Among the Shadows (The Ash Grove Chronicles)

by Amanda DeWees

  “And leave you two alone?”

  “Three.”

  “Yeah, well, I somehow doubt that baby Rosie is up to much demon fighting just yet.”

  “She was very important the last time we faced down Melisande here.” She couldn’t explain why, but she felt that Rose was safer in the garden than Stan would be. Maybe because Rose—in a way—had already been exposed to Melisande’s poison and had only emerged stronger. Whereas Stan… “As grateful as we are to you for helping us get this far, it’s better for you to leave now,” she said firmly. “It was just me and Tan and Rose before when we defeated her. I think it might be more of a hindrance than a help to have anyone else with us.”

  “Oh, I see. It’s because I’m not part of your little love squad.”

  “Well—yes.”

  To her relief, Tanner backed her up. “Joy’s right,” he said. “Thanks for everything, man, but you’ve gone way beyond the call of duty. Now get out of here before things turn ugly.”

  “I’m not going to leave you guys on your own.” Stan folded his arms, looking as sturdily unmoveable as a frat-house Colossus. “If the shit hits the fan, how’s Joy going to manage both the baby and—I’m sorry, dude, but you’ve got to admit you’re not exactly self-portable yet.”

  That didn’t give Tan more than a moment’s pause. “Threes are really powerful in magic, right? Three wishes and so on. Well, Joy and Rose and I are three, but Steven and Eleanor are only two. So if you could help them out, it might be just what they need to get the wish through.”

  Stan chewed that over for a minute. “Okay,” he said at last, grudgingly. “I’ll go. But don’t you three go and die on me.”

  “Not planning on it,” said Tan, and held out a hand for Stan to slap in parting.

  “That was smart,” Joy said softly after a few seconds, when Stan had passed out of the beam of her flashlight and was swallowed up in the dimness.

  “Being around you makes me smarter,” he said. “We make a good team.”

  Her heart lifted a tiny bit, and she stretched up to kiss his cheek. A hint of stubble rasped her lips, and the thought flitted through her mind that shaving was one more thing he’d have to relearn. So many new hurdles… but he’d manage, if they got through this part. That was the only thing that mattered right now. “Should I plant the rose in the arbor?” she asked. “Since it’s kind of the heart of the garden.”

  “You don’t sound very sure.”

  She hesitated. She didn’t want to hurt him, but keeping things from him would make him more vulnerable. “It’s just so different from the way it was,” she hedged. With the weathered wooden beams transformed now into what looked like sharp-edged gleaming metal, the arbor looked more like a steel trap. But that was where they had taken shelter on Beltane night when even the moonlight seemed intrusive—where they had defeated Melisande on Samhain and saved Tanner from death or worse. She summoned up her resolve. “We’re going in,” she said. “Stay as close to me as you can—I don’t want you getting snagged by a thorn or one of those scary leaves. I’ll take it slow.”

  He nodded. “Maybe radio silence is best, too,” he said in a low voice.

  He was right—better not let the succubus take them by surprise if they could help it. It wasn’t lost on her, though, that without her to tell him what she saw, he had very little sensory input left. He would be quite vulnerable, and when she thought about how scary that must be, she slipped her arm around his waist and hugged him close.

  With her arm around his waist and his hand on her shoulder, they moved step by cautious step into the arbor. The little light of the moon instantly diminished, and deadly-looking flowers and leaves like daggers seemed to reach out for them as they passed. Joy bit her lip as they made their way down the overgrown path. Hurry, hurry, nagged the voice of anxiety. The silence only increased her unease. There weren’t even crickets or other night creatures in the garden to fill the air with the comfort of familiar sounds.

  “Stop here,” whispered Joy, and released his waist. This had to be far enough. She squatted down awkwardly, afraid to kneel on the stiff, sharp grass for fear it would stab through her jeans. Rose in her carrier threatened her balance, and she briefly grabbed Tan’s leg for support. When she had steadied herself, she pulled from her jacket pocket the trowel she had borrowed from Gail, and realized she’d run out of hands. She had no choice but to put the barrel of the flashlight in her mouth and grip it with her teeth to aim the light as she used the trowel’s point to loosen a plug of the grass and toss it aside.

