Shadow

by Christi J. Whitney

  I ducked behind a tree, dropping to a crouch as I concentrated on pinpointing the scent. It was close, perhaps only a few dozen feet ahead. I scanned the heavy underbrush. Thunder rumbled again from the sky, and then I heard a low growl. The sound prickled the hair on the back of my neck.

  Something black leapt from the brush, hitting me hard in the chest. My instincts flared. I rolled back, throwing the thing off. I came up on my hands and knees, a snarl on my lips. A massive black dog crouched before me. It leapt, and I ducked. The dog spun and lunged for my face. I grabbed its body, digging my claws into the thick fur. The animal snarled in fury and bit down on my arm. I hissed at the pain.

  A voice yelled from the trees.

  ‘Down, Caliban!’

  I snarled wildly and gripped the muzzle of the dog. I pried its teeth from my arm and hurled the beast into the nearest tree. It hit with a thud and a whimper, landing on its back. But it immediately sprang up, teeth bared. I crouched, ready for another attack, but the voice yelled again, harsher this time.

  ‘Caliban! Down!’

  The dog’s matted hair stood out along its hackled haunches. But it didn’t make another move towards me. Another burst of spicy sulfur flooded my nose as two cloaked men appeared through the trees.

  ‘Down!’ the first man commanded the dog.

  Caliban – the ferocious Rottweiler that had just attacked me – retreated, growling fiercely until it had reached the man’s side. Its enormous body quivered with rage as it stared me down with fiery black eyes. My lip curled in response as I fought against my surging instincts – instincts I’d thought I’d conquered while confined with the Corsi clan. Here, out in the open, they were harder to manage. My wings strained against their straps, and I shook uncontrollably, muscles flexing.

  ‘My apologies if Caliban hurt you,’ said the man. ‘It’s what he’s trained to do.’

  The men lowered their hoods. It was Phillipe and Stephan – two of Quentin’s Marksmen. They watched me with disgusted expressions as I forced myself to stand. My muscles felt like iron cords.

  ‘You’ve trained him to attack innocent people?’ I snarled, brushing myself off.

  ‘Of course not,’ Phillipe sneered. ‘He’s trained to attack your kind.’

  My kind.

  I really hated that phrase.

  I examined my arm. The sleeve of my jacket was ripped, but there wasn’t a mark on my gray skin. My eyes widened. Not even a scratch. But it still hurt like crazy, and I rubbed my arm gingerly.

  ‘It’s fortunate we weren’t out with the rest of the dogs,’ said Stephan with a cold smile. ‘Caliban here is relatively mild-tempered.’

  As if on cue, the dog’s muzzle flashed with sharp teeth.

  ‘Nicolas asked me to come,’ I said evenly.

  Stephan tilted his chin. ‘Yes, we know.’

  I was about to get an escort, I realized.

  ‘Come with us,’ Phillipe ordered.

  Stephan slid his bow from his shoulder and fitted an arrow to the string. ‘Caliban and I will follow behind. Just as a precaution, of course – in case you start getting any ideas in that ugly gray head of yours.’

  Quentin Marks’ welcoming committee was not something I’d anticipated. I gathered my bags, and Phillipe led our unpleasant little party across the Sutallee Bridge. I unconsciously slowed as we passed over the abandoned mine shaft where Josephine and I had taken refuge so long ago. There was a sharp poke in the middle of my back, right between my pent wings.

  ‘Move it,’ Stephan said, jabbing me again. ‘We’re already late for lunch.’

  I fought the insanely strong desire to whirl around and shove the arrow down his throat. Instead, I bit my lip, tasting coppery blood, and picked up my pace. We reached the iron fence that surrounded the Fairgrounds. Phillipe pulled out a ring of keys and opened the gate.

  I’d assumed everything would look as it had the last time I’d been within the walls of the Circe de Romany. But there were no tents or pavilions. No rides or decorations, either. Only trailers – along with several RVs, trucks, and buses – arranged in a tight circle right in the middle of the property.

  Their configuration created a large open space in the center of the caravan. Tarps were arranged over tables and chairs. A fire pit had been built, and laundry hung from clotheslines spread between trailers. People bustled around the clearing, preparing for the approaching storm. Another peal of thunder echoed overhead. The clouds had thickened and the sky looked ready to split apart at any moment.

