by J. Meyers
He wrenched away, but still she stood in his path. They glared at each other for a long moment.
“Get out of my way.”
“I did this, Jonas,” she said. “I did it. I chose it.”
“Get out of my way.” Each word threatened. “I could break you.”
“I know. But you won’t.”
“Won’t I?” He smiled without warmth, leaned in close to her face. “What makes you so sure?”
“Because I know you.”
“Not well enough.”
She stood her ground. “Better than you think,” she said. “You won’t harm an innocent.”
“You’re hardly an innocent, Meghan.”
“I am now,” she said.
Jonas stepped back, and looked away. She was right. After sixty-three years she knew him and knew he wouldn’t hurt her. Of all people.
“Why?” he said. “Why would you do this?”
Meghan just looked at him. “What would you give?” she asked. “What would you give to be human again?”
“Nothing.”
“What if you could breathe, eat, live again? Wouldn’t you take that chance if you could? Have a real family? Have children? Have a future?”
“You want the pain and suffering of a human life?” he said. “Again? Wasn’t it bad enough the first time around?”
“I didn’t want to be a monster anymore.”
“Humans can be monsters, too.”
“I want a future,” she said. “You have no future. It’s just the same decade after decade, century after century. You don’t get to grow old and die like a normal person. You’re just waiting for someone to kill you.” She paused, looked up at him. “I don’t want to live like that anymore, Jonas.”
“I have all of eternity as a future. You have sixty or seventy years, if you’re lucky.”
“I’m tired of fighting to stay alive-but-dead. I’m tired of watching from the outside as people live. I want a life, Jonas. She gave me a life.”
“No wonder Feyth was there.”
“I don’t think she even realized what she did,” Meghan said.
“I’ll kill her after I kill the healer.”
“She doesn’t know, Jonas. She’s an innocent.”
“She can’t do this.” He paused then, her words sinking in, and looked at her. “But you knew.”
“I guessed.”
“You knew,” he said. “Don’t lie to me, Meghan. You knew. I saw the trail of blood you left. The trail that started around a corner and led straight to her. You knew.”
Meghan pressed her lips together hard, glared at him.
“I knew that if anyone had that power it would be that girl,” she finally said.
“How?”
“I’ve been following her for months, watching her heal humans. And then there’s her brother. It all added up.”
“To what?”
“The Prophecy.”
And suddenly he knew. He could feel the knowledge burst upon him all at once.
“The Children of the Prophecy,” Meghan said when Jonas didn’t respond. “I came across it in the records a few months ago. I’d already seen her heal and I figured if it was really true—if it was really them—then she’d be able to change me.” She held her hands out at her sides and looked down at her body. When she looked back at Jonas, her sly smile held no remorse.
“But they’re dead,” he said. “They died in a fire years ago with their whole family.” He sat down on the nearest headstone. “This can’t be.”
“But it is. I’m human again.”
Feyth. He should have known. He should have figured this out as soon as he saw her the other night outside the hospital. He knew about the Prophecy—they all did. And Feyth’s family was deeply tied to it. She had done something to hide the prophesied twins. He was sure of it. Elves, he thought with disgust distorting his features. When he got his hands on her—he willed himself to stay calm.
This was a problem he did not want. But the two were here now. In his territory.
He looked up at Meghan again. She looked softer, even fragile, which was not how Jonas was used to seeing her. Her humanness really changed who she was, how she looked.
Still. He felt a blaze building in his body for the mess she’d just released. Pandora’s box. Sixty-three years didn’t count for much in the face of that.
He narrowed his eyes at her. “How were you hurt?”
“I wasn’t,” she said. She pulled an empty plastic bag out of an inside pocket of her coat. The sides of it were stuck to each other with splotches of blood. A cunning smile spread across her face.
His jaw clenched, and he took a deep breath again to calm himself. If it was anyone but Meghan, he would be ripping them apart right now.
“You tell no one,” he said, “and you leave town. Tonight.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but stopped, stared at him, giving no indication of whether she agreed. He stood up and turned to walk back toward the downtown area.
“Or I will turn you again,” he said over his shoulder, “and kill your healer.”
TEN
Lakeview Cemetery. Marc squinted at the directions he’d printed out as stone pillars rose up on the left to mark the entrance. He braked hard to make the turn, his eyes automatically jumping to the rearview mirror.
The road behind him was empty.
He pulled into the cemetery, driving slowly, and followed the winding path that twisted and turned back on itself so much he could’ve easily ended up driving in circles if he weren’t paying attention. Pale headstones glowed as his headlights washed over them in the dark. He liked big graveyards like this. The calm silence of them seeped away his tensions.
Unless, of course, he was meeting dark, dastardly creatures there to do their evil bidding. He laughed in spite of the situation. It would actually be funny if it weren’t true. But it was time to report in. And though he hated the Shadows, he was perilously close to being out of their medicine.
He’d stumbled into his room that afternoon, scrambling for the bottle tucked in his bag. A disgusting swallow from last night’s flat soda and he had laid down to give it time to take effect. Within minutes his breathing had slowed, his shoulders had relaxed, and he could open his eyes without laser-sharp pain slicing through his head. The quiet hum of indistinct thoughts swirled, and he regained control over his own mind. Sweet relief.
