by C. M. Fenn
“So, what does it mean?” I wonder aloud.
“We aren’t certain,” Timothy says, “but we have an idea.”
“Of course,” I say as it dawns on me. “It’s a distraction. We’re being kept busy on purpose,” I offer, looking to the others for confirmation.
“That’s what we think,” Angel says.
“What’s that Greater Shade up to?” I muse.
“A very good question,” Sam adds. “One we need more time to answer.”
Angel jumps down from her place on the desk. “And in the meantime, Addy, as a Mimic you should begin learning as many of the other Walkers’ abilities as you can.”
“Starting with mine.” Timothy claps me on the back. “Feel up to some target practice?”
The others take this to mean the meeting’s over. As I follow Timothy out of the room, I glance back regretfully at Sam. I wish we had more time to visit. I’ve missed him and the comforting effect his presence has on me. When our eyes meet, one corner of his mouth lifts in a half smile. That simple gesture, that smile just for me is enough to make my heart skip a beat. I smile back and wave good-bye, unsure when I’ll see him again.
Timothy leads me to an area of the training wing that I haven’t used before. The large room runs the length of my high school’s gymnasium. Along the far wall are a number of targets. Most of them are shaped as various Shades, both Lesser and Greater, which makes sense. Some however, are shaped like men—with the target rings focused on the head and chest—and others are simple, traditionally shaped circles. In an attached room there’s an array of weapons, most of which I’m seeing for the first time tonight.
Timothy has a way of making everything he does look effortless. As I stretch my mind out to observe his process, I’m intrigued and startled to find that it’s mathematical in nature.
Each time he takes aim, equations run through his mind telling him where to point, the exact angle to throw, the force required behind it, and the precise moment to release. This information is sent at lightning speed to the rest of his body, coordinating perfectly with his muscles, and takes just a fraction of a second to transpire. The best part is he isn’t even aware of how he’s doing it. It comes naturally to him.
He’s patient with me. We move from one projectile to the next as I mimic him and master each one in turn.
“You see, it’s conceptually the same for any type of projectile,” the Scotsman says matter-of-factly. “Once you know how it’s done, you only need to become familiar with the different types of weapons.”
We manage to get through most of the arsenal, save for the larger weapons (like the grenades and “Junior Nukes”) that aren’t safe to practice with inside Major Calm.
Throughout the night I come to know Timothy and his personality well. The towering carrot top is kind and humorous. I grow quite fond of him through our training and am grateful for this one-on-one time.
As the hours pass away, the holes I create on my targets slowly migrate closer to the center ring. By the end of the night, I’m hitting bull’s-eyes with perfect consistency.
“Well done, Grasshopper,” Timothy teases.
I thank him profusely before saying good-bye. I’m excited about my newly acquired talent, and buzzing with adrenaline, I nearly skip all the way back to my room. Before I put myself to sleep, I remember that I have my art exhibit tomorrow evening. After such a good night here, it will take all my effort to stay present and pretend to still be a part of that world.
Chapter 32
The moment I awake Friday morning, I can tell something’s wrong. The air in my dark bedroom feels different. It’s too thick. It feels full, pregnant. Eerily still. I’m sure I’m not alone. My hand darts to my lamp, bathing my room in light, while at the same time I throw back my covers and spring out of bed. Crouching in a ready stance, I quickly look around me.
Nothing.
I drop to the floor and look under my bed.
Nothing.
I throw my closet door open.
Nothing.
A bird sings outside my window at the same time I hear my mom’s bedroom door open. The moment has passed.
What’s wrong with me? This is starting to happen too often to be my imagination. Or maybe I’m cracking. Maybe having an active mind around the clock, with no chance for rest, is taking its toll. I’ll become famous for being the first Realmwalker to go insane. Shaking my head in annoyance, I resolve to speak to someone about it. I’m sure Ember can help me. Besides, she graduates tonight and I need to call and congratulate her.