  ‘Hurry it up,’ said Stephan with another jab to my back. ‘I don’t intend to get wet.’

  Lightning flashed. Women scurried to get the clothes off the lines while men anchored the tarps more securely in the ground. Phillipe led me to a small trailer and flung open the door.

  ‘Get inside.’

  The howling wind was motivation enough – even without Stephan’s sharp arrow in my back – and I scampered up the steps. My nose instantly wrinkled at the unpleasant smell. Phillipe caught my look.

  ‘The dog trailer,’ he said.

  ‘Just be glad they’re out on patrol,’ said Stephan with a malicious laugh. ‘They’re quite territorial.’

  The Marksmen backed me into the stinky enclosure, weapons drawn.

  ‘We’ll come for you when Nicolas returns,’ said Phillipe. ‘Until then, welcome home.’

  With that, he slammed the door, locking me inside.

  I snarled in frustration and backed against the wall, prepared to throw myself against the door. Heat built in the pit of my stomach, churning like lava. I hated being confined, but I hated feeling this way even more – like I was on the verge of losing it. Dark emotions beat on the back of my skull. My shoulders curved, and I flexed my clawed fingers, taking shallow breaths through clenched teeth.

  ‘Calm down,’ I growled, trying to focus on something other than escape. Such an action wasn’t going to get me anywhere. The Marksmen were probably waiting outside, daring me to try. ‘It’s just a dog trailer. It could be worse.’ I took a deeper breath and gagged on the scent of old food and wet dog. ‘Or not.’

  The rain beat against the roof of the trailer, but even over the noise I could hear the fierce complaining of my stomach. Breakfast had long gone and it didn’t look like I’d be getting any of the late lunch the Marksmen had been grumbling about. Missing a meal didn’t make my gargoyle body very happy. I felt grumpy, weak, and my hands trembled. I paced the length of the small space, finding it difficult to think clearly the hungrier I got.

  I retrieved my phone from my backpack and checked the time. It was already after two. I considered calling Hugo, but stopped short of dialing.

  ‘I can handle this,’ I muttered. My stomach rumbled loudly. ‘I think.’

  I sat down and leaned – as much as my wings would permit – against the wall opposite the door. The smell of rain permeated the trailer, helping ease the stench. To pass the time, I let my mind drift back to Josephine. Did she know I was here? Would she be with Nicolas when he came? I cringed at the idea of our first meeting being inside the trailer. My insides felt more twisted than a pretzel, but I couldn’t separate nerves from hunger anymore.

  I really regretted not packing snacks in my backpack.

  At some point, the rain dulled to a soft patter, then stopped altogether. Not long after, I heard voices, just outside the trailer door.

  ‘How dare you put our guest in here!’

  I peered through a hole in the rotting wall. Nicolas Romany stood near the door, scowling at Phillipe. Stephan leaned against the side of the trailer, arms crossed, and Quentin Marks watched calmly from a few feet away.

  ‘My apologies, Nicolas,’ Phillipe said. ‘But where else were we to take him while you were gone?’

  ‘We couldn’t let him roam the camp,’ added Stephan.

  Nicolas jabbed his finger at the Marksman. ‘You were out of line.’

  ‘Nicolas, be reasonable,’ said Quentin in his syrupy voice. ‘They were o
nly acting in the best interest of the clan. After all, we don’t know anything about the creature.’

  My lip curled and I dug my claws into the wall, leaving gouges in the wood.

  ‘What are you implying?’ Nicolas demanded.

  Quentin jutted his chin toward the trailer. ‘Who knows how long the Corsis hid this gargoyle from us? They’ve obviously been keeping him for their own purposes – probably seeking a shift in power within the kumpania. It’s foolish to give the beast free rein in our camp.’

  Nicolas’ green eyes sparked. ‘I’ve known the Corsis longer than you, Quentin. They are loyal to our alliance.’

  ‘You knew the loyalties of the past, Nicolas,’ he replied. ‘We live in different times. There are new rules and new balances of powers. I say this gargoyle is a threat.’

  Stephan snorted. ‘He’s just a fledgling: more boy than beast. How much of a threat could he be?’

  Quentin turned his piercing gaze on Stephan. ‘You told me Caliban attacked him in the woods.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And what happened?’

