by Gina Shafer
Copyright © 2017 Gina Shafer
All rights reserved.
ISBN:978-0998183435
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without prior written consent of the author except where permitted by law.
The characters and events depicted in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Published by Gina Shafer
Editing by Holly M. Kothe and Murphy Rae with Indie Solutions, www.murphyrae.net
Cover Design by Murphy Rae, www.murphyrae.net
Formatting by Elaine York/Allusion Graphics, LLC/ Publishing & Book Formatting
Acknowledgements
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
About the Author
Other Books by Gina Shafer
Through Ash and Embers Preview
For my sister.
A sunflower in a field of dandelions.
To my readers, you have absolutely no idea how much you mean to me. There’s no chance of this book, or the next, without you. You keep me writing. You keep me sane. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading my words.
Murphy, thank you for coordinating literally everything to do with getting this book in the hands of readers. I am forever grateful for every bit of help as advice you’ve given me through this journey into the book world. And not to mention the fact that you wrap years of my life into a pretty package and slap your art on the top. Thank you x a million.
Holly, thank you. I will never be able to explain how much your editing means to me. You were the first person to read even a sentence of In Smoke And Ruins, and I wasn’t even nervous to send it over. My words and my work feels safe with you, and that is something I can never put a value on.
Chelle, You rock. You make me laugh and at the same time you make me a better writer, so thank you.
Theo, thank you for taking the dull rock I sent you and shining it up. You polished this book so that people could see it’s worth.
Elaine, each book in this series has surprised me with how beautiful you’ve formatted them. One minute I’m expecting something ordinary and then you go and blow ordinary out of the water. You make the book as special on the inside as it is on the outside.
Eric, hey, thanks for marrying me. Solid move. I love you more than anything except our kids. I think that’s romantic, right? No, but seriously... you are my biggest champion, my go to person for bouncing ideas back and forth. You take care of our beautiful children while I write or edit. You’ve put up with take out and a messy house so that I could write this book. Trust me when I say there is no way I could have written this book without your help.
Mel, were you expecting to see your name here? Well you should. I’m going to thank you in every single one of my books because I never stop learning from you. And that’s something I’ll never be able to thank you enough for. I’ve looked up to you since I was old enough to look up to anything. So get used to seeing your name on these pages big sis. You’re still what I want to be when I grow up.
Mom, Okay I’ll say it. This book wouldn’t be possible if it weren’t for you. And not just because you birthed me, or raised me, or devoted your whole life into making sure I stayed in school even though I hated it. This book wouldn’t be possible if it weren’t for you because you inspire me to do anything I want. And I wanted to write another book. I love you Mom.
Dad, thanks for being the kind of Dad that makes me feel cooler just by saying, yeah that’s my dad. I’ll never forget sitting on your bed coming up with ideas for my next book. That means the world to me.
Thank you to all of my in laws and other family that have turned into my great cheerleaders. You all are awesome. I never expected there to be so much excitement over this book, but it never ceases to amaze me that you’ve read my words, enjoyed them, and inspired me to write the second book. Thank you.
Linda, thanks for just generally being one of my greatest friends even though we’re so far away from each other. You don’t know how many times I was stuck in my head while writing and I’d look down at my phone and get a little laugh because of you tagging me in things. I miss you. I miss your family. You are one of the best people I’ve ever met.
To anyone and everyone that read this book, thank you again. I can’t say it enough. You are what keeps this wheel turning.
Karina - Age 10
“Grandma!” I call from my bedroom. I am sitting on the floor, surrounded by clothes, and I can’t find my favorite yellow jacket—the one with the purple zipper. It’s my favorite because of the colors and the little jewel that snaps the collar shut. My grandma says it’s an amethyst, but I just like it because it’s purple and shiny. I stand up when my grandma doesn’t answer me. She must be busy washing the dishes. I should go and find her.
I cross the room, hopping over piles of jeans and tops, knowing Grandma isn’t going to be happy when she sees the state of my floor. I throw most of the clothes into the dresser and push the rest of the mess under my bed. When that’s done, I open the door leading into the hallway. It’s quiet and dark… creepy. I always hate walking down it. I suddenly get a shiver that travels up from my toes, and I look down, like I’ll be able to see it. But all I see is pink glitter covering my toenails. I frown as I remember getting nail polish outside the lines when Grandma and I were painting our toes in front of the fire last night. I make a mental note to try harder next time and not laugh so much at Grandma’s jokes. To pay attention. To…
Concentrate.
The word runs through my head, but the voice is not my own. It’s my mother’s. “Concentrate,” she’d say whenever we practiced control of my magic.
I shake off the thought and run full blast down the hallway, skidding to a stop in front of my grandma, standing at the sink. She’s scrubbing the last dish from breakfast this morning.
“Grandma, didn’t you hear me?” I ask.
She drops a dish into the bubbly water and faces me, a smile in her eyes but I can still see a stain of disapproval on her face. “Of course I heard you, dear, but do you think it’s polite to screech for someone when you need help?” she asks, and my face heats with embarrassment.
