I stared at the living room. The table was destroyed, thanks to my falling on it. A quick glance at my arm showed me that there were at least three bigger cuts, with the glass firmly embedded in my flesh. Wondering why they didn’t hurt more than they did, I decided that I must be in shock. Agent H and Daphne came running up to see if I was okay, while Gabby poked her head through the kitchen archway, blinking as if she had just been woken from a sound sleep.
Breathing hard, I dropped into a chair. Damn it to hell . . . it was one thing to go out chasing spirits, but to have them show up in my house was too much. As I gingerly tugged on the glass, attempting to pull it free from my arm, another image rose up, and I realized that Ellia was right—I had met the Shadow Man before, and then it all came flooding back.
* * *
Leave the light on, please, Nappa.” For the first few years of my life, it was Nanna and Nappa, until Duvall decided I was too old to use those names and he had instituted the more formal Grandfather and Grandmother—at least in his presence.
My grandfather let out a disgusted noise. He was putting me to bed because Grandma Lila was busy in the kitchen. “You’re six years old, Kerris. It’s time you got over your fear of the dark. You aren’t a baby anymore. There’s nothing to be afraid of and you know it.” He stood at the door, his hand on the light switch. I had gotten tucked in, but no story and only a cold peck on the forehead. Nappa didn’t believe in excessive displays of affection.
I knew damned well he was wrong—there were things in the dark that nobody in their right mind wanted to meet. I’d seen a few on my excursions with Nanna, but she had kept them at bay, telling me that I’d grow up to learn how to do what she did. But I wasn’t grown up yet, and if one of those creatures came after me in the dark, I wasn’t sure she’d be able to get to me in time to stop it. When my mother vanished, I realized that anybody, at any time, could fail you.
“Please, Nappa . . . please leave it on.” I knew better than to cry—if I cried when he was irritated, he spanked me. Not hard, but firmly. Or worse, he made the punishment fit the fear. I’d been locked in closets for half an hour several times when I cried about the dark. Not when Nanna was home to know—and he’d warned me sternly against tattling.
“Enough of this nonsense. You lie back down in that bed and quit your whimpering right now, if you know what’s good for you, young lady.” And with that, he slammed the door.
The darkness took over and I slowly inched back against the headboard, sitting as straight as I could as I bent my knees, pulling the covers up to chase away the night chill. Charlie, my stuffed bear, was sitting next to me, and I rested him against the tops of my thighs, trying to make out his sunny smile in the gloom that filled my room.
I wasn’t afraid of spiders or snakes, or even of clowns, though I had no idea why other kids thought they were funny. But the dark . . . I knew what lurked in the dark. And until I learned how to protect myself, I’d taken on the approach that it was better to avoid a conflict than engage it. But avoiding the dark meant turning on the light.
For a moment, I contemplated doing just that—getting out of bed and flipping the light switch. But Grandpa’s study was right downstairs, and if he had a notion to check on me before he turned in for the night and found my light on, the repercussions would be bad. Very bad. So I huddled there, on my bed, wishing I could just lie down and go to sleep like most of the other kids I knew.
It started out slow. I was just starting to relax—my six-year-old body wearing out from the day—when a soft swish echoed through the room. It was coming from the closet. Freezing, I tried to see through the darkness, but my room was truly dark. The curtains were a heavy forest green and there were no streetlights outside the backyard to shine through my window. I pressed harder against the headboard, wishing I could hide behind it.
Another moment and another swish; this time it sounded like the muffled fall of a foot on the braided rug that covered the hardwood floors in my bedroom. I tried to breathe, tried to avoid panicking. If I screamed and Nappa came and turned on the light and there was nothing there, I’d get a paddling. Closing my eyes, I tried counting to five. Count to five and it would be gone.
One . . . two . . . three . . . The sound of heavy breathing—low and throaty. I stopped counting and bit my lip, trying not to scream as I opened my eyes.
