“Hey,” he said, walking over to me. His shoulders looked so broad with the all the pads, I seriously almost started drooling.
“Hey!” I said back. It was all I could muster beneath my stupid grin.
He nodded at my sisters. I’d introduced them briefly already, when he’d come to pick me up at home one day.
“Good game,” Morgana said awkwardly.
“Thanks, Gia,” he said.
“That’s Morgana,” I told him quickly.
“Oh, right.” Alex’s eyes shifted from one sister to the next as we all stood silently in a circle.
“So, Alex, why are football guys obsessed with touching each other’s butts?” Rhea said.
“Uh … ” Alex looked at me.
“Don’t mind her, Alex. The game really was great,” Morgana said. “I bet it’s because the moon cycles are really in sync. I’ll bet to Goddess that your football aura was really glowing. You know, you should put a crystal in … ” Morgana trailed off. Gia remained silent and small, terrified of embarrassing me.
“So, I better get to the shower. Call you later?” Alex said to me.
I nodded and grinned at him. As soon as he was safely a few feet away, I crossed my arms. “Nice going,” I muttered to my sisters.
We drove in silence on the way home, yet I heard Rhea mutter under her breath as we turned down our street, “Those monsters must be mental if they want you back.”
Thirteen
The fall breeze rubbed against my bare shoulders as I shuffled down the sidewalk. Paper-thin leaves, dark veins running through them, fell in front of my feet and made a crunching sound beneath my brown suede boots. The trees were starting to turn colors, an ominous sign and enduring promise of the approaching winter.
Winter. Cold. Dark.
A cool chill ran down my spine despite the warm sunshine. I glanced quickly around, but all I saw were a few children on bikes and the mailman making his way slowly down the street as he snooped through mail.
I stopped on the sidewalk and watched the children yelling to each other. They were playing near a bed of mums. A tiny, yellow-tinged cherub was lounging on the flowers. It had the body of a fat, roly-poly baby and face of an old man, with white feathered angel wings. I watched as it swiped some moisture off a flower and flung it at another cherub nearby, who lifted its wings in outrage and shrieked something fast and quick that I couldn’t translate. I did think I heard something about “I hate you,” or the like. Then one of the girls on the bikes noticed the mums. She leaned down and plucked one from the flower bed, yellow cherub and all.
I held my breath and waited. As the little girl brought the mum to her nose, the cherub leaned forward and blew in her face. She sneezed violently. The cherub tittered as the little girl wheezed.
I tried, but I couldn’t stop my laughter. Both cherubs turned quickly toward me. I stood straighter and spun on my heel, walking quickly down the sidewalk.
Although I’d left the house when Rhea and my dad started getting into one of their epic fights—this time over her using his hairbrush every morning, when apparently it’s the “only one” he’s ever found that he likes—I started back toward my street. I’d left to clear my head, in hopes that a genius way to solve the Créatúir crisis would permeate my brain. The Westerville public library wasn’t exactly up to speed on folkloric texts, I’d discovered, and even Google hadn’t turned up any answers. I was thinking about visiting the local college library.
I walked toward the end of the street, preparing to turn left. Only the street didn’t look the way it should. I jerked my head from left to right. Nothing looked familiar. My heart started to pound as I quickly walked east, searching for a familiar mailbox, tree, street sign, anything. Nothing.
Nighttime was near. The Dark Créatúir would be out, like mosquitoes swarming. Dark beings, who would be much more interested in messing with me than the cherubs were. Dark Créatúir, one of whom was my stalker.
I turned another corner and finally saw a familiar sight ahead: Fullersburg Woods.
How the hell did I end up on the other side of the forest preserve?
I walked quickly toward it and stopped in front of the welcome sign. I turned, to start down the edge of the preserve, when a streetlight above me came on, casting a soft glow against the rapidly darkening asphalt. I looked for a long moment at the Fullersburg Woods sign. If I cut through the preserve, I would make it home in less than five minutes.
