“Aura, Aura, Aura. It’s me. It’s Zachary. Aura, stay with me. Please.”
The pain crescendoed, then exploded through my whole body.
Then at last, there was nothing but darkness.
Chapter Thirty-Six
I woke in the backseat, unable to move. The car was driving fast and jerky, and my head lolled around on my neck. I groaned at the ache it caused.
“Sorry,” Zachary said. “I couldn’t chance you hurting yourself, or—”
“Shut up!” Tears squeezed from my eyes, from the pain in my head and the hurt I knew I was causing him. I turned my face to the window so I couldn’t see him.
“I don’t understand,” he whispered. “Just tell me what happened.”
“The shades stuck. Inside me.”
“Christ . . .”
“Don’t talk! Please. It hurts.”
I squirmed, trying to free my hands, then realized he’d put his jacket on me backward, wrapped the sleeves around me like in a strait-jacket, then somehow fastened them in the back.
He spoke softly. “We’ll go back to the castle. I’ll sleep on the balcony.”
His words came as a relief. I needed to get out of his sight, but I didn’t trust myself. I’d almost taken my own life at the beach just now. What if the shades made me take someone else’s?
When we got to the castle, I staggered upstairs ahead of Zachary so I wouldn’t have to see his face. Our room was empty and untouched.
I lay on the bed and curled into a ball, as every muscle knotted up in pain.
Zachary took something from the wardrobe and then the sofa. I knew he was sleeping on the balcony not just to be out of my sight, but to block my path in case I decided to throw myself off.
I loved him so much, even as the things inside me hated him. So much.
He opened the balcony doors, slipped outside without a word, then shut the doors behind him.
The relief was instant. My muscles untied themselves and relaxed into the mattress. After a few minutes, I could finally think straight.
The shades had entered me, and they’d gotten trapped. Why? I hadn’t bothered the ghost woman on the beach, so I couldn’t have been red from kissing Zachary hours earlier.
Zachary. The mere thought of him cast a shadow of pain over me. I tried to remember the happy times, but the shades had thrown a dark veil over my memory. I saw faint outlines of moments—sitting beneath the stars, kissing in the mountain river, making love in this bed.
What if I could never be around him again? And what would happen when I entered a BlackBoxed area—like the airplane, or every bathroom in the United States?
I had to get the shades out of me. But to do that, I had to know how they’d gotten stuck in the first place.
What was different between tonight and the September equinox? Besides the country and the company and the air temperature and about a hundred other factors.
Wait. Tonight was the solstice, not the equinox. Maybe there was a difference.
I slowly sat up, expecting nausea and dizziness. Oddly, I felt fine, unlike in September when I’d projectile barfed. I walked to the coffee table and picked up one of the research books Zachary had brought.
A half hour later I had scribbled a page of notes. The spring and fall equinoxes, in ancient beliefs, were about balance and movement. Near those dates, the sun’s path through the sky—and the time of sunrise and sunset—changes most rapidly from day to day.
Solstice, on the other hand, literally means “sun standing still.” For three days, it looks like the sun rises and sets in the same places. Before and after the summer solstice, the days seem long for weeks. Same with the darkness near the winter solstice.
So maybe the shades got stuck in me tonight because the solstice made things “stand still.” Maybe in a few days, the effect would wear off, and the shades would leave me.
To go where? To hurt whom? And in the meantime, how could I be around Zachary during the precious little time we had left?
I summoned the courage to go to the balcony and push the curtain aside.
Zachary was curled up tight in the fetal position to keep warm, a line of sofa cushions under his body. The blanket covered him head to foot, so it didn’t hurt me to look at him.
Not physically, at least. The sight of him huddled alone in the cold tore my heart in half.
I opened the door slowly, but he didn’t move or speak. “Wiggle your foot if you’re awake,” I said.
A movement came from one end of the blanket. I set my notes, a pen, and a flashlight by the lump of his head. “Read this after I shut the door. Then write me back and knock when you’re finished.”
