Shadow Weaver Series, Book 1

by MarcyKate Connolly

  Halfway around the field, I spy an odd-looking plant, just as Dar described. “Is that it?” I point to it.

  Yes! Dar says, her excitement fizzing through my skin.

  I break into a run, the shadows I’ve collected on my trek trailing behind me like ribbons. The patch of shrubs is almost as tall as me, and the blossoms are just as strange as Dar said. The shadow it casts on the forest floor looks like a shaggy beast. I can’t help but reach out and pet the shadow. It shivers in the night breeze at my touch, but I let it rest where it is.

  “How much should I take?”

  A few blossoms, to be safe.

  I pluck four of them from the bush and twirl them between my fingers. “Such odd things. And yet, they will help us fix everything.”

  I feel Dar’s grin on the back of my neck. I cannot wait.

  “Neither can I.” I tuck the flowers into my skirt pocket. “What else can we gather tonight?” My success at this task has cleared all the sleep from my head. I’m ready to do whatever needs doing right now.

  Nothing else tonight. We must gather the items in just the right order and one at a time.

  I pout. “Oh, then it might take some time to complete?”

  Not long. We’re off to a good start. We have more days until the blood moon than items we need, so if all goes well, we might even be ready early. Dar wriggles at my feet, and I know she’s pleased.

  “Then we’d best get back to the cottage before we’re missed.”

  I run straight across the field this time, reveling in the feel of the wind on my cheeks and the smooth blades of long grass under my outstretched palms. Dar laughs as she whips behind me. We slow when we reach the trees, moving more carefully in case we stumble upon anyone camped out in the woods.

  We can never be too safe, not until we’ve made things right. And tonight we are one step closer to doing just that.

  When the cottage comes into sight, I pull my shadows back around me and creep low to the ground. The last thing I need is for Lucas or his parents to glance out a window and see me running through their yard, especially after the incident with the soldiers this afternoon. But the garden and trees dotting the yard give me cover and soon I am at the front door. Ever so carefully, I turn the knob and push it open. It creaks slightly, and I hold my breath. No one stirs.

  Don’t you want to know what they’re hiding? Dar says as we pass by Alfred’s study, the door closed as always. They must be hiding something terrible about Lucas if they make him hide at the first hint of a stranger.

  “To be fair, we’re hiding things too,” I whisper. “And there is nothing terrible about Lucas.”

  Still we ought to know who it is we’re staying with. We need to know why they take such care to keep Lucas hidden from those guards. If they’re in some kind of trouble, that puts us in danger too.

  I frown. “I doubt they’re in trouble. They’re just protective.”

  But Dar’s suggestion niggles at me, eating away at my resolve. My curiosity wins out. These are good people, and they must have a reason to be wary. I’ll just have to prove it to Dar, that’s all.

  No one is awake, and it is ever so tempting… I’ll just see if the door to the study is locked.

  A quick check finds the knob twisting under my hand unexpectedly. I slip inside the room, closing the door softly behind me. The room is just as I’d expect—a desk sits in the center, and the walls are lined with books. Alfred always seems to have one in his hands. A window looks out onto the woods and the shadows waving through the trees.

  “See? Nothing out of the ordinary, Dar.”

  As far as you can see. What’s on the desk?

  A sheaf of papers is strewn over the oak furniture, and I get a closer look. They appear to be receipts for items they bought at the market.

  Dar has no response but I can sense her disappointment. It’s almost as though she wishes they were hiding something after all. I move to leave when something catches my eye. Beneath the desk is a slim drawer. I almost missed it at first. An odd chill runs down my spine, but I shrug it off. It probably contains nothing of importance.

  But it wouldn’t hurt to check.

  I try to pull the drawer open and at first it sticks, though there is no keyhole I can see to make me think it’s locked. I tug and tug until I am afraid I’ll go flying if it moves.

  Check underneath. Dar suggests. Sometimes there’s a hidden latch.

