Shadow Blade Read Online Free PDF Page A

dog. Not a dog, but something, oh God, something between a Doberman and a Komodo dragon. It strains against the iron chain leash, eyes glowing yellow. Dripping saliva sizzles as it drops onto his jacket and he realizes what it is.
    Seeker demon.
    A voice, soft and casual, asks for the blade. He can’t see the second being’s face, but knows to be afraid. Anyone who can control a seeker demon could easily rape his mind, control his body. Death is preferable. Using his tongue, keeping his mind blank, he loosens the cap on a back molar. Swift-acting poison, given to all handlers in case of capture, concealed in a capsule.
    The man speaks again. The seeker demon’s claws sink into his shoulder. Comstock bites down on the capsule, flooding his mouth with the poison. Death comes as an aneurysm. His last thought: forgive me.
    The Veil dropped like the snap of a flag in a strong breeze.
    “Bernie.” Kira looked at the face of the man she would have called Father, struggling to overcome the grief that clawed at her heart.
    He’d lied to her about who he was just as she’d lied to him. Or, rather, thought she’d lied. He’d known all along she was a Shadowchaser. He’d been part of Gilead. He’d known about her other duties, had neatly filled the void Nico’s death had left. He’d been her mentor and her friend, yes, but he’d also been her handler .  . . and she’d never known.
    Shadowchasers usually had handlers to act as intermediaries between them and Gilead. Kira thought she’d been an exception. By their very nature, Chasers weren’t proficient in mundane details, focused as they were on battling Shadow in all its forms. They relied on their handlers to take mission orders from the Commission and to arrange the logistics of traveling from place to place easily and securely, acquiring weapons and information from Gilead’s field offices, and filing and submitting the paperwork when the job was done. Shadowchasers traditionally didn’t do well with bureaucratic busy-ness and Kira was no exception.
    She’d already met and lost her first handler before going to London, fresh out of Chaser training. Nico’s death had hollowed her out and she’d vowed not to take another handler, Gilead Commission’s rules be damned. Bernie was so much the dashing younger Nico’s opposite that she would have had a hard time accepting him as her handler even if he’d introduced himself as such.
    Kira was a burr in Gilead’s bureaucratic hide, but she’d thought she’d been managing on her own. Instead, Bernie—having worked as a curator in the
Petrie
Museum
, a professor at
University
College
, and proprietor of his own business, paperwork was second nature—had been quietly smoothing things for her. He’d probably been working behind the scenes, double-checking, filling out, correcting, saving her ass for— How long?
    How long had he been her handler? From the moment she’d arrived in London? When she’d entered University? Had the first day they’d met—when she’d bumped into him while studying an exhibit at the Petrie—simply been a planned encounter set up by Balm so as not to arouse her suspicions? Balm obviously knew her well—Kira had never once suspected Bernie of being anything other than a cherished friend.
    Kira thought he’d been her out. Her only escape. She’d dreamed of returning to London with him one day, learning the business she’d stumbled into all those years ago. She’d held on to that dream with a desperate hope, nurturing it on those cold nights when she wasn’t entirely sure she’d defeated Shadow. It had been all that kept her going sometimes—and it had been a lie.
    Slowly she climbed to her feet, then ripped the left sleeve from her blouse to wipe the blood from her trembling hands. There were times when dreams died just as hard, just as painfully, as people. She’d avenge Bernie’s death. But she didn’t think she’d ever forgive him.
    Turning, she headed for the mouth of