PRAISE FOR
THE SHADOW READER
“A fresh take on the fae, packed with suspense, surprises, and real moral dilemmas. Sexy and fun, this is a must for anyone who likes their fae modern, their stakes high, and their property damage extensive.”
—Seanan McGuire, New York Times bestselling author of the October Daye novels
“Combines top-notch writing and world-building with characters you’ll adore…and the star-crossed lovers may just break your heart…If you enjoy fae urban fantasy, then don’t miss this splendid debut. Loved it. Can’t wait for the next book.”
—Ann Aguirre, national bestselling author of Endgame
“When facing this stubborn, smart escape artist of a heroine, watch where you walk, as every footstep leaves a shadow and every shadow tells a longtime reader like McKenzie Lewis the truth…whether she wants to know it or not.”
—Rob Thurman, New York Times bestselling author of Doubletake
“Fantastically fun urban fantasy! One of the best debuts of the year…[It] checked off all my urban fantasy wish-list boxes, and I can’t wait to read the sequel.”
—All Things Urban Fantasy
“A gutsy heroine and plenty of fae lore.”
—Library Journal
“Fun and fast-paced.”
—Fantasy Cafe
“Fantastic…filled with action and suspense. I was constantly on the edge of my seat.”
—Urban Fantasy Investigations
“Sandy Williams packs a powerful punch with her debut urban fantasy…An energetic, explosive story…fantastically complex…The ending felt like a roller-coaster ride…This book will keep your emotions on overload till the very last sentence…I encourage all readers with a love of urban fantasy to run, not walk, to your nearest bookstore and get your very own copy…The Shadow Reader is a must-read.”
—Smexy Books
“This is a book that kept me reading well into the night. It is without a doubt a page-turner…I loved the main character, the world…I am more than excited to see what comes out next.”
—Paranormal Haven
“Inventive fantasy…a series worth following.”
—Fantasy & SciFi Lovin’ News & Reviews
“I really love this book.”
—Urban Fantasy Reviews
“Kept me turning pages frantically.”
—Fantasy Literature
“An exciting, turbulent adventure…a home run of a debut novel. I encourage all fans of urban fantasy to rush out and pick up a copy…You will not regret it.”
—Fresh Fiction
“A gripping alternate-reality fantasy.”
—The Romance Reader
“A solid block of entertainment…quite compelling.”
—A Book Obsession
“Williams will have readers devouring the pages until the very end. The Shadow Reader has it all: suspense, romance, action, and laughs.”
—Nocturne Romance Reads
Ace Books by Sandy Williams
THE SHADOW READER
THE SHATTERED DARK
THE
SHATTERED
DARK
Sandy Williams
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) • Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England • Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.) • Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.) • Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India • Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, Auckland 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.) • Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa
Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
THE SHATTERED DARK
An Ace Book / published by arrangement with the author
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Ace mass-market edition / November 2012
Copyright © 2012 by Sandy Williams.
Map by Adam F. Watkins.
Cover art by Gene Mollica.
Cover design by Lesley Worrell.
Interior text design by Kristin del Rosario.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or
electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of
copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
ISBN: 978-1-101-61215-6
ACE
Ace Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
ACE and the “A” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is
stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the
author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
ALWAYS LEARNING PEARSON
For Mom.
Thank you for always believing in me,
especially when I didn’t believe in myself.
Table of Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty One
Twenty Two
Twenty Three
Twenty Four
Twenty Five
Twenty Six
Twenty Seven
Twenty Eight
Twenty Nine
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
People say second books are harder to write than first books. That’s especially true when you have twins a few months before your deadline. This book wouldn’t have been written if it weren’t for a few awesome people.
My mom, who made the five-hour trip between Houston and Dallas more times than I can count. Thank you for watching the boys so I could work. The same gratitude goes to my husband, who was on baby duty every evening and weekend for months, and to my grandmother, who helped keep me sane on the days I was home alone, juggling the babies and a deadline. I couldn’t have done this without your sacrifices and support!
I also have to give a shout-out to Rissa Westerfield, who has taken
such great care of my boys. I don’t think any of us would have survived without you!
Mega gratitude goes to my beta readers, Shelli Richard and Renee Sweet. Renee, your comments are always spot-on, and they never fail to make me laugh. Thanks so much for knocking some sense into McKenzie!