  Quickly she poked the rose’s stem into the divot and pressed the dirt close around it, careful not to let her fingers touch the grass. Done. She straightened up, taking the flashlight out of her mouth and tucking it back into her jacket pocket, now that her eyes had adjusted to the dimness. The little white blossom rising from the ground looked very vulnerable. When Rose began to fuss—probably at her mother’s strange disruptive motions—Joy rubbed her back gently through the canvas carrier, feeling every bit as uneasy as her baby daughter. How could this small token possibly reclaim the garden when it had been so shockingly altered?

  Then came a cool, silvery voice that made her hair stand on end, and she felt the shock jar Tanner beside her.

  “That’s the nuisance about gardens,” said Melisande. “There are always pests invading them.”

  Chapter 24

  Joy’s stomach clenched in dread, and ice water seemed to shoot through her veins at the sight of the creature, whole and more inhumanly beautiful than ever. How had she come so close without Joy noticing? But of course—it was one of her powers. She stood several paces away, wearing some kind of shimmering white gown that seemed to cast its own light in the dimness of the arbor. Joy took a hasty step forward to shield the rose from the succubus’s sight.

  “What have you done to the garden?” she asked. “You’ve poisoned it somehow.”

  “The garden has merely responded to the strength of my will.” Melisande glided nearer, and Joy forced herself to stand her ground even though every instinct screamed at her to do something—attack the monster, or grab Tan and run. His fists were clenched at his sides, his whole body rigid with tension, and she knew how frustrated he must be not knowing how to help.

  “Don’t come any closer,” she warned the succubus, raising the trowel like a sword. Melisande, she saw with a prickle of unease, held no weapon—she must be very sure of herself. “If you think you’re going to hurt Tan any more, you’ve got another think coming.”

  “I take no commands from you.” The succubus wafted closer, and it took all of Joy’s strength to stay rooted to the spot. Melisande’s eyes sharpened as she took in her tense stance. “You’re protecting more than your lover. What is it you’re hiding there, girl?”

  She needed to free up her mirror, hidden under her jacket, and even more difficult to reach with Rose in her carrier so snug against her chest. She let her free hand, the one not holding the trowel, creep to her throat as if she were frightened.

  Hell, she was frightened. But she played it up.

  “Hiding?” she quavered, and her fingers closed around the string around her neck. “I—I don’t know what you mean.”

  Tanner seemed to sense that she needed a diversion, “It’s me you want, Melisande,” he said boldly, taking one uncertain step forward, then another, and Joy’s heart lurched to see him risking himself that way. “Do what you want with me, but let Joy and Rose go.”

  “So tiresomely predictable,” sighed Melisande, but her eyes flicked to his halting progress toward her. Instantly Joy drew her mirror from under her jacket and held it out to the length of the string. The movement drew Melisande’s eye, and then—oh, miracle—then she was gazing raptly into the mirror, motionless, expressionless… powerless?

  Joy let out a short astonished breath of relief, and Tanner whispered urgently, “Joy?”

  “It worked,” Joy whispered. “I think it worked.” Melisande stood as if frozen, no
t even blinking as she stared into the mirror. But they had to be sure. Loudly, for the benefit of the succubus, Joy said, “Raven, is that you?”

  There was no sign from the still form that she had even heard. “I think we’ve got her,” Joy breathed.

  “Break the mirror.” Tan’s whisper vibrated with tension and excitement. If, after all this time, they truly had her in their power…

  Moving slowly, afraid that too sudden a motion might break the mirror’s hold on her, Joy drew the string from around her neck and began to lower the mirror to the ground. Melisande’s gaze stayed locked on it; her eyes were the only part of her that moved as it descended to finally rest atop the needled grass. Joy’s heart was beating so hard she almost expected to see Rose bouncing against her chest with the force of it. Crouching over the mirror she raised the trowel up, watching the succubus for any sign of awareness.

  None came. Pale and dressed in white as she was, Melisande could have been carved out of marble, she was so still and lifeless.