He nodded. At least, I thought he did.
I closed the door and realized what I’d just done. The shades were a powerful, painful presence, but they didn’t control me. I wasn’t a shade. I had a living body and soul, both of which were in tune with Zachary’s. No way I’d let anything change that. I’d survive the shade invasion until I could figure out how to let them go.
A knock came at the balcony door. I opened it a crack, and the piece of paper slid through.
Maybe it is the solstice/equinox
thing. Talking of which, are we still
going to Dowth?
More than ever, I thought. We obviously hadn’t ended the Shift by going to Newgrange, so Padraig Murphy’s advice was our only lead. If we went to this place of “darkness” at sunset, maybe we could end the Shift. Which would get rid of ghosts and shades.
I wrote back:
Definitely. I’m not suicidal anymore, BTW. I
think you can come in as long as you don’t
speak and I can’t see you. Like if I’m on
the bed and you’re on the sofa.
I pushed the note through the opening. It came back ten seconds later:
1 minute.
I lay on the far side of the bed and drew the covers over myself.
The balcony door eased open. I forced myself to keep breathing as the pain writhed inside.
You don’t control me. I control me.
The sofa creaked, and the pain faded to a dull ache. I peeled the quilt back far enough to tell that Zachary was concealed behind the back of the love seat.
I slept fitfully, half-conscious, dreaming I was trapped, tortured, my limbs twisted. Dreaming in red.
Was this what it had been like for Logan? All those months as a shade, had he felt this angry and restless? How did he survive without going mad? I would’ve given anything right then to speak to him, to ask him how he made it through.
I heard rustling, then something light hit my shoulder. I drew back the covers, cautiously, to find a paper airplane on the floor next to the bed.
I opened it to read:
It’s seven a.m. I’ll hide in the |oo while you get dressed for breakfast. When you’re done eating we’ll switch, and I’ll stay downstairs in the library until it’s time to go to Dowth, around two. Okay?
“Okay.”
I noticed the arrow at the bottom and flipped the paper airplane.
We will solve this together. Please don’t let go. Promise me.
“I won’t let go.”
Another arrow led to a fold under the left wing.
Promise!
“I promise.”
I followed the final arrow to the remaining wing.
I love you.
“I love you, too.” I drew the blanket over my head and said, “Okay, go.”
Zachary shot off the sofa and into the bathroom. When he’d shut the door, I got out of bed and dressed, numbly, not caring if my clothes matched. I brushed my hair at the vanity, then tried to use cover-up to hide the dark circles under my eyes.
Breakfast tasted like nothing. I made polite conversation with the B and B owner, who assumed Zachary was late getting up because he was hungover.
“Trust me.” She touched my shoulder. “You’re married to a Scotsman now, get used to it. And the brooding.” She
clucked her tongue, like my “wedding” had been my funeral.
Her words wormed into my mind. Zachary didn’t drink much, but sometimes he felt beyond reach. Whether it was national temperament or a personality quirk, I’d have to accept it.
Whenever Logan and I had fought, he’d quickly switch to suck-up mode to try to stop me from being mad at him, even when I was at fault. All he cared about was harmony.
But Zachary was different. His feelings and desires were too complex for me to manipulate. With him—my equal in stubborn pride—nothing was guaranteed. Not harmony, not happiness, not peace. I was sure of nothing but his love.
I hoped it was enough.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
On the drive to Dowth, I huddled in the backseat, covered head to toe with a heavy blanket. Zachary cranked up the radio to mask the sound of his own breathing. We made it to Dowth with fifteen minutes to spare before sunset. There was no parking lot, just a spot on the shoulder to pull over. No guards, no admissions desk, no welcome sign. Just a giant silent hill.
“Now I get why they call these places ‘faerie mounds.’ ” I passed through a sheep gate into the green field surrounding the megalith. Just because Zachary couldn’t talk back didn’t mean I couldn’t speak to him. No point in both of us being stuck writing notes.