  I do as she says, and sure enough on the underside of the desk there’s a small lever that’s easy to miss. I pull the lever and the drawer releases. My stomach flutters, and I examine the contents of the drawer, feeling more than a little guilty.

  It seems to be more of the same—at least until my hand lights on a small, old scroll tucked far into the back of the drawer. I pull it out and spread it on the table.

  A thrill ripples through Dar.

  The scroll is a very long list of names, written in many different hands—some very old and others definitely new—followed by locations and what must be dates. Some of the names, especially the older ones, are crossed out. I pore through the whole thing, and that is it. Just many, many names.

  Well that is certainly intriguing. Who do you think these people are on the list?

  “I haven’t the slightest idea,” I say, the hair raising on the back of my neck. “But I think we need to put it back right away.”

  I shove the scroll back into the drawer, unable to escape the feeling that eyes are tracking my every movement.

  “They have a list of people. So what? It doesn’t mean anything. It could simply be a list of their family members.” The idea settles into place in my mind. “Yes, I think that must be it. And someone must have been tracking the family for some time. Why else would the names be in many different hands and there be so many different places?”

  Dar hums. It could be, I suppose.

  “It is,” I say. “It’s the only explanation that makes sense.”

  If you say so.

  I push away the creeping doubt. Lucas and his family know what it is like to have a talent. Every word and deed from them says clearly that I can trust them. I can’t let something silly like this make me doubt them.

  I close up the study, careful to leave it just as I found it. Then I tiptoe back through the hall to my cot, and curl up with the witch hazel safely tucked away in my flour sack.

  “What do we tell them if they find the witch hazel?” I whisper to Dar.

  They won’t.

  “But what if they do?”

  Tell them nothing. It’s an unusual flower you picked when you came across it.

  I digest Dar’s suggestion in silence. I do not like the idea of lying to Lucas and his family when they’ve been so kind to me, but I know what happens when people hear that I talk to my shadow. Attempting to make my shadow flesh would surely be even worse.

  The hard lump in my gut tightens. However much I loathe lies, I admire Lucas and his family far too much to tell them the whole truth. But maybe I can share something. Lucas trusted me enough to show me how he works with light. And his parents lied to protect me from those guards. That list is just a list, nothing more.

  Maybe tomorrow I will tell them about my shadowcraft.

  Chapter Twelve

  The next morning, I am exhausted again yet filled with purpose. I have made up my mind to tell Lucas and his family what I am, what I can do. But I won’t tell them about Dar. Not until she agrees.

  She is not happy with my decision and has been sulking at my feet all morning. I suppose, in some way, it’s good she’s acting like a normal shadow for once.

  After the soldiers came to the cottage yesterday, Alfred tracked them to ensure they are not hanging around. He found no trace of them, save a day-old campfire. When he returned, he and Miranda retreated into the study with grim faces.

 
I can appreciate why they don’t advertise Lucas’s talent, but I’m terribly curious to know why his family fears these soldiers. I hope they’ll confide in me too. Maybe that list I found last night does have something to do with it, but I don’t believe its existence is as sinister as Dar does.

  There are just as many good reasons to hide something as there are bad reasons.

  Lucas and I weren’t allowed outside at all yesterday afternoon because the soldiers might be close, but today he sneaks me out to the same field in which I first saw him, and where I gathered the witch hazel last night. It is his favorite place to practice his light singing—there’s no one around for miles, and he can use the light in any way he wants without worry of being seen or accidentally setting their cottage on fire.

  Dar grumbles the whole way even though it isn’t far.

  Why must he screech and use that blinding stuff? What a terrible, unpleasant talent. I sigh and try to ignore her. It is much easier to listen to Lucas’s happy banter.

  He sits in the middle of the field, the long grasses bowing toward him like they know him and the light he brings. I meander around the field, letting Dar skitter through the little shadows cast by the grasses and flowers, and run my hands over the lacelike blossoms of white and gold. They feel like velvet under my fingertips.

