Winter's Shadow

by M. J. Hearle

  Through the darkness she heard Blake say, ‘I’m going to get you through this, Winter,’ and she hoped the lack of conviction in his voice was just her imagination. It sounded as though he was trying to convince himself as much as reassure her.

  When she opened her eyes again, Winter saw that they’d passed through the centre of town and were heading down Mossdown Street towards the woods on the outskirts. Owl Mountain loomed in the distance, its peak wreathed in tendrils of mist.

  ‘When . . . when was I supposed to die?’ she whispered hoarsely, fear stealing her voice.

  Blake hesitated a moment before answering. ‘The church. I should never have intervened.’

  Of course! Ever since Blake had rescued her from Pilgrim’s Lament, Winter had felt her subsequent days stained by a dark shadow. The figures she’d seen in mirrors, the disturbing dreams, all these troubling events now made sense in light of the information she’d learned. Her mind raced, linking the near-crash on Maple Boulevard, the falling light in the surf club, and being forced over the cliff, to the malignant presence of the Skivers. They were bad luck incarnate – it was amazing she’d survived this long.

  ‘I thought they couldn’t attack their victims directly? There were rules . . .’ she asked, desperately grabbing at the inconsistency.

  Blake shook his head. ‘The Sight let you see them in their true form. Not as shadows or nightmares, but as they exist on the spectral plane. Once this visual contact is made it renders the contract void. The Skivers can take you whenever they want.’

  As her shock slowly began to wear off, Winter felt like she might be sick. Sucking in air to quell her churning nausea, she couldn’t stop dwelling on her fate. Those things were coming for her very soul – what would happen if they succeeded in taking it? Would she pass on to an afterlife? Wink out like a candle? Be damned for all eternity?

  ‘Why did you do it, Blake?’ she asked, her voice cracking slightly. ‘If you knew what was going to happen – why did you save me?’

  He swallowed, his expression pained. ‘How could I not?’

  Winter looked over and saw the fear shadowing his handsome features. Not for himself. For her. Even now, in the clutches of her own all-consuming dread, she hated knowing she was the cause of his anguish.

  ‘We need to find somewhere dark,’ Blake said, voice thick with new resolve.

  ‘I’m sorry?’ Winter wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly.

  ‘Help me look for an open garage. Somewhere the light of day can’t reach.’

  ‘You’re not making any sense!’

  ‘Trust me.’

  Winter squinted through the rain-smeared windows at the tightly clustered houses flashing by outside. She might not know why she was looking for a garage, but she looked anyway. He hadn’t needed to ask her to trust him. Right now Winter was willing to do pretty much anything Blake told her. He was her only light in the darkness, the only hope she had of survival.

  Blake’s truck roared into Dent Crescent, which, despite its plain-sounding name, was one of the more affluent locations in Hagan’s Bluff. Not as bunched together as in the preceding streets, these grand homes were spaced widely apart in large tree-spotted properties. Most had roomy garages the size of Winter’s house. Unfortunately, all of them appeared to be closed.

  Blake’s eyes suddenly fixed on a location. ‘There!’

  Winter saw the open garage Blake had spotted. It was adjoining a house erected in the Tudor style, the architectural magnificence somewhat tarnished by three plastic flamingos sprouting from the garden bed. Either the owners had a whimsical sense of humour or questionable taste. Luckily, there were no cars parked in the garage, which meant they’d forgotten to close it behind them, or there was somebody home. Evidently this last possibility didn’t bother Blake as he pulled over and brought the truck to a juddering stop at the base of the driveway.

  Winter shot another terrified glance at the rear window. The Skivers continued to bear down on them. They were two blocks away, closing the distance with frightening speed.

  ‘Blake!’

  ‘I know. Run!’

  In her panicked state, Winter didn’t quite understand what he wanted her to do – why had they stopped here again? Seeing the confusion in her face, Blake leaned across and pushed the passenger door open for her. ‘Run, Winter! Into the garage.’

