like him to surround the monarchy in a single swoop and deal it a blow in the style of Julius Caesar before anyone even realized there was a threat. Even his knowledge of Baylor’s treachery was a matter of either pure luck on his part, or pure stupidity on the part of the conspirators.
If they had aspired to include him in their deceitful plots, was it because they had just been critically misinformed, or had they dared and succeeded with others equally high up in trusted ranks? The thought chilled him to his core just as much as it angered him. He gritted his teeth against all pain and weakness and immediately forced himself into lurching progress along the streets of New York.
He didn’t go far before heading for the dark tunnels of the subway. Unlike the subways in the “real” New York, there were no yellowed fluorescents and no sparking flickers of electricity from passing trains or friction from brakes on rails. Nowadays, most of these smaller lights went unnoticed in a city, but no light was too small for notice to a Shadowdweller. Only the moon and stars and perhaps the faintest of candle glow was tolerable, but he need not worry about any of it in Shadowscape. In truth, in Realscape, the subways and other tunnel systems like them were a common resource for traveling the human cities that reeked with light—provided one avoided the light-flooded stations and hubs the humans used.
Trace leapt down onto the track, ignoring the speed and efficiency of the trains out of habit. He did very little in Shadowscape that he wouldn’t do in Realscape. It wasn’t unheard of that something might trigger a spontaneous Unfading. Generally, it happened to youths and weaker ’Dwellers, inexperience and low power resources often denying stability of the Fade state. For Shadowdwellers of Trace’s astounding power, however, even severe injury would not jolt them from their Fade. That didn’t mean that injury and another added stressor wouldn’t, so he took great care as he crossed the length of the city belowground.
Trace paused as a train blew past him on the next track. The vibrations it sent rocketing under his feet were familiar, and, even wounded as he was, he was completely unconcerned about the danger flying by so close to him at such deadly speeds.
He skipped lines some time later, his stride increasing in length and speed as his body continued to heal itself. By the time he exited the Hunt’s Point station, he was practically feeling spry.
Now he finally took the opportunity to Unfade.
Because he was so powerful, and because his Fade was so definitive, it took just as much effort to escape the freedoms of Shadowscape as it did to enter them. The key, however, was in sensing light. Or rather shadows. He knew, obviously, to avoid the physical objects that were known for shedding light in Realscape. But it was always important to check for the unexpected. Shadowdwellers had many special senses and abilities, but none was keener than the sense for light and the bodily alarms that went off in anticipation of coming into contact with it. Trace searched himself for these before committing completely to the Unfade. This was what would warn him if he was Unfading into danger.
It was almost always heartbreaking to leave the perfect darkness and liberty of Shadowscape. There was nothing to fear in that world so perfectly made for his kind. At least, not for a while. It was like the twinge of onrushing tears out of the blue, the sensation of releasing his hold on that ’scape. It smarted through his sinuses and behind his eyes, and a weight he didn’t feel in Shadowscape insinuated itself back into his chest as he Unfaded into Realscape. His extremities went a little numb, but then sensation rushed back like they were waking from a cramped sleeping position. All of this took place over a span of sixty seconds, and with each ticking moment, sound and the vibration of the real world ebbed into him. Sirens, the rising blare of a passing horn, and even the rousing yapping of provoked dogs—all of it rushed into him, reminding him of how the city could truly be when its population was actually using it.
Then, on the next breath, the transition was over.
But this was all old hat to a man of Trace’s longevity. He had learned to Fade and Unfade sometime just before his adolescence, some two hundred-odd years ago. In that time since then, he had skipped dimensions so often and for so many reasons that it was no different to him than using a revolving door to transition from inside a building to outside of one. So as soon as he was back to walking the shadows of the full human city of New York, he continued to his destination.
It only took five minutes for him to find the dingy façade of brick and broken glass he was looking for. To the outside world, it was no different than any of the other abandoned tenements that had become harbors for the homeless and those who were helplessly addicted to crack, crank, or ice. He stepped carefully over the refuse such people left behind them. But in this building, there was an end to the space they could access. After the width of a single room on all sides, outsiders were met with a thick wall of cinderblock and brick. Beyond that, Trace knew, was a second wall just as thick. This was a Shadowdweller safe house. There were only two ways in, and you had to know them to find them. The first was a common way, the entrance he was headed for. The second was an escape, used only in moments of extreme danger or threat of discovery. There were houses like this one all over the world, hidden in plain sight and maintained by caretakers who chose to remain native to the cities in order to provide safe havens for traveling Shadowdwellers who needed to plan their way through them so carefully.
Trace found the entrance after climbing on top of a broken wall. He thrust a hand between etched bricks, the instructions in ancient Shadese, a symbolic language that appeared to be meaningless graffiti to the average outsider, if an average outsider should even dare to enter a neighborhood such as this one. He checked behind himself, all his night-bred senses telling him the nearest human body was rooms away. Reassured, he grabbed the lever behind the brick with his fingertips and with just a squeeze released the latch. The heavy brick wall pivoted away from him on a fulcrum, the weight of it becoming insignificant. It swung only wide enough to let him squeeze into the narrow tunnel between the double walls. He then had to slide sideways several steps before finding the second latch.
As the final doorway swung open, Trace stepped into a completely altered existence. Unlike entering Shadowscape, however, this was more about material improvements. It was like stepping into a sultan’s home, lush with riches like velvet and beaten gold for ornamentation. Trace entered the main parlor with a relieved sort of sigh, but kept back from being seen by the general population milling about in conversation.
There was a significant crowd in the room. This was to be expected, since the entire royal household and most of the Senate was migrating north at the present time. Of course, not everyone could be contained in the same safe house, and there would be carefully planned cycles as they all passed through and moved on, but it was posh and prestigious to claim travel with the Chancellors themselves, so it was a much coveted time and place to be. Senators, priests and their handmaidens, and quite a few other upper-class members of their society were blended together. It made the rather large parlor seem much smaller than it was.
It also reminded Trace of just how close-quartered danger could be to the royals at that very moment. The very idea chilled him through as he ran suspect eyes over senators like Garamond and Ethane, who were notorious for siding against the Chancellors whenever they could draw breath. But those were obvious choices and it would be foolish to focus there alone. As it had been during the clan wars, he was going to have to suspect everyone, from Declan the treasurer to Killian the head of security. Drenna help them if it was someone like Killian, though. As trusted as he was? As close as he was to the very safety of the twin regents?
Trace caught a familiar pair of eyes across the room. It was easy to spot the house’s hostess, really. She was the only one in the room who wasn’t dressed in dark blues, browns, or blacks. Instead, she had chosen a brilliant peacock blue satin dress that fell in luscious folds from her slim body. She could afford the luxury of the flashy colors because she rarely traveled outside of her environment of the safe house.
“Valerina,”