That’s when he’d seen the note.
A piece of black paper with a message written in bright red. Time and place. How they knew where he was all the time, was beyond him. And, quite frankly, it scared the bejeezes out of him if he thought about it too much.
So he didn’t.
He slowly made his way to the far back of the cemetery where a small copse of short pines stood just inside the cemetery grounds not far from the bike path that wound along the waterfront. He found the trees and stopped his car about twenty feet away—they always wanted him to park some distance away. He would have liked to leave the lights on so he might get a better look at the Shadows, but that wasn’t allowed. He turned off the car, and got out.
Marc paused, listening. The only thing he heard was the gentle sound of the lake water lapping at the shore. Nothing else. Which wasn’t a surprise, the Shadows never made a sound. The gentle scent of pine wafted in the cold night air.
His meetings with the Shadows were almost always outdoors in a secluded area. Graveyards, parks, forests, fields. It was never very far that he had to travel, he was glad for that. But it was always on the darkest nights, when there was no moonlight. And he never failed to forget a flashlight.
Tonight was no exception.
Man, was it dark. He walked toward the trees, peered into the pitch black for any sign of them. The slight hum of thoughts drifting in from homes surrounding the cemetery suddenly went quiet in his mind, which caught him off guard. It always did. He was so used to the hum that the total silence and the sense of being the only one in his mind felt su
rreal. But it was useful. It told him they were near.
In the deepest, darkest center of the trees, he sensed movement. It was pure black in there, as if light didn’t exist. Though he’d never gotten a really good look at them, they seemed to have a malleable form—able to take up space or melt away.
It was hard to tell for sure because he’d only ever met with them on the darkest of nights. He looked up into the night sky—no moon, but lots of stars. One of these times he was going to have to remember his flashlight.
His arms tingled, his chest tightened, as fear radiated from his core. The sound of his own breathing was drowned out by bathump-bathump-bathump-bathump pounding in his ears as blood ricocheted through his body. He took a deep breath to steady himself and licked his dry lips.
As ready as he was going to be.
“Hello?” he said louder than he needed to. Really just to annoy them, though he knew it wasn’t the brightest move. But it pissed him off that they scared the crap out of him.
“Marcus,” a raspy voice said from the center of the trees, “come closer.” Their speech—always slow, soft, each word precisely planned and executed—sent a shiver of revulsion through him. Glowing orange eyes peered out at him from the dark depths.
His mind screamed Run! but Marc ignored his instincts and inched closer to the trees. He didn’t want to be close enough to be touched—self preservation told him to stay out of reach. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited.
“What news?”
“Not much,” Marc said. “I just got into town yesterday.” But you knew that, he thought.
“You have nothing to report?”
Marc was silent. He looked up into their menacing eyes. Three sets of them. It was the only feature he could make out. They were taller than he was, unless they had climbed a tree just to give the impression of greater height. To intimidate. He wouldn’t put it past them, and he wasn’t about to let on that it worked.
“I may have found them.”
“You’ve said that before.”
“I know.” He took a breath, balled his hands into fists. Stupid useless fists. It’s not like he could actually hit one of them. He couldn’t afford to alienate them, he needed them. He exhaled forcefully, looked up at the sky again. Keep it together. “I know I have. But this is different. I don’t have anything concrete. Just a feeling.”
“You were wrong before.”
“This feels different. I can’t really explain.” Marc didn’t want to give them too much information. Not that he had a lot to tell right now, but still. “What do you want them for anyhow?”
Silence.
“Perhaps you do not need the medicine anymore, Marcus?” They rustled the trees, as if leaving.
“No!” Marc lunged forward, words pouring out of his mouth. “I do. I’m almost out. But I’m positive it’s them. More sure than I’ve ever been. I followed a good tip to come here and everything points to it being them. I’d bet my li—” Too late, he realized the ruse to get more information out of him. He silently cursed himself for falling for it—they didn’t make any sound when they moved, he knew that.
“What are their names?”
“I don’t know yet. I just got here,” he said. He wasn’t stupid enough to tell them everything. Just stupid enough to fall for their tricks.
“You’ve seen them?”
“Yes.”
“Do they have the Mark?”
Marc peered at them, silent. This was the first he’d heard of some sort of marking. He narrowed his eyes and waited for the Shadows to elaborate.
“A fleur-de-lis. If these two are Marked, then it is them.”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you know, Marcus? If you’re not going to help us, then we cannot help you.” The trees rustled just slightly in the heavy silence. “Do you need a reminder of what your life is like without our help?”
A blinding bolt of pain shot through his head and for a moment Marc was sure he’d been struck by lightning. The pain knocked him to his knees and made him unable to breathe.
And just as suddenly it was gone.
He didn’t know how they did that—turning it on and off like that—but it did not endear them to him when they did. He steadied himself with a hand on a gravestone, then slowly stood back up. No way was he going to grovel on his knees.
