Return to the Shadows

by Angie West

  I doubted that very much but was too polite to say so. “It’s a little early for everyone to be gone. Did something happen?”

  “No, nothing like that.” He tossed a quick smile in my direction and flipped his masterpieces over.

  “Marta and Bob took Ashley to a pancake house in town.” One of his pancakes stuck to the hot surface of the griddle and broke apart when he tried to wedge the spatula beneath it. “Maybe it’s not too late for us to catch up to them.”

  “No, I’m sure those will be, uh, wonderful,” I lied, and vowed to eat them anyway. After all, pancake mix was pretty standard, wasn’t it? Even if he’d used too much water, or forgotten to grease the pan, they would still taste more or less the same, right?

  A minute later, when he placed an extra large plate of his creation in front of me, I found out I was wrong.

  “They aren’t good, are they?”

  “They’re very...salty,” I managed.

  “Don’t eat them,” he sighed, and moved to take the plate. “We’ll go out for breakfast.”

  “No. This is fine,” I insisted. They really weren’t fine at all, but I was too hungry to care—much—and I didn’t feel like going anywhere right then. Especially not out in public among people. So I smothered the salty, part overcooked-part raw in the middle pancakes in syrup and drank three more cups of coffee to get rid of the aftertaste.

  “You didn’t have to do that.” Mark smiled and refilled his own cup.

  I shrugged. “Thanks for cooking, anyway. Thanks for taking care of my shoulder last night, too.” I watched his face carefully.

  “It was no trouble. How do you feel?”

  “It hurts. I’ll be all right.”

  “There’s some pain medication in the bathroom upstairs.” He began to rise.

  “No, I’ll get it in a minute. I want to go up and take a shower.”

  “Okay.” He fell silent, drinking his coffee and staring idly out the kitchen window.

  “Mark, did you sleep on the couch last night with me?” I finally asked in a rush.

  “Yes.”

  “I see.” So I hadn’t been dreaming, then. It took a moment to process that.

  “I didn’t think it was a good idea for you to be alone.”

  “Did you...” I paused and looked away, unsure of how to phrase my question.

  “I didn’t touch you, Claire.”

  “No, not that. I know you didn’t...you wouldn’t...”

  “No, I wouldn’t.”

  “The thing is, I had this crazy dream that you spoke to me last night.”

  “Really?” He leaned back and regarded me thoughtfully.

  “It wasn’t a dream, was it?” I asked, certain from the look on his face that he really had spoken those words the night before.

  “No,” he admitted without taking his eyes off me. “When Aries came through the door with you last night—” He took a deep breath and shook his head. “Claire, will you tell me what happened that day?”

  “You mean the day I disappeared?” I asked after a moment, though I was certain he could only be referring to that particular day.

  “Yes. You tried to tell me before and I...well, I’m sorry that I acted as if I didn’t want to hear it. I’d like very much if you would tell me now, though. I think I’m finally ready to listen.”

  ***

  “Someone should have gone with her.”

  It was late afternoon, and I was pacing the dining room for what must have been the hundredth time in three hours.

  “I’m telling you, Mark I don’t like this. Look at my arm.” I held it out for his inspection.

  “Goosebumps.”

  “How’s your shoulder feeling now?”

  “It’s a lot better since the shower,” I responded, rotating my arm to make sure. “Hardly hurts at all.”

  “Good, then put on a sweater.”

  “Very funny. I’m telling you it’s a sign. Something is wrong. I just know it.”

  “Aries can handle herself. That’s what you told me. She’s very capable, isn’t she?”

  “Oh, I suppose that she is,” I mumbled grudgingly. But that did not mean I didn’t worry about her. It was impossible not to remember a night a little over a year past. A night I was sure I would never forget. I didn’t dare tell Mark why I feared for my friend. That was the thing about friendship. Sometimes you became a guardian to their secrets. What had happened to Aries definitely fell into the category of not my business to tell. I fervently hoped that wherever she was right now, she was safe.

  “Why don’t you sit down and try to relax? Bob has Ashley occupied. You should take advantage of the peace and quiet.” He pulled out the chair next to him at the table and flashed me an inviting smile.

  “Well, now, you’ve got me there.”

  “You must get busy back home,” he pointed out.

  “I do. I love Ashley with all my heart, of course. But, yes, kids are a lot of work. Plenty of joy, but they can also be a bit on the high-maintenance side. And then there’s work. My job, I mean. Although that’s gotten a lot better as of late.”

  “I thought you loved your job. What do you mean by better?”

  “Wait. You actually want to hear about my job? I’m shocked.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I thought you weren’t interested.”

  “That’s not true,” he said quietly. “Claire, I understand why you had to go. Now. I just…want you to know that. I know that we talked this morning, but I need to make sure we’re clear on that.”

  “I never stopped thinking about you,” I told him suddenly, needing to remind him that he’d never been forgotten.

  “I’m glad to hear it. And yes, I want to hear about your job. I want to know everything about you. Always. So catch me up on the last year. What was so horrible about your job?” He leaned back and smiled.

  “The hours mostly. My boss went to prison. That helped a lot with the work environment,” I joked.

