw in sight, and I unwrapped it, first the foil, then plastic wrap.

“Meat, tomato, cheese, lettuce, and mustard…your favorite, right?”

My eyes came to rest on the bag now perched on his golden armrest, and I caught myself mid-nod, mid-bite. The bottom of the bag was oozing blackly. The sandwich pulsed once in my palm.

The Tulpa crossed his legs at the knee and smiled. “A divided heart, get it?”

I lunged, and knew from the air’s current that my throne had toppled from the ledge. Horns honked as it turned into a missile; mortals screamed. The Tulpa tried to get away, but his teetering throne banked, and he threw himself toward the rooftop…right into my arms. His jugular called to me, as brightly pulsing as the city below us, and I grabbed for it. I saw the seams only because I was so close, and ignoring the rest of his body, I squeezed. Two muted pops sounded, like snaps coming undone, then another jaw appeared above my pressing thumbs. With a howl of rage I tore the Tulpa’s face away, lifting so tissue and tendons ripped…and the doppelgänger gazed up at me with a smile.

“It’s better this way,” she choked the words out, strangling. “A person cannot be divided against herself.”

I squeezed harder. Her smile widened. And in the moment the light left her eyes, her shining skull popped like a balloon, suds and frothy bubbles flying everywhere. I yelled out in victory. The sun took to the sky like a comet…and revealed one more face beneath my clenched palms.

The jaw was slender and heart-shaped, the fragile skin smooth and too white. Frantically I wiped away the foam…and stared down into my mother’s waxy, sightless face.

I pivoted…and found the city rotting like a carcass beneath a scorching desert sun.

I could only stare as all the people I knew rotted with it.

“Olivia! Olivia! It’s off, stop struggling!”

It was only then I became aware of my voice, a sandpaper scream sawing through my brain. Get it off! Get it off! Make it stop!

A white-hot pain arched around my jaw as my cheeks parted from my bones, as if cleaved with a burning, jagged blade. “God! Oh God!”

“I had to,” said an unfamiliar voice. No, not unfamiliar. New. I opened my eyes, blinked back stinging tears, and saw Kimber staring down at me with those hard blue eyes. “The textbooks say it’s the most effective way of separating joined psyches. The skin should grow back.”

Skin? And should? I panicked, but then Micah pushed her aside, and my vision narrowed on him. His reaction would tell me whether I should worry, whether the biting cold all around my jawline was as serious as I thought. Whether the ripping of my own skin from my bones should be cause for alarm.

He wouldn’t meet my eyes as he spoke in an overly soothing voice, “It’s going to be fine.”

“Oh shit…” I began to cry.

“Shh.” He lifted his hands, fingertips pressing gently across my face. I was numb, and didn’t feel them. “No, it is. Your magic is already grafting the skin back in place. You’ll be as good as new in a few minutes.”

It would have been like consulting with any other doctor if he hadn’t used magic and grafting in the same sentence. Laughter wanted to bubble up out of me, except it couldn’t get past my throat, past the skin rent from ear to ear. I squeezed my eyes shut, and both wished for, and dreaded, my complete healing.

Because then I’d have to tell them of the vision contradicting all the premonitions they’d experienced. I opened my eyes and found Tekla ushering everyone from the room. Chandra was the last, and she looked back, met my gaze, and shuddered.

The sooner you start respecting that your compromised physiology has made you different, the sooner you can start approaching aberrant situations from a new beginning point…

Fuck you, Chandra, I thought, and let myself cry again. Just fuck you. Fuck the Tulpa…and fuck me too.