  When Lucas begins to sing, it is as though the sun has come out from behind a cloud we didn’t know was there. He crafts the light into an orb with his song, making it expand and contract with a nudge of his pitch. It is brilliant and warm. But I can’t settle down and bask in it. The restless need to keep moving consumes me and I circle the field, getting ever closer to Lucas and where he sits in the center.

  Dar has gone silent, falling deeper into her sulk as the shadows grow thinner and thinner in the field. The pull toward the light is magnetic, and soon I am close enough to feel the heat of it. It pulses now, responding to the notes in the song, and reminds me of a bubble close to bursting.

  The light is so beautiful that I want to reach out and touch it. It’s almost as lovely as my shadows.

  Lucas has shared his secret with me, and I want to share mine with him. Dar has nothing to say on this. With all the light, she barely shrouds the edges of my feet. I know she doesn’t like this feeling, but I can’t resist the kindness of Lucas and his family. It is more than my own has ever shown me, and I don’t think they’ll fear me either.

  I hope.

  Lucas finishes his song and glances shyly in my direction.

  I grin, the sun warming my limbs and filling me up with a strange tingling sensation. “That was incredible,” I say.

  He stares at his feet, red blotches dotting his cheeks.

  My breath stutters, but I force the words I need to say from my mouth. “There is something I’d like to show you.”

  Lucas tilts his head toward me in curiosity, letting me take the center of the field. I hold out my hands, calling out the shadows in the forest surrounding us. First they quiver. Then they soar through the air like ribbons of smoke. I pull them around me, enjoying the feel of my shadows after so many hours without them.

  I mold and shape them into two forms, starting with dusky shapes that elongate, then sprout four legs and paws. Smoky ears that stand at attention, a tail that quirks with curiosity, and a long snout that could sniff out rabbits. I set the twin forms on the ground and they sniff each other with their shadow snouts, then begin to tussle and romp through field.

  I rest my arms at my sides, feeling a little drained. I’m pleased with my work, but my stomach twists into knots. My palms turn slick, and I wipe them on my skirt while I study Lucas’s face. He gapes at me and the playing shadow dogs.

  Then, finally, he breaks into a wide grin.

  “You have shadow magic.” He takes a step closer, reaching a hand out as the dogs tumble past him. “Just like I have light magic. What do you call it?”

  “Shadow weaving,” I say, feeling oddly bashful all of a sudden.

  “It’s wonderful!” He laughs at the shadow dogs as they roll in the grass at our feet.

  I blink a few times to quell the burning sensation forming behind my eyes. I’ve been told countless times to hide my talent, to use it sparingly, not to talk about it—I can’t recall anyone ever telling me my magic is wonderful, except for Dar.

  A spark of something warm and happy blooms under my ribs. I was right to trust Lucas.

  But has he really told you everything? Dar whispers. These people are hiding something, I am certain of it.

  I brush off Dar’s concerns. She hates Lucas’s light, but he doesn’t hate my shadows. He sees the wonder in my talent, just like I see the wonder in his. Lucas’s immediate acceptance has only made Dar’s snide comments about his magic feel all the more petty.

  “I’m glad you think so,” I say to Lucas. “Not everyone feels the same.”

  “But your craft is exceptional. I’ve been working with my light singing for years, and I can’t yet make anything quite as detailed as you can.”

  “I’ve had a lot of time to practice. Where I come from, people fear me and my magic. Even my parents.” I glare at the flowers in the field.

  “Your parents? They sent you into servitude because of it?” he frowns.

  Careful, Emmeline, Dar warns.

  Drat, I’d nearly forgotten my original lie. I do not like this whole lying business; it is too hard to keep track of the things you’ve made up.

  “Not exactly. I wasn’t quite honest with you that first day, Lucas, and I apologize for that. I wasn’t sure I could trust you. I didn’t want you to be scared of me.” I nudge a clump of dirt kicked up by the playing dogs. “Or worse, make me go back home.”

