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

by Amade, Melle

  “What are you doing here?” Mom asks, as she comes out of her meditation cell.

  I take a deep breath. Her voice wasn’t unkind. I try to hear it that way. She’s just being my mom; abrupt and to the point.

  “Dad told me we inherited the house,” I say.

  Mom’s eyes widen and one hand presses against her stomach as she moves quickly towards the counter, getting it safely between the two of us. “No,” she lies. “That’s not true.”

  But, I’ve seen all I need to see. “It’s true,” I say.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she says.

  “If it doesn’t matter, why haven’t you ever told me?” I ask.

  “Because that was the condition of the Will!” Mom’s voice is sharp, clashing with the gentle yoga music that fills the air.

  “So, we’re related to the previous owner?” I ask.

  “No!” Mom exclaims. “Look, Shae, stop. I don’t know what you think you’re uncovering but there’s nothing to uncover. The woman’s name was Elisabeth. She was some distant crazy relative who stipulated we should sell the house as soon as possible because it was falling apart. That was always the plan.”

  “You and Elisabeth made a plan?” I ask.

  “I never even met her,” she says. “But, she gave us everything we own, and I have failed to live up to her last wishes. We just sort of settled in. Dad fixed up what needed to be fixed up and everything else just sort of fell by the way side as I built my yoga practice and had Henry and…” Her voice trails off.

  “Why are you so keen to sell it now?” I ask. Mom’s talking so I press it. I have nothing to lose.

  “To fulfill my promise,” she says. “To make it right.”

  “But,” I say, “we don’t really have to.”

  Her back stiffens and she raises her grey eyes to mine. “Yes, we do,” she says. “We’re not changing that. Even if I can’t get this sale to stick, we will focus on fixing the house and put it on the market again. I want you guys out of here.”

  “Why?” I insist.

  “Enough, Shae,” Mom says. “I made a commitment when I accepted the deed to that house and I intend to fulfill it. Do not argue with me about it anymore.”

  It’s like I’m a five-year-old child. She turns and walks away going into her meditation cell. My fingernails drum with soft thuds against her appointment book. I glance down, even though I know her schedule by heart. My gaze stops as it runs down the page.

  “V.A.,” I mutter. “3pm tomorrow.”

  That’s not a class time. I frown.

  Could Mom be meeting with Van Arend? I frown towards her meditation cell door. She might have told me something, but, she certainly hasn’t told me everything. Mom still has secrets.

  ***

  The front of the school is empty by the time I get there. Almost empty. Callum stands up from the picnic bench and walks over to me as I approach the stairs.

  “I’ll walk you to class.” He draws me in with a crooked smile.

  The air in my lungs turns to icicles. “Sure,” I walk towards him and let the ice form a mask over my face. Let him snoop for the enemy. Bring it.

  He chuckles and wraps an arm around my shoulders. He’s so warm, the ice around my head softens. “Come on,” he smiles. “Don’t want to be late for my uncle’s class.”

  I click my nails to press down the heat that rises at his touch. He’s not escorting me to class because he likes me. He’s trying to corner me for his uncle. This is his job. I just wish my body understood that. Because, right now, I just want to press against him and melt.

  “We have an offer on the house,” I say it out loud to cut the heat.

  He stops at the top of the stairs. “I wish you weren’t moving.”

  Despite my resolve, I’m grateful. “Me too,” I say. The words slip out, but it’s true. It’s hard to imagine living anywhere else.

  We arrive at the door to the class and Callum withdraws his arm and fidgets with the zipper of his leather jacket. I hate how the smell of his jacket fills me with the memory of our kiss. That scent makes me want to nestle into his chest; and I shouldn’t.

  He drops a step behind me as we enter the classroom.

  The room is silent as a tomb; the air reeks of musty tree bark and old feathers. All the students sit in their seats looking at Murtagh, who stares out the window. But as I enter, he whips around, his gaze pierces me mid-stride. My body tenses, but I duck my head and stride to my seat just as Callum enters and the last bell for class sounds.