  “Prison?”

  “Turns out he embezzled a lot of money in addition to…a lot of other things.” For the second time that night, I held my tongue, albeit for different reasons. I was surprised that Marta had not said anything to Mark about the trouble Ashley and I were in. A second later, Marta appeared in the doorway as if I had conjured her up.

  “Has Aries come back yet?”

  “Not yet. Here, I made a fresh pot of coffee. The two of you look like you could use it. Especially you.” She wagged a plump finger in my direction.

  “How kind of you to notice,” I said dryly.

  “You haven’t been getting enough sleep, have you?”

  “I get plenty of sleep, Marta.”

  “Marta, don’t start in on her,” Mark teased as he poured his coffee.

  “And you!” The old woman was clearly exasperated. “Don’t get me started on you. A haircut is what you need. But then what did I expect, you running around doing who knows what with those naked heathens?” She was still muttering under her breath as she left the room.

  We burst out laughing the minute she was out of earshot.

  “Naked heathens.”

  Mark was gasping for breath.

  “Do I really have bags under my eyes?”

  “Not at all,” he reassured.

  “I don’t believe you.” I grinned. “Where’s a mirror?”

  “Sit down, Claire. Have some coffee with me. You look fine, by the way.”

  “Do I really?”

  “Yes. A little stressed maybe.”

  “Oh.”

  “Are you?”

  “Am I what?”

  “Same old Claire.” He grinned. “Are you stressed?”

  “Yes, but under the circumstances, who wouldn’t be?”

  “Maybe.” He shrugged.

  “We’ve got our work cut out for us, Mark,” I sighed, dragging us both off of personal ground and back to our present situation. “We still haven’t found all the survivors from the
raids.”

  “But we’ve recovered sixty people this week alone,” he reminded me. “That’s sixty lives saved. And we are going to find more, trust me.”

  “He is never going to stop, you know.” I couldn’t get around that grim reality.

  “Kahn? Probably not.”

  “We have to get rid of him, Mark.” It felt callous to say it out loud. It simply wasn’t in my nature to speak in such a cavalier fashion about murdering someone. Is it really possible to kill something that isn’t alive? I shook my head. The point was I wasn’t used to speaking so matter-of-factly about...getting rid of someone...or something. But I knew that I spoke the truth. There were no words to accurately describe the sheer destruction that Kahn had wrought upon the villages of Terlain. When I thought of all the people he had hurt and the lives that had been destroyed, it sickened me. And to what purpose? The answer was simple enough. To prove that he could.

  “We will get rid of him. Together. Never doubt it.” His hand covered mine and squeezed lightly.

  “So.” I sat back and casually sipped my coffee. “We just have to...oh, I don’t know...save the world?”

  “Right. Piece of cake.” Mark shrugged. “Is there any other reason why you’ve been on edge lately?” he asked, apparently determined to press the issue of my stress level.

  “Not really, no. Things are fine. Great. I love the new job. Did I tell you about that? I write for a magazine now.” Or I had before I took an extended leave of absence after three weeks on the job. It will be nothing short of a miracle if there is a job to go back to, I thought in despair.

  “So what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing that you don’t know about.” I looked away. “Like I said, things are great.”

  “It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me right now.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The trouble you’re in.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I told you I just thought it was time to come back. The dreams, the ones I told you about earlier...had me worried.”

  “Ah. You came back because you were concerned with my safety?”

  “Not just you—conceited.” I felt another pang of guilt and looked away.

  “I’ll get it out of you eventually, Claire. For now at least, you and Ashley are safe. Just so you know, I intend to keep it that way.”

  “You really mean that, don’t you?” I regarded him thoughtfully. Before he could answer, Aries strode into the dining hall. I ambushed the poor girl, unable to stop myself. “You’re alive!”

  “Yes?” She laughed and returned the embrace.

  “Claire was a little worried about you,” Mark explained.

  “And it’s no wonder, walking around half naked the way you do. You’d think you were raised with the heathens,” Marta groused as she bustled into the room carrying a tray laden with sandwiches.

  “Hello, Marta.”

  “Hello yourself. Put some pants on.”

  “Marta!” Mark and I turned on her, horrified.

  “I’m wearing pants,” Aries calmly pointed out.

  “Oh, well excuse me,” the old woman bowed dramatically, “I thought you had fallen into a vat of paint.” She left the room, parting shot delivered, still grumbling under her breath.

  “Well! Is it just me or is she in a mood tonight? More than usual, I mean.”

  “I think she was worried about you too,” I confided. “Now, come sit down and have something to eat.”

  “Thanks, I will. I’m starving.” She dug into a turkey sandwich with obvious glee. “I didn’t see Bob or Ashley when I came in,” she remarked.

  “They’re out back catching lightning bugs. So, what’s the word?”

  “Were you able to find out anything?” Mark propped his elbows on the table and leaned forward anxiously.

  “As a matter of fact, I did. I found five more survivors in the woods near the old auction site. A family.”

  “Thank you, Lord,” I breathed. “Where are they?”

  “I took them to our safe house before I came here. I had to travel back to Oxborough, but I wanted to get them to a secure location right away.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Good thinking, Aries.”

