In the Shadows

by Kiersten White

  changed course, pushing straight up and gasping for breath along

  with him. She immediately guided his hands to the foundation of

  the building.

  He clung to it, filled with fear and relief and also a deep shame.

  He hadn’t protected Cora and Minnie at all. He’d nearly gotten

  them killed. And Minnie had been the one to save his life.

  “Everyone okay?” Minnie said, breathing hard.

  “Yes,” Cora answered. She was next to Thomas and Charles.

  Charles was shivering violently in the cold water, his lips blue. The

  sun was nearly down, and the waves slammed them mercilessly

  against the foundation.

  Arthur looked up to see the flames eating through the wood

  on this side of the building.

  Minnie followed his gaze. “It doesn’t matter if he’s waiting or

  not — we have to get away from this building. I’ll swim ahead and

  check.”

  “Wait, you can’t —” Arthur started, but she had already dis-

  appeared under the water. Every second was agony until she

  popped back up again, on the far side of the boathouse.

  “Come on! I don’t see him anywhere. You can go along the

  side of the building, and then it’s only a few feet to the pier.”

  Thomas guided Charles, helping him along, followed by Cora.

  Minnie swam back to Arthur, clinging to the side next to him and

  going slowly. Arthur noticed dark, wet smears where her hands

  had touched.

  “You’re bleeding!”

  She shrugged, grimacing. “The mussels. They’re nasty sharp

  beasts.”

  This, of all things, filled him with so much rage he was certain

  he would kill Alden with his bare hands if he saw him again, no

  matter the consequence. But now he had to focus on survival. He

  followed Minnie around the edge and let her grab his waist and, in

  a jumble of flailing limbs, help him to the pier.

  They pulled themselves out of the water and collapsed next to

  the others, shivering and out of breath. The heat from the build-

  ing next to them was almost pleasant, but they needed to get away,

  and fast.

  “Daniel’s at the station,” Cora said in a breathless pant. “We

  need to tell him what Alden did.”

  Arthur shook his head, trying to clear it of the smoke, water,

  and pain. “Daniel, then,” he said, his voice coming out far lower and

  angrier than normal. Cora put her arm around Minnie; Thomas

  supported Charles; and Arthur walked behind all of them like a

  shadow.

  He didn’t want to hold that spot anymore, he found.

  Arthur was grateful for the shield of twilight around them.

  Otherwise their appearance would have attracted more stares and

  curiosity than he could handle at the moment. It was nearly full

  dark by the time they reached the sheriff’s office.

  Cora and Minnie charged ahead, moving toward the door, but

  Arthur heard voices inside.

  “Wait,” he hissed. He moved against the still-warm bricks of

  the building and motioned for the others to do the same. Crouch-

  ing next to the propped-open window, they heard Daniel.

  And Alden.

  “. . . burning right now. I saw them as I was walking by, and

  when I turned around at the end of the pier, the building was

  on fire.”

  There was a clatter of chairs, and then Daniel sprinted out of

  the building, followed by the sheriff. They ran in the direction

  opposite Arthur and the others, heading for the small fire station

  on the next street.

  Arthur looked up to see Alden standing on the steps to the

  office, looking down and smiling at them. He tipped his hat, then

  walked at a leisurely pace back toward the boardinghouse.

  “Oh, no,” Cora whispered. “We can’t go to Daniel now.”

  “We’ll tell the truth! He’ll believe us!” Minnie wrung her

  hands, the jacket Charles had given her slipping off one shoulder.

  “Minnie,” Thomas said, shaking his head. “He already thought

  we lied to him about Mary. And who would you believe: the well-

  dressed, wealthy summer visitor, or five soaking-wet, smoke-covered

  kids? Arthur’s bleeding from his head. Your hands are cut to pieces.

  I have burns on my legs. We look guilty.”

  “But who can we tell? Who will help us?”

  “No one,” Arthur said, his heart as dark and heavy as the night

  around them. He had hoped that the day would never come. It

  was time to discover his father’s secrets and pray that they would

  offer him a way out, a way to save those he loved.

  The secrets that had killed his family were his only hope for

  saving Minnie and Cora.

  December 2, 1967

  Two Weeks Later

  eighteen

  T

  hom paced nervously, always keeping his brother in

  his peripheral vision. Charles couldn’t stop shivering,

  lying on the sofa with three quilts over him. Cora and

  Minnie had met them in the small library, hair still wet but clothes

  changed. Arthur had disappeared somewhere — Thom wasn’t

  sure where. It was getting late — soon Mrs. Johnson would chide

  them for not being in bed — but none of them were anywhere

  near being able to sleep. They wouldn’t be able to until Alden

  was gone.

  “I still say we should tell Mama,” Minnie said. She looked

  small and pale, sitting on the sofa with her legs tucked up beneath

  herself. She toyed with a heavy gold locket around her neck that

  seemed familiar. “She’ll know what to do.”