  The Gypsy guard shifted uneasily. I looked at my arm. The pain had long since stopped, and there was no evidence that the canine had clamped his teeth into my flesh. My gray skin was completely unblemished.

  ‘Caliban is one of our best dogs,’ Quentin continued. ‘He could rip the throat out of a man with one bite. And yet this boy came away without a scratch?’ Quentin’s gaze slid to Nicolas. ‘I’d say he poses quite a threat.’

  Nicolas frowned. ‘We may not share the same beliefs, Quentin, but that doesn’t excuse your behavior. I asked him to stay with us, and he came of his own free will. Sebastian Grey is our guest, not our prisoner.’

  ‘You know how I feel about having that abomination here.’

  ‘Your opinions have been noted,’ said Nicolas steadily. ‘But I’m not changing my mind. My ancestors created the shadow creatures to protect our people, but it’s been nearly a century since we’ve had a gargoyle in our possession. I won’t waste this opportunity. Your Marksmen can’t be everywhere, Quentin. If things continue to escalate we’re going to need the creature’s help.’

  ‘If that’s what you want, Nicolas,’ said Quentin with equal steadiness, though I could see the hard set of his jaw. ‘But I insist that he not be left alone with anyone from the Romany family until we determine not only his abilities, but also his intentions. That includes your daughter.’

  At the mention of Josephine, my body tensed with a mixture of emotions: disappointment that she hadn’t come, yet relief that she wasn’t here to witness any of this.

  ‘Yes,’ Nicolas said softly. ‘I am aware of the connection Josephine seems to share with him.’

  Share?

  I touched my shirt where the pendant rested beneath, warming my skin.

  Quentin glowered. ‘I don’t buy this nonsense about sclavs and brands, Nicolas. If you think the clan has a claim on the creature, that’s fine, but it’s not the result of some connection between them. Of course, that doesn’t mean the demon won’t try and establish one. We must take precautions.’

  Phillipe smirked. ‘Sounds like Quentin’s jealous of the gray freak.’

  My jaw clenched, but I continued to watch in silence.

  For a moment, it didn’t seem that Quentin had even heard the comment. Then, slowly, his lips twisted into a thin smile, revealing his perfect teeth. ‘You should learn to censor yourself before making such asinine remarks, Phillipe.’

  The Marksman cowered under the dangerous glint in Quentin’s black eyes. I leaned against the wall, working to keep my breathing even. Did Josephine still feel something towards me? I knew it wasn’t love, but if even the tiniest connection existed on her end, then it was proof that I did have a purpose in joining the Romanys.

  ‘Perhaps your relationship with my daughter has made you a little sensitive,’ Nicolas said. ‘While I do appreciate your protection – especially with regard to Josephine, let’s not jump to conclusions about this gargoyle until we know more about him.’

  ‘I’ll be civilized to the creature,’ said Quentin stiffly. ‘But don’t expect any more from me, Nicolas.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. Now, it’s time to get better acquainted with our guest.’

  I dropped into a crouch, filled with a sudden urge to leap at Quentin’s throat the moment the door swung open. The insults were bad enough, even if I couldn’t really disagree with them, but the hatred I felt rolling off the Marksman like hot steam made it difficult to keep rationally calm.

  I heard the clink of a key being slid into the outside lock. I flexed my fingers and stared hard at the ceiling to clear my head. It was obvious that my arrival at the Circe de Romany was under conflicting circumstances. If I wanted to see Josephine, I was going to have to play my cards right.

  I rose to my feet as the door creaked open and Nicolas Romany’s face appeared. ‘Welcome to our camp, Sebastian Grey,’ he said, then glanced around the trailer with a frown. ‘I apologize for your crude accommodations. The Marksmen can be overzealous in their duties.’ From outside, Phillipe shrugged and Stephan glared murderously at me. Nicolas moved away from the door, giving me room to exit. ‘I hope you’ll forgive the misunderstanding.’

  ‘No problem,’ I said, grabbing my bags. ‘They say you haven’t really seen the Circe until you’ve toured the dog trailers.’ I stepped into the damp air. It was later than I’d first thought, judging by the darkened sky and the lights around the caravan.

  ‘Good to see you again, Sebastian,’ said Quentin, smiling pleasantly.

