Sanctuary: A dark urban fantasy (Shifter Chronicles Book 1)

by Amade, Melle

  Naomi’s coffin is the opposite with its blond, smooth curves and fresh pine scent that rises above the smell of people crowded in the chapel, sweating in their unseasonal winter coats. The lid to her coffin is closed. My skin tremors. She must look bad. I’m glad I didn’t see her. I’m glad Zan and Roman stopped everyone before they got to where Jon and Naomi were killed. Only Aiden and Callum saw the bodies.

  Zan sits in the second pew in between Roman and Aiden. Their backs are like a single wall separating us. My fingernails click together. I told Henry to hurry, but finding his stupid book was more important than us getting to the funeral early enough for me to sit with my friends. Now I’m stuck at the back while they all band together up there.

  My fingers twist in the gold chain. I haven’t taken it off since the party.

  “Ow!” Pain shoots up my leg. Mom’s thin fingers clench my knee, pinching it hard. I whip my leg away and shoot her a dirty look. Her hair is pulled back in a single braid that looks painful.

  “Shhh,” she hisses over Henry’s head. I want to grab her wrist and flick it away, but even in the crowded chapel I can’t take such direct action. Especially after the foul mood she’s been in since Friday night. I yank my knee out of her grip.

  “Jon’s life was fraught with pain and darkness.”

  No one can help themselves. Every eye in the chapel turns to Callum, who sits on the other side of Aiden. Callum’s ancestors were the first settlers of Topanga. They built this chapel. How many of his family are buried here?

  I survey every line of his face and body that I can see. He doesn’t blink, stares straight ahead, his eyes hugged by dark, haunted circles. Could he really, possibly turn into a bird? His black hair is slicked back, accenting the sharp line of his set jaw.

  It’s not possible.

  His skin is white, his lips a thin pale red line. The scene has flashed before me a hundred times in the last four days and each time it’s so real, but, so unbelievable. Now that I see him, my memory of that night seems crazy. There’s no way he can transform into skin with feathers and a beak. Sharp green eyes. He couldn’t turn into a raven. It had to be a trick of the fog, heightened by adrenalin.

  It’s hard to get that scream out of my head. It’s impossible not to look at Naomi’s coffin; her last scream. It’s like fingernails scratching into my bones. I’ll never get the cuts out. How could two such vibrant lives just be gone? It seems impossible - and, by an animal.

  Ripped apart and bleeding to death.

  By the time I got there, Roman and Zan were standing shoulder to shoulder, stopping anyone from moving up the path. We all stood silently in the shrouded woods; no one spoke, no one asked questions, just the echo of the scream playing in our minds. We shifted from foot to foot, waiting. I’m not even sure what we were waiting for, but, it was the fire department, as it turned out. Making their way fast and somber, carrying backboards so they could bring the bodies out or maybe what was left of them.

  I close my eyes. Sometimes imagination sucks.

  Wish I could talk to Zan, or any of them. See how they’re doing. Mom hasn’t let me out of her sight.

  Aiden’s golden mop is brushed smooth and settles lightly against the nape of his neck. I can still feel his arms wrapped around me, holding me close, asking me if I’m okay. That one perfect moment before Naomi’s scream; before she - my throat tightens, but it doesn’t stop the words from echoing through my hollow chest, before she was ripped apart by the mountain lion.

  My foot starts to twitch. I dig my heel into the ground to stop the tapping, but instead, my foot jerks out. THUD! It lands against the wooden pew in front of me. Crap! Too late. Everyone stares. Everyone except Callum. He’s focused on the front of the room. I lock eyes with Zan, but before I can press all my feelings into her, she turns back to the front of the room.

  “Oh, Shae," Mom murmurs. I cringe. Here comes her show of affection. These are Mom’s customers. She’s going to make sure I don’t make an idiot of myself and that she comes off as the caring nurturing yogi. Her hand reaches over Henry’s head to pat my shoulder. It deflects everyone’s attention as intended. The air is thick and hard to press in and out of my lungs. There is a slight murmur as everyone turns back to the preacher.

  He’s finished. My breath escapes in relief. Now we can get out of here.