  “Simply because I’m your uncle, does not give you permission to be tardy.” Murtagh’s voice is like a desert wind.

  I glance at Callum, his face flushes red.

  “He wasn’t late to class.” I bristle, unable to stop my words. “He was in the room when the bell rang.”

  Murtagh’s eyes flash black, but I don’t shrink. Ice is congealing around my head and sliding down my scalp. I don’t care if Callum is his spy, he doesn’t deserve to be humiliated.

  “Come to the front of the class, Ms. Bradfield.” Murtagh is pleased I spoke.

  Crap.

  My gaze flies to Callum, but he’s ensconced in his English textbook. He set me up. I’m a complete idiot.

  Fine.

  I stand up and face Murtagh. Whatever it is he wants to try, he can try right here in front of the class. Let’s see how far it gets him.

  My eyes narrow.

  Breathe in the flowers. Blow out the candles.

  I need to be strong, focused and clear. I look at him for what he is. Not a raven or a teacher. Not even a bitter old man. He’s a bully.

  I remember Aiden’s words, “Fear will give you away.” I breathe a steel rod into my back and make my face a mask of belligerence.

  “Yes?” I step right up to him.

  “Face the class.” I half expect him to whack a ruler over the back of my hands. His tone is so militant. I don’t speak, but do as he asks. Everyone stares at me. Some of the kids snicker, anticipating a great show. Aiden, Callum and Zan watch as if I’ve just gone to the front to make an expected presentation.

  “An important part of year eleven curriculum…” Murtagh clumps to the window as he talks, as if he doesn’t care if anyone pays attention to him or not. “…is your ability to organize your thoughts around literature and present them to the class. Today, Ms. Bradfield will demonstrate how this is or is not done.”

  He turns on me smiling as the last words crawl out of his mouth. My lip curls and I fight the trembling in my legs. He’s eerie at the best of times, but right this moment, he’s downright disturbing. The last place I want to be is under the glare of his microscopic vision.

  “Which reading did you select?” he asks.

  For the briefest of moments my mind is an empty page with the question “READ?” scrawled across it. I focus on a stray black hair that grows out of Murtagh’s chin.

  “Fall of the House of Usher.” I have no idea where that came from. I breathe and look Murtagh in the eyes, keeping a mask of nothingness between us. All I have to do is stay focused on the book and answer his questions. Nothing else.

  “Give us an example of dramatic irony in Fall of the House of Usher.” Murtagh rests against his desk, his fingers curl over the pitch black raven head of his cane and dig into the wood. “Actually,” he smiles, “first tell the class what dramatic irony is, I think they’d enjoy that, don’t you?”

  I scan the class focused on the space about two inches above everyone’s head. Not making eye contact seems like the best tactic in this situation. “Dramatic irony is when the reader knows something the characters don’t,” I say.

  Murtagh wants to connect with me. He wants me to show him that he and I know something the class does not, well, most of the class, but, I won’t give in. I can’t.

  Murtagh’s musty tree bark and feather odor drifts towards me as he pushes off the desk and approaches my back.

  I don’t move.

  “Very good, I always think d
ramatic irony makes life so much more interesting,” he says. “The character bumbles along not knowing what’s going on, making all the wrong decisions, and I’m so anxious for them. I want to yell at them, look over your shoulder!”

  KAWOMPH!!

  I jump and twist in the air. The class laughs, well, everyone except Zan, Aiden and Callum; they don’t laugh. Murtagh has thrown a huge, leather-bound copy of the Complete Works of William Shakespeare on the ground behind me. My heart races. I move back to my seat.

  “We’re not done with your presentation, yet.” Murtagh’s voice scrapes me to a halt. Ice crackles down my cheeks as hail starts to dance in my head. My body yearns to twist and fly at him. Murtagh’s head is cocked to the side, watching me as if he can see me struggle against the rage.

  “Leave her alone.” Aiden’s voice is low but carries through the whole class, which is silent.

  I look at Aiden. He of all people shouldn’t defend me.

