Shadow Hills

by Anastasia Hopcus

  Quickly, Trent shifted gears, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands over his torso. “Go ahead and ask me.”

  “Ask you what?”

  “You obviously want to know something, or else you wouldn’t have been sneaking around the library Monday night. So ask. It’s possible I’ll even tell you the truth.” A self-assured smile spread across Trent’s face.

  I took a sip of my coffee, giving myself a moment to think. I had considered questioning Trent about my theories. But I was pretty sure that any answer I got from him would be unreliable at best—especially given the fact that he was offering to give me information. I decided to stick with my story and ask some innocent questions.

  “What is that hidden room for? It’s hard to imagine they would go through that much trouble to hide a psychologist’s office.”

  “It was originally a bomb shelter. They’re scattered all over campus, but most of them have been vacant since the Cold War ended. The one in the library they turned into an archives room. The books in there are priceless. Which is why they keep the room on a need-to-know basis.”

  It actually sounded plausible, and if I trusted Trent the tiniest bit, or if I hadn’t found the notes about the “testing,” I might have believed him. But I didn’t.

  “What’s the Council?”

  “A bunch of imperious tyrants who are under the misconception that they can control anyone they want.”

  Before I could ask him to elaborate on just who and what they wanted to control, Trent went on. “But now that I’ve answered your questions, I think it’s only fair you answer one of mine.” Trent raised an eyebrow, as though he thought I had some idea what he was talking about.

  “Which question would that be?”

  “I faintly remember requesting the pleasure of your company at the back-to-school dance.”

  “Oh, that.” I wasn’t going to let this guy blackmail me into another date. He wouldn’t tell anyone about the library when he risked incriminating himself. Trent was definitely the self-preservation type. “You know, I think I’m going solo to this one. I’m still getting to know people, and it will give me more of an opportunity to be social.”

  “Let me get this straight.” Trent’s eyes bored into me. “You are turning me down?”

  “I’m not turning you down, exactly; I’m just not accepting your offer.”

  His eyes were darker than coal again, and I could see the muscles of his jaw moving as he gritted his teeth.

  “That’s what I get for trying to be charitable.” Trent’s smile was as warm as dry ice. “I really should thank you. Now I can take someone who is worthy of being on my arm.” His knuckles were white where he was grasping the sides of the little metal table in front of me. He leaned in so close to me I could feel his hot breath on my face, smell the pungent coffee scent of it.

  “If you ever mention a word to anyone about that note on my file, there will be hell to pay.” He stood up, pushing back his chair violently. As the metal legs scraped across the concrete, sparks shot out from where Trent’s hands still gripped the table. “You get me, Goldilocks?”

  My mouth became parched. I nodded silently.

  “Good.” Trent strode angrily toward the parking lot, triggering the alarms on several cars as he passed by. Climbing into a black Maserati, he slammed the door and roared off, leaving the cacophony of competing car alarms behind.

  Chapter Nine

  It had probably not been a great idea to piss off a guy who could shoot sparks from his fingertips. But it was too late to change it, and anyway, I was sure I wouldn’t act any differently even if I had a chance to do it over. I wasn’t big on letting people bully me.

  I stood up and tossed my half-drunk coffee in the trash. The ID bracelet on my wrist caught the sun, glinting as if to remind me what I was doing all this for. I smoothed my finger over the engraved infinity symbol. I couldn’t see how Athena had anything to do with the townies or their strange powers. It felt like I was getting nowhere, like I was failing her. I hadn’t come any closer to finding out why she had wanted to come to Devenish. But frankly, right now I was getting tired of all the weirdness. Maybe I’d go hang out with Adriana for a little while and do something girly, like paint my toenails. Though what I really needed to do was devote my evening to studying if I hoped to keep a decent GPA.

  When I got back to the dorm, I changed into a pair of faded black jeans and a black T-shirt. The outfit was fairly drab—which suited my mood—but I added my red flats for a pop of color. Then I went next door to Adriana’s and found her deep in the study of a new Elle magazine. That looked like more fun than painting my toenails, so we spent the next hour inspecting the clothes and trashing the styles we didn’t like.