  With her free hand curved around Rose’s head to shield her from flying glass, in one fierce motion Joy brought the point of the trowel down on the mirror. The tinkling crunch as it shattered was jarring in the stillness.

  Without a sound or gesture, the succubus crumpled to the ground.

  “Did it work?” demanded Tanner. “What happened?”

  Joy’s eyes were riveted to Melisande’s sprawled form, but she saw no movement, no sign of life—not even breathing. She was suddenly breathless with relief and euphoric laughter. “She keeled over, Tan! Just flopped over like a rag doll.”

  “I can’t believe it,” he said, half to himself. “It actually worked? She’s down for the count?”

  “She’s not moving, Tan.” Giddy with happiness, she hugged him around the waist—carefully, though, so as not to squeeze Rose, who was making happy gurgles as if she understood their triumph. “We really did it.”

  A dazed smile broke over Tanner’s face, and he shook his head. “You did it,” he said softly, as his hand found its way to her hair. “You’re awesome.”

  “We’re an awesome team,” she told him, and then she kissed him, the joyous kiss of celebration that their worst enemy had finally been cast out of their lives.

  * * *

  “Come to us in our time of trouble, Josiah Cavanaugh. Ash Grove needs you.”

  Steven suspected he should have been keeping his eyes shut as he and Eleanor repeated the invocation, but despite his resolve to trust her, he found worry nibbling around the edges of his mind, distracting him. His eyes darted over his surroundings, alert for signs of trouble. Shouldn’t they be with Joy and Tanner and Billups? Just because Joy had defeated the succubus before didn’t mean she wouldn’t need his help this time, with the she-demon’s powers on the rise.

  “Come to us in our time of trouble…”

  Especially since that reporter fellow didn’t know a thing about the supernatural. He’d be of little use. In fact, wasn’t that him now, crossing the quadrangle at a jog-walk, waving at them? What was he doing here instead of with Joy and Tanner? Steven shook his head in exasperation. No use at all, this Billups.

  Unless something had gone wrong and he had been dispatched to get help.

  When he came within hailing distance, Steven interrupted Eleanor’s chant. “What are you doing here?” he demanded. “Why aren’t you with Joy and Tanner?”

  Billups didn’t look like he was there to summon emergency assistance, at least. Now that he was closer, Steven could see that there was no urgency in his face. Had he come with good news, then?

  “Tan said I should—” he began, and then he wasn’t there anymore.

  He didn’t trip and fall out of his line of sight, Steven was certain. He simply wasn’t where he had been a second before.

  Steven stared. Then he shut his eyes hard for a moment and opened them again.

  Billups was gone.

  Unease prickled over his scalp. Had he just imagined he’d been there? He wasn’t subject to visions, and the man had seemed so concrete.

  “Eleanor, did you see—” he began, and then realized that he no longer heard her repeating the invocation. He looked around.

  She, too, was gone.

  There was no sign that she had ever been there. Her silver ring was gone from the plinth. Steven was alone.

  This wasn’t good. Not at all. Perhaps I should try to find the garden, join Joy and Tanner there—

  It was his last thought.

  * * *

  Tanner, kissing Joy, suddenly felt her touch leave his lips, his body. He felt no drawing away; she simply was no longer in his arms.

  “Joy?” he said uncertainly, moving his hands around in the air, grasping for her but encountering nothing. “Joy?” he repeated, more loudly, and there was only the faintest whisper of footsteps through grass to warn him of her approach before Melisande’s voice came from right in front of him.

  “She’s gone,” the succubus announced, and her voice rang with so much triumph and satisfaction that in a mental snapshot he could actually see her face, the queenly lift of her chin, the glitter of her sea-green eyes. “Your absurd little champion is gone, and so is your child.”

  He couldn’t give her the satisfaction of reacting. He couldn’t. But he had to fight to sound calm when he said, “Gone where?”

  “Just gone.”