There, at the bottom of the bed—a huge shadow of . . . a man-thing. It was shaped like a man, but I knew it wasn’t really human. It was a living shadow, a dark blotch that sucked in light and hope, and as I stared at it, the creature leaned down and grabbed my covers, tearing them out of my hands.
I screamed as loud as I could, and kept on screaming. He ignored my shrieks and tossed the blankets aside. As he reached for my feet, grabbing me by one ankle, the door slammed open and Nanna stood there, panting. She said something—I couldn’t hear what, my heart was racing so loud in my chest—and the Shadow Man vanished with a loud hiss, snarling as she hit the wall and light flooded the room.
“Baby, baby . . . it’s okay, he’s gone, my little love.” Nanna was there, then, gathering me into her arms. I could see an exasperated Nappa standing in the doorway, but he said nothing, just merely puffed on his pipe and turned to go back down the stairs. Nanna held me tight, singing to me as I calmed down and finally dozed off, exhausted by the fear and the day.
After that, I had a night light in my room until the day I turned eleven and decided I didn’t need it anymore. I never saw the Shadow Man again, but I knew—I always knew—he was out there in the dark, waiting.
* * *
As I stared at the glass still embedded in my arm, I realized I was going to have to do something about protecting the house. Ivy was supposed to be good at warding, so I decided to call her at first light. Meanwhile, I tried to gauge the severity of the cuts on my arms. Should I head toward the hospital? Was there an urgent care facility around? I thought for a moment. I could call Peggin. She wasn’t a trained nurse, but as a medical receptionist she had a smattering of knowledge. But the doorbell ringing put a halt to my indecision. Frowning, I cautiously moved to answer it, holding my arm out to one side so I didn’t accidentally drive the glass in any deeper.
I flipped on the porch light and squinted out the peephole.
Bryan?
Never so happy to see anybody in my life, I called out, “Hold on, I’m naked and need to get something on.” Then it occurred to me that I wasn’t going to be able to slip anything over my arm very easily, so I hurried back to the sofa, where I grabbed a light throw and managed to get it wrapped around me in a vague toga fashion. I shuffled back to the door and fumbled with the locks while trying to keep my blanket up, and he rushed through.
“Are you all right?” He sounded frantic. A second later, he caught sight of my arm. “Fuck . . . what the hell happened to you, Kerris?”
“Nothing I feel like writing home about. Come in and help me and I’ll tell you. I was just trying to decide whether to go to the hospital.” I held out my arm for him to examine the cuts.
“I can take care of these, though when was your last tetanus shot?”
“Two years ago. I cut myself on a rusty nail.”
“You should be okay, then.” He motioned toward the kitchen. “Where do you keep your first-aid supplies? Bathroom?”
I wasn’t sure of the answer to that. I still hadn’t gotten to know the house all that well. “I don’t know, to be honest, but I imagine that would be the place to look. Lila was pretty organized.”
He vanished into the hall bath and returned with a pair of tweezers, a tube of antibiotic ointment, and some self-stick gauze pads. “Sit down and rest your arm on the table so it’s steady. This is going to hurt, Kerris—there’s no way I can avoid it.”
I nodded. “Go ahead. I can handle it. I’ve got enough adrenaline coursing through my veins that I probably won’t even feel it.” I settled onto
the chair, my train of blanket providing an ample cushion. As I leaned my arm straight out on the table, resting my head on my other arm, I realized that I felt totally comfortable around him—even though I was in a terribly vulnerable state right now.
Bryan gave me an encouraging smile and set the teakettle on to boil. I was about to say I didn’t want any tea, but then stopped. A hot drink might do me some good.
“You know, any other time, I’d be more than happy to see you wrapped up only in a blanket, but right now, I just want to get this goddamn glass out of your skin. So, tell me what happened.” He went to work extracting the pieces, including several small shards I hadn’t noticed. I winced as he pulled them out, especially when the blood began to flow freely, but none of the pieces had stabbed through any major veins or arteries, so I counted myself lucky for that.
