Shadowhunter (Nephilim Quest Book 1)

by Leena Maria

  "Aha, you found your book, then," Mrs. Brown smiled and I realized I was still squeezing the book. "It came into the shop only two days ago. I thought you would like it! If someone had asked for it, I would have told them it was reserved for you."

  "Oh, well, yes..." I dug out my wallet from my handbag and realized I did not have enough money to buy it. "Oh dear, it seems I didn't bring enough..."

  "Hi, Dana!"

  I swirled around. It was him – though this time he looked even more handsome because his skin had tanned a bit. He smiled. The kind of smile you would expect to see in a movie magazine. Or a fashion magazine.

  "How fortunate that we bumped into one another again - well, not literally this time! Here's what I owe you. Thanks for lending it to me!" He put the money into my hand so fast I had no time to react.

  There was just enough for me to buy the book. Mrs. Brown smiled and her pudgy hand took the money from my still open palm in one elegant swoop. She put the book in a bag and handed it to me. I thanked her like a robot, and walked out, not quite certain of what had just happened.

  He followed me out into the street, very closely; I could feel the heat of his body when his tall frame almost touched me. I did not like anyone standing so near to me. I turned around, with the intention of telling him that, and in the process managed to get the toe of my shoe stuck in some crack in the pavement. The resulting pirouette made me fall right against him.

  His arms were around me immediately. I could feel his heat – he was so hot he felt feverish. For a second I was glad I had put on one of the shirts Grandma had bought me, instead of the worn and washed-out old T-shirts that I preferred to wear, which were way past their colorful days. Then I realized what I was thinking and that I was there, not moving, leaning against his chest. Suddenly I became very aware of his arms around me. My brain went into overdrive, telling me that his mysterious appearance had had once again coincided with something weird happening. First the book, now the...something in the bookstore.

  "Let me go!" I breathed. My voice sounded feeble, even to me.

  He did, immediately, and for a short while I looked him straight in the eyes. I had never seen eyes that blue. And of course I blushed. Damn! I hated that I blushed so easily. I could feel the red patches rising on my neck and cheeks. Oh great. I bet I was covered in blotches. His gaze slid to my necklace – the one Grandma had given me. Then his eyes were back on my eyes, with a slightly amused twinkle. The draw of his gaze was strong and insistent. I had never felt such... presence in anyone's eyes.

  I shook myself awake, and counted one plus one. I felt half paralyzed, and forced myself to move and step back from him.

  "Who are you? Are you one of the shadows? Why did you give me that book? How do you know my name?" My questions blurted out one after another, not giving him the chance to answer them.

  Suddenly I was furious, maybe because I was embarrassed at being drawn into those blue, insistent eyes. I was certain now that this young man was not ordinary. He had been there when I got the book. He had appeared right after I saw the invisible... something... in the bookstore. He knew my name. How could he know my name? I had never met him... Or had I? I wasn't sure. He certainly had a feeling of familiarity about him. And damn he was hot. And I don't mean just his body temperature.

  "Shadow?" his smile widened even more. Good grief, he actually had a dimple. "No, I don't consider myself a shadow. Indeed not," he chuckled to himself. A low purring chuckle that made me swallow.

  "But in there..." I pointed at the bookstore, "there was something - or someone - who is not... human. I saw it. Or didn't. It was like movement... Invisible..."

  I shut up and realized that his eyes had grown serious as they stared into mine, as though he was searching for something. Of course. My sanity. That was the thing he was missing. If he was not one of those shadows Kitty had warned me against, then he probably thought I was nuts. Not only did I stumble against people for no reason, but I also mumbled about shadows and invisibility.

  "Dana!" Mom's voice saved me.

  I turned hastily and walked away from him, still feeling the warmth of his body through my thin shirt, sure that I had made a total fool of myself.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  13. The Dream

  That night I finally made it. I had been staring at my (now beautifully soft) hands and counting my fingers for a week. I had looked at clocks twice every time I needed to know the time. I had stopped in the middle of any text I was reading, and asked myself quietly whether I was awake or dreaming.

  The first few days, nothing special had happened. I had ordinary dreams, not even nightmares. I did, though, have the feeling I was being observed. Still, I explained to myself, that this might have been because I had read someone was observing my dreams, not a sign that someone actually was doing it. I suppose I needed to assure myself that I was still sane, and not quite believing what I had read.

  And then it happened. I was fast asleep with Nugget lying by my side. I dreamt of the bookstore, and reached for a book. I saw my hand and suddenly I thought "Is this a dream or am I awake?" I counted my fingers and two of them were stumps! My mind popped right open and suddenly I was aware I was dreaming, watching the dream book I had just taken from the shelf.

  I had taught myself to stay calm, so I concentrated on trying to read the name of the book. There was nothing on the spine. I opened the book; there was nothing on the pages.

  "Dana!" someone said softly, "look at the fifth name on the list."

  I turned around and saw a woman - her wheat-colored hair was in a loose bundle on her neck, she had no makeup, and she wore a bright blue shirt.

  She spoke one more time, keeping my eyes in her hypnotizing gaze, which had me mesmerized.

  "He lives in..."