I can do this. Just run. Just run as fast as you can and you’ll be home. The Créatúir won’t even have time to catch your attention.
I closed my eyes and blew out hard.
Just do it.
My eyes snapped open and I ran full-speed into the woods. The last few rays of daylight still shone through the trees, illuminating the path in front of me. I was careful to stare only at the path, not at the trees that swayed toward me as I ran past them.
Just a few more feet.
The eerie quiet of the woods was punctuated by the crunching leaves and sticks beneath my flip-flopped feet.
Flip flop, flip flop. Crack. Crunch.
My heart pounding down through my pumping arms, I exhaled as cold sweat came over me. I saw a tiny light to my right, and picked up my speed more than I knew I was capable of.
So close. Almost there.
In front of a pattern of lights, through the twisting oaks, a dark figure moved. It blocked the twinkling lights, creating a cutout on my path. I stopped and blinked a few times, hoping the dark figure would move and I’d discover it was a tree branch.
But the figure wasn’t innocuous. It kept moving toward me. Thick forest crowded in on either side of me, undermining any bright ideas I might have had about running sideways, out of the path of the moving shadow.
Maybe it’s a jogger.
I stood motionless, waiting for the figure as it kept moving toward me, its shape outlined in the moonlight. Four legs, silvery-gray fur, and two black eyes.
A wolf.
Immediately, relief flooded over me—it wasn’t a Dark Créatúir, but a being of this world. Just a wolf.
This was quickly followed by stomach twisting as I realized, a wolf.
Like, panther or mountain-lion size.
I froze, my arms still drawn around me in pseudo protection. If it had been a Dark Créatúir, I could’ve bargained for some time, talked about Oran, asked about the good ol’ weather forecast on Inis Mor. Something. But I didn’t speak Wolf. And knew it probably didn’t care if I was a Créatúir Shaman or not. I was just human meat.
The silver wolf crouched low, its thin body poised as though to strike. I began to shake uncontrollably. Then, in a flash, it lunged forward and covered the ground between us. I saw its white fangs glisten like a gleam of light before it jumped into the air, before it attacked.
I closed my eyes and knew this was it. I screamed as I held my arms over my face, trying to cover my neck, trying to gain some protection as I crouched in a ball on the pathway. I braced myself for the pain.
But then, nothing. No bones crunching, snarling lips, or saliva dripping. No blood spilt.
“Leah,” a voice above me said.
What?
“Get up,” the voice said again.
I slowly lifted my chin and looked upward at the tall boy in front of me. The tall boy with the dark jagged hair and piercing eyes. I checked my arms. No scratches. Not a mark on me.
“Oh my god, Slade. Did you see that wolf?” I struggled to stand on my still-weak legs. I looked around at the dark trees surrounding the path. “Where did it go?”
He stepped closer to me, and the dark shadows encircled his eyes. I could barely make out his features. He stood silently, looming over me.
“I don’t—this is so—” I started to say. Yet through my still-li
ngering fear, my brain was starting to move the puzzle pieces together. Starting to understand. I stopped speaking and looked at Slade.
He put his cold hand on my bare shoulder. His touch sent a chill over me once again, down my arm and through my rib cage.
“Leah,” he said again.
My heartbeat rushed back into my ears, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention.
“Shapeshifter,” I whispered to him through the darkness. Although I could only make out his faint outline, I could feel his laser eyes piercing through me. “Dark Créatúir,” I gasped.
“Yes.” His voice sliced through the air. I could see the lights of my house twinkling far in the distance, and I desperately wanted to feel the comfort of my mother’s arms.
“How—why—” I stammered.
Slade’s mouth curled into a smile just visible in the darkness. “I used a glamour so you wouldn’t know who I really am. You humans are so easy to fool. You believe whatever you want, regardless of what’s in front of you.”