When I heard the clank of the iron gate behind me signaling that Zachary was following, I stepped forward, pulling my hood forward against the light rain.
He passed me a note with a gloved hand. I felt a sharp pang as our fingers nearly brushed.
Walk clockwise around the mound.
I would’ve given him a skeptical look if I could’ve looked at him at all. Zachary wasn’t normally superstitious, but it was clear that this place Dowth freaked him out as much as it did me. Unlike at Newgrange, which was polished and restored and crowded with tourists, here we were utterly alone with whatever ancient forces lay beneath the stone and grass. Druids? Gods? Faeries? Or something older and more powerful than anything that ever walked and talked, in myth or in reality?
We rounded the mound, dodging sheep poop and passing kerbstones half buried in the soil.
I reached the south entrance, the top of which only came up to my nose. “Looks like a hobbit hole.” But instead of a cute wooden door, there was a rusty padlocked gate. “Is the iron meant to keep the faeries out?”
Scribbling came from behind me, then a crumpled note bounced at my feet.
To keep them in.
I shivered. This country was seriously messing with my scientific mind-set.
I checked the padlock, expecting Zachary would have to snap it off with the bolt cutters we’d bought yesterday. But it slipped from the gate, undone. Huh. Had it been left unlocked by yesterday’s solstice celebrators?
I pulled my ponytail holder out of my hair and wrapped the elastic around the lock’s peg so it wouldn’t go into the hole, then slipped the lock into my coat pocket. This way we could secure the place when we left—and if someone came along, they couldn’t lock us in.
The iron gate squealed in protest as I dragged it open. Then I switched on my flashlight and ducked inside.
The passage was short—I could already see the back of the chamber after just a few steps. My flashlight on the chamber’s back wall revealed a breathtaking display of carved triangles, diamonds, and wavy lines. It almost felt more marvelous than Newgrange, because we were alone, not surrounded by tourists.
I stopped before the chamber’s threshold. A six-foot-wide stone basin lay in the middle of the round room, taking up half the floor. I’d spent the day reading up on Dowth, and I knew that wasn’t right.
“Isn’t this basin supposed to be in the other chamber?” I crossed the threshold. “I wonder if—”
“Aura, no!”
“Augggh!” I raised my hands to my ears to block Zachary’s voice, sending my flashlight beam careening over the wall.
Out of the darkness, something grabbed my arm, yanking me to the right. I yelped as the flashlight flew from my hand.
“Calm down, Aura. It’s all right.” The young Irish woman’s voice was so soothing, I stopped struggling, confused. Were we supposed to meet someone here?
“Who are you—”
She slapped me hard. I staggered back, hitting the cold stone wall. Through my stunned haze, I heard Zachary’s roar.
“Leave her alone! Don’t you—” His voice was cut off in a punch, but it was enough to send a bolt of pain through my head, worse than any physical blow. I howled and covered my ears, barely hearing the clang of the bolt cutters against the floor.
“What’s wrong with her?” said another girl’s voice, this one oddly familiar.
“She’s daft,” the first girl answered. “Who cares?”
“Now, then,” came a deep male voice by the door, also Irish. “Let’s find out what other tricks you’ve got here. Bran, turn on the torch so I can see.”
I opened my eyes as a second light clicked on. My own flashlight lay across the chamber, pointed at the far wall. Its reflected glow showed five hooded figures in dark gray robes. They must have been hiding in the chamber’s closet-size recess when Zachary and I came in.
Two girls flanked me, each pressing one of my shoulders against the wall. One big guy restrained Zachary’s arms while another rummaged through his jacket pockets. A shorter boy—Bran, I guessed—shone the flashlight in Zachary’s eyes. A quick glance at Zachary was all the shades inside me could bear, but I could see that his face was bleeding and his posture slumped.
“What do we have here?” The deep-voiced boy flicked the button on Zachary’s switchblade. “Looks useful.”