To my agent, Joanna Volpe—wow! You always know exactly what to say to keep me from totally freaking out. Thank you for your guidance and your many last-minute reads! Also, much appreciation goes out to the illustrator, Adam Watkins, who endured many “final” tweak e-mails from me to create a kick-ass map of the Realm.
And to Kat Sherbo, my editor: Thank you for being so incredibly understanding while I learn how to be both a mom and a writer. Your patience made it possible for me to make this the best book it could be.
Lastly, big hugs to my boys, who still love me despite the number of hours I’ve spent banging away at my computer. Your smiles brighten the gloomiest days!
ONE
I HAVE FIFTEEN minutes to grab what I need from an apartment I lived in seven years. Sadly, that’s more than enough time. My walls are bare except for a single abstract painting, and the sofa and coffee table are secondhand, just like a college student’s furniture should be. This place was always supposed to be temporary. I used to think that would be because I’d graduate and move on to a real job, a nicer apartment, and, well, a nicer life. But war will ruin anyone’s plans.
Instead of turning on the lights, I open the blinds as a courtesy to my guards, two fae named Trev and Nalst. They’re here as a precaution even though it’s extremely unlikely that the remnants of the king’s fae will choose this moment to come here. We took the Silver Palace two weeks ago. They’ve had plenty of time to ransack my place, but everything is where I left it. Most likely, they have no clue where I live. Back when I worked for the king, my identity was one of the most tightly guarded secrets in the Realm, and the few people who knew my name are now either dead or, like me, they’re working with the rebel fae.
“Hurry,” Trev orders. A bolt of blue lightning strikes down his neck, disappearing beneath his jaedric armor. A fae’s chaos lusters grow more active, more frenzied when they’re near human tech, but that’s not why Trev is anxious. The rebellion needs every sword available to keep its enemies from retaking the palace. He and Nalst need to return to the Realm ASAP.
They wait in the living room while I head to my bedroom. I grab a suitcase from my closet, throw in my favorite pair of jeans and a few shirts, then I reach up to the shelf above the clothing rod and grab a leather-bound sketchbook. Half its pages are filled with my messy shadow-readings. The chicken scratches look more like a lunatic’s drawings than maps, but if I show them to a fae and name the location out loud, he or she will be able to travel to the place I’ve drawn. That skill and my Sight are the reasons I was pulled into the Realm’s wars. Few humans can see the fae; fewer still can read their shadows.
This is the sketchbook I always used when shadow-reading for the king’s fae, but I didn’t have it with me when the rebels abducted me from my campus a little over a month ago. I shouldn’t have needed it because I was supposed to have the day off.
I toss it into my suitcase, glad to have the sketchbook back. I like the broken-in look of the leather, and the long strap allows me to wear it across my body like a messenger bag, so it’s easier to hang on to than a normal notebook. With the way the war in the Realm is going these days, I need that little convenience. I can run faster when my hands are free.
Leaving the suitcase open, I walk to my desk to take my wallet out of the middle drawer. There’s actually money inside. Sixteen dollars to be precise. That’s probably more than what I have in my bank account. Back when the king was alive, he gave me a small monthly allowance for tracking down criminals. Many of those fae were truly horrible, but some of them? Some of them, I recently learned, were not.
I make sure my driver’s license and Social Security card are inside the wallet. They’re the real reason I’m here. Every year I worked for the king, my human life slipped further and further away. I lost my friends, my family, and my best chance at a college degree, all because I put my work for the fae before myself. I can’t do that anymore. I’m starting over, and this time, I’m determined to find a balance between my human life and my life working for the fae. The license and Social Security card will help me do that. A start-up news aggregation Web site offered me a job in Las Vegas, and I need to give the identification to the owner, Brad Jenkins, to finish the employment process.
A part of me can’t believe I’m setting down roots in Vegas—the city is too flashy for my tastes—but that’s where I’m sharing a hotel suite with another Sighted human, who actually likes the city. I guess I’m lucky, though. Jenkins is probably the only editor alive who’s going to take a chance on a college flunkout.
I slide the wallet into my back pocket, then grab a photo album off a shelf. I don’t open it. I hardly ever do. It contains pictures from a different life, a life back before I became entangled in the Realm’s wars. I haven’t seen or talked to my parents since I was seventeen. I didn’t plan for that to happen. I planned to go back home after I graduated from college. I needed the degree to prove I wasn’t wild or irresponsible or any of the dozens of other things they accused me of being, but maybe I can accomplish the same thing with a job. If things go well, I might finally find the courage to give them a call.