  “Poe uses dramatic irony during the storm when the sister is dead and the reader knows it but the narrator does not.” I rush the words out and throw them at Murtagh.

  “You see, Aiden,” says Murtagh, “she knows the answers. There’s no need to be like Callum’s brother and stick up for every pretty little girl who comes along. It seems they can fend for themselves.”

  A slight gasp goes up from the students. Jon just died. Murtagh is treading a thin line. But, I don’t understand why he said that. Is it to keep Callum in line? Let him know how weak his brother was?

  I take my seat and watch the deep red flush rise up Callum’s neck, flood his face and disappear into his hairline. At first I think he’s embarrassed, but his jaw clenches and foot taps the floor. He’s angry and trying to control himself. I want to soothe him. Instead, I let the ice simmer around my skin and watch as Murtagh calls another student to the front.

  When the bell rings I’m the first one out the door. Murtagh’s piercing gaze follows me, but I can’t look. The ice is freezing on my skin. Another moment and I will rage against him. Callum is right behind me, pushing forward, hands clenching and unclenching. We stride in step down the hall, our anger propelling us forward.

  We rush through the dark tunnel of the hallway. I need to get outside, find some heat to melt the freezing fury that is dropping through me.

  I can’t breathe.

  Icicles choke me.

  I stumble. Callum grabs my elbow, propelling me forward. He pushes open the doors and the September heat wave blasts us in the face. But, it’s not melting the icicles. I grab Callum’s shoulder, twisting him back towards me, so he presses me to the wall. I pull his head down and let his lips overwhelm me.

  The ice melts.

  His dark fire burns me. I pull him closer, twisting my grip around the back of his leather jacket.

  All of a sudden he’s ripped from my arms and I lean there, panting in the hot autumn air.

  “Get away from her, Callum,” snarls Zan, who’s standing between us, her hand against his chest, her teeth bared. Callum towers above her as if he’s about to push her out of the way to get to me, but Zan’s posture holds him in check. “Stay away from her for both of your sakes.” Zan’s voice rumbles low. But, Callum and I hear.

  It’s not just me. He’s in danger; a shifter making out with a human.

  I want to retreat into the building, but Murtagh is in there. I blink in the sunlight. Aiden and Roman sit on the picnic bench under our tree looking up at the disturbance we’ve made. Roman drops his gold rimmed glasses over his eyes and moves towards us.

  Aiden heads in the opposite direction.

  He saw me kissing Callum.

  What does it matter? He’s got Zan.

  I hate how that thought always wrenches at my gut. Why can’t I just accept it?

  I catch Callum’s gaze as he sees me watching Aiden. The tension falls from his face as a wave of disappointment crosses it. But, he eclipses it with a sneer of indifference.

  “I’ll see you around, Shae,” he says. He’s gone before I can retort.

  Not that I would even know what to say.

  It’s amazing how it feels when we kiss. I just - I just - I’ve wanted to be Aiden’s girlfriend for so long, it seems bizarre to want to be with anyone else.

  And, how could I want to be with someone who is trying to destroy Aiden’s life? What is wrong with me?

  But, kissing Callum turns my insides to lava. And, it warms me up, gets rid of the ice. It’s so much nicer than my mantra. Breathe in the stupid flowers.

  I shake the thoughts from my head as I wipe his kisses from my mouth. He’s a shifter. He’s getting close to me in order to trip me up so he can trap me for his uncle. Every single thing he ever does cannot be trusted.

  15

  I pick up Henry at the elementary school. His eyes are two slits from the infections in his eye lids. I want to hold his hand to help guide him on the road. But, he won’t let me. He babbles all the way to our house. His words are a singsong background tone as my mind reels. It is one thing to have to hide my knowledge haphazardly, but Murtagh has put me in his line of fire. Topanga seems claustrophobic and the wooded hills rising up from the winding road make me jumpy.

  I can’t let anything happen to my little brother.

  It isn’t until I get him through the front gate and into our yard that I take a deep breath. I’m sure our fence doesn’t offer much protection, but it’s better to have Henry behind it.

