by P. S. Newman
Another cut, this time to downtown and the silver spire of the PharmaZeusics high-rise. The camera zoomed in on David standing in the bright foyer and speaking into a microphone.
‘Not all shades are evil,’ he said, ‘They are created out of our subconscious with intents and purposes to varying degrees, not all of them bad or hurtful. This one has saved at least eight peoples' lives. In my book that makes him a hero, not a villain. I believe he's intelligent enough that we could learn a lot from him if we gave him a chance.’
"See," Bella said, "Mr. Bigshot says he's a hero, too. On TV. It must be true." She fist-bumped my shoulder. This time I couldn't stop the wince of pain. She snatched her hand back. "Are you hurt?"
"It's only a slight burn."
"On your shoulder? How?" She drew away, the tension in her body vibrating the entire sofa. Her breath came in small bursts. She was about to hyperventilate. From playful to pass-out panicked in point-two seconds.
I took hold of her wrists, my fingers winding easily around her arms. "Bella, look at me.” Her eyes snapped to mine, pupils so dilated they almost swallowed the honey gold irises. "I'm okay. I'll be fine. I'm here. Remember your breathing exercise. Five-two-five." We went through the breathing exercise, counting it out.
So afraid. So scared all the time. Of dreaming. Of sleeping. Of creating something that meant her harm. Of creating something that didn't but had to be killed anyway. Of losing someone she loved to something she'd created.
It was a vicious circle because her anxiety fed her nightmares. Breaking out was near impossible. The only time she felt fully safe and secure was when I was close. But my presence only addressed the symptoms, not the root cause. If she was ever going to live a life free of fear, she had to overcome it by herself. It was a big part of the reason I had built a life of my own in which I wouldn't spend every second of every day with her. That didn't mean I denied her comfort in times like this.
When her breathing steadied and she was no longer trembling, I pulled back. "Better?"
She nodded and looked down, embarrassed. "Yes. Thanks. Sorry."
"No need to apologize," I said, turning off the TV. The news had moved on to the next big scoop.
“How did you get burned?” Bella asked.
“Oh you should have seen it, dear, it was a thing of beauty,” Aunt Vy said before I could shut the conversation down. She didn’t believe in hiding the details from Bella. “Not the getting burned part but the way she evaded most of the fireball. A perfect drop-and-roll and the fireball zoomed right over our heads.”
“Mostly,” I said, trying to hide a smile. My shoulder may throb with the memory, but Aunt Vy complimenting me on my battle prowess felt good. She didn’t praise me often. I stood up before she could launch into a more detailed version of our unsuccessful heroics. “You want some lemonade? I need to make a fresh batch. How about rhubarb?”
Bella’s face brightened. She loved my home-made lemonades.
I lead her into the kitchen. "How was your day?"
She switched from terrified to teen-rant mode as quickly as only a teenager could. "Louis knocked me down at martial arts practice today while the teacher wasn't looking. He's such a jerk, trying to prove that he's not scared of me just because I kicked his asterisk."
I stopped at the little bar counter that separated the kitchen from the living room and turned back to her. "You mean he did it as some kind of revenge?"
"Obviously. Can't have little old me ruining his street cred."
"Did he hurt you?" Aunt Vy asked. We’d left her by the sofa, but she was close enough to stay part of the conversation.
Bella threw her a challenging look. "Not really. I only have a few bruises."
The parallels between her statement and mine about our injuries weren’t lost on me, but I just laid a hand on her arm. "You need to tell your sister before she goes to see the headmaster."
Her eyes widened. "No. Louis will know I blabbed."
"He'll also know that he can't push you around without consequences."
She shook her head. "That'll just make it worse. I'm not telling Lia."
"Then I will."
Determination drew a line between her brows. "No, you won't." Invisible bands whispered around my throat, threatening to pull tight. Fudge. I should have kept my mouth shut and informed Cecelia later. Now I would have to convince Bella to tell her sister.