I want to give them a call. I miss them and the safe, comfortable life they provided.
After I tuck the album into the suitcase, I add my laptop and power cord. Trev and Nalst will be extremely annoyed if they see the tech, but the laptop’s battery is completely dead. It shouldn’t affect their magic much, certainly not enough to prevent them from fissuring me back to Vegas.
The suitcase zips up with plenty of room to spare. I survey my room again, feeling like I should have more memories to take with me, when my gaze rests on the small, wooden box sitting open on my desk. I hardly ever wear jewelry, so the box doesn’t contain much. There’s just a thin gold necklace, a beaded stretch bracelet, a few other trinkets and…
My breath catches. There, neatly curled at the bottom of the box, is a name-cord. It’s a string of onyx and audrin, a smoky, quartzlike stone found only in the Realm. Fae used to wear name-cords braided into their hair, but only the most prominent families keep the tradition now. This one belonged to Kyol. He gave it to me with a kiss and an embrace the day the king made him his sword-master. Back then, neither one of us could have predicted he’d one day kill that king.
I should leave it behind. I miss what Kyol and I had together, but I chose to leave him. I chose to take a chance on somebody who risked everything to be with me. Honestly, though, I miss Aren, too.
Something flutters through my stomach. It’s hard to tell if the feeling is worry or want. It’s been almost a week since I last saw Aren. He was alive then, but it only takes a moment to die, and he and Kyol and all of the fae supporting the rebellion haven’t had a moment’s rest since taking the Silver Palace. Somebody’s organizing what’s left of the king’s fae—the remnants, we’ve been calling them—and if we don’t find out who it is soon, they’re going to overtake us.
I pick up the name-cord. I’ve never seen Kyol wear it, but it’s a family heirloom. The least I can do is give it back to him.
I slip it into my pocket, then grab my suitcase and roll it into the living room.
“I’m ready,” I tell the fae.
Trev is fidgeting with a piece of jaedric that’s peeling up from his armor. The bark is pulled off jaedra trees in long strips, then applied in layers to a molding. The former Court fae’s armor is always a dark, even brown, well oiled and with a thirteen-branched abira tree etched into the cuirasses, front and back. In comparison, the rebels’ are discolored, unadorned, and overall, pretty shoddy-looking. They’re functional, though, which is most important.
Trev lets go of the jaedric snag and nods. A chaos luster strikes at an angle a
cross his nose, and a muscle in his cheek twitches, making the sharp angles of his face stand out even more. Fae don’t feel the lightning unless they’re touching a human, but I’m sure he saw the blue flash. His hand tightens just perceptibly on the hilt of his sheathed sword, and his eyes narrow enough to give him shallow wrinkles at the outer corners. Trev looks like he’s in his midtwenties, but the Realm ages people slower than Earth does, so it’s difficult to guess exactly how old fae are. Those tiny wrinkles on an otherwise smooth face are a giveaway to me, though, and I’d bet he’s at least fifty.
He heads for the door. I follow but stop when I see the stack of mail on my kitchen table. The top letter is from my college. I can’t resist the temptation to open it even though I’m sure I don’t want to read what it says. I make it to the line, “We regret to inform you,” before I stop and frown.
The frown isn’t because I’ve flunked out of school. The rebels found me when I was taking my very last final exam, and back then, I thought they were the bad guys. I ran out of my English Lit class—a class I had already failed twice—because I couldn’t let them kill or capture me, so I’m not at all surprised I’ve been expelled. I’m surprised because I don’t know how this letter—how any of these letters—got here. No one has a key to my mailbox and apartment except Paige, my only human friend. She puts up with my frequent absences and weird behavior. When I worked for the king, I often didn’t show up when we agreed to meet somewhere, and more than once, I left in the middle of a conversation. I had to make up all sorts of crazy excuses for my actions, but Paige always shrugged her shoulders or gave me a look that contained just a hint of doubt…and then, she let it go.
This time, though, I think I’ve flaked out too much even for her. I’ve been calling Paige every other day for over a week to apologize for disappearing at her sister’s wedding, but she hasn’t answered the phone. If she’s that pissed, I can’t see her coming over here to check on my place.
But she must have. I spread out the mail, searching for a note or letter from her. There’s nothing, and I’m about to go to my phone and call her yet again when I see the purse resting on a halfway-pulled-out chair. When I pick it up, a tingle runs up my arm.
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