I swallowed hard and pulled my arms tighter around my body. “But how? You can’t be—”
It was a well-known, at least formerly well-known, fact that Créatúir don’t like to spend too much time in the mortal realm. Something about finding the mortal plane disdainful and out-of-balance.
Slade smiled, the corners of his mouth nearly meeting his eyes. “Still so much to learn about us. So much that is not in the grimoire. King Oran sent me to watch you. To stay close to you. To make sure you exonerate my people and refute the accusations of the Light,” he said.
I nodded. “I’m working on it,” I whispered hoarsely.
“Not enough.” Slade’s voice rose a bit. “You will do this. You will help us. You are the only one, Shaman.” He pronounced the S like a snake, giving away his identity as a Dark Créatúir.
“I know,” I said quickly. I glanced at my house. If only I could—
“No need to run away, Shaman. I will not hurt you. You’re the key, the missing piece. The one who can unite our kingdom and prevent war in the Other Realm. You’re too important.”
“I already talked to Oran about this,” I said. I crossed my arms in front of me and started inching past him, down the dirt path toward home. Away from the dark figure. Away from the Dark Slade.
“Yes. He told me you do not believe that we aren’t involved.”
I shifted my weight and squirmed in front of him. “No, I really don’t think you guys had anything to do with it,” I said, as convincingly as possible.
“You don’t seem to be trying too hard to absolve us,” Slade continued, his voice cold and flat. “That’s why I am watching you.” He took a step close to me and my heart rushed through my ears. “You will solve this, Shaman, or else … ” He trailed off.
“What?” I said before I could stop myself. I’d heard idle Dark Créatúir threats before.
Slade’s laughter curled around the twisting oak trees and swayed in my hair like a cool breeze. I shivered again as the leaves in front of me parted and a mirror appeared. At first, it showed my reflection, but the image quickly morphed into Rhea.
Mirror Rhea screamed at me, tears running down her face. As the view widened, I saw she was trapped in a Glancaugh circle—a sort of eternal prison. It was reserved for special punishments; prisoners were forced to serve the Créatúir until they died from exhaustion, their hands and feet bloody from constant work.
Then the mirror went dark.
“No!” I cried. “Rhea’s not involved at all, she—”
“She’s my insurance policy. King Oran sent me as his, and she’s mine. Your black onyx necklace might have protected you, but you can’t protect her. And do not think of telling her of this, or else I just may choose all your sisters for Glancaugh service.”
“Why would you hurt them?” I whispered.
“Because it serves my purpose,” Slade said, his voice so cold it was nearly solid.
I took off down the path, sprinting toward my house. As I ran through the twisting forest, Slade’s essence seemed to follow me.
I broke out of the forest, full-speed toward my house. My lungs felt like they were going to explode, but I didn’t slow down. I reached my front door and ripped it open.
My mom was standing in the foyer, adjusting a family photo, a troubled frown on her face. “Leah!” she said as she saw me. “Morpheus warned me you were in trouble.”
I nodded and ran straight into her arms, panting heavily.
“What happened?” she asked into my hair as I collapsed and sobbed into her sage-soaked blouse.
“Rh—” I started to say, but then remembered Slade’s promise. I shook my head.
“Can you tell me?” she asked again.
“No,” I said into her chest.
“Okay, honey.” She smoothed my hair. “I know you’re dealing with much more than you’re able to tell us. All you girls are. You’re my special girls, and you’re all going to be fine. You’re protected. You’re gifted.”
I nodded into her chest, still not able to shake Slade’s icy touch and the image of Rhea near death.
Mom put her hands on either side of my head and lifted my face toward hers, beaming down at me as she wiped the tears from my eyes with her thumbs. “Did you hear me? You will succeed. Of that I’m sure.”
Fourteen
Ow!” Kristen shrieked as a football sailed across the front lawn of Westerville High, hitting her arm.
“My bad! Sorry!” Troy yelled from thirty feet away.