  Winter jumped out of the truck and stumbled up the rain-slicked driveway. She heard Blake slam the truck door behind her and his feet slapping on the wet concrete as he dashed to catch up. They crossed into the shadow of the garage, and Blake left Winter standing confused in its centre as he searched for the door control. At last the garage door began to lower with a loud pneumatic hiss. But slowly – so slowly.

  Winter couldn’t see the Skivers, but judging by the speed at which they moved, she feared they were close. Any second now, she expected to see them slide through the shrinking gap between the floor and the garage door like nightmarish black snakes. Mercifully, the door finally clunked to a halt and the room was plunged into a murky half-light. Winter tried desperately to keep herself together. Above her the rain beat a staccato rhythm as it struck the garage’s tin roof, keeping time with her own frantic heartbeat.

  Little details stood out as her mind catalogued what might very well be the last place she’d ever see. Standing in the gloom, she could make out a small oil spot on the concrete floor; an old peanut butter jar full of rusty nails sitting on the workbench; a grass-covered lawnmower pushed against the wall.

  ‘Blake?’ Winter heard herself say quietly.

  ‘Yes?’ he answered in distracted tones. He was busy blocking a window with an old sheet he’d found stuffed under the bench.

  ‘What do they do with the souls they take?’

  He paused, before replying firmly, ‘You’re never going to have to find out.’ Finishing with the sheet, he returned to where she was standing. ‘Take my hands.’

  Winter slipped her cold, wet hands into his, astonished at how warm they felt. Though it was very dark inside the garage now, some yellowish light still seeped through the grime-encrusted window over the workbench. By its sickly glow, Winter could see his face, the furrowed brow beneath his black curls, eyes burning brightly with the Occuluma. Right now she didn’t care what the spectral green light signified or that it marked him as unique among the others she’d seen. She’d always known Blake was different, felt it in her heart that very first instant their eyes had met. Whatever secret lurked behind those dazzling emerald flames wouldn’t change her feelings for him.

  ‘I don’t regret kissing you.’ If this was to be one of her last moments, it was important Blake knew that. That he understood how much the kiss had meant to her – how much he meant to her.

  ‘I’m glad,’ Blake said, his face softening. A faint smile played across his lips before he closed his eyes. ‘Now, don’t say another word. I have to concentrate.’

  Winter nodded and waited.

  Nothing happened.

  Blake opened his eyes and exhaled in frustration. ‘It’s too bright in here.’

  Winter still didn’t understand why he needed it to be dark, or even what they were doing in this garage. It felt as though she’d stumbled into a dream where the rules of reality arbitrarily changed every five minutes or so. The quality of light in the room shifted slightly as a shadow moved in front of the window.

  She looked past Blake’s shoulder and felt a scream rise in her throat. ‘They’re here!’

  The Skivers had silently materialised in the garage and were approaching Winter and Blake from three separate sides. They began clicking excitedly to one another. The Master stared at Winter, its obsidian eyes boring into her own. There was no mercy in that blackness, no humanity. Just cold intent.

  Blake closed his eyes against the Skivers, his brow knitting in concentration.

  ‘Hold on tight.’

  Thunder rumbled overhead (or was it inside?). The scene behind him shimmered, as though reflected
onto a mirror – a mirror that was being bent and warped and stretched – before exploding into a million shards. There was an emerald-tinged darkness, filling Winter’s vision, swallowing them whole.

  Chapter 44

  Winter knew she wasn’t dead this time, but having that knowledge didn’t make it any easier to accept what she was seeing. They were flying again. Flying through the same dark skies they had the previous night. Blake was at her side, still holding her hand. He smiled reassuringly, and Winter knew that as long as she held onto him she would be safe.

  The perfume of this strange place filled her nostrils and lungs. She breathed it in curiously, more conscious of the effect it had on her than last time. As before, the scented air calmed Winter, soothing her fears like an opiate. The imminent threat of the Skivers seemed to fade further away with each breath.

