Touch of Shadow (The Shadow Sorceress Book 5)

by Bilinda Sheehan

  "When you got back, what had he done?" I prompted, edging my foot closer to the door. After everything she had said, there was no way I wasn't going into that house.

  "She was so confused, so I took her upstairs to rest, but when I came back down, Peter was arguing with my husband, Robert. The things he said...." Her voice broke over the words but she swallowed back the emotion. "And then when he slammed Robert's head into the wall...."

  "How badly is he hurt?" I asked, taking a step closer to Mrs Ellis.

  "Unconscious. I wanted to call for help, but Peter wouldn't let me, and then you arrived.... He's so mad...." She trailed off, her head whipping around as though something only she could hear had drawn her attention.

  "Please, let Amber help, Karis," Graham said, reaching out to touch the other woman's hand.

  Her expression shifted; the flash of hope in her eyes told me she would let us inside seconds before she pushed the door wider and stepped aside.

  "Please don't hurt him. He's still my baby," she said.

  I moved into the hall and nodded in her direction. I couldn't bring myself to say the words; I certainly couldn't promise that we wouldn't hurt her son. In fact, I wasn't sure what we would do. If he was truly a danger to the public—and from everything I'd heard so far, he was—then it was our duty to put a stop to him.

  Five years old. There was no way I was going to hurt a five-year-old, no matter how dangerous the Elite considered him to be. There would be another way. There usually was, and it often required a little more work, but I didn't care. I would do whatever it took; the demon couldn't win.

  I hadn't taken more than two steps into the hall when the smell of rot tickled my nose. It took me by complete surprise and my stomach rolled uncomfortably in response. Glancing over at Graham, I didn't need to say anything. I could tell from his expression that he, too, could smell it.

  Mrs Ellis shut the front door, the near silent click of the lock putting my teeth on edge, and I balled my hands into fists. The house was gloomy, every window covered so that only the thinnest shafts of light could enter. We paused in the hall and I shot Mrs Ellis a quick glance.

  "Which way?" I asked, without needing to say what we were looking for.

  She clapped her hands over her mouth and in the half-light of the hall I could see that her eyes glistened with tears. She nodded in the direction of the kitchen but didn't speak. There was no way we could trust her. She loved her son—that much was obvious—and she was also terrified of him, terrified of what he had become. It was that terror that made her dangerous—well, the terror and the love. Her mistrust and fear meant she would turn on us, given the chance.

  The kitchen was as gloomy as the hall, and it took me a moment to see Mr Ellis sitting at the kitchen table, his body slumped across the wooden surface.

  With my hands, I directed Graham forward keeping my eyes fastened on the open doorway that clearly led to the basement. Graham moved silently and I could see him in the edge of my vision, bending over Mr Ellis and checking him for a pulse. The breath I'd been holding whooshed out of me when Graham nodded. Karis had been right; the man was simply unconscious. I could work with that.

  The sound of scratching drew my attention back toward the open basement door. If I hadn't known about Peter, I might have said they had a serious rodent issue, but I did know the truth, and whatever lay in the darkness was far deadlier than a rat.

  "Peter," I said, keeping my voice soft and friendly. Graham shot me a puzzled look, but I gave the thumbs up in response. It probably seemed stupid to call out to whatever creature lurked in the darkness, but I knew if I went in there and surprised it, it would kill me before I had the opportunity to so much as get a good look at it. Demons liked to play with their prey, and if this one thought that I was stupid, an easy target, then perhaps I could lure it into a false sense of security and actually stand a chance against it.

  "Peter," I said again, this time a little more forcefully. Karis grabbed my arm, and from the corner of my eye, I could see her shaking her head. "I just want to talk to you, won't you come upstairs?"

  The moment I'd called his name, the scratching had stopped. He had heard me, at least. Something shifted in the darkness and I got my first glimpse of Peter, and it wasn't what I had been expecting.

  Shadows kept the boy’s face obscured, his shoulders were rounded hunched in on him, and if I was honest, he reminded me more of a wounded animal than a five-year-old boy.