“Nice going, jerk!” Lindsay called to him from where she, Brooke, Caroline, and Kristen were all sprawled out on the grass.
We were hanging out after school, cherishing a few precious moments of freedom before Alex and his friends went to football practice, the girls went to cheerleading, and I walked home. I clutched my notebook to my chest and quickly glanced around, looking for signs of Slade lurking around in the shadows.
“You going straight home?” Alex asked as he pulled me toward him.
“Yep. I have a huge English paper to edit,” I said.
And some hardcore Other Realm research to do, I mentally added. I’d spent most of the past two nights sidetracked, trying to find a way to protect my sisters from the Glancaugh circle should Slade decide I needed a little extra motivation. Yet once again, I hit a deader-than-dead end. I resolved to get myself over to the Seneca College library; hopefully their folklore section would have more information.
“You guys are so cute, it makes me want to barf,” Caroline said as she looked up at us.
“AHH!” the girls shrieked as the football came sailing in their direction again, bouncing a couple of feet away.
“Troy doesn’t have very good aim, does he?” I said to Alex, inhaling the scent of his cologne.
He looked down at me, his blond curls thick and golden in the last few rays of afternoon sunlight. “I’ll protect you.” He smiled, leaned down, and kissed the top of my head, still holding on to my elbows.
As if he can, I thought.
Thankfully, my mom was with a client when I got home and my sisters were occupied with an episode of Charmed while my dad snored on the couch. I quickly shuffled into my bedroom.
I closed my door softly as Rhea said, “We could totally fight demons like the sisters on Charmed.”
Morgana retorted, “Oh yeah? What’s your power?”
I figured there’d be at least ten minutes of bickering ahead. Ten minutes to myself. Ten minutes before anyone noticed I was hibernating my room, desperately trying to remain unnoticed.
Still throbbing with a migraine over thoughts of Slade and shapeshifting stalkers, I lay down on my bed and closed my eyes. I had a mountain of trig homework, eighty thousand hours of Spanish, and fifty more boring pages of A Midsummer Nigh
t’s Dream to suffer through, but all I wanted to do was sleep. I started to drift off when I heard a knock at my door. I guessed my ten minutes were up.
“Leah? You okay?” Morgana called from the other side of the door.
I sighed. “Yeah. I’m fine.” I sat up in bed and pulled out a few of my books, spreading them around me. I hoped she’d think the bags under my eyes were from immense amounts of studying rather than a Dark Créatúir hangover. “You can come in,” I added as I wiped the drool off my mouth. At the last second, I threw my glasses on in an effort to hide my bloodshot eyes.
Morgana’s long dark hair swished around her shoulders and her black beaded bracelets clinked together as she walked toward my bed. She paused and picked up a few papers from my printer—some information I’d dug up on the Internet about known enemies of the Créatúir. So far, all I’d come up with was Fomoriians and … humans.
But I was still convinced that I’d find answers somewhere, buried in the web of research. I would figure out who killed Fiona and wrap everything up like a nice tidy present for Christmas.
Because that’s the only way it can happen. It can’t happen any other way.
My sister put the papers down and sat on my bed. “How’s it going?” she said, staring at me.
“Great!” I said, a little too cheerfully. I avoided her gaze while I pretended to study my trig book. I wondered who designed the cover—like, did someone actually get paid to do this or did someone scribble a bunch of lines on a paper and say, “Here it is!” while a bunch of math geeks applauded? Or was there hidden meaning in it—like a code?
“Leah?” Morgana leaned forward, her amethyst-crystal earrings swinging back and forth.
“What?” Still avoiding her gaze, I stood up, planning to go pretend-search for something in my closet. Which would’ve been great, except that I stepped on a pink suede platform shoe I’d kicked off before collapsing into bed. I wavered back and forth like an inexperienced surfer before my knees gave out and I melted to the floor.
Shadow's Edge Page 10