  Everyone stands. I’ll be able to check in with my friends; try and be there for them. I angle towards the front of the chapel, but everyone’s lining up to view Jon’s body. I’m stuck in the crowd pressing forward. I want to go that way, but not for the same reason.

  I do not want to see a dead body.

  My parents are close on my heels and - and Henry, clutching a book, his lower eyelid swollen and pink with infection, is being pushed in front of them. They can’t take Henry to see Jon! I block him from the line. Dad’s hulking frame almost stumbles. He brushes his shaggy blond hair out of his face. I wave my hand at him, open my eyes wide, roll them towards Henry, and then to the front door. He gets it.

  “Right,” he says. “We’ll go get the car, eh?” His coarse Australian accent breaks across the quiet chapel. Mom flinches at his side.

  “We can’t all walk out,” she whispers. “What will people think?” She pushes Henry towards Dad and hooks her arm through mine.

  “Mom, I don’t want to go,” I whisper. Watching the body bags carried down the narrow path, inches from me, is closer than I ever wanted to get.

  “That doesn’t matter.” She presses me into the viewing line.

  It’s a slow shuffle, snaking around the perimeter of the room and coiling through the center. We’re by the outer wall, standing in the grey afternoon light that leaks through the window. Aiden, Roman, and Zan are at the front of the line and already staring into the coffin. Aiden’s face is calm as he turns away and moves to stand with Callum in the receiving line. It’s ironic how close they used to be and then, after his mom died and Callum moved in with Aiden, that’s when Callum pulled away from all of us. I’m glad he’s letting our group support him now, through this. Aiden says a few quiet words, but Callum stares right through him. You can tell it’s the last place on earth he wants to be. Aiden’s jaw clenches, Callum’s eyes turn bright green and, I must be seeing things, his skin goes black. Zan and Roman immediately step forward, blocking him from everyone.

  “Mom, did you see that?” I ask.

  “See what?” Her mind is elsewhere.

  When I look back, Zan and Roman are walking towards the side door, and Callum is gone. I whirl around but he’s not in the chapel. He couldn’t have gotten through the crowd that fast. It’s as if he evaporated. Callum’s uncle, the preacher, is leaning on his raven-headed, ebony cane speaking to Naomi’s parents. Aiden looks like he’s listening intently, but there’s something about his expression that’s not right. There’s a tiny, almost imperceptible twitch by his left eye. I’ve seen it since we were little and it always means the same thing; he’s hiding something.

  A movement outside the window catches my attention. I press my face against it and peer through the blurry river of rain dripping down the glass. There it is - a dark shape in the sky, a jet black raven flies away through the storm.

  I wasn’t imagining it in the woods. The raven is Callum.

  How is that even possible? My head whips around to Aiden. Our gaze connects for the briefest second. He knows, too. I’m sure of it.

  I want to push past the mourners and confront Aiden, but Mom pulls me towards the casket. She looks solemn and serene, the perfect composure for a funeral. I try to copy her expression, but in my guts I’m a fraud. I want to get away from dead bodies, find my friends, and figure out what’s really going on.

  Instead, I stand with Mom, our heads bowed over the ebony coffin.

  And, there is Jon.

  He wears a black suit, which makes me want to choke. I’ve never seen Jon wear a suit. Not even in his senior picture. But, it’s his hands that get me. They lie in delicate curves, unmovi
ng. His nails are long. I heard they grow for a bit after you die. Jon was twenty-three. And, now he’s dead. My skin goes cold as I look at his face. His eyes are closed and his characteristic tan is gone. Instead, his skin is so white it’s almost blue. The purplish, jagged marks climb up from under his collar and across his face.

  The marks.

  A wave of horror floods over me; claws slice through Jon’s face, blood pours from deep wounds, his body goes limp and falls in the dirt.

  It’s like I feel the last moments of his life, those seconds right before death, right before you lose all ability to breathe; that horrific moment when you know that the world is about to go on living without you.

  I’m doubled over and clutching the side of the coffin, my knees weak. It wobbles on its stand. I hear a collective gasp from the congregation.