"Don't even bother trying," she said. "I have to go, anyway. I have homework to do." She turned and rushed out as fast as her stiff knee allowed, the door falling shut behind her.
“Why did you let her leave?” Aunt Vy chided. “Cecelia needs to know.”
“She will. Bella was too busy getting away from me to be thorough enough.” I grabbed my phone and texted Cecelia. You need to ask Bella about today's MA practice. It seems Louis didn't learn his lesson.
I felt like a traitor towards them both; Bella would have no chance against her sister's iron will and persistence, and Cecelia would once again be the bad guy.
“You did the right thing,” Aunt Vy said, catching my mood.
“I know. I just wish I could do… more.”
“Believe me, child, I know how that feels. But Cecelia doesn’t blame you for anything.”
“I know,” I repeated. “It would just all be easier if I could have Lia’s back the way she always has mine.”
“But that’s not the way things are, child. Suck it up, accept it, and move on. Easy is for cowards, not for life.”
That made me laugh. “Is that an Aunt Vy original life quote?”
“Maybe you should start writing them down.” She sounded smug. “We could write a guide book: How To Carve Your Way To A Kickass Life.”
“Swordly pun intended?”
“Of course. I dictate, you type.”
“I’d rather carve my way to the truth of Sean’s doppelgänger, but if that doesn’t pan out we’ll give your idea a whirl.”
I called Sean to ask about these plans his doppelgänger had mentioned but only got his voicemail. I'd already left a message earlier, so I hung up, turned the TV on for Aunt Vy to watch and went to bed. But sleep eluded me, held at arm's length by the guilt I felt. I should be out there like Greyson, hunting down the monsters I'd created. With Greyson. Except, as a shade hunter, I’d be obligated to eliminate him, too.
David had called him a hero. He’d always been one for me and now several other people out there felt the same way. I couldn't be instrumental in his demise. I just... couldn't. Even if it would have been the right thing to do. But, like the line between malevolent and benevolent shades often was, so the one between right and wrong had become fuzzy. Shade or not, Greyson was a hero. Heroes didn't deserve to die.
With that thought in mind, I finally drifted off to sleep.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The shrilling of the phone shocked me awake. I focused on the clock through the blur in front of my eyes. Almost six in the evening. Fudge. It was probably Cecelia, wondering why I was late for dinner. I grabbed the phone with a heavy hand. "'Lo?"
"It's Taylor," came the gruff answer. "Is this Eden Maybrey?"
I fought down a yawn. "It might be, if she were awake."
"Typical freelancers, sleeping through the day while the real hunters do their job for them. Guess there's no need for me to ask how the chase is going."
"I was hunting until an hour ago." Okay, two, but he didn't need to know that. "But like you said, that doppelgänger is a mean son of a bitch."
"You confronted it?" His voice was suddenly calm. Like the surface of an ocean just before the storm. "Without me?"
"Um... yeah."
"You promised you'd call me for backup before engaging it."
I had promised. With fingers crossed behind my back. "The situation didn't leave me enough time to call."
"So it escaped again."
"It burned me and jumped out of a second-story window."
"For the love of all things real, how stupid can you
be? I specifically told you that--"
I specifically hung up on him. He had a right to be mad, but I didn't have to take his insults. I'd just dozed back off when the phone rang again. I thumbed the green button. "One more word above a whisper and I turn off my phone."
"You don’t want to annoy me after the shift I’ve had," he warned.
"Don't tell me Captain Ganner's best hunter let a shade escape,” I couldn’t help but needle him.
"Fuck you."
"Oh sure, but you're allowed to chew me out for losing the doppelgänger."
"You knew all about that one's powers,” he growled. “I knew nothing about mine except that a bullet to the head doesn't kill him."
"Him?"
"It," Taylor corrected himself, though I hadn't meant it that way. "That shade they're calling a hero." He was talking about Greyson.