  Lucas goes very still, and something prickles over my skin, like I can feel the whisper of fear that runs through him.

  “I am not a servant, you see. I don’t work on the estate over the hills; my parents own it. They were going to send me away because they hate my magic.” I swallow hard. Just the thought of being cured like Simone and losing my shadows is chilling.

  Lucas puts a hand on my shoulder. “That’s horrible. How could your parents hate something so wonderful?”

  I shrug helplessly. “My parents were embarrassed by what I could do and a little scared too. They didn’t even give me a choice. They insisted I had to leave because I was ruining their lives. Instead I fled. I will choose where I go, not them.”

  I’m not yet ready to tell him about Dar, or admit what happened with Lord Tate, especially how it was my fault. Perhaps I’ll tell him everything later. One small step at a time is best; I can tell Dar is furious I’ve told him as much as I have already.

  “We won’t make you go back. I promise. My parents…well they’d have some choice words for yours, I’m sure.”

  “We don’t need to tell them what I can do. Do we?”

  He nods firmly. “We do.” Then he grins. “They’ll think it’s wonderful too, and we’ll keep you safe.”

  Relief trills over me like the whisper of butterfly wings.

  “Come on,” he says, grabbing my hand with warm fingers, sending a pleasant shiver up my arm. “Let’s tell them now. Then we’ll have to clean up the mess we made in the garden yesterday.”

  I groan. I’d almost forgotten about our weed and dirt fight after the scare with the soldiers. But Lucas tugs me along, and we run together through the woods, my shadow dogs racing us all the way back the cottage. His eyes brighten when he realizes they’ve come with us.

  Lucas gestures to them when we slow to a stop in the cottage yard. “I suppose that is one way to tell my parents.”

  My cheeks redden. “I hadn’t thought of that. Do you think we should—”

  But it is already too late. Miranda is in the garden, humming and pulling up potatoes for dinner when she sees us. She straightens up just as one of the shadow dogs barrels to
wards her.

  Startled, she drops her potato and scrambles backward. Lucas begins to laugh, but my stomach tightens, and I chase after them.

  Tsk, tsk, tsk, Dar says.

  My heart sinks. It was foolish of me to keep the shadow dogs outside of the field. I wave a hand and the one pawing at Miranda’s foot dissipates into smoke.

  “I’m so sorry!” I cry, rushing up to her. Lucas manages to hold in his laughter and appears at my side.

  “What was that?” she asks, dusting off her apron.

  Lucas nudges me with his shoulder. I can barely look up from my feet.

  “Emmeline has something to tell you,” he says.

  His mother’s voice softens. “What is it, Emmeline?”

  Blood thrums in my ears. How many times has it been pummeled into my head not to tell or show strangers my magic? Too often to count.

  Lucas nudges me again.

  “I haven’t been wholly honest with you,” I say. A sick feeling rises in my gut, but I press it down.

  “About what exactly?” she asks.

  “I have a talent too. Shadow weaving.”

  “She made those dogs!” Lucas says, but quiets at a single stern glance from his mother.

  “Yes, I did. And I’m not a servant either. Those soldiers were looking for a girl who ran away from her parents’ estate. That girl is me.”

  Miranda goes rigid. “Emmeline, why did you run away from your home?”

  Because my shadow did something terrible to the man who wanted to cure me of my magic is what I should say, but instead I tell a half-truth.

  “My parents hated my shadowcraft. Even the servants were afraid of me.” My hands twist of their own accord. “They were going to send me away. From everything I know and love. Because they were done putting up with me and my talent.”

  “Oh, sweetheart,” Miranda says. She curls an arm over my shoulders and leads me toward the house, her son following close behind. “That’s horrible. How can a parent think what makes their child special is something evil, or worse, inconvenient? Those dogs were so lifelike, you nearly scared me to death. If you can craft something that detailed, your talent must be impressive indeed.”