“No, ma’am.”
“It’s all right, Karina, I’m not angry. But next time, maybe you could come to me and politely ask when you need something?” She dries her hand on a powder-blue towel hanging off the stove handle, walks toward me, and kneels. Her blue eyes shine even brighter now that she’s at my level. Her brown hair is sprinkled with gray, and the wrinkles surrounding her eyes are growing deeper each day. She’s wearing her favorite red lipstick, even though it’s early in the day. We’ve only just had breakfast, and my grandmother is dressed and ready for the day.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, still ashamed. My grandmother pinches my chin with her forefinger and thumb so lightly that I can barely feel her touch.
“You know how much I love you, right? There is nothing I w
ouldn’t do for you,” she tells me.
Of course I know this, but I can’t help feeling awful. My mother used to do the same thing.
“Caroline!” she would yell.
“Quiet, Audrey! I just got Karina to sleep,” my grandma would whisper-yell back, thinking I could somehow sleep through the noise. Then they would argue over things I never understood, and Grandma wouldn’t explain the next day.
I never want to be like my mother.
I nod when Grandma leans in and kisses my temple.
“What is it you need, sweetie?” she asks, standing and cupping my cheek with her soft hands.
“My yellow jacket, the one with the purple zipper,” I answer, my mood brightening when I think about my favorite piece of clothing. I wear it almost every day, and I love the way it feels, wrapping me in bright colors and warming me like the sun.
“Ah, I should have known. It’s in the laundry room. I finally got my hands on it and gave it a good wash, so it should be nice and clean,” she says, tapping me on the back and sending me off to the laundry room.
My heartbeat speeds up when I throw open the laundry room door and see the bright yellow fabric hanging off the rack. I slip it on and head toward the front door, pausing only to slip on my favorite sparkly purple jelly shoes and wiggling my toes before I snap the buckle. I love these shoes. When I finally make it outside, the rickety screen door slams shut, and I hear Grandma groan from inside the house. Oops!
“Sorry, Grandma!” I yell. Then I’m off. I run around the house and out to my favorite tree to check on the fairy house I made from cardboard scraps yesterday. Grandma even let me use the hot glue gun to attach the gems to the roof, and I can’t wait to see if anything has come by to nibble on the pieces of gum I left on the tiny doorstep.
I kneel against the big stump of the old oak and peer into the fairy house. I want to cry when I notice all of the ants that have crowded around the cardboard. Grandma told me not to leave sugar out here. Why didn’t I listen to her? I pick up my foot, ready to stomp on the whole thing, wanting to wreck it. But a butterfly floats by when my foot is in midair and lands on my jelly sandal. It’s yellow with thin, delicate wings. I smile as it tries to get nectar from the glitter on my toes.
I try to hold back a giggle threatening to escape, not wanting to scare it away, but I can’t. Laughter bursts out of my chest, and the butterfly flits away, back toward the house. I follow it with my eyes, wondering where it will land next. My smile dies on my face when I see a car pulling up the long gravel driveway, and my stomach turns when I see my mother in the front seat. She’s driving an old burgundy car with a wobbly wheel. My stomach hurts and I almost lose the biscuits Grandma baked for breakfast this morning, but instead I take a few steps back, crouching behind the old red oak fence that Grandpa built before he died. There’s a big hole in the wood near my nose, and I peek through it, wanting to see what’s going to happen.
I also want to run inside and tell Grandma. We weren’t expecting a visit from my mom anytime soon, and whenever she comes, things always go wrong. I frown when I realize she isn’t alone. There’s a man sitting in the front seat, and he’s got a hood pulled over his head. I can’t make out his features, but the instant he steps out of the car, I know he’s dangerous. A shiver runs down my legs, and the light golden hair there stands on end.
I’m sure my grandma is in danger. Mom and the man walk into the house, and the screen door slams again. There’s arguing, loud arguing… shouting now. I crouch even lower, peeking over my shoulder when I get the strange feeling that someone is coming up behind me. There’s no one though, only grass. There’s a field behind Grandma’s house, one I’m not allowed to go in. She says it’s not safe.
There’s more shouting from the house, and it sounds like Mom is looking for me. I freeze. Grandma would never let her take me, but I’m still afraid that she will find me. I haven’t moved, and my ankles are stinging from where red ants are biting their way up my legs. Tears fill my eyes, but I don’t let them fall down my cheeks. If I start crying now, I’ll make too much noise, and I have to be quiet.
The back door swings open, and Grandma falls to the cement patch where our patio furniture sits. Her hip bangs into a chair, and she cries out in pain. The strange man and my mother follow her, both of them screaming in her face. When I see blood streaking down into her eyes, I let out a tiny whimper and then clamp my hands over my mouth, not wanting to let any more sound escape. She’s in danger. I have to do something!
I shift my feet, looking for something… some kind of weapon, but I quickly turn back to the hole when my Grandma wails. The man is holding a knife, and it’s coated in more blood.