"That’s the second time he’s escaped you," I said, remembering how Taylor had almost killed the old lady to get to Greyson. "I saw you on TV right after he manifested."
"You and half a million other people.” Disgust at his failure plagued his voice.
I remembered the hunter who had been hurt by the hellhounds. Joshua Dobrev. "How's your partner doing?"
"Still in a coma. He'll probably never walk again."
"I'm sorry." More than he could fathom. My hellhound shades had destroyed a man's health and life as he knew it.
"Don't worry," Taylor spat. "I won't rest until I find them all."
The words should have sounded cheesy, but the fanatic promise in his tone raised the hair on my arms.
"Good luck with that," I lied. I didn't want Taylor being the one to eliminate Greyson. Not even the most wicked shade deserved such hatred and contempt. They were only a reflection of ourselves, after all.
Taylor snorted. Maybe he heard the insincerity in my voice. "Just call me for backup with the doppelgänger next time."
"Sure," I promised, this time with fingers and toes crossed on both hands and feet. He was the last person I wanted watching my back. I could take the doppelgänger on my own, fireballs be damned. I simply needed to figure out this plan he’d been talking about and find a way to counter it.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Bella didn't greet me at the door when I headed over to their house for dinner. Instead, Cecelia buzzed me in, which was odd. She always came to open the door for me in the evenings, spotting me from her upstairs bedroom window.
"Where's Bella?" I asked as Cecelia and I hugged.
"Once again in her room, sulking," Cecelia answered, leading the way into the kitchen. The scent of casserole hung in the air. The table wasn't laid yet, so I deposited Aunt Vy on her favorite chair at the head of the table and started pulling plates and cutlery out of cupboards and drawers.
"Who is she mad at this time, you or me?" I asked.
"I think she's mad at herself for not covering all her bases with you," Cecelia said, pulling the dish out of the oven and putting it down on a coaster in the middle of the dining room table. "Good timing with your text, by the way. I was just on my way to the meeting with Headmaster Simmons."
"Did you get the matter settled?"
She sighed as she began to cut up tomatoes and cucumber. "We've set up a meeting with Louis, his parents, Bella, and me in a couple of days."
I got a piece of feta out of the fridge and crumbled it over the salad. "Removing the middle man. Wise move."
"The headmaster will be there to mediate. He said Louis' parents might otherwise arrive on the defensive."
"Can't blame them," I said. "No sane person would choose to go toe to toe with the city's Detective of the Year."
Cecelia grimaced. "I'm going to have to give up that title before long. It appears I'm losing my touch."
I looked at her. "Uh-oh. Is it the case of the Pit guard?"
Cecelia's fork was a blur as she mixed salad dressing in a cup. Tines rattled against ceramic. "We had a promising lead on the murderer's hiding place, but he disappeared into thin air again. And I’m only telling you this much because the press got wind of it."
"I didn't see anything about that on the news earlier," I said.
"You probably missed it, seeing as your Greyson is a far more interesting topic.”
Aunt Vy snorted very unswordly-like from her spot at the table. “A tiny detail like the hideout of a murderer is only worth thirty seconds of air-time compared to hunky shade heroes who manage to escape the Order.”
“The first-ever hunky shade hero to get some positive publicity," I reminded her. There had, of course, been other shade heroes before. Shades of Superman, Robin Hood, and the like were quite common. But none of them had ever successfully saved an old lady and her groceries, so the press around them was usually bad or nonexistent. The reaction to Greyson was new and… hopeful.
The doorbell rang. I glanced out of the kitchen window. “It's David. You let him in. I’ll get Bella."
Cecelia dried off her hands. "I think the other way around might work better this time. She really doesn't want to come down." And I wouldn’t be able to make her.
Cecelia disappeared upstairs while I buzzed David in. He walked up the short pathway in his five-thousand-dollar suit, talking to himself.