  They drifted closer to the clouds below, and Winter began to see glimpses of the dark shapes of the city through the grey veil. Here and there a particularly ambitious structure broke through the misty canopy, backlit by the emerald blasts of light issuing from the wells beneath. She could just make out people standing around these circular cavities, arms rapturously outstretched, waiting for the next geyser of light to erupt. Bells chimed close by, growing louder, more hypnotic.

  Distantly, Winter felt Blake squeeze her hand and she managed to wrench her gaze from the wells. He was staring at her intensely, his mouth forming words, words she could barely make out through the darkness – ‘Don’t look!’ Speech didn’t seem to exist in this place, yet Winter caught the urgency of his warning. It was difficult to obey. The sights of the city begged to be seen.

  Ahead of them a small patch of white light appeared in the sky, like a distant doorway being opened in a darkened room. Winter felt their flight subtly change course as Blake pulled them towards its faint glow, which seemed paltry and insignificant compared to the radiance of the city below. The light grew stronger as they neared it, but the opening was small, so small that Blake had to pull Winter close to him to fit through the gap together.

  Before they passed from this ghost world, Winter took one last breath, wanting to hold as much of that intoxicating scent in her body as possible, and then they were somewhere else.

  Winter’s five senses struggled to accept the abrupt change in environment. There was something cold and gritty beneath her fingertips – soil. She could hear rain falling somewhere far above. Feeble grey light seeped in from an opening past her head, but it was not enough for her to see the boundaries of this space. Whatever this place was it was dark, cramped and dirty. She blinked in the murk, her head feeling curiously heavy. Images of the ghost city flashed in front of her eyes – the towers breaking through the clouds, the light wells . . . Winter could still taste the perfume of the air on her tongue; its scent soothing in this cold, dirty place. She felt tired, so tired. Her eyelids began to droop, the void beckoned . . .

  Someone’s shuddering breath echoed off the walls and brought her momentarily back to herself – Blake!

  She opened her mouth to call out his name, but could only manage a whisper.

  ‘Blake?’

  ‘Winter?’ His voice sounded as if it was coming from very far away.

  She tried to turn her head towards where his voice had come from, but lacked the strength. The strange lethargy that had plagued her last night had stolen over her again. Her vision began to swim, and then darken. Winter felt the darkness, closing in. She was drifting, falling . . .

  Someone was grabbing hold of her shoulders and gently pulling her across the ground. In her semiconscious state, Winter could feel dirt spilling into her shirt and jeans as she was dragged along. Something scratched against her cheek and something hard and blunt jabbed her thigh, but these sensations were distant, almost as though they were happening to another person.

  After what could have been five minutes or five hours, Winter finally felt herself being pulled into the open air. Icy rain sprinkled down onto her face, but still she couldn’t rouse herself to full consciousness. Blake lifted her up into his arms. Then she was being carried.

  Her head lolling, Winter managed to raise her eyelids a fraction, and recognised through her blurry vision the twisted magnolia tree in front of the Velasco place. There was a small hole in the trunk leading down into the dark, hollow depths. It was just big enough to crawl through. Judging by the dirty footprints in the grass leading away from the tree, Winter guessed that was where they’d appeared. In her dream-state, this almost made sense to her.

  ‘Winter?’ Blake said from a great distance.

  Winter couldn’t answer him. She was slipping deeper into the darkness again.

  Deeper . . .

  Chapter 45

  A clock was ticking somewhere.

  There was another sound, closer . . . a strange crackling and popping sound. Winter felt heat radiating against her face. Slowly, her eyes fluttered open.

  Where was she?

  She was lying on a leather couch in an unfamiliar room. As her eyes focused, Winter could see heavy curtains drawn across the windows along the far wall. The cracks of silvery light between the curtains suggested that it was still daytime. Winter could only guess how long she’d been asleep. It might be tomorrow for all she knew. The cool leather beneath her creaked softly as she shifted her weight.

  There were strange shadows playing across the ceiling. They flickered and danced, shifting in the firelight. Winter looked down towards the end of the couch and saw the fireplace. Red and yellow tongues of flame gently licked at a pile of charcoaled wood in the grate.