  In the silence he strained to feel some sign of Joy’s presence, to hear some reassuring baby coo from Rose, that would tell him the succubus was lying. None came. Damn the creature for taking his eyes. If he could only see what was happening—

  “You see,” said Melisande, and her voice was so smug he actually snatched at the air in a vain effort to grab her and shake her, “thanks to Ash Grove, I am now so powerful that I can survive your little trick with the mirror… strong enough, even, to rewrite a mortal’s life. And death.”

  A cold tide poured through Tanner’s body, and he waited. He could do nothing else.

  “No one is left,” she said. “It’s as I warned you: all are dead.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “I’ve crafted different stories for them; perhaps you’d like to hear them. On the night of the solstice concert, Maddie twisted her ankle in her rush to save William from Sheila. She arrived too late to stop Amdusias from inhabiting him. But William, alas, was no stronger a vessel than Eric Nash; one night after a concert he suffered a brain aneurysm. He died before reaching the hospital.”

  “You can’t—”

  “I can, love; I have. Maddie, distraught, borrowed Gail’s car and went to McCloskey’s to drown her sorrows. Driving back to campus, blinded by tears, her faculties impaired by alcohol, she drove off the road into a ravine. Her neck was broken in the crash.”

  “Stop it. Stop.” The memories were already surfacing in his mind. The news reports, the memorial services. God, not William, not Maddie—

  “Dr. Sumner’s cancer didn’t respond to treatment. Eleanor Aysgarth, heart attack. Standish Billups, diabetes. Gail Brody—”

  “Stop it!” Even without eyes, the images came to him, painful, shocking, unfolding as if he’d been there. Memories that he told himself were false, speeding through his mind and undoing everything he’d known. He lunged forward, but his groping hands closed on empty air.

  “And finally Joy.” The name struck him through the heart, and he stopped short. “There’s so much I could have done with her and Rose,” she mused. “So many delicious ways I could have chosen to torment you… and to wreak vengeance on your dumpy bride.”

  “Tell me.” He needed to know the worst. And if she kept talking, maybe he could track her by her voice and get hold of her. And once he had his hands on her—

  “So many possibilities,” she murmured, the voice coming again from just in front of him. He lurched blindly forward, again grabbing for her, again in vain. Unperturbed, her voice continued. “But the one I chose, my favorite… I think you’ll agree it is exquisitely
devised.”

  What? The suspense was going to make him lose his mind. The things he was imagining… yet he couldn’t know the truth until she spoke it.

  She spoke it.

  “A phone call just before the curtain rises at the solstice concert. A young wife, breathless, tells her husband she’s in labor. And the loving husband hastens to her side.”

  Suddenly he was living again that rushed, urgent journey, seeing the road ahead illuminated by the minivan headlights, the dashed yellow line flashing past on his left. Parking in a screech of rubber, running through the clinic door…

  “And he arrives in time! In time for the glorious moment when his child is born. The miracle of new life. Happy tears from mother and father.” The dulcet voice came from his right. He swiped for her with both hands, felt nothing but the whoosh of air through his fingers.

  “But what is this?” Her voice took on an exaggerated note of concern. “The child does not cry. The child… is not breathing!”

  Her voice had moved to his left side now. He lunged again for the she-demon, and something sharp, maybe a thorn, raked across his left hand. Immediately the wound began to throb, and needles of pain shot through his arm. A killing garden, he remembered, and swiped again for Melisande, missed again.

  “Doctors and nurses hasten to gather around the still, fragile form,” she whispered. “Will they save her?”

  She was teasing him, hovering just out of his reach as she spun this terrible fate for those he loved. “You witch,” he choked. He could not find a word foul enough for her. For doing this to his daughter.

  “They try desperately—ah, so desperately! But as they huddle around the baby, shouting urgently to each other, their entire focus this tiny, helpless being… what has happened to the mother? The husband shouts for the doctors…”

  He was shouting for the doctors as he stood by Joy’s bedside. Joy’s strained, perspiring face was turning strangely pale. Her breathing was shallower, her grip on his hand growing weaker.

  “…but hysterical first-time fathers are all too common, and the doctors have a life to save. In just a minute more they will know… but they have failed. The new life has slipped through their fingers.”