  When I returned to my room later that evening, I changed into my pj’s for my study session. As I pulled on my pajama pants, I couldn’t help but notice that the mark on my hip had grown. Again. Already. This was getting too creepy. The symbol was now outlined by a perfect ring. The whole thing seemed too symmetrical to be a rash, but I couldn’t imagine what else it could be. Maybe I ought to go to the infirmary tomorrow and have them look at it.

  But I didn’t want to. I hated doctors with their needles and throat swabs. And I had the distinct feeling that this thing wasn’t really a medical condition. I decided to ignore it for now; I was determined to actually get some studying done tonight.

  I got my French book out first. It was what I was worst at, so it seemed best to get it over with. An hour was as much as I could take of that, though, so I traded it out with the psych book. When I wasn’t being scrutinized by my old shrink, and now Trent, psychology was actually really interesting. It was also easier to learn when I wasn’t having to scramble to try to take notes at the speed of light.

  By the time ten-thirty lights out rolled around, I’d read the first five chapters of my psychology textbook—more than our teacher had assigned us for the whole week.

  This didn’t help me much the next day since we didn’t have psych on Thursday, and I felt even more behind in my classes than I had before. By the time I made it to swimming, I was itching to get in the pool and work off my nervous energy and pent-up frustration.

  I felt more awake and alive with each lap. Soon my muscles were pulsating with energy. Mr. Carr gave us the option of doing some racing at the end of class, just for fun, and I came out with the best times. After swim club was over, I was so buzzed from exercise endorphins that I decided to practice longer. Most of the other students staying late were actually on teams and kept to themselves. It was kind of nice to be around other people without having to make conversation.

  The rhythm of the laps, the continuous low hum of the underwater lights, the burning in my legs—all of it lulled me into an almost hypnotic state.

  When I finally climbed out, there was no one left in the room except for Zach, who was working on his high dive. He gave me a wave when he saw me, and I sat and watched him for a few minutes while I drank from my water bottle. Zach’s form was perfect, and though he was large—at least six foot four and leanly muscled—he was very graceful. There was no doubt in my mind that he was Devenish’s lead diver. If I hadn’t been so tired from all my laps, I might have stayed to see if I could spot any imperfections in Zach’s style. Any tiny detail out of place. It didn’t seem possible for a person to be so flawless at something.

  But I had the feeling that I would pass out from exhaustion soon. I headed to the women’s locker room. It was empty and so quiet that it reminded me of the stone silence of a mortuary.

  I stood under the hot rush of water, letting my mind drift. I thought about Zach—his wavy hair, how it curled up when it was wet, the black tendrils falling over his forehead and almost obscuring his thick, dark eyebrows … his strong powerful body and the intense control with which he moved it. It was strange how connected to him I felt, even though we’d spoken only a few times. For the past year, I hadn’t been interested in anyone—and now I found myself dayd
reaming about Zach constantly. Was I just finally coming out of my emotional deep freeze, or was there really something between us?

  As I washed out my shampoo, I looked down at the spot below my left hip. The mark had been growing so quickly I was scared that in the next day or two I was going to discover that my entire torso was covered in an elaborate red pattern. Like waking up after a drunken night out with Angelina Jolie and her tattoo artist. The mark wasn’t nearly that large, but its newest transformation was almost as alarming.

  In the middle of the symbol there was a small circle. At the center of that inner ring was a wheel-like shape with six spokes that reminded me of the curved kind of throwing star. I didn’t know why, but I was positive that the mark was now complete.

  For a second I felt like I was going to faint. I decided to forgo the conditioner. I was so tired that I could barely keep my eyes open—not a good state to be in when trapped in a tiny room made of hard tile and glass. I figured getting out into the cooler air might help, but as I pulled my uniform from my locker and put it back on, I could tell the haziness in my head was getting worse instead of better. Was I sick? Maybe I had a fever.