  “Shae!” Aiden is there, one hand steadying the coffin, one hand under my elbow, propping me up. I look up at him. Aiden’s staring at my hands. I glance down and realize my nails have scratched the ebony skin of Jon’s coffin, leaving pale, long wounds down its side. Aiden is frowning at me, about to speak, but Mom brushes the red satin lining over the scratches and pulls me up, ramrod straight, propelling me towards the side exit.

  The people are a blur as I stumble by, desperate to breathe, desperate to stay alive.

  We burst outside into the cool air. It’s a freakish autumn rain storm; uncharacteristic for September in Southern California. Not cold, just fierce. The wind catches the door and it’s about to slam back into my face when it’s stopped by a huge hand reaching over my head. The fingernails are filed into sharp claw-like points and a thick gold chain squeezes the taut muscles of the man’s wrist.

  “Never see a dead body before?” His chuckle rolls like low-grade thunder past my head. I jump out of my skin as I whirl around and sidestep through the opening.

  “Are you alright, Shae?” Mom asks, brushing the hair out of my eyes.

  The door slams behind us. Claw-fingers stands there smiling at us. He looks about thirty with long dishwater blond hair, top pulled back, the rest tangled in the wind. His bright yellow eyes narrow as they bore into me. It’s impossible to look away. I’m caught by the three purple scars radiating into the tan skin around his left eye like torn off branches of a leafless tree. He grins at me, but not in a friendly way. The side of his mouth curls up and reveals, one very sharp tooth glinting in the afternoon light.

  My stomach twists like he’s squeezing it in his fist. I grab Mom’s hand and pull her to the front of the chapel chased by his rumbling laughter.

  “Okay?” Mom asks as we escape around the corner. Mourners are grouped under a copse of pines across the street. Mom tries to pat my shoulder, but I sidestep. I’ve had enough of her public shows of motherly affection. Her hand flails in the air before it limps back to her side.

  “Yeah.” I try to smooth my knotted hair and steady my breath. “I’m fine.”

  Jon is gone. Dead. He died a horrible death, but he’s not there, in that body. He’s okay now.

  Breathe in the flowers, blow out the candles.

  “The reception is at Naomi’s parent’s house,” Mom says. I nod, scanning the crowd for Callum, but I don’t see him. It really was him flying off. “It might be good if you went.”

  I nod, but I’m only half listening. I spot Zan on the other side of the road standing with her parents. This is my chance to talk to her. “Okay, I’ll go with Zan,” I say. “Zan!” The group around her frowns. I step forward, but a loud honk fills the air. An oncoming car stops short of hitting me. Everyone is staring now as Roman, gold rim sunglasses sliding down his nose, jumps out of his green beat up car. He grabs my arm and pushes me towards one of the beater’s mismatched doors. “Get in,” he says, white teeth flash against his permanently tan skin.

  “I need to talk to you guys.” I squeeze the words out.

  “Bueno,” he says, waving Zan over. “Just get in.”

  Zan glowers as she climbs in the front seat. I reach for the back door, but it’s jerked open.

  Aiden.

  Rain drips from his hair, wetting his cheeks. He pulls my hand forward and twists it over, pressing his fingertips against the end of my nails.

  “I didn’t mean to,” I whisper. His only response is a slight crease between his eyebrows.

  “Should I take her home?” Roman asks.

  “What?” I ask. “I want to go to the reception.” But, Roman is waiting for Aiden to tell him what to do. Zan stares out the car window, brushing wet curls back from her face. Everyone is waiting for Aiden to make a decision!

  Who else is going to give me a ride? Mom is going home to show the house.

  “It’s private,” Aiden murmurs.

  My jaw drops in disbelief.

  “Aiden.” I wait until his somber eyes bore into me. “I need to go to the reception.” He starts to shake his head. “Don’t say no. They were my friends, too.”

  His fingertips press heat through my nails and into my skin as he drops his chin. His eyes rest on me for a long moment before he nods to Roman. “Bring her, but don’t let her out of your sight,” he says. His hand motions me into the car as his eyes scan the thinning crowd. I duck my head and dive into the back seat, pushing all the fast food wrappers and other crap out of the way to make room. Aiden bends over like he’ll join us. I start to burrow my way to the other side of the car, clearing the seat as I go, but Aiden doesn’t get in. He slams the rusty door shut and I sit frozen at an awkward angle in a pile of Roman’s garbage.