  "Peter, you don't have to be afraid. I'm not here to hurt you."

  I couldn't be sure but it seemed the mere sound of my voice hurt his ears and he cringed back into the darkness, his hands automatically covering his face. When I took a small step forward, Karis’ hand dug into my arm. I knew without having to look I would have bruises there later.

  "Sweetheart, please listen to them. We only want to help," she said, moving past me before I could stop her.

  "Don't," I said, but she ignored me. She reached the open doorway before I did, peering into the darkness obviously searching for her son. Her body jerked forward as though something in the dark had grabbed her and pulled her in.

  I didn't hesitate, darting after her and down the steps into the basement. It was pitch black and I couldn't even see my hand in front of my face, but something drew me forward, and I moved easily when navigating the unfamiliar space.

  A piercing cry tore the air, the sound enough to make the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. There was another, and it was quickly followed by the sound of frightened sobbing.

  "Karis, if you can hear me, give me a sign," I said into the darkness. If I was honest, I wasn't sure what to expect, but it sure as hell wasn't the bright flash of a light going on overhead. She stood at the back wall, her hands gripping her sons shoulders hard enough that I could see her knuckles had turned white. Peter's face was scrunched up in pain; the frightened sobs had come from him.

  "What are you doing?" I said, shock causing me to freeze on the spot.

  "Nothing … he pulled me down here and I was just searching for him. I found him as he switched on the light," Karis said, there was something about the nervousness of voice that told me she was lying. But why lie? It just didn't make any sense.

  "Take your hands off of him. Can't you see you're hurting him?" I said, closing the gap between us. The moment his mother released him Peter turned his face into the wall and began to sob harder. The sound was pitiful and it hurt my heart. "Peter, can you hear me?" I said, tentatively reaching out to him.

  His frail little shoulders shook but he nodded his head jerkily.

  "Will you turn around for me?" I asked. My hand brushed the back of his head. His hair felt sticky, greasy even as though it hadn't been washed in a very long time.

  He turned into my touch, scrubbing his small hand backwards across his nose, the tears he'd shed creating little trails on his dirt-stained face.

  "What are you doing?" Karis asked. I didn't look at her, but I could feel her tension; it flowed off her body in waves. Why was she so nervous?

  "Peter, why are you down here?"

  He snuffled loudly and stared up at me, his eyes wide and frightened, the pupils so enlarged that they swallowed the iris completely.

  "Mommy said I was bad," he said, his voice high-pitched and childish. I watched him knot his fingers into his ripped T-shirt and it was then I noticed how torn and dirty it looked. Just what the hell had been going on here? Peter had all the hallmarks of a child abused, but why would Karis do that when she claimed to love her son? There were far too many questions and not enough answers.

  "Why would she say that, Peter?"

  "I didn't say that—why are you lying?" Karis said, the panic in her voice unmistakable.

  "I think maybe I should do this alone. I need to be able to talk to him if we're going to figure this out," I said, trying to keep the judgement out of my voice.

  It was almost impossible. Peter looked so pathetic, like a victim, and the fear I saw reflected
in his eyes tugged at my heart. But that wasn't all—if he was possessed, if there really was a demonic presence inside him, I couldn't feel it. In fact, there was nothing about the boy that suggested he was dangerous or posed a threat in any way.

  "No." Such a simple word, and yet the moment it left Karis's mouth, I felt my hackles rise.

  "Amber, is everything all right down there?" Graham said, from the top of the stairs.

  "We're coming back up. Can you find me a jumper or something for the boy? He's freezing." I didn't wait for an answer. Wrapping my arms around Peter, I lifted him from the floor and started toward the stairs.

  "You're wrong about this—he'll turn on you." Karis followed closely on my heels. She made a grab for her son before we reached the top step, but I'd seen it coming and I neatly sidestepped her leaving her on the stairs.

  The entire situation stunk to high heaven, but as I cradled Peter's body against my chest, the frantic beating of his little heart made me even more determined to get to the bottom of whatever was going on. But there was one thing for certain: someone was lying, and I had a feeling it wasn't Peter.