  She said a name of a city.

  "Go, you are expected," the woman said.

  And then I suddenly felt the enormity of what I was experiencing. I was actually awake in my dream! I had made it!

  And this is when the dreamscape started melting away from around me. I tried to grab it with my mind, but it was too late. The bookstore faded away, though I felt desperate to get back there.

  Instead I fell back into my dreaming state, and now I really felt I was being chased. Something was waiting for me there, and it wanted to catch me. I tried to run but my legs would not move. I turned around to see a shadow bounce at me like a big animal. Its hands shot through the air, trying to grab me. They were human-like hands. I saw its face, it was almost human, but had a muzzle...

  I screamed. Immediately a flash of heat and electric blue color enveloped me. And then I woke up. Nugget was sitting right next to me, hissing softly. Oddly it was not an angry hiss, it was more like the cat was puzzled at something. It was staring at the wall behind me, but when I turned to look, there was nothing there. Only a faint bluish glow, which was probably my eyes playing tricks on me. It dissolved in a few seconds.

  Had I screamed? I listened with my heart pounding. No one moved in the house and after a while Nugget also calmed down.

  I did not want to read the book now, not when I was this scared. I had been given my clue, and when I returned, a shadow had been waiting for me, trying to get to me, to make me tell the secret, I was sure.

  I lay down under my blanket and spent the rest of the night staring into the shadows of my room until I could not take it anymore, and put on all the lights.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  14. The Librarian

  Mr. Donnelly's finger traced the backs of the books in the library. The peace and quiet was enjoyable, not a shadow in sight. The constant light seeped through the windows, and the shelf was close enough to it so that Mr. Donnelly did not need any other light.

  He had a flat-bottomed basket on the floor next to his feet, filled with old books that would have made the heart of many a librarian beat faster.

  He pulled out a dusty volume and tenderly opened the cover. He read a few words, shook his hea
d slightly and placed the book in his basket. Then something he saw made him narrow his eyes and lean forward.

  "Not again! I do wish people wouldn't do that!" Mr. Donnelly complained quietly, under his breath.

  There was a book behind the other volumes in this forgotten shelf. Someone must have pushed it behind the others when they replaced a book sometime in the past. He'd guess it was one of the assistants – some of them simply did not share his passion for order. They returned books to the wrong places, making them effectively vanish. Mr. Donnelly had catalogued much of this library, and created a shelf numbering system, but if a book was not returned to its right place, you had no idea where to find it any more, unless you came across it by accident. The library was so big it had spread out into many adjacent buildings around the original one. Whoever had occupied the other buildings had been forced to move out.

  Mr. Donnelly suspected there were several important volumes missing from the shelves. Sometimes it was glaringly obvious, for instance if he spotted a long-term gap, or if he knew the book well and he had not seen it in its correct place for some time. That was why he spent hours going through the shelves methodically, in search of those missing books. These he put in his basket and then took to their rightful places.

  And now, it seemed, there was another misplaced book hiding behind the others. Mr. Donnelly sighed and moved a few books out of the way so that he could put his hand through the gap and lift it out.

  He pulled it out and turned it so that the light from the window reached it better. His eyesight was not what it used to be – he would need to have new reading glasses soon.

  "What's this then? Never seen the like of this one before..."

  Mr. Donnelly knew his library well. He could not remember all the books, obviously, but he was sure he would have remembered if he had come across anything as unusual as this.

  This book looked out of place, considering it was on a shelf that contained books from the 18th century. It had thick leather covers, but these were in poor condition, as if the book was centuries older than its cover indicated. As far as Mr. Donnelly knew, the Eiffel Tower did not exist until 1889. And even though the leather cover was much torn and damaged, he could clearly make out the outline of the Eiffel Tower on it. This meant the book was in the wrong part of the library completely. Those library assistants... he would have got rid of a lot of them, if possible, but if he had told the Masters about their poor work... No, he knew what would happen to them, and did not want to be responsible for such a thing. And so he continued his lonely tours around the library, replacing books in their proper places, and scolding the assistants privately, if he caught them doing poor work.

  He took the book to a reading table by the window and leaned over it. Yes, the Eiffel tower it certainly was... He turned the cover gingerly. He could tell that it was made of real wood, and covered with thick leather. His experienced eyes enjoyed the richness of the paper, which had survived despite some very rough travels, it seemed. Clearly this book had been kept in a very dry place to have survived so well.

  He turned the book slightly and as if confirming his analysis some very fine sand fell at his feet from under the leather cover

  He looked at the text written in beautiful old-fashioned handwriting on the first page. It was an odd language, but he could make out two names. Elijah and Merit. Merit's name came first, and the text was signed by Elijah.

  "To Merit, from Elijah, it seems..." Mr. Donnelly nodded to himself.

  Interesting. As far as Mr. Donnelly knew anything, Merit was an ancient Egyptian name. But of course in modern times parents found it fashionable to give their offspring ancient names again. Elijah was a man's name, so Mr. Donnelly suspected Merit was a woman.

  He turned to the next page and saw a drawing. Of course. The book was a sketchbook, which explained why its pages were made of good, thick rag paper.