  “Persephone …”

  I whipped around, almost losing my balance. Had someone just whispered my name?

  But there was no one there. I was completely alone.

  I made myself concentrate on the task at hand. Getting dressed was taking way too much effort—all I could think about was how nice it would feel to rest awhile. Once I got my uniform back on, I sat down on the bench that ran in between the rows of lockers. I started pulling on my shoes, but even that little bit of effort was too much—all I wanted to do was to go to sleep.

  “So sleep,” a genderless voice echoed through my mind, and fighting my better judgment, I reclined on the bench.

  Soft muted sounds swirled around my head. I could tell I was on the edge between waking and dreaming. There was a roaring in my mind, and I drifted further down into the darkness.

  Then I was awake again, no longer in the locker room. I was on my small dorm mattress under the soft glow of a moonlit sky. Whipping around on my bed, I looked for the plain wood headboard, but instead I found a gravestone. It was as tall and wide as the twin bed, and it read REBEKAH SAMPSON. I was outside in the hospital graveyard. I closed my eyes in the hopes that when I opened them, I would be safe and sound back in the locker room. This, however, was not the case. When I opened my eyes, I was still in the graveyard—but I was no longer alone. My sister stood at the foot of the bed. Her blonde hair was wet, her skin blue and peeling, her eyes covered in a thick white film.

  “Athena?” I whispered. She looked right through me.

  “She cannot hear you.” Another woman appeared at the end of my bed. She wore a plain cotton nightgown, and her incredibly long blonde hair was braided into one thick plait running down her back. “She is too new. She doesn’t know how to communicate yet.”

  “Who are you?” I asked. The woman’s features were strong and attractive, and her resemblance to Athena was unsettling. I stared at the silver pendant that lay against her chest. It was the same symbol that was now on my hip.

  “Who are you?” I asked again, more insistently.

  “You would not know me. You have not been made ready,” she answered. “I am here to warn you. I feel it is the least I can offer after everything I have done.”

  “What did you do? Why am I here?” I felt the hysteria rising up in me, tasting like bile on the back of my throat.

  “This is your place. The birth of your spirit, the land of your death. Trust your instincts, but do not let your guard down.”

  The bed began shaking, and I looked over the edge to find the earth cracking, splitting open.

  My sister and the other woman were gone when I looked up again, and I knew I had to escape the graveyard. I rolled off the bed and dropped down to the ground. The earth started quaking again, this time more violently, and I crawled as fast as I could, glancing behind myself every few seconds to make sure no one was following me. Then I was falling. Farther and farther down I went, landing hard at the bottom of a grave.

  I clawed desperately at the soft dirt walls surrounding me, trying to get out. Dirt flew into my face, burning my eyes and nostrils. I tasted the thick, acrid, ancient flavor of the ground. Smelled the vinegary tang of death … moldy, putrid decay … other things I had never known had a scent. The moist, stomach-turning odor of earthworms. My lungs filled with it until I was coughing, choking. Even so, I kept digging, trying to find a root, anything to grab onto. If I could just get a firm grasp on something, I could pull myself up out of this mess I had fallen straight into. But I was making no progress, no difference. I’m going to die here.

  And then my frantically pawing fingers touched something solid. I grasped and pulled with all my might. Slowly it came free of the earth. The thing was thin and cylindrical and brown. Was I holding an ancient bone? Filled with revulsion, I almost dropped it, but then I realized that it was made of wood. A cane. My hand trembled as I turned it right side up so that the wooden knob on the end was facing me. I knew what was on it before I looked. Carved into the top of the cane was the same circular mark I had on my hip.

  A banging noise was coming from somewhere, and I could hear a voice as well, but it was distant and tinny, like I was listening to it through a can on a string. I tried to open my eyelids, but they felt like they were made out of lead.

  “Are you dressed?” It was Zach.

  “Yeah …,” I answered sluggishly.

  “I’m coming in,” he warned. I smelled the comforting woodsy scent of Zach as he pulled me up off the floor. I was like a rag doll in his arms.