I told him about the Shadow Man—both what had happened that night and when I was a child. “Ellia was right. I don’t know why he chose tonight to show himself, but it feels almost too perfect, given her mention of him. Do you think I can trust her?” I hated asking the question, but Peggin had expressed reservations and now I was second-guessing my dealings with the lament singer.
Bryan frowned. “I don’t think it’s Ellia you need to worry about, to be honest. I think this is something else. Shadow People . . . they have been known through history.” He dabbed at the wounds, then brought a bowl of the boiling water over and began to wash the blood off.
“At least you shouldn’t need any stitches. We’ll just let the blood flow a bit to clear out the wound.” He waited for a few minutes, then slathered the cuts in ointment. There were seven in all, ranging from small punctures to a good half-inch-long cut where the glass had sliced through. After that, he bandaged the biggest ones. Pushing the first-aid supplies back, he let out a long sigh.
“I need to clean up the glass in the living room and make sure the cats didn’t get into it.”
“You wait here. I’ll do it.” He wouldn’t take no for an answer, so I leaned back in the chair, closing my eyes until he returned.
“All done. And I checked the cats—they’re okay.” He paused to pour the tea. “Well, you can’t take a chance on this happening again. It’s five thirty and you must be exhausted.”
I sipped the hot raspberry tea. It coursed through me like a healing balm. “Yes, I really am. And I don’t mind admitting I’m scared. I don’t know anything about the Shadow Man, though first thing I’m doing when I’ve got my wits about me is reading Lila’s journal. She has descriptions of some of the spirits around Whisper Hollow in it, and I’ll bet you anything I find mention of him in there.” Slumping back, I let my head drop back and stared at the ceiling. Bryan was right, I was exhausted.
The next thing I knew, he was standing behind me. “Lean forward.”
“What?”
“Just do it.”
Wondering what he was up to, but too tired to argue, I pushed my teacup to the side and leaned forward. The next moment his hands were on my shoulders and he was massaging the muscles, gently, the warmth of his hands tingling against my bare skin. I let out a soft moan as he worked the knots under his fingers, pressing just enough to make them hurt for a brief second and then release their hold.
“You don’t have to do this—”
“Shhh . . . quiet. Let me take away the strain and worry.” His voice was low—almost rhythmic, and it lulled me into a soft, cushioned place where the fear began to subside and could find no way in. I closed my eyes and let the gentle massage carry me away from all thoughts of the Shadow Man and of ghosts and murders. A few minutes later, I realized he had gathered me up off the chair, blankets and all. I tried to say I hadn’t finished my tea but the words wouldn’t come, and I rested my head on his shoulder as we entered the living room. He smelled strong and sexy and safe all at the same time—a comforting mix. I let out my breath slowly, content to remain silent.
In the living room, he laid me down on the sofa and, leaning over, kissed me softly on the lips. I tried to pull him down to me, but he disentangled himself and—finding yet another throw—made certain I was covered. The last I knew, he was sitting in the rocking chair, the lights turned low, watching me. As I drifted off to sleep again I knew without a doubt nothing would bother me while he was standing guard.
* * *
The second time I opened my eyes, it was to a faint shadow of late-autumn light shimmering through the windows. I blinked, wondering what time it was, and—as I pushed myself up to a sitting position—I realized my arm was sore. Then the events of the night all came tumbling back. I glanced around, hearing a whistling coming from the kitchen, and, with a slight groan, struggled to my feet. There was a sleeveless nightgown next to me—it had come from my suitcase, and I slipped out of the blankets and into the satin gown, grateful for the lack of sleeves. My arm ached and material would be grating against it. I glanced at the clock. It was almost nine.
As I padded into the kitchen, the first thing I saw were the cats—all lined up at their food dishes, chowing down on gushy food. They gave me a look as if to say, Slacker . . . and went back to eating. I laughed and turned to find Bryan hovering over the stove, watching what looked to be an omelet puff up in the skillet.
“Not only can you give one hell of a massage, tend to wounds, and feed cats, but you can cook? Too good to be true.” I edged my way toward the espresso machine, but he just let out a sharp whistle and pointed to the table. There, a steaming latte with a dollop of foam waited.