  “Anything else?”

  “I dispatched a rescue team to Fort Azores. The family I picked up fled from the city two weeks ago. They said there were others who had taken refuge with them. With any luck, we’ll be able to recover those people too, and bring them to safety.”

  “Let’s hope,” I agreed, leaning forward and crossing my arms under my chin. “Any other news?”

  “Nothing yet from the coastal regions. That’s going to take a few more days. However, it just so happens,” she paused for a sip of coffee, “there is something interesting going on in Oxborough.”

  “Well, don’t keep us in suspense.”

  “The masquerade ball is coming to town.”

  “A ball? You want to go to a ball at a time like this?”

  “The masquerade ball isn’t exactly a town social,” Mark explained. “Every year, Lydia holds the event in Oxborough. The location is always the same; it’s the date that differs from year to year. It’s an initiation for her…newly acquired girls.”

  “You’re joking,” I stuttered, flattening my palms against the tabletop.

  “Unfortunately, no.”

  “But that’s sick. Someone should put a stop to that. In fact, someone should put a stop to Lydia altogether,” I said vehemently.

  “Yes,” Aries smiled mysteriously. “Someone should stop them.”

  “What have you got in mind?”

  “I know the date the ball is being held this year. Three days from now, the party starts at sundown.”

  “We may never get another opportunity like this.” Mark rubbed his jaw. “Let’s do it. What are you thinking?”

  “We crash the party.”

  “Wait. You guys are going to infiltrate the ball?” I frowned. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

  “Oh, no, I can’t go. I’d be recognized immediately by the guards, and there’s no way I would blend in anyway, even in costume,” she admitted.

  “So…?” I turned questioning eyes to Mark.

  He grinned at me from across the table.

  “It looks like we’re going to the ball, Claire.”

  Chapter Ten

  The Masquerade Ball

  The ivory-handled hairbrush stung as Marta brought it down onto the top of my head. “Stop moving.”

  “Ouch! Damn, Marta, stop it,” I grumbled, reaching a tentative hand to inspect my head for lumps—or any other injuries. Tentatively, because Marta had been rather heavy-handed this afternoon. I wouldn’t have been surprised in the least to find an oozing gash from the repeated bludgeoning the older woman had zealously delivered over the past hour. However, my fingertips encountered only smooth hair that had been gathered and piled high on top of my head in a style that would have been an elegant up-do if not for the damage Marta was repeatedly inflicting on it each time she told me not to move. It was hard to say who was doing the most harm to the hairdo—me by moving, or Marta by flattening it every fifteen minutes. Still, I had to give credit where it was due, the woman was downright lethal with that hairbrush.

  If I was ever called upon to do battle or otherwise defend life and limb, I fervently prayed to have Marta at my side, preferably in a hair salon. Or a kitchen. She was just as lethal with her cast iron cookware.

  I yelped again as she yanked hard on a strand of hair that had escaped its confines. “You do realize you are messing up my hair each and every time you hit me, right?” I pointed out the obvious with an eye roll, one that I was secretly grateful she couldn’t see.

  “Well,” she huffed, temporarily removing her nimble hands from my hair. “I keep telling you to hold still. It’s your own fault if you’ve got a headache.”

  “I never said I had a headache,” I muttered, though, of course, I did. “I said you’re messing up my
hair.”

  “I’m almost done. Just another minute yet,” she sighed, reaching for what had to be the one hundredth tiny opaque hair pin in an effort to tame my long mane, all the while bitching about my overabundance of light brown hair.

  “My hair is the same as the last time you saw me.” I felt obligated to defend the abused tresses. “I’ve only grown it out a few inches. And that’s only because I keep forgetting to have it cut.”

  “Uh-huh,” she spoke around hair pin number one hundred and one before shoving it into place. “Well, it’s still a pain in the ass, much like yourself, which only makes sense, as it’s your hair.”

  Ouch. “Gee, I love you too.” I winced as she delivered another tug that I was sure was harder than necessary. “Lord, are you about done? How long does it take to do one woman’s hair?”

  “Well, now, that depends. If said woman wants to ruin the most important night of her life, then it takes twenty minutes. If you actually want to make tonight a success, then shut up, hold still, and stop asking me if I’m done yet. It’ll take as long as it takes.”

  “I see.” I didn’t, although I understood the hidden message in, “shut the hell up” well enough. “I don’t know about this being the most important night of my life, though. I was hoping to save that title for my wedding day. Besides, I’ve been to plenty of dances. I think I know what to do.”

  “Have you ever gone to one in order to plant a skirt full of explosives?” she countered, probably only half in jest.

  “No.”

  “Well, as far as I’m concerned, you’ve got a fifty percent chance of getting killed, quite possibly by blowing yourself—and my boy—sky high. Wedding day, hell. I say anytime a girl needs to get through an evening without getting herself killed, it’s the most important night of her life.”

  “Maybe...” I frowned, catching my bottom lip between my teeth. She had a point. “Anyway, you’ll be happy to know I won’t be keeping the explosives in my skirt. They’ll be in my handbag,” I informed her when her fingers hesitated at my nape.