  8

  Settling the jumper down around Peter, I smiled at him. He was still trembling, and there was a slight bluish tinge around his lips that had me more than a little worried.

  "Do you want something to drink, Peter?" I said gently, his lips were dry and cracked and had a feeling it had been awhile since he’d had anything to drink at all.

  Since I'd brought him upstairs, he'd stopped knotting his fingers in his T-shirt, but as soon as Karis appeared in the doorway, he started up once more, his wide eyes darting from my face to hers.

  "Peter," I prompted gently, but simply calling his name made him jump and he swivelled back to face me. "Do you remember when you had something to eat or drink last?"

  He shook his head. "My throat hurts," he said. One lone tear appeared at the edge of his lashes before spilling over trickling down his cheek.

  "I know, sweetie," I said, "Graham, will you take Karis to the kitchen and see if there's something for Peter to drink, and maybe some food, too?" I tried to keep my voice as neutral as possible and Graham nodded his understanding. However, from the flinching around Karis's eyes and the way she thinned her lips, I knew she'd guessed my true intentions. If I was going to get the truth out of Peter, then I needed to speak to him alone, and she was merely a distraction he didn't need, especially as she seemed to frighten him so much.

  The moment we were alone, I turned back to face him. "Peter, my name is Amber and I'm here to help. Do you want to tell me what happened? How you ended up in the basement?"

  I could see the indecision on his face and his gaze kept on darting back to the empty doorway where his mother had stood just moments before.

  "You're safe, Peter. I won't let anyone hurt you," I said, brushing his dark hair back from his eyes.

  "She'll be cross. I'm not supposed to tell anyone." It wasn't an admission of his mother's guilt, but his words were enough to harden my heart against her and there was a clenching in my gut that had nothing to do with my lack of breakfast.

  "It's okay—she asked me to talk to you." It was a small but necessary lie. If he was as afraid of his mother as he seemed to be, then I needed to gain his trust if I was going to get the truth out of him.

  "She says I have a monster inside me," he whispered.

  "Why would she say that?"

  "Because I do bad things, but I don't mean to.... It makes Mommy cry."

  "Did you hurt your daddy?" I asked, a sinking feeling in my stomach.

  Peter shook his head. It seemed impossible, but his eyes opened even wider than they had been.

  "Then who did?"

  "I don't know. Mommy doesn't let me leave the basement. She said it's safer for me down there."

  "Peter, has your mommy ever hurt you?"

  He nodded and my mouth went dry.

  "How?"

  He didn't say anything but he wrapped his tiny fingers in the fabric of his jumper and tugged it upwards revealing his stomach. His skin was so pale it was practically translucent, and it only served to make the bruises stand out in stark relief.

  The bruises looked as though somebody had wrapped his small frame in ropes, or perhaps it had been leather straps—I couldn't really tell just from looking at the marks. It would take a professional for that. He turned slowly and my eyes followed the cruel pattern tracked across his skin. Inhaling sharply, I stared at the ragged edges of the brand that peeked out from beneath his jumper.

  "Peter, do you mind if I lift your jumper a little higher?" I asked, acutely aware of the fact that I was alone in the living room with him and he was a minor. But I had to know if the brand was man-made or if it was like mine, a true demon mark.

  He nodded and I tentatively pushed the jumper higher over his shoulder, revealing the mark in all its glory. It looked nothing like mine; where mine was a living, pulsating creature in its own right, Peter's had been etched into his body by someone who’d clearly had no regard for the little boy and the pain it obviously caused him. My heart ached and there was a hollow feeling in my stomach that sent bile creeping up the back of my throat. Pulling the jumper back down, I plastered a smile on my face. I couldn't let him see just how distressing it was. He'd been through enough, and I wasn't going to be the one to cause him more suffering.

  "Peter, wait here. I'll be right back. I just want to have a chat with your mom," I said, deliberately keeping my voice light.