"Yes, ma'am, I do believe our slogan," he said. "Shades are people, too. I myself have interacted with more benevolent shades than wicked ones. I'm sure that if we took the time to get to know them, we could--"
He was interrupted by a tinny spew of malice emanating from his ear. I didn't understand the words, but the sentiment came through the headset well and clear. The lady on the other end of the line was Pissed. With a capital P.
Both Sean and David were chairmen of SHAID, the Society for a Higher Acceptance and Integration of Dreams. SHAID promoted awareness for and acceptance of shades, hoping to change the public’s mostly negative view on manifested dreams. The Society argued that accepting shades as part of us and our world was the first step in decreasing their numbers and the fatalities they brought with them. Most people didn’t agree.
David raised his eyes to the sky in an exaggerated ‘save me’ gesture as he walked past me into the house. After having spoken out for Greyson on the news, David had probably been fielding calls from angry citizens all afternoon. He had enough time to toe off his shoes and steal a piece of cucumber out of the salad bowl on the table before he got the chance to speak again. "Well, ma'am, I believe in the good in shades because I believe in the good in people. Plus," he added with a wink to me, "a stranger's shade saved my life when I was a little boy-- ah, you've heard the story."
Another spitting of words silenced him for a second.
"No, ma'am, it's not propaganda, it's the truth. If you go on the SHAID website, you will find over a hundred reports of people who’ve had positive experiences with shades."
He paused again to listen. The malice wasn't quite as palpable this time.
"I guarantee you they are true," he said. "And if you doubt any of them, please give me another call and I will personally set up a meeting with the person who wrote the report in question... Yes, I will. You have my number. You’re also welcome to join our fundraiser gala in three days; you’ll be able to speak with every one of our members there. Have a good day, Mrs. Weaver." He hung up with a puff of his cheeks and sank onto a chair.
"Busy day?" I asked.
"I've been getting calls like that since the interview."
"You're doing a good thing," I said. "The undercover shade-community appreciates it. Few as we may be.”
"I know." His smile didn't reach his eyes. "It just doesn't seem like we're making a lot of headway with our campaign. Maybe our new slogan for the fundraiser was a little premature. People don't believe that shades are people, too. Not yet. But this one..." He looked up, hope brightening his face. "Cecelia told me that..." He stopped and looked around. "Where is she, by the way?"
"Coaxing Bella down to dinner. She's mad at me."
“Because you texted Cecelia ab
out Louis beating her up? You did the right thing."
"I know."
He flashed me a smile. "Want to do another right thing?"
“Watch out,” Aunt Vy said. “That’s his I’m-about-to-turn-up-the-charm-so-you’ll-give-me-anything-I-want smile.”
It was, indeed. I secretly called it his Successful Salesman Smile, though it had never been directed at me. He usually didn’t use it on the people he cared about. I crossed my arms in front of my chest. "Why do I get the feeling I'm not going to enjoy this ‘right thing’, either?"
"Hear me out, okay? Lia told me that the warrior shade that’s all over the news is your Greyson Deynar." He paused, waiting for confirmation.
I nodded. "He is."
"Do you think you could find him?"
I glared at him. "I've been trying very hard to not think just that."
He held up his hands in surrender. "I get that you don't want to open a can of worms you're afraid you'll have to close again--"
"I'm scared that I won't be able to," I interrupted. "Please don't tempt me. Don't put me in that position."
The hopeful determination in his face softened. "You're right," he said, "I won't. Just promise me one thing."
“You don't have to promise him anything,” Aunt Vy insisted. “You don’t owe him anything.”
“Except we kind of do.” We owed David big-time. If not for him and his support, my highly illegal integration into society - my entire illegal existence - wouldn’t have been possible. And Aunt Vy would’ve been melted down to her particles by the Order.
“Promise you what?” I asked David.
"Don’t worry,” he said with a wink, catching my hesitation. “I was only going to ask you to look at the big picture and think about it."
"What’s the big picture?"