  Confused, she raised her head and saw that she wasn’t alone in the room. Blake was sitting across from her in a dusty armchair, a coffee table lying between them. He was asleep. Although he was still beautiful in repose, she noticed with concern that his features were pale and slightly feverish. His thick black curls were pasted to his forehead with sweat; his clothes were dishevelled, covered with dirt.

  A rush of images flooded her mind – the Skivers, the chase, the garage, flying through that dark sky above the city, the hollow of the magnolia tree in the front yard. Blake must have carried her inside – but were they safe here? Earlier in the week, she’d heard the Skivers in the woods outside. What was stopping them from returning? Panic seizing her, Winter sat bolt upright, dislodging the ginger tabby that had been curled up on her legs.

  The cat jumped off Winter and onto the floor where it glared at her reproachfully before padding across to Blake.

  This motion roused him, his eyelids fluttered open. ‘You’re awake.’ The cat curled up into a ball at his feet, closing one eye and keeping the other luminous yellow one trained on Winter.

  ‘Are we safe?’

  ‘Yes,’ Blake answered hoarsely. He held a fist up to his mouth, muffling a cough. ‘As long as you’re within these walls the Skivers can’t reach you.’

  Her gaze darted fearfully to the windows. ‘I saw one of those things reach into a man’s chest. What’s stopping them walking right through the walls?’

  ‘I’ve set up protections around the house. Wards designed to keep them out. Believe me, Winter, you’re safe.’

  Winter took a deep breath. Despite Blake’s reassurances, she couldn’t completely dispel the fear that clutched at her even now. She was a condemned soul – Blake had said as much. How long could this safety last? As she considered this question she was distracted by something lying on the coffee table between them. An object that looked strangely familiar. Leaning closer for a better look, Winter saw it was her missing photograph: the flawed graveyard image that had disappeared from her bag.

  ‘I stole it from you.’

  She looked up from the photograph at Blake watching her through the flickering darkness.

  ‘Why?’

  Blake took a moment to answer. ‘First, let me ask you a question, Winter.’

  She placed the photograph back on the table. ‘Ask me anything.’

  ‘Have you ever come a
cross a locked door?’

  ‘Of course I have,’ Winter answered cautiously, unsure if she was missing some deeper implication.

  ‘Let me rephrase the question,’ Blake said, his eyes glittering in the firelight. ‘Have you ever come across a door you couldn’t open? Think before you answer.’

  Still very confused, Winter did as he asked her, and was surprised by what she recalled. Or what she couldn’t recall. It was impossible, of course. There must have been some time in her life when she’d tried a door and been unable to open it.

  ‘You can’t think of a single time, can you?’ Blake said, studying her closely.

  ‘I’m sure I have, but I can’t remember one right now.’

  ‘Earlier, I said that you’d always had the Sight. The ability had simply lain dormant.’

  Winter didn’t need reminding. She could see the evidence glowing in Blake’s eyes, the tiny emerald sparks of the Occuluma. ‘Yes.’

  ‘This was not the limit of your untapped potential. You’re a Key, Winter.’

  Winter baulked at the term. ‘I’m a what?’

  ‘A Key,’ he repeated patiently. ‘You have the power to open locked doors.’

  She raised an eyebrow sceptically. ‘Most people can do that.’

  ‘Not like you. There are other places, other worlds, besides this one. You can open gateways to these worlds – or close them. It is a rare and powerful gift.’

  Winter took a moment to process this. She looked down at her hands, trying to glimpse a sign of this amazing power Blake said she possessed. Her hands looked like she felt – completely unremarkable.

  ‘How can you be sure I’m one of these “Keys”?’

  Blake shifted slightly, as though the question unnerved him. ‘I could tell from the first moment I saw you across the graveyard. There’s a unique light in your eyes that’s different from the Occuluma. A golden light visible only to someone like me. It’s very difficult to resist.’ His eyes locked onto hers. ‘Right now, I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my entire life.’