At school I’m excused from most of my classes so I can spend my time in the library putting the finishing touches on my section of the exhibit. Once I’m happy with the arrangement of the display, I offer my help to the other students there. At times I’m again overcome with the sense of being observed, but I can never find any cause for my suspicion.
I call Ember the minute I get home and congratulate her for surviving high school, and she wishes me good luck at my show. We both commiserate about how unfortunate it is that they’re happening on the same night. And then, before I can change my mind, I tell her about the odd instances over the past week when I’ve felt watched.
“I’m crazy, right?” I ask her, hoping she’ll have an easy explanation for me.
“Hmm, I don’t know,” she says uneasily. “You’re a Mimic, Addy. You’ve got some mad mental skills. If anything, your perception is better than most. If your gut’s telling you someone’s stalking you, I’m inclined to believe it.”
“Well,” I say, trying not to panic, “I wouldn’t say STALKING. I mean, it’s annoying, I guess, but it doesn’t feel like there’s any malice behind it.”
“Well, there’s your answer then!” she says cheerfully. “You’ve probably got a secret admirer and you’re sensing him gawking at you. Maybe it’s that boy from the ice rink!”
I laugh. “If only! That would DEFINITELY make me feel better!”
“Well, be extra careful just in case, okay? I’m headed your way early tomorrow morning, but I’m driving so I probably won’t get there until sometime Sunday. Once I’m there, I’ll make sure no one messes with you.”
I feel better after talking about it. I love that I can rely on Ember. We visit a while longer and discuss our plans for the summer. She sounds excited to meet my grandmother. We talk about spending long days on the beaches and maybe even hitting some of the big theme parks out there. It’s a happy conversation, full of the promise of great things to come.
With my mood considerably lightened, I change into some of my nicest clothes. I decide on a snug-fitting royal blue dress that’s cinched along one side and ends right above my knees. My mom does my hair for me and loans me a pair of cream-colored peep-toe heels so I’ll be “extra lady-like” as she puts it.
“Look for me around seven-thirty, okay?” she says as she kisses me on the cheek. “Knock ‘em dead!”
The parking lot is already starting to fill up by the time I get back to school. Once in the library, I notice an easel in front of my display that wasn’t there before. On it is a poster with the large golden words “Tomorrow’s Star Award.” There’s a big blue ribbon attached along with a list of awards and acknowledgements I’ve received for my artwork over the last few years.
Mrs. McCowen finds me in the growing crowd of people. She hugs me and reminds me that I should try to stay close to my display in case anyone has any questions for me about my work.
As the evening progresses, the library fills up with patrons. The crowd seems to be made up mostly of families and friends who have come to support students whose work is on display. Appraising comments can be heard here and there over a background of soft classical music.
I greet people I know and tell them about my projects and pieces, even answering the occasional question from curious strangers. While I’m mostly occupied, I still find myself periodically glancing at my watch, wishing the night was over. Just before eight o’clock, I catch sight
of my mom through the mingling crowd. She rushes over to me.
“I’m so sorry!” She hugs me hastily. “I hadn’t realized my dress would need ironing. How’s it been?”
“Fine so far. People seem to be enjoying themselves. It should be over soon.” A sudden draft of freezing air hits me, forcing goose bumps to rise on my flesh. As I’m thinking that the air conditioning must have kicked on, or that I must have absently moved underneath an air vent, I feel a tap on my shoulder.
“Excuse me, miss?” Shivering visibly I turn toward the voice. “Is this your artwork?”
I’m startled at how close the man is standing to me. I take a reflexive step back as I stare into his face. Before I can form much of an opinion of him, my eyes are drawn to the area immediately behind his right shoulder.
There, no more than two paces from me, towering eight feet tall with hollow eyes gaping directly into my face, is a Greater Shade.
Chapter 33
Time stops. A myriad of thoughts rush through my mind. First is denial. This isn’t happening. This is my school. My school’s library! There’s no way evil of this magnitude can be here in such a mundane, safe place.