  Mom says we’re related to the woman who owned this house. That’s got to be something, right? It could mean I’m a shifter. And, if I am, then this whole drama with Aiden and Murtagh can be avoided.

  As Henry pushes open the door, I take a step back. “Tell Dad I’m doing homework at the library,” I say.

  “Where are you going?” he asks.

  “To do homework at the library,” I repeat.

  “Liar.”

  “Homework. Library. Got it?”

  “Okay,” he frowns, but raises his face for a kiss. I grab him and lift him up, holding him close.

  “Make sure you stay inside this afternoon.” I tickle his stomach. He laughs but concern shadows his eyes.

  “Shae?” Dad’s voice drifts from the house.

  “Don’t go up the canyon,” Henry says.

  “Henry?” Dad’s coming.

  “Please,” Henry says.

  “Library,” I whisper as I push Henry through the door and disappear around the corner. With the mountain lion attacks, the last thing Dad will let me do is hike into the hills.

  ***

  Topanga isn’t safe and I have to go to the people who can make a difference.

  I stay low and hurry through the woods, feeling like a fugitive on the run from the dogs. Crap. I bet Vasquez can track my scent. I move into the creek bed. There’s rarely much water in it, but the recent rains have created a decent stream rolling over the rocks. Hopefully it’ll be enough to mask my smell. The rocks are wet and loose as I step gingerly around them. I’m trying to get in the water, not around it, but the rocks under the surface are more slippery and harder to see. I trip every few steps as my feet slosh forward. The going is slow as my knees and shins collect bruises. But it’s the one way I stand a chance of keeping Vasquez off my tail and the location of the Sanctuary hidden.

  When I get near the entrance of the tunnel I crouch low in the stream and take a long time to look around. I peer into every bush for the slightest movement, the slightest indication someone watches me. But, there’s nothing, no one. I’m sure of it. Like Zan says, I’m the one with the great eyesight. Some super power.

  Finally, I get in line with the Sanctuary. After a quick reconnaissance to make sure nothing is lurking in the mist, I dash up the hillside, under the bushes, and into the tunnel. I breathe deeply into the shade as branches close behind me, sheltering me from anything in the woods. For a moment I’m so safe I don’t want to move on. I sit in the cool dark womb of the earth with my eyes closed. The stress of the day presses
through me and into the ground. I don’t know how I’m supposed to stand up to the scrutiny of Vasquez and Murtagh, or the proximity of Callum, how I’ll lie to my parents, how I’ll make sure I don’t get killed. I need the help of my friends. No matter what they’ve said or done, they know this world better than I do.

  I step out of the tunnel, into the Sanctuary, and see three of them there. Years of camaraderie can’t be wiped out even by the recent events. Roman grabs me in a big hug.

  “You shouldn’t have come here,” Zan scolds.

  Roman pulls me protectively back so tight I can barely breathe. “I’m so glad you did.”

  “I belong here as much as you do,” I say to Zan, but my gaze is on Aiden, who stands a bit back; his eyes dark and unreadable. “So, what’s your dad doing about it?” I fire my question.

  “You saw him,” Aiden says “probably nothing.”

  “He seemed pretty lucid last night,” I say.

  “You saw Lord Van Arend last night?” Zan looks quizzically from me to Aiden and then back again.

  “She was looking for me.” Aiden waves away her suspicion.

  “You were at the manor?” Zan asks.

  “I was looking at paintings,” I say. There’s no way I want Aiden thinking I’m mooning after him.

  “Okayyyy,” Zan looks dubious.

  “How can your dad not be doing anything about it?” I ask. “You saw Murtagh today! Is the great Lord Van Arend just going to let Vasquez rage all over the countryside killing shifters and humans and eventually me?!”

  “No!” Aiden exclaims. “That is not what’s going to happen, Shae.”

  “What about all your stupid laws?” I say. “Can’t your dad just arrest Vasquez?”

  “Murtagh is the Ridder,” says Zan. “Ridders have a lot of power.”