  Mr. Donnelly leaned closer to have a better look at the drawing - yes, indeed he needed new glasses. It was a circle of stones, it seemed. It looked somewhat familiar...

  "Six central stones in a row... a ring of stones around..." Mr. Donnelly turned his head from side to side like a bird, as if that would reveal more of the drawing. "Yes, of course!"

  Now he recognized it. These were the standing stones from the Nabta circle in the Nubian Desert, one of the ancient astronomical calendars built of stone that were found around the world. He had read about it in the past in his research for the Masters... He had considered that perhaps ancient stone circles would provide a clue to their search, but so far had not managed to find anything specific along that line of discovery. There were intriguing hints in the old stories, yes, but nothing he could put his finger on...

  The drawing of the Nabta circle was itself encircled with writing in a language he did not understand. Interestingly it seemed that the writer – and logically it would be Merit to whom the book was given - had written first normally, under the drawing... And indeed the word Nabta was written there. Pleased at being right Mr. Donnelly lifted his glasses from his nose and spent a few moments cleaning them to his handkerchief – a habit of his whenever he had made a correct academic assumption.

  Now the odd part was that at some point she had turned the book around and written new lines between the ones already written.

  Mr. Donnelly leafed through a few pages. Yes – all the pages were like that. The handwriting very soon turned from normal size to very small, as if the writer knew she was running out of paper. Still she had made drawings, amazing drawings of what looked like ancient Egyptian monuments and landscapes.

  Intrigued, Mr. Donnelly placed the sketchbook in his basked for further study, and continued his round in search of misplaced books.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  15. The Professor

  15. The Professor

  "Why on earth do you want to go there?"

  Mom looked at me over the rim of her coffee mug, displeased at the idea of me leaving unsupervised to visit a strange city.

  This time I was prepared.

  "We have to do a big history essay next year and there's a museum where I can get some background info for it."

  "That sounds like a great idea to me," Grandma beamed over her breakfast – immaculately dressed and coiffured as ever. "And as a matter of fact I have an old friend there that I could go and meet, while I drop Dana off at the museum."

  "Perfect!" I said before Mom had any more time to think of objections. She somehow always managed to come up with reasons not to do anything Grandma wanted to do. Sometimes I felt the teenager in our family was not me, but Mom. And Mom's behavior seemed to worsen every time Mom and Grandma were together. I often wondered if it was something to do with me.

  "That sounds like a good idea!" Dad commented cheerily in between big bites of toast laden with bitter orange marmalade, his favorite. "You can't start too early when it comes to preparing for big essays!"

  He winked at me as a sign he was on my side, as if to say he was in on a conspiracy. The real conspirator, however, was Grandma.

  I had finally fallen asleep, with the lights on, and slept like a log. Grandma came to wake me up for breakfast, noticing the dream book on my bedside table.

  "Been reading all night, sleepy head?"

  "Umm, yes..."

  Grandma took the book into her hands and flicked through the pages, ending up at the list of names at the end. I did not tell her about the message I'd discovered in the book.

  "How interesting, all these names - just think of the many hands through which a book as old as this must have passed." She looked across at me with a curious, penetrating gaze. "And this is quite an unusual name, too, wouldn't you say?"

  She tapped her finger on the fifth name in the list. I hoped my face did not reveal anything when I pretended to be seeing it for the first time. Then Grandma surprised me by digging her phone from her pocket.

  "Shall we look him up in the phone book?"

  "Huh?"

  "
Yes, just for fun. Let's see if we can find someone with that name, shall we?"

  She spent a few moments wiping her phone screen - I noticed how short her fingernails were.

  "Ha! Thought as much... Reginald Rowan, professor. And by coincidence, he works at a university in a nearby city... and this particular Reginald Rowan is an old acquaintance of mine, in fact. We - er - go back a long way together. He's quite a character. Tell you what - let's pay him a visit. It would do you a world of good to get out of this neck of the woods for a while and see some city life. You can say it has something to do with your studies, if your mother doesn't like our impulsive decision. I know what she's like."

  I couldn't believe it all sorted out itself so easily. Literally. It was a bit too convenient... Grandma being there when the book appeared in my bag out of nowhere, and knowing the very person I was told to meet in the lucid dream. I decided I would get to the bottom of this, but with my parents within earshot I could wait until later.

  I was still puzzling over all this when we set off within the hour, Grandma and I.

  I had chosen to carry the dream book with me. It fit into my handbag well. I had selected this bag because I could wear it over the shoulder, and its zipper was hidden under a flap. I also kept it in front of me, and held the strap with my hand. Safer than to leave the book inside Nugget's pillow. I never knew when Mom would get it into her head to attack my room and clean it. She did that occasionally, and I had learned to keep my most private things with me. Like now, Kitty's letter and the book.

  I'm not saying Mom is nosier than an average mother, but the temptation might be too much if she saw either of these things. I had written fairy stories when I was younger, and could never forgive my Mom when I heard her talking about them to someone on the phone – she had read them without telling me. So it had happened before. Once bitten, twice shy, as the saying goes. Mom was not the only one in our family who wanted others to respect her privacy.