My next thoughts turn to my mother. My sweet, vulnerable mother is standing inches away from pure malevolence and she doesn’t even know she’s in mortal danger. No one here does. There are easily a few hundred patrons here tonight, and none of them know they share their company with a man so wicked he has attracted the patronage of a Greater Shade.
The Shade stares back at me openly, blatantly. Does it recognize me? Does it know I’m a Realmwalker? Can it sense that I see him? While all these questions hasten through my mind, one thing is certain: This is not the Greater Shade from my nightmare. I have never seen this Shade before.
What do I do? I search my mind for answers. With horror, I realize all my training, all my preparation for a time such as this has fled. My mind is a complete, stunned blank. Panic has taken hold of me. I grasp for something, ANYTHING, and come up empty.
With great effort, I pull my eyes away from the monster. I mustn’t draw its curiosity on the chance it doesn’t know who I am. Instead, I give my full attention to the man who addressed me. He gazes at me expectantly, eyebrows raised, waiting for an answer. In an instant, I take in every detail about him.
He’s handsome—shockingly so. He’s wearing dark jeans and a navy plaid button-up shirt. I’d wager he’s somewhere in his mid-forties. He’s a few inches taller than me and has an average build with rich brown hair and dark eyes. Everything about him is appealing—except that from him radiates such an overwhelming sense of abomination that I am physically sickened.
I must say something, but my throat’s gone dry. I swallow a few times, trying to find my voice.
“Yes. This is my display,” I manage to croak. I force a smile.
His head tilts to the side slightly as he returns an equally fake smile. I must have messed up. Perhaps I hesitated a fraction of a second too long in responding because something passes behind his eyes. For the briefest of moments, his façade cracks, and the beast within the man stares back at me. In that second, I can see in his eyes that HE KNOWS.
He knows, even if only instinctually, that I know. He knows I see the evil inside him. And just as quickly, the look is gone.
The man extends a hand. “Matthew Crowe,” he says through a grin.
I can’t hesitate again. I have to try to convince him he’s wrong—that I don’t suspect him of anything other than admiring my art. I reach out and shake his hand enthusiastically.
“It’s nice to meet you Mr. Crowe,” I say warmly, inwardly choking down my revulsion at the touch of his skin.
“You’re a very talented young lady.” He releases his grip on my hand.
“Thank you, that’s very kind.” As he turns to face my display, I scramble for a way to get my mother as far away from this man as possible.
“Mom,” I turn to her and speak quietly. “Heather Eldridge’s work is over there.” As I point across the library toward my friend’s display, I notice Mr. Crowe watching us from the corner of his eye as he pretends to examine a charcoal piece. The Greater Shade, while no longer gazing in my direction, still hovers close behind him, standing out like a cancerous smear on reality for only me to see.
“You should go say hi,” I say shakily. “I know she’d love to see you.”
“I haven’t seen Heather in ages!” She glances in that direction, trying to see over the heads of passersby.
“In fact, why don’t you take a trip around the library and check out everyone else’s work too.”
“That’s a good idea, Addy.” She kisses me on the cheek before she leaves.
I look back at Mr. Crowe, who’s made it to the other end of my display wall, and wonder what kind of man must he be to attract a Greater Shade? What kind of evil? Is he smart? Calculating? Or is he an animal fed by blind rage and desire? Are there bodies in his basement? Unmarked graves in his backyard?
Aware of my scrutiny, he looks toward me. Again I catch a brief glimpse of the monster behind his eyes. How can no one else see what I see? Even without the proof of the Greater Shade, surely these people can sense how WRONG this man is. Weeks ago, before I myself knew of the existence of Shades, would I have been able to sense it?
Mr. Matthew Crowe approaches and again stops too close to me. “I find your work very pleasing,” he says quietly. His voice is heavy silk, rich and warm, and I’m convinced he uses it as a weapon, perhaps to trick victims into trusting him.
