City of Light (Outcast 1)

The aroma of perfume spun around me again and on a floor above, a woman laughed. It was followed by the squeak of bedsprings, and a low sound of pleasure—though this time the voice was male rather than female.

I frowned. Had I somehow landed in the basement of a house? And where was that house situated, given I obviously wasn’t anywhere in Carleen anymore? I couldn’t be. I had no idea if it was possible for ghosts to have sex, but there was no way in hell they could do so in a place like this, simply because no such place existed in Carleen anymore.

I pushed away from the wall and walked to the far end of the room, my steps little more than a whisper on the dusty wooden floorboards. The lock on the door was thick and old, the chain thicker still, but newer, shinier. It would have been easy to shoot either the lock open or the chain apart, but that would warn whoever was having sex that someone was down here.

Unfortunately, lock picking wasn’t one of my skills, so I looked at the door instead. The frame was metal, as was the door, so even without the chain in place, it was doubtful I could kick the thing open without alerting the building’s occupants.

My gaze fell on the hinges. They were the old-fashioned type with hinge pins. If I could knock them out, the door would open. Of course, I wouldn’t be able to get them back in, not from the other side, anyway, but it was either that or go back through that sphere.

And there was no way in Rhea I was about to do that.

Before I escaped this place, however, I needed to change my appearance. I had no idea who or what waited outside, or how well guarded this building might be. The last thing I needed was my real image caught on some security camera. Better by far to conceal the truth and have them searching for a person who didn’t exist.

At least I’d taken the time

to recover from the trip through the rift, because I was going to need my strength. Rearranging my features—becoming someone else, at least on the outside—wasn’t easy, nor was it pleasant. From what I’d witnessed over my years in the shifter camps, a shifter wanting to take on their animal form simply had to reach into that place inside where the beast roamed, and unleash the shackles that bound it. This type of shifting was more complicated. Not only did I have to fully imagine all the minute details of the body I wanted, but I had to hold it firm in my thoughts as the magic swirled through and around me. Easier said than done when the magic that changed me was anything but pleasant. Still, better that than someone recognizing me at a later date.

As I had with the healing state, I took several deep breaths and slowly released each in an effort to calm the tension running through my limbs. Then I closed my eyes and pictured a face in my mind. A face that was sharp, almost gaunt, with pale skin, green eyes, and a thin, unhappy mouth. She had a cleft in her chin, curly brown hair, and was slender. Flat-chested but strong. It was similar enough to my own build—aside from the flat chest—that it hopefully wouldn’t be quite as painful to change.

Then, freezing that image in my mind, I reached for the magic. It exploded around me, thick and fierce, as if it had been contained for far too long. It swept through me like a gale, making my muscles tremble and causing the image I desired to waver. I frowned and held fiercely on to the likeness. The energy pulsed as the change began. My skin rippled, bones restructured, hair shortened, curled, and changed color. It burned, hurt; I gritted my teeth against the scream that tore up my throat, my breath little more than sharp hisses as pinpricks of sweat broke out over altering flesh.

When the magic finally faded, I collapsed back against the wall, sucking in air and feeling very different. I opened my eyes and looked down. My breasts were definitely smaller, meaning the rest of the image had probably stuck as well.

I wiped the remaining beads of sweat from my forehead, then, ignoring the tremble still running through my muscles, slipped one of the knives from its wrist harness and knelt down. After sliding the edge of the knife under the hinge pin, I moved the blade along until the pin was jammed against the hilt, then hit the hilt with my hand. Unfortunately, I did little more than bruise my palm. I frowned, then sat down and dragged off a boot. A few decent thumps with the solid heel later, the pin came free. I repeated the process with the top pin, then grabbed the door and pulled it sideways, separating it first from the knuckles, then from the main lock. All that was now holding it in place were the chain, the old-fashioned padlock, and my grip on it.

I carefully peered out. The room was at the end of a long, somewhat shadowed hallway, and there were several other rooms leading off it. I couldn’t hear anything other than the couple in the room above me, and the air was thick with dust and disuse. Whatever this area was, it was all but abandoned.

