The Mortality Principle by Alex Archer Page B

the alleyway where the witness had been murdered. The nearest streetlight wasn’t working, which meant that an entire stretch of the street was illuminated only by moonlight. The shadows along the sides of the street were thick. There was no way of knowing what might be lurking in them. She hurried on, glancing left and right, into the nooks and crannies of the alleyways and narrow gaps between buildings.
    Annja considered crossing to the other side of the road. It was purely psychological; the danger wouldn’t have been any less whichever side of the street shewalked on, but on this side she knew a man had lost his life and her footsteps were taking her closer to that dark stain. She wasn’t frightened. That wasn’t it. If anything came out of the shadows, she was more than able to deal with it. Peering deeper into the darkness, she flexed her fingers. Without thinking about it, she began to reach into the otherwhere, her fingers closing on the familiar grip of Saint Joan’s blade. Her blade.
    Annja felt the sword start to gain weight and substance as she drew it into the here and now, pulling it into existence.
    Her breath caught in her throat, the silvery glow of the materializing weapon casting a very peculiar gleam across her features. She held it there, half in this world, half not, for a moment before pushing it back to its resting place.
    She didn’t need the weapon, but it was there, an ever-present in her life, only an arm’s length away. She savored the reassurance of it being so close, so easy to summon into existence.
    A faint gust of breeze caused the police tape to flutter at the opening to the alleyway. The ripple of sound startled her for a moment. But the air was still, she thought. She hadn’t felt it on her skin. What caused the breeze? What made the police tape shift?
    She peered into the darkness, her mind working double-time to convince her gut instinct that it was nothing more than her imagination playing tricks on her.
    There was nothing in there.
    She turned away and continued walking to her hotel, her footsteps echoing on the cobblestones, telling herself that she was all alone, there was no one there, nothing to chase. The logical part of her brain knew that itwas nothing, a stray dog, maybe, or a cat. There was no way one of the city’s homeless would have clambered into the dead man’s bed so quickly, was there?
    Her footsteps seemed louder somehow, and continued to grow louder the faster she walked. She could hear her heartbeat creating a strange syncopated rhythm.
    Annja counted as she walked, refusing to look back.
    Five, six, seven, breathe.
    Do not jump at shadows.
    Just get inside, go to bed, sleep. You’re tired. It’s been a long day. Too long. You’re letting your imagination run away with you.
    Then she heard the scream, and she knew she wasn’t imagining anything.
    Without a second of hesitation Annja turned and started to run toward the source of the sound. The screaming started again. It was a man.
    Annja reached out into the otherwhere, knowing she was too late to save him because the screaming stopped.

9
    Annja didn’t break her stride as the great sword slipped out of the otherwhere, solid in her hand.
    Her heart hammered, but it was through excitement not fear.
    She always felt that thrill when the sword was in her hand. Giant. Powerful. Like a creature out of legend. A colossus.
    She breathed in sharply, listening for the sound of movement, then plunged into the alleyway, her eyes struggling to adjust to the change of light. Three steps deeper into the darkness and everything around her exploded with sound and movement that seemed somehow to come from everywhere at once. She strained to see, to make out any darker shapes within the pitch-black alleyway, but it was impossible.
    Another sudden flurry of movement.
    Annja braced herself, ready for impact, expecting whoever had killed the man she’d just heard die come