  Thom shook his head. “If we talk to your mother, Alden’ll

  just tell her that we were in his room, going through his

  things.” He didn’t say what he thought next, which was if

  the man was willing to burn two boys to death, he certainly

  would have nothing against harming Mrs. Johnson if she got in

  his way.

  “What about —” Cora was interrupted by the door being

  shoved open with such force it dented the wall.

  “What have you done with it?” Arthur shouted, as loud and as

  physically here as Thom had ever seen him. Before Thom could

  get away, Arthur had rushed across the room, grabbing him by the

  collar and shoving him against a bookshelf. The wood dug into

  Thom’s back.

  “Arthur! Stop it!” Cora shouted, hurrying to pull him off

  Thom. Arthur wouldn’t move.

  “I know it was you. I want the case back. Now.”

  Thom met the other boy’s gaze with a steady one of his own.

  “It’s in my room. You can get it whenever you want. I won’t apolo-

  gize; we needed information, and you had it.”

  Arthur slammed him against the bookshelf again, the air

  whooshing from Thom’s lungs in a painful burst. “Did you take

  anything? Is it all there?”

  Clenching his jaw, Thom shook his head. Arthur’s fist

  slammed against his stomach, making him double over in pain.

  “Stop it!” Minnie screamed. “It’s my fault! I told them where

  you’d buried it.” She ducked under Arthur’s arms, smashing her-

  self between him and Thom, voice laden with tears. “I’m sorry.

&
nbsp; I’m so sorry. But they are going to hurt Charles.”

  When Arthur dropped Thom’s collar, Thom slid to the

  ground, stomach still sharp with pain. He was getting rather tired

  of being attacked tonight. The next person to hit him would be

  hit back, no matter who it was.

  “I don’t care if they hurt Charles,” Arthur said, his voice now

  the quiet one Thom was used to.

  Thom stood with a growl, anger boiling to the surface. It was

  only Cora’s hand on his chest that kept him away from the other

  boy. Of course Arthur didn’t care — he’d made that abundantly

  clear. But Charles was everything Thom cared about. In that

  moment Thom knew that, because of Arthur’s desire to protect

  the girls, he was as much a threat as Alden.

  Minnie stepped forward, trying to wrap her arms around

  Arthur’s waist. He moved away from her, his eyes cold.

  “I care if they hurt him,” she said, her shoulders shaking.

  “We’re leaving.” Arthur grabbed Minnie’s wrist and turned to

  Cora. “Right now. We can’t stay here any longer — it’s not safe.”

  “Are you mad?” Cora asked. “We can’t leave!”

  “I’ll make you. If I have to tie you both up and throw you in a

  trunk, I’ll make you, so help me.”

  “And then what?” Charles glared at him. “How are you going

  to take care of the two of them? Where will you get money? Where

  will you stay? How is running away with them any safer than stay-

  ing here?”

  Minnie twisted her arm, pulling free. Her huge eyes impossibly

  sad, she shook her head, then went and sat next to Charles on the

  sofa. Thom watched, glad that in the midst of all this, Minnie was

  choosing his brother. He could see the pain in Arthur’s face, and it

  filled him with a vicious happiness.

  You have no one, Arthur.

  “I can’t leave,” she said.

  “Neither can I.” Cora dropped her hand from Thom’s

  chest and, to his shock, took his own in hers. Her fingers were

  long and soft in his.

  “We’ll protect them,” Thom said. He looked from Cora to

  Minnie, finally settling his gaze on Charles. “All of them. With or

  without your help.”

  Arthur left the room without a word.

  Early that morning, so early the sky was still blushing away the

  remnants of night, Thom made his way to Arthur’s attic room, case

  in hand. He knocked on the door, but it swung open under his fist.

  “Arthur? Listen, I wanted to say sorry, and ask —” Thom

  stopped short on the threshold of the room. Sitting on Arthur’s

  bed, holding a stack of letters, was the witch.

  “Hello,” she said, smiling dreamily at him, her eyes flitting

  around like a butterfly, alighting on his for only a second before

  flying away again. “I came to see the Liska boy, but he’s not here.”

  Her lip jutted out in a pout.

  “Oh. I’m sorry.” Thom immediately felt like a fool. Here was

  the witch — Mary — whom he knew was involved with Alden

  and Constance, which meant she was probably part of the Ladon

  Vitae. She had obviously snuck into the house in the middle of the

  night doing who knows what, and Thom was apologizing to her?

  “Listen,” he said, trying to sound firm and menacing. “I want

  to know what this is all about. I know you’re part of them, that

  secret society. Who are you people? And what do you have against

  Charles?”

  Mary shuffled the stack of letters, pulling some out and strok-

  ing her finger along them. “Hmm? Who’s Charles?”

  “My brother!”