  5

  We inch forward with the other cars headed to the main road. The urgent thoughts that tumbled through me in the chapel suffocate beneath the silence in Roman’s beater. Our steady breaths steam up the windshield. The vents are on, blasting away, but make little improvement to the visibility. They probably haven’t worked in years.

  “You missed the turn.” I point out the window. A few cars have headed to Naomi’s house, but the rest continue up the hill. Roman shakes his head.

  “We’re going to Jon’s wake,” he says. “Not Naomi’s reception.”

  “They’re different?”

  “Yeah,” mutters Zan. “Jon’s is at Aiden’s house.”

  “Van Arend Manor?” I ask. It’s hard to even imagine that as ‘Aiden’s house’. I know he lives there but I’ve never - “Have you been there?” I blurt out the question. Roman shrugs like it’s no big deal, but Zan just stares out the window.

  I choke on the silence that pushes against our barriers.

  “What did you guys see that night?” My voice cracks.

  “What night?” asks Zan, her right hand flicks the door handle. Roman fusses with his stereo until Jack Johnson plays on his mega-sound system. I bet it cost twice as much as the beater. The music is low but each raw guitar note tears at the silence.

  They’re ignoring me.

  “Did you see Callum?” I ask. “When you got to… to Jon and Naomi.”

  The chill is sliding across the top of my head, closing me off from rational thought. Roman looks at Zan. But, she keeps her forehead pressed against the fogged glass. The more they ignore me, the colder I get.

  “Did you see Callum?” I drop the words out to make sure they hear every single one.

  “It was dark,” Zan mutters.

  “He turned into a raven!” My hands shred a wilted burger wrapper.

  “That’s not possible.” Zan doesn’t sound surprised. Roman squeezes the steering wheel ‘til his brown knuckles go white.

  “Roman?” I turn my attention to him. “Roman. You know, right?”

  His head shakes back and forth. “Um, it sounds pretty crazy, Shae,” his words are slow and quiet, like he’s figuring them out as he goes along.

  “It was dark and we were all pretty scared,” says Zan.

  “It wasn’t just the woods,” I say. “In the chapel -”

  Zan twists in her seat until her copper eyes stare straight into mine. “You really think people
can turn into animals?”

  My mouth is dry and my mind flashes back to that moment, running in the woods, Callum next to me, bodies sprinting forward, pressing into the dark, and then - he disappeared and a raven was cawing and flying and disappearing ahead of me. I’ve replayed it so many times in my head, but even if we scared a raven up from the undergrowth…

  “In the chapel,” I murmur, “he disappeared.”

  “No he didn’t.” Zan shakes her head. “We went together out the side door. He couldn’t face talking to everyone in the chapel.”

  “I… I…” Is that really what happened? My brain is as mixed up as the fast food wrappers on Roman’s back seat.

  “Is everything okay at home?” Zan’s watching me closely. I glance at Roman, but he stares straight ahead like he hasn’t heard.

  “Yeah.” I glare at her. “Fine.”

  Zan reaches over the seat to clasp my hand, her mouth twists in a tight smile. “Don’t let anyone hear you talk like that,” she nods towards the walls of the Van Arend Manor that looms in front of us. “They’ll lock your crazy ass up.”

  I lean back, maybe it’s just easier if it’s not true. A small giggle erupts from my throat. “I must sound insane.”

  “Un poco.” Roman cocks an eyebrow in the rearview mirror. His sensitive eyes are free for once of his gold-rimmed glasses. They’re dark grade A molasses; rich, sweet and full of his best “let’s lighten up” mood. “Wait ‘til you see Aiden’s place,” he says, “it’s pretty unreal.”

  I lean back against the worn car seat and relax, opening my lungs and letting the air rush in and fill me up. It’s like I haven’t had a breath all summer. I breathe out tension from the tiny muscles all over my body where I was cramming it. I’m with my friends. Together we can cope with anything.