“Would you consider a commissioned piece? I have more than a few blank walls in my home that are aching for this level of workmanship.” He fishes in his back pocket before drawing out a business card and pen.
I hold my breath as he leans even closer and says conspiratorially, “Perhaps I could get a number or address from you, some way I could get a hold of you to work out the details.”
I force a laugh. “Oh, I would love to, of course. It’s just, you see I’m leaving town soon … to go to school …” I stutter, “so, I’m afraid I wouldn’t have the time.”
“Hmmm,” he tsks and shakes his head. “That’s too bad.” He steps back and makes a show of fully looking me over. “I guess it’s my loss.”
“I’m very sorry,” I say as he offers his hand again.
His eyes are a little too knowing and his grip on my hand a little too firm as he says, “I understand. You have a nice night, miss.” He turns and walks toward the exit, not bothering to stop at any other exhibits on his way. And like that he’s gone, out of the library and into the night, with the towering demon trailing in his wake.
Chapter 34
I need help. I can’t handle this on my own. I reach for my Walker phone and realize with dread that I left it sitting on the passenger seat of my truck. How could I be so careless? I consider running out to the parking lot to get it, but I’m afraid of leaving my mother unprotected.
I find her and stay by her side the rest of the evening, never allowing her to stray more than a couple feet. As the night winds down and fewer people remain, I grow more anxious about leaving and what’s waiting for me once I do.
“I’ll walk you to your car, Mom,” I say when it’s time to go. I put her arm through mine and hold her close as we head out into the darkened parking lot. Only a couple dozen cars remain, sprinkled in small groups here and there. As we walk, she chats about what great talent our community has, and I try my best to act like I’m listening as my eyes dart around us.
Fear has pushed my imagination into overdrive. Every noise is a monster approaching. Every shadow holds a pair of gleaming eyes. I wait for Mr. Crowe to rush at us from behind a bush or from around a parked vehicle. As we approach my mom’s car, I purposely drop my keys. As I quickly swoop down to pick them up, I glance under her car to make sure no one waits there.
Please let me get my mom out of here. Please. As she unlocks her car, I glance at her back seat. It’s empty.
“I’
ll see you at home,” she says cheerfully as she climbs in and starts her car.
As she backs up and pulls away, I’m filled with relief. It’s short lived, however, as I realize my truck is at the other end of the parking lot and I’m now completely alone. I look around me, desperately searching for a group of parents or students. There’s no one.
An image of my phone resting on the seat of my truck flashes through my mind. If I can only make it to that phone. If I can just get to my truck, I can lock the doors and call for help.
I run. I keep my head up, constantly looking around me in all directions. I avoid shadows and clusters of cars where one could easily hide in ambush. I can see my truck now and swear silently because I didn’t park underneath a light. Worse yet, a large, dark SUV is parked next to my driver’s side. When I’m fifteen yards away, I stop, unsure what to do.
Should I wait for people to show up? Should I make a dash for the truck? I peer intently into the shadows around the two vehicles. Could Matthew Crowe be there, crouched in hiding? Try as I may, I can’t make out any shapes through the thick blackness.
I hold as still as I can and listen. Holding my breath, I strain to hear any sound that might give someone away. A creak of metal from a car. The soft thud of a shoe on the pavement. I hear nothing.
If attacked, I’ll have to defend myself, so I try to remember what I’ve been taught. I’ve been trained to kill Shades. Demons. I’ve expected it, even anticipated it. But a person? Could I do that? Could I bring myself to actually KILL another human being?
The longer I stand indecisive and exposed, the more the dread grows. The longer I wait the more certain I am that I’m in danger.
I can’t stand still any longer. Panic forces me to move. Pulse pounding, palms sweating, I take a step toward my truck. And then another. Once close enough, I peer through the windows of the SUV, expecting to see a shadowed silhouette sitting inside, waiting. It looks empty. When I’m five feet away from the bed of my truck, I bend and look under the vehicles. I can’t see much, but I don’t think anyone’s there.