  “Persephone? Phe?” He swept a lock of hair back from my face and my skin tingled where he had touched me. “Phe.” He was more insistent now. “Phe. Look at me.” I opened my eyes finally, and Zach’s face swam into view. “Are you okay?”

  “Kinda groggy.”

  “What happened?” He watched me with concern.

  “I don’t know.” I shook my head and a ripple of nausea hit me. Not a good idea. “I was showering … and maybe I was dehydrated or something. I started feeling really tired so I lay down on the bench for a second and I must have fallen asleep. Then I guess I rolled off onto the floor.”

  “You decided to take a nap on the locker-room bench?” Zach looked at me like I was crazy.

  “Yeah,” I answered. “Um, I’m feeling better now.” I shot a pointed look at Zach, who was still holding me. Not that I really wanted him to let me go, but it was hard to think with my body pressed against his.

  “Oh … Yeah.” Zach set my feet down on the floor but held my shoulders for a second to see if I was steady enough to stand on my own. Apparently I passed the test. He released me and stepped back a pace.

  “We should get you to the infirmary.” Zach’s expression was unyielding. “Passing out isn’t normal.”

  None of this was normal. The dreams had been bad enough, but now I was having … visions.

  “I’m all right now,” I hastened to assure him. “Really.”

  He looked doubtful.

  “I don’t have a headache or anything.” I felt my own forehead. “No fever. I feel perfectly fine.”

  Well, that wasn’t quite true. I was completely freaking out. But I knew who I had to talk to, the only person who could tell me what the mark was. Sarah. The strange old woman I had met on Sunday. She had called me by the name that had been on a gravestone in two of my dreams now, and there was no doubt in my mind that the cane I had pulled from that wall of dirt was identical to hers. I hadn’t seen the carved symbol on it before, but my instincts told me that it was there.

  “Is there a bus that goes into town?” I asked.

  It took Zach a second to register my abrupt change in topic.

  “Yeah.” He looked at me quizzically. “There’s one that leaves right after athletics, but that was about forty-five minutes ago.”

 
“Shit,” I muttered as I chewed on my thumbnail.

  “I’m taking Corinne’s car over to our dad’s shop to pick up a book,” Zach said. “I was actually about to leave when I heard the thump in here.” He glanced over at the bench I had fallen off, and I fought down the blush that was rising up my neck.

  “Are you coming back to the school later?” I asked hopefully.

  “Yeah. I’ve got to pick up Corinne when she gets out of …” Zach frowned in contemplation. “I don’t know—whichever one of the after-school clubs she has on Thursdays.”

  “She’s into the extracurricular activities, I guess?”

  “All of them except the social ones.” Zach smirked. “I can get you back here in an hour if you want to ride into town with me.”

  “That would be perfect.” I bit my bottom lip, trying to pin down the wide smile that wanted to spread across my whole face.

  Zach had changed into his regular clothes while I’d been having my weird episode, and he was gorgeous in his plain white T-shirt and dark-washed jeans. The ordinariness of the outfit emphasized just how un-ordinary Zach was, with his striking bone structure, his hypnotic eyes, and his commanding stature.

  As we walked out to the car, I noticed that everything was more still and yet somehow more alive than ever before. The crunching of fallen leaves beneath my feet sounded clearer, louder. The brilliant green of the grass was heightened. The rays of light falling on my skin were brighter, but somehow softer. Now that I was with Zach, the terror that had gripped me in the locker room was rapidly fading. But I needed to know what that dream had meant. I had to talk to Sarah.

  “This is it.” Zach rubbed the back of his neck as we approached the black Jaguar. I had noticed him rubbing his neck like that before when he was nervous. It was like Zach didn’t want to draw attention to himself with anything as showy as Corinne’s car.

  He unlocked my door and opened it before going around to the driver’s side. That’s definitely a first, I thought to myself as he started the engine. Zach had this old-school gentlemanly quality that I’d never encountered before. If any other guy did that kind of thing, it would be stupid or fake, but with Zach it seemed natural.