I slipped through the gap, then maneuvered the door back into place so that the main lock was holding it upright again. At least it would look closed from a distance.

I padded down the hall, checking each of the rooms as I passed them by, but, beyond some ancient-looking beds, found little more than dust and cobwebs. It didn’t make sense. Why would the wraiths use a rift to transport themselves into a place like this? Why leave those above alive to go about their business when—up until now—all they’d ever done was destroy anyone and everyone who got in their way?

I reached the stairs at the far end. The basement door—if that was indeed what this place was—was locked, but this time by a fingerprint scanner. I cursed softly. There was no way I could get past that, not unless the damn power went out. And even if it did, they probably had a backup system . . . meaning there was only one thing I could do if I wanted to get out.

I pressed my ear against the sturdy-looking door but couldn’t hear anything on the other side. I raised the knife and thrust it, as hard as I could, into the unit. The knife was made from a specialized glass, and was harder than steel without the conductivity, so it presented little danger to me. There was a short, sharp explosion, and sparks flew as the system short-circuited. A second later I was through the door and in another corridor. This one was flooded with light, and the air was filled with warmth, perfume, and the tangy scents of men, desire, and sex.

I closed the basement door and quickly scanned the corridor. There were eight doors leading off the hall—most of them occupied, if the noises within were anything to go by—and an exit down the far end. Thankfully, none of the people in any of the rooms appeared to have heard the explosion, but I couldn’t count on my luck lasting.

Instead of moving on, I glanced at the control panel. Though I’d short-circuited the system, the panel on this side looked intact. It might be better if whoever owned this place believed that someone had been trying to get in, rather than out.

I shoved my knife into its electronic heart, making more obvious the destruction I’d already wrought, then padded quickly toward the exit. But as I approached, so, too, did steps from the other side. I cursed, spun around, and ran for the nearest unoccupied room. I’d barely entered when two people strode into the corridor. With no time to close the door, I simply pressed my body against the wall and hastily wrapped the bright light of the room around me. The footsteps drew closer. I didn’t dare move because I had no idea how secure my screen was, but I could hear and smell, and that was enough.

It was, surprisingly, two humans—one male, one female. The woman was heavily scented and heavier on her feet; an older woman, I thought. The male’s movements were much lighter, and he smelled faintly woody. He also emitted a vibe that was watchful, tense. A guard of some sort, not a companion. They stopped near the far end of the hall, near the door I’d shorted.

“Deliberate destruction, from the look of it.” The voice was gruff, masculine.

“So someone wanted to get in?” The woman’s voice was pleasant without being memorable.

“I can’t see any other reason to destroy the system like they have,” the male said. “You want me to check if there’s anyone in there?”

The woman hesitated, and her uncertainty and fear washed over me. “No,” she said eventually. “We’re being paid to ignore the basement, so ignore it we will. I’ll just notify them that something has happened. If they want to check it, they can.”

Them. They. Not he. Not she. There was more than one person involved in all this, whatever “this” was. But were they also involved with the wraiths? Or did we have two separate events happening here?

The two strangers retreated. I waited until they’d left the corridor, then released my light shield and looked around. The room held little more than a bed and a large wooden chest. Curious as to what the chest might contain—and whether it might offer any clue as to where I was—I walked across and opened the lid. Inside there was a variety of not just clothes, but sex toys.

I was, I realized suddenly, in a brothel. Which was a great place to hide something like the rift, because it wasn’t like visitors were going to be overly curious about what might lie beyond the rooms in which they were entertained. But that still didn’t answer the question of who. Didn’t answer the question of why the rift was here in the first place. Surely the authorities had not become so blasé about them that they’d allowed a building to be constructed around it?

I fished around in the chest and found a silvery gray cape and a gauzy white shirtdress. It was somewhat see-through and would probably reveal more than it covered—especially given that I now wore the clear under-breast shape-tapes, which were not only more comfortable than the old-fashioned bras the HDP had made us use, but far more supportive without in any way restricting movement. But it wasn’t like I had a whole lot to worry about in this form, anyway. I quickly changed, then bundled my clothes and my weapons together and shoved them into a bag I found near the bottom of the chest. Once I’d put the cape on, I headed out.