My grandma tilts her head in my direction, locking eyes with me through the hole in the fence. She lies there, pleading without words, silently begging me to look away. It’s like I can hear her thoughts, and maybe I can. Maybe it’s her magic…. I look down at my hands and notice the glowing. Instantly, I’m even more afraid. Grandma always taught me to be careful of my magic, to try to resist the pull of the flame. She said that when kids grow up, our magic can turn against us and, hurt us… kill us. I don’t want to die.
My mom calls for me, and her voice sounds nothing like it did just a moment ago. Now it’s filled with sweetness, and I remember for a moment what it used to be like when her voice was always that way. Another sob breaks free when I look at Grandma again. All of the light, every bit of her fire… it’s gone. Burnt out.
My sobs must have been too loud, because they’re both walking to the hole in the fence, toward me. I freeze, terrified, and I’m embarrassed when I look down and see the dark, growing wet spot on my jeans.
“There you are, Karina!” Mom grabs my arm so hard, it makes me squeal.
“Leave me alone!” I yell, kicking and flailing every body part that I can while trying to break free from her grasp. Her red painted nails pierce my skin, and my blood trickles over her fingertips. From this moment on, I swear to hate the color red forever.
She twists her face toward mine and kneels in the grass. My fear paralyzes me. She doesn’t look like the mother I’ve always known; she doesn’t even look human. I glance at Grandma, wishing she could just get up and help me, take me away from this bad woman.
“Listen here, little girl, Javier and I are going to take something from you, and you aren’t going to fight us. Just sit still, and this will all be over soon.” She forces me down on the grass. The man steps closer, wiping the blood from his knife, and I lie still. I don’t want him to hurt me with that blade, and I fear that if I move, he will.
He leans closer, and I feel his hot breath hits my cheek. I squint my eyes shut, not wanting to look at him. I don’t want to see his face. In my mind he looks like a monster.
Something sharp hits me in the stomach, and I exhale on a groan. That hurts! Stop it, please! It hurts! I want to yell, but the man’s hand is covering my mouth.
Suddenly, I feel a surge of heat spreading over my body. My skin feels like it’s burning, and I’m covered in sweat.
“Javier, she’s tapping into her power. Hurry up!” Mom says.
Is that what’s happening? No… it can’t. My magic is dangerous.
“Shut it, Audrey. I’m going as fast as I can. Harvesting the flame is harder than it looks. It’s in a different place on everyone,” Javier snaps at her.
I do something I know I will regret. I open my eyes and peek at the man’s face. Shining steel eyes peer down at me.
Just as I’m about to scream, a beam of light stretches across the yard, knocking down Javier and my mother. It takes me a minute to realize the light came from me and the source of it was my chest. Was that my magic? I peek down at myself, lifting my head only a little. There is blood on my stomach but nowhere else, and my body isn’t black like the shadow-walkers. The demon man’s fingers flinch, and I jump up, feeling lightheaded. I hunch over, clutching my stomach, then look into the field.
I run.
I
run so hard that my jelly sandals slip off my feet. I’m too afraid to go back and get them, so I keep running. Thorns prick the bottoms of my feet and embed themselves between my toes. My face is streaked with mud and tears, and still I run. When I glance behind me, there’s no one following me. I slip suddenly, falling into the dirt, my tears and snot turning the dry earth into mud. I huddle into a ball, shivering, even though the hot sun is beating down on me, burning my skin. I’m so afraid. I want my grandma.
I hear a noise. Crunching, like footsteps, in front of me. I have no energy left to run, so I become immobile, barely breathing, hoping that it’s not my mother and that horrible man. The footsteps are getting closer now, but I still don’t move, staring at the sparkly nail polish on my toes. They are half caked in dirt and blood. Grandma died with glitter polish on her toes too, I think.
“Holy shit! Soren, go get some blankets out of the car.”
I poke my head up through the blades of tall grass when I hear the unfamiliar voice. A tall redheaded man squats beside me, asking me all sorts of questions, but I don’t answer. I focus my eyes on the kid behind him, probably running back the way they came.
“Can you hear me? What happened to you, little girl?” the man says softly, and I sob at the kindness in his voice.
“My mom….” I say, finally finding my voice. “My mommy did this to me,” I whisper.
“You’re okay… you’re gonna be okay now,” the man says as he lifts me into his arms and carries me through the field. Even though I’m terrified, and so numb that my fingers and toes don’t feel like they’re attached to me anymore, I feel like this man is telling the truth. So I let him take me. I don’t fight it. Because if my own mom could do what she did, what could this stranger do that would be any worse?
I think about my mother more often than I care to admit. I think about her chocolate hair, the blue I inherited from her eyes, the turn at the end of her nose. I think about the way she used to kiss me exactly three times on the tip of my nose before bed. I think about when things began to change. When she kissed me less and less, until I finally forgot what it was like to have her undivided attention, her care… her love. I think about her often, but the one memory that sticks inside my mind like honey in the cells of a honeycomb is the look in her eyes when she took everything from me.