  “I had a brother once. Brothers are horrible, aren’t they? He

  used to do the most awful things to tease me. I would do anything

  to see him again.” She sighed, a soul-weary sound, and set the let-

  ters back down, carefully tucking a picture into the ribbon.

  Thom scowled in frustration. “Yes, but what do you want with

  my brother?”

  “I don’t want anything with him. I don’t want anything at all

  in the whole world.” She stood, the hem of her nightgown-like

  dress dragging across the floor as she walked toward him. He

  wanted to back up. There was something unnerving in the way she

  was finally looking at him, something strange about her eyes that

  he couldn’t figure out. If she were a melody, she’d be discordant.

  Her tongue darted out to wet her cracked lips. “Except an end-

  ing. Oh, how I ache for an ending. Would you give us one?” She

  cocked her head, considering him.

  “If you help me keep my brother safe, I’ll do whatever I can

  for you.”

  She nodded slowly, finally looking away from him. He felt as

  though it was easier to breathe. “Hmm. Who does your father

  love more?”

  “What?”

  “Which would hurt worse — being the son loved so much he

  is worthy of sacrifice, or being the son who’s spared because he is the

  lesser?” She raised a hand and rested it on Thom’s cheek. He

  flinched, but she didn’t seem to notice. “I think the latter, but

  you’ll have to tell me.”

  Thom swallowed hard. A sacrifice. Constance had spoken of

  that, and it was on the list next to his father’s name, too. “He loves

  Charles more,” Thom whispered. “He always has.” It hurt some-

  thing deep inside him to finally say it out loud, to admit to this

  stranger what he had always pretended not to know.

  She nodded, patting his cheek. “Then Charles is the offering.”

  “Should we run?”

  She drifted past him, lingering at the top of the stairs. “There

  isn’t enough time.”

  “I’ll fight him. Alden. I’ll kill him if it means keeping my

  brother safe.”

  She turned toward him, a smile splitting her face in two, eyes

  bright with delight. “You should! You absolutely should. I thought

  it would be the Liska boy, but you might do as well.” Laughing,

  she picked her way lightly down the stairs.

  “So that’s the answer? Kill Alden?”

  “No, silly. Kill us all,” she said just as she disappeared

  from view.

  April, 1968

  nineteen

  C

  harles sipped his tea on the front porch and

  watched as a crooked man, obscured by a lengthy

  Beard, scuttled up the walk, decapitating flow-

  ers with his unused cane.

  “Afternoon,” Charles said, nodding.

  The man looked up, startled. When he spoke, his mouth

  twisted in a way that echoed the sense of crookedness woven

  throughout his body. “Afternoon.”

  “You’ll be here to see Alden?”

  The man paused, leaning against the porch railing. Charles

  could smell him this close, and he smelled of mothballs and garlic

  so strongly the tea lost all its appeal.

  “And how did you know that?”

  Charles shrugged. “You have the same eyes. Too old and too

  young at once.”

  The bearded man’s smile grew and he tapped the side of his

  nose with one heavily knuckled finger. “Clever boy.”

  Charles leaned back against the pi
llows propped behind him

  in the rocker. He had figured some of the story out, reading

  Arthur’s father’s notes while Cora and Thom had plotted. Alden,

  Constance, this man — they liked being part of something secret

  and powerful. Everything they did, then, would naturally further

  this power. His father was wealthy and influential. Whether they’d

  helped him get there or merely taken advantage once he was, it

  didn’t really matter. Every member of their group would do what-

  ever they had to in order to keep their secrets and their power.

  Well, except for Mary. She was the cog that his machine-

  oriented mind could not solve. Why would they include a woman

  so obviously out of her mind? Maybe she was someone important,

  after all.

  But leaving Mary aside, he still couldn’t figure out what their

  goal here was. If his father owed them money, surely it would have

  been simpler to kidnap him days ago. If they wanted to scare him

  into doing something for them, a threat made far more sense than

  locking Thom in a burning building.

  Until that had happened, Charles hadn’t been bothered —

  indeed, he had been entertained and enjoyed Thom’s frantic

  attentions focused elsewhere. Now he was quietly seething over

  these people running around in his life, setting strange things in

  motion, hurting people he cared about.

  He was angry, and being angry made him tired. “You know,

  you could simply tell me what’s going on. All of this cloak-and-

  dagger nonsense wears a body out.”

  The man stood straight, tugging on the coarse ends of his

  black beard. “Ah, but where would be the fun in that? We need our

  diversions, too. Your body may get worn out, but ours merely get

  bored.” He leaned forward, a cold gleam in his eyes making

  Charles scared for the first time. “Would you like to see a magic

  trick?”

  The door opened and Alden, his hair perfectly oiled, stepped

  out. “Not now,” he said, not so much as looking in Charles’s direc-

  tion. Charles was glad for that, because he knew his fear of Alden

  was written all over his face. The point of being out here was to