The girl in front of me snapped, “Aidan, I swear ta God, you put one mark on him, I’ll cut your throat.”
Aidan put his hands up in mock surrender. “As the great Nuala commands it,” he said sarcastically. He shut the switchblade and went to put it in his pocket, then seemed to realize he had no pockets in his Druid-type robe. “I’m keeping this, though. No one touches it—or any of my things—when we leave.” He tossed the knife past me into the chamber’s side recess, where it made a soft noise when it landed.
The sight of Zachary skewered my eyes, so I looked away, searching the chamber for a weapon. My flashlight? Its shaft was thick and heavy, but even if I could whack one person with it, I was hopelessly outnumbered.
Four iron stakes were drilled into the dirt surrounding the basin. They had small loops at the top, like closed hooks. Next to one of the iron stakes lay a pile of white nylon-plastic zip ties.
Dylan’s words came back to me from the summer, before our “commando raid” on Area 3A.
If you ever get kidnapped, this’ll come in handy.
Zachary groaned in protest, making my lungs seize. They were tearing off his jacket and shirt, sending the buttons bouncing across the stone floor.
“What are you doing?” I shouted. “Stop!”
“Colm, get his feet,” Aidan said.
The two young men hoisted Zachary and dumped him faceup in the basin. The boy, Bran, picked up one of the zip ties and reached for Zachary’s right wrist, ready to fasten him to one of the iron stakes.
You gotta be passive. Don’t let them think you’re a threat.
“Wait!” I stepped forward, presenting my hands in front of me, thumbs together, wrists flexed. “I’ll do anything you want. Just please don’t hurt him.”
Colm snickered at me as he stood. “Oh, we’re a clever one, aren’t we? Guess what? I’ve seen that video.” He spun me to face the wall, then dragged my hands behind me, crossing my wrists. “Now, Deirdre. The tie. Make it tight.”
I screamed, long and hard. We were too far from a house for anyone to hear, but maybe someone was walking along the road.
Before I could draw another breath, a sweat-scented cloth was forced between my teeth. I shook my head and pushed at it with my tongue, but someone tied the cloth tight behind my head, pulling my hair. I focused on keeping my wrists flexed
so the expanded muscles would make some slack in the zip tie. In my panic, it was the only strategy I could remember. I hoped it was enough.
“Aura, it’s okay,” Deirdre said. “We’re not here to hurt you and Zachary.”
It was the Deirdre who’d cleaned our room at the B and B. The one who maybe wanted me to get pregnant.
I wished they’d blocked my ears instead of my mouth. Behind me, Zachary sounded fully alert again as he struggled. He seemed to be trying not to speak, but his labored breathing alone was shattering my shade-infested body. I moaned as loud as I could to drown out the sound.
Deirdre let go of the zip tie. “There, it’s done. I’ll light the candles.”
When she turned away, I let my wrists relax. There was room now to twist them. Because they were crossed and behind my back, it’d take some time and pain to slip my hands free of the binding.
“You asked what we’re doing,” Nuala said as she turned me to face the chamber. I looked away from the sight of the bare-chested Zachary bound and gagged in the shallow basin, and instead focused on the pair of black pillar candles set at the base of the most beautiful wall-stone.
“We are ending the Shift,” Nuala continued. “It started with the coming of the light to Newgrange nineteen years ago, and tonight it shall end with the darkening of the light in Dowth. The Children of the Sun’s legacy lives on in us.”
The boy who’d restrained me—Colm?—shook my shoulder. “What Nuala is trying to say is that we want to get rid of the ghosts, like the one that killed our da and nana. For the Shift to end, you and your boyfriend here have to die at sunset.”
My mind blanked with terror.
“No!”
The protest wasn’t mine, but Deirdre’s.
“That’s not what Nana Murphy wants,” she said. “She wants us to do the fertility ritual so they’d have a child. The new day, remember? Aidan, you were the one who told me.”
Shine Page 26