“Sit. Breakfast will be on the table in a couple minutes. I have to leave soon—I have business to attend to—but you should be all right for now. I’m pretty sure the Shadow Man only comes out in the darkness.” He slid a plate in front of me. Omelet, toast, and sausage.
I stared at the food, my smile fading. “Yeah, I think he’s tied to the night. Bryan, thank you. I never managed to ask last night, how did you know I needed help?”
He paused, then sat beside me. “Eat while I talk.”
I dutifully dug into the food, which was delicious.
“You’re left-handed?” He looked at me. “I didn’t notice before.”
“Yeah, why?”
“No reason . . . Anyway, last night I was in bed, when I woke up hearing you scream. It was in my head—I couldn’t hear anything out the window—but you were screaming for help and I knew you needed me. So I came running.” He slowly reached out and placed a hand over my right wrist. “Kerris, I think you know what this means. We’re linked.”
I set down my fork, knowing what he was going to say. “You’re my guardian, aren’t you?”
He nodded. “I had a vision about seven years ago. I had returned to Ireland on a buying trip, and while I was there, the Morrígan came to me when I was out at one of the ancient sites. She told me I had been chosen for an important task. My clan is dedicated to her, and so there was no walking away from her decree. I followed my instincts and they led me to Whisper Hollow. And I settled in to wait. When I met Lila and realized what she was, and when she told me about you, I knew that I had to wait for you to come home. So, I did. Last night—in the hospital and then here, when I felt your panic and fear, I knew that everything was true. I’m your guardian. Your protector.”
Resting my hand over his, I was all too keenly aware of his proximity, of how one more shift and I could be in his arms. “To every spirit shaman, a shapeshifter will come, to protect and guard. Bryan, I didn’t come back to Whisper Hollow expecting anything except a lot of adjustment and juggling as I found my place here. I sure as hell didn’t expect to meet anybody, especially . . . you. I barely know how this whole gig works. And . . . not every shapeshifter is mated to their spirit shaman.”
“Yes, I know. But will you sit here and deny the sparks between us? Kerris, I want you so much. I want to kiss you, and touch you, and make you mine. And I think you want me, too.”
&nb
sp; “You know I do. It’s just . . . this is all so new.”
Bryan leaned back, letting out a small sigh. “I won’t press it if you don’t want me to . . . I promise you that—I’ll stand by you, regardless of how things between us evolve. It’s my duty and I’m happy to watch over you.”
Hesitating, wanting so much to reach out and take his hand, to kiss his fingers, I forced myself to sit very still. “Before anything else happens . . . before we go any further, I need to know—are you seeing anybody? Is there anyone I need to know about? I’m not a player. Hell, I’m not usually even willing to get into the game because so often it’s led to disaster when the man finds out about my abilities. I guess what I’m asking is . . .”
“Am I leading you on just so I can fuck you?” The corners of his eyes crinkled, their ice blue frosty and pulling me in like an alpine lake. “Kerris, I have no mate. I was married, a long time ago, but she died. Since then, I’ve dated, but never seriously. I don’t play with people’s feelings. Hell, I don’t like most people. It’s not my nature. I won’t ever claim to wear a white hat. I’m not one of the good guys. I admit it, I’ve done my share of things that . . . well . . . leave that for now. But I do have a personal code of honor and I follow it.”
As he spoke, a wisp of energy flared around him—like strong tendrils of ivy. The first night, when he ran in front of my car, I had been surprised by how I couldn’t read him. Now, I realized it was because of what he was. From what little I knew of shapeshifters—regardless of the clan or background—they were a difficult read and had generations of practice cloaking their nature.
So he was a widower. How long ago was “a long time,” though, and how had his wife died? “You were married?”
“Yes.” His eyes were cool. Not aloof, but masking his emotions. I suddenly realized I needed to learn as much as I could about shapeshifters, so I understood the nuances that were probably escaping me. Different race, different culture, and I didn’t want to blindly do something that would offend him.
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