CHAPTER TWO

The ringing jolted him awake, making him grope for the alarm clock. His hands swiped through empty air. He tried again, and again, with the same result. Reluctantly, he cracked his eyes open. The red lights of the alarm clock were dead, yet the ringing in his head suggested he had slammed it on something. He grunted and turned to the right, toward the view of the street. Emptiness greeted him, the silence swallowing the blaring noise and lights. No cars, no trucks, no streetlights— even the road had vanished.

He looked away, disoriented. He reached for the lamp on his desk, but something yanked his hands back. He didn't know what, but the rattling was metallic and rigid. His thoughts swirled in limbo; he couldn't remember coming here. Startled, he tried to stand, to force his way out of the rough wall. Still, he could not move, the object on his wrist was firm and prevented his mobility, tethering him to the cold wall like the frigid hands of death.

Death.

Shegun swallowed as foreboding thoughts of familiarity began to engulf him. He remembered now. He remembered watching his father's fall, the emptiness, the blank expression, the fading light.

He tightened his fist, feeling the surge of anguish but letting it consume him. Was the bishop's illness that bad? How could he just... just...

Shegun gnashed his teeth, knowing the truth but unwilling to say it. He stirred, and heard the rattling again. Chains?

The question echoed in his mind when a door creaked open and the lights flicked on.

Shegun gnashed his teeth from the sudden pain that stabbed his retinas. He shielded his face, but the bright light kept his vision blurred until his eyes finally adjusted.

"You're awake?" a deep masculine voice said. It sounded proud and somewhat bemused, as if he had rehearsed that line many times.

The man stepped further into the room, black boots reflecting the bright lights, contrasting with navy blue pants and a white T-shirt. Tattoos snaked along his veined arms, blending with his bulging chest and abs. Shegun had to tilt his head to ensure the man's dark hair didn't brush the ceiling. He had not seen so many muscles. And the height—light!—it reminded him of the Archbishop.

"I thought you would never wake up." The man said, tossing a blue file on the table. "My name is Adams Bockrock, detective of the mystics department, Eastern Conclave." He smiled without it reaching his eyes, turning his dark hair to reveal long angular ears. He dragged a chair to sit opposite Shegun.

"Sorry about the chains," Adam shrugged, "just precautions."

"Let me out of here," Shegun groaned, tugging the chains.

Adams watched, amusement tugging at the corners of his lips. Mockery glinted there, a subtle contempt that dared Shegun to break free.

"Those chains are pure steel," he said, gripping the table's edge, "the finest in the Four Conclaves."

Shegun tugged the chains again, using their strength to drag himself to his feet. The floor was cold but better than the stony wall.

"What's this about?" he asked.

"Well, you tell me," Adams said, leaning back. "Twenty-three Sentinels and the archbishop, dead in two weeks. And under your watch." He sighed, "Is that bad luck, or are you just a devil in disguise?"

Shegun frowned. "I don't know what you heard, Detective, but those Sentinels were my friends. We were like family." And the bishop is my father. Shegun swallowed, afraid that adding that part would only raise more questions, ones he didn't have the stomach for. Few knew about the Archbishop and the mysterious boy he had brought home on that night of Transition. Nobody spoke about it. They never did. The archbishop was the most powerful creature in the states, and while many resented him and his rule, they were careful not to dig into his past for fear that they themselves might disappear if the Archbishop found out.

The smile on the detective's face narrowed as he leaned forward. There was something about his almond eyes, something cold and dark. It was familiar. Shegun had seen that gaze somewhere. But where?

"You see this?" 

Shegun followed Adam's long nails as they tapped the blue file. "It's a warrant from Prime. And you know what it means? It means the law is at my fingertips; it means I don't give a damn what you feel. The only thing I need is answers, not questions. The Primes need answers as well, and I intend to give them. So," Adam leaned back, satisfied with himself, "the earlier you start talking, the better. Who do you work for?"

Shegun shook his head. The man was bluffing. If the Primes needed someone to do their dirty work, an elf was low on the list. The Vamps community would do it in seconds. A single eye contact was all that was needed. And besides, with the civil war between Wolffian and Elfian clans, trusting an elf with such duty would be foolish.

Shegun adjusted his weight. Adams needed something or was after something. And if he thinks Shegun would play by his rules...

"You have to let me go," Shegun said without meeting Adam's eyes.

The man scoffed and flipped through the pages in front of him. Shegun couldn't make out the images, but he had a guess. They were photos from the attack on the Northern Conclave and perhaps the death of his father.

He tightened his fist, feeling a new surge of guilt flood his stomach. How badly had the sickness eaten his father? If he had not ignored the old man to rush into some stupid adventure, perhaps his attention wouldn't have been divided. If only he had known that the man's life was on the clock.

Tears fogged his vision, but he forced them back. It was meaningless at the moment. Besides, Adams might misinterpret his grief for weakness, and Shegun would rather die than show signs of weakness in front of this second-class creature.

"Guess I didn't make myself quite clear," Adam said, turning his attention to Shegun. "The Primes are asking questions. And you know what that means? They need someone, something to blame, a scapegoat to nail. So get me clear, commander," he spat the last word, "the earlier you start talking, the better for both of us. Why did you plan those attacks? Who sent you? What are your masters after?"

Shegun closed his eyes, wondering if this was a dream. He just lost his father, the only one sane enough to pick him from the street and shelter him. He just lost a priceless jewel, and yet these people were accusing him of planning the attacks?

"I didn't do it," he said, exhaling.

The detective laughed. "Who did? All attacks have your prints. The fire on Lois Street, the five murders in Kedran, and the Archbishop's library?" He shook his head, "Trust me. The last thing I want to do is accuse you. Give me names. If you want to see the noon day again, I suggest you start by giving me names. Who are you working for? The fairies, vampires, Wolves, or those pitiless Normendian Outlaws? I don't care. I need a name."

"I didn't do it," Shegun said or tried to say. The words only rasped in his throat when Adam slammed his stomach, knocking the air and words back. He breathed in sharply, but gnashed his teeth from the pain that followed.

He hadn't seen the man move; he hadn't seen the fist to anticipate the impact. He cursed, still forcing back the tears.

"Names. I need names," Adam barked and slammed Shegun's face.

It was like thirty joules of energy dropping directly on his face. Shegun blinked, trying to stop his world from spinning. He saw the freckles now, dancing in millions across the darkness that threatened to claim his sanity. His nose burned, and when he blinked again, the tears finally fell.

"You punch like my granny," Shegun heard himself say, amid the ringing in his ears.

Adam bit his lower lip, turning red as he raised his fist again and began to drop it with great force.

Shegun closed his eyes and braced himself for impact. The pain would not be as overwhelming as the first two. He had anticipated this, had waited for the impact.

The sound of the door creaked open, causing Adam's fist to hang midair, about an inch from Shegun's face.

"It's time," a feminine voice said.

Adam grunted but relaxed his posture. He straightened his shirt, glanced at Shegun again before turning to the woman at the door.

"Wait... let... me..." Shegun tried to say, but darkness had begun to claim his consciousness. A thick but peaceful darkness.