  Heat seared the pit of my stomach, and my eyes burned. I knew the Marksman wanted to rile me up, but I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. I took a slow breath in through my nose. ‘You too, Quentin,’ I replied, flashing a smile of my own – considerably toothier than his. ‘I trust you’re well?’

  His lips tightened across his face. ‘I’ve been better.’

  Nicolas stepped between us. ‘We’ve prepared a place for you in one of our extra trailers. It’s not much, but it’s certainly better than sleeping with the other animals.’

  As soon as the words left his mouth, Nicolas seemed to regret them. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Phillipe grinning wickedly.

  I nodded politely at Nicolas. ‘Sounds great. Thanks.’

  ‘I’ll show you the way,’ he replied.

  The Marksmen stayed close behind me. I tried to ignore their presence – not an easy feat with their scent in my nose and their weapons glittering in my peripheral. I concentrated on studying the Romany camp instead. The circle of vehicles was actually two: an outer circle formed by semi-trucks and a smaller inner circle comprising the living quarters of the troupe. The vehicles were modern enough, but the atmosphere of the caravan was something out of another time.

  My prickling excitement at seeing Josephine slowly ebbed with each step I took through the camp. She hadn’t come to welcome me – which, honestly, I hadn’t totally expected after everything that had happened. Even so, I found myself hoping she’d appear around each corner we took.

  Nicolas stopped in front of a small trailer wedged between two RVs. ‘Well, here we are,’ he said, producing a ring of keys. ‘We’ve used this trailer for storage, though it was my brother’s living quarters when he traveled with us.’ He swung the door back on rusty hinges. I glanced inside warily. Nicolas picked up on my uneasiness. ‘Dog free, I promise,’ he said, going in ahead of me.

  I could see the room with perfect clarity well before he flicked on the lights. On one side of the trailer was a cot – complete with sheets, pillows, and blankets. Thick Asian rugs decorated the floor. A tiny sink and toilet were situated in one corner, and an old icebox was in the other. The remaining furniture consisted of a green leather chair and a small bookcase. It was larger than my bedroom at Hugo’s, and cozier than I’d expected.

  ‘It’s perfect,’ I said, setting my bags on the cot.

  Nicolas glanced over his shoul
der with a frown. ‘Quentin insisted that a guard be posted at your door – not so much as a precaution, but as a means of reassurance. I’m ashamed to admit this, but your kind is a subject of controversy among our clan.’

  My gaze strayed to the Marksmen outside. ‘Yeah, I kind of picked up on that.’

  ‘I’m adhering to his request, but only for the sake of those in our troupe that do not yet trust you. My hope is that, in time, opinions will change.’

  ‘I understand.’ I’d agreed to come here, and now I was going to have to live by their rules – or Quentin’s rules, it seemed.

  ‘We’ll be serving dinner outside in about an hour, now that the rain has stopped. You’ll come and join us.’

  My stomach growled at me and I pressed a hand against my shirt to silence it. ‘Maybe it would be better if I ate here in the trailer, Nicolas. I don’t want to cause any problems, especially if people aren’t all that happy with my being here.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ he replied with a dismissive wave. ‘You’re a part of our troupe now. Besides, the others will want to meet you – regardless of opinions.’

  ‘Well …’

  ‘You’re our guest, Sebastian Grey. The clan is honored by your presence. Eat dinner with us tonight.’

  ‘Sure,’ I said, allowing myself to smile. What did I have to lose? ‘I’d love to.’

  ‘Good. Then we’ll see you there.’

  Nicolas closed the door behind him, leaving me alone. I peered out the window. Where there had been nothing in the clearing just minutes ago, now there were people. Gypsies. Lots of Gypsies. This wasn’t like the small band of Corsis. There had to be at least 150 in the Circe de Romany troupe. Hugo had warned me before I left that not everyone would be accepting of what I was. And now, I was about to find out for myself. I gulped nervously and closed the curtains.

  People didn’t trust me, Nicolas said. Definitely fair enough. I pushed aside the rising trepidation that Josephine might be included in that group. I’d replayed our meeting dozens of times in my head since we’d parted ways, and the majority of my scenarios ended in disaster. To take my mind off the impending meal – and my withering confidence – I unzipped my bags and unpacked.