  He didn't say a word, choosing instead to plop down on the sofa. My hands shook as I climbed slowly to my feet, and it was a struggle to keep the smile in place as I retreated to the kitchen. Karis stood at the sink and it took all of my strength not to cross the room and drive my fist up into her face

  "Amber, what is it? What's wrong?" Graham asked, pushing up from the seat he'd taken at the kitchen table.

  "How long have you known her?" I said, balling my hands into fists, allowing my fingernails to dig into the flesh of my palms.

  "I—" Graham started to speak but before he could lie to me again, I cut him off.

  "Cut the crap. I know you're friends with her, and it wouldn't matter to me if you hadn't so blatantly lied. So tell me honestly: how long have you known her?" I said, barely keeping a lid on my anger. The last thing I needed to do was completely lose control, but my anger was slowly fanning the flames of my magic. I could feel it fizzing and popping in my veins and I half expected to look down at my hands and see blue sparks.

  "Long enough to know that whatever you think Karis has done, you're wrong, Amber."

  Closing my eyes, I drew in a deep breath and attempted to count to ten. When it didn't make me feel any calmer, I faced Graham. "Explain to me why that little boy in there is terrified. Tell me why his body is covered in bruises, old and new."

  "I didn't have a choice. We had to restrain him," Karis said, moving toward Graham.

  "Restrained him? You never mentioned this," Graham said, his voice hardening.

  "Do you think I wanted to? Look at me, Graham—look at what he did to me. Does it look like I had a choice?"

  "You should have come to me sooner."

  "That's not all—you told Graham he has a demon mark. How would you even know what a demon mark was, let alone that your son had one?" I couldn't shake the memory of Peter's ruined skin. The cruelty it would take to inflict that kind of pain on an innocent was beyond me.

  "It just appeared—we got up one morning and there it was," Robert said, speaking for the first time. He sat at the table an ice pack pressed to the side of his head.

  "What are you saying, Amber?" Graham asked.

  "It's not a demon mark, or at least no demon made it. Someone held him down and carved a pentagram into his back and then burned him over and over with a cross. Now, you've just admitted to restraining him—do you want to admit to abusing him, too?"

  "Graham, you don't believe that I would hurt my son—my own son—do you?" Karis stood in
the middle of the kitchen, tears trailing down her face as she appealed to Graham.

  "I didn't think it was possible, but—" He cut off and shook his head in disgust.

  "And we are just supposed to take your word for it? You're barely out of diapers, yet you have the audacity to stand in my kitchen and accuse my wife and I of abusing our child. How the hell would you know what a demon mark was?" Robert demanded, scrambling to his feet and crossing the kitchen.

  He grabbed the front of my shirt, his momentum carrying us both backwards until my body connected with the wall. The anger coursing through my veins meant it didn't hurt. His hands slid upwards toward my throat, and I raised my arms to defend myself, but Graham was just suddenly there, forcing his body between us as he pushed Robert backwards into the centre of the room and away from me.

  "Amber is an expert in things like this," Graham said, agitation making his voice gruffer than usual. Karis grabbed her husband's arm and tugged him back towards her.

  "Get the fuck out of my house," Robert shouted, rage heightening his colour, giving him the appearance of an overripe tomato about to pop.

  "You want to know what a real demon mark looks like?" I demanded, my own temper finally overflowing. They were his parents; they were supposed to care for him, love him, protect him from the things that went bump in the night. Not abuse him, tie him up, and scar him for life, inflicting immeasurable pain and torture on his fragile body. They weren't supposed to be the monsters.

  Grabbing the neck of my shirt, I jerked it down over my shoulder, exposing my demon mark. It pulsed and danced in time to my erratic heartbeat, feeding on the anger I was feeling.

  Karis cried out, her eyes going wide, and for a moment she looked a lot like her son as she stared fearfully over the shoulder of her husband.

  "What are you?" Robert said, the colour draining from his face.

  "I was lucky enough to survive a demon attack, but not before it left me with this permanent reminder. But I still consider myself a hell of a lot luckier than that little boy in there who has the misfortune of having two real monsters for parents," I said.