“It’s going to take time,” Marc said. “I can’t just go up and ask them if they’re the marked twins you’re looking for.” He paused, consciously opening his mind to see if he could hear their thoughts at all. Absolute silence. “If it is them? What then?”
“Then we won’t need your services anymore.” It sounded as if the thing was smiling.
“I’ll still need the medicine.” He closed his eyes, ground his teeth.
“We can cure what ails you.”
“So cure me now,” he said. His eyes snapped open. “I could be of more help if I was cured.”
They were silent a moment, blinking orange eyes at him in the black void between the trees. “We like the guarantee.”
You like to yank me around, he thought, looking off to where he could hear water splashing on the shore. A cool breeze brought the damp smell of algae through the graveyard.
“How do I know you’ll cure me?” he said.
“Trust.”
Marc laughed, short, hard. The Shadows were comedians.
“It is all you have,” they said.
“You didn’t say what you wanted them for.” They need me as much as I need them, he thought. If they could do this themselves, they would.
Silence again. It lasted so long he might have thought they’d left except for the black hole that was the center of the trees and the silence still in his head.
“Next time, more answers.” An inky black arm reached out toward Marc, and he instinctively flinched backwards. His heels caught on a small grave marker, and he twisted back, off balance, landing hard on the ground on his right hip.
They wheezed a laugh, and Marc glared back up at the trees as he rolled over to sit up, his heart pummeling his chest. The hand opened up and dropped a bottle. Marc heard it thunk on the ground, could just make it out in the grass a few feet in front of him.
“Yeah,” he said. “Next time.” He looked back up into the trees and the orange eyes were gone, the shadows between the trees had lightened, looked empty. He breathed a sigh of relief and reached over to pick up the bottle of pills.
Next time. He stood up, brushed the dirt off his pants. He never looked forward to next time.
ELEVEN
Sera stared at her wall, paintbrush in hand, canvas tarp under her bare feet while Luke and Fey studied for an AP English test out in the living room. She squinted at the speckles of orange and red she’d just dabbed in the midst of deep black, letting her eyes go out of focus. She adjusted the black shape that way, stepping back to get a broader look at it.
Something wasn’t right. She bit her bottom lip as she looked it over, her brush and palette held up like a waiter’s tray in her left hand. Maybe the black wasn’t black enough.
She should be down the hall with them, lounging on the overstuffed velour couch, trying to remember the dates of Shakespeare’s plays and quotes from Othello. It’s not like she couldn’t use the extra review or the snacks—she’d barely eaten two bites at dinner—but she just wasn’t able to focus after the weirdness today, and her stomach felt tight, hard like a lump of concrete, unfriendly to food.
She hadn’t gotten a chance to tell Luke about Meghan seeming to know about them. Fey had been around since it’d happened. So she still felt unsettled. She knew that he’d help with the logical explanation that was currently eluding her. But for the time being she was on her own.
What she could really use right now was time down at the lakeshore letting the waves ease her worries. But for the moment her room with its soothing ocean feel would have to do.
With the exception of her mural wall, she’d painted it all blue severa
l years ago. A deep, rich hue on the three walls and ceiling. A dark navy carpet covered the floor. Her dresser, trunk, and bed frame had all been painted a subdued glittery gold. Filmy white curtains framed tall windows on two walls. The underwater effect of the room was usually calming for Sera, though it wasn’t working today.
She’d always been drawn to water, and could spend a full day by the lake here or the ocean whenever they visited Maine, soaking in the soothing slosh of the waves, doing nothing more than simply looking for interesting rocks or shells, or gazing out across the great blue expanse. She could breathe out there. Really, truly breathe.
Sera took a deep breath. She could almost breathe in here.
She spritzed the paint on her palette with the spray bottle from the shelf and sat down cross-legged on the floor to start something new. As she mixed white and purple together to make a light lavender, she heard the phone ring down the hall and her mom answer it.
Picking up some of the paint with her brush, she made small flowing swirls and circles on the wall. Tucking the brush into her left hand, she pulled another brush out from behind her ear, dabbed it into white paint, and stroked it in between the purple. The white became the center from where the purple sprouted, enveloped the swirls, surrounded the circles.
She switched back and forth between the two colors as her mind wandered back to the events of the afternoon. Meghan knew who she was, or at least what she could do. Sera was sure of that.
But how could she have known? It wasn’t possible.
Sera breathed out long and slow, trying to clear out the confusion in her head. She tried again. Meghan had seemed to be expecting the healing when she’d grabbed hold of Sera. And then she’d called Sera “the One”—whatever that was supposed to mean. It sure seemed as if Meghan knew things she couldn’t possibly know.
She shook her head, staring at the mingling of the white and purple shapes she was painting. It just couldn’t be. She didn’t want it to be. There had to be some other explanation.
Amber light flickered behind her, making the shapes on her wall dance. Candles were lit around the room, adding a warm glow to the fluorescent floor lamp she had twisted over to shine on her paint space while she worked. The spicy scents of cinnamon and vanilla wafted up from the flames as wax melted. She tucked an errant wave of dark hair behind her ear.