The Book Of Shade (Shadeborn 1)

by Finn, K. C.

  “Coltrane!”

  Salem, now suddenly sans his shirt, had stuck his wet head out of the edge of the curtains. He gave her a wicked grin.

  “We’re waiting for you,” he purred.

  His shiny blue eyes tipped her a wink, and then he was gone again. Lily changed her path to head for the stairs, until Michael caught her arm.

  “You know him as well?” he said accusingly.

  Lily was about ready to snap, but a tingle in her rose quartz necklace reminded her to stay cool. If she could have simply told Michael that Salem was hundreds of years old, then things might have been a lot smoother between them, but she was put under the pressure of hiding her secrets once again. Though she had scoffed when Novel had first called it a tiring practice to hide one’s true self from humankind, Lily was starting to understand his frustrations a little too well now.

  “Look, I can’t help it if he winked at me,” she said in an angry whisper. “Salem winks at everybody. It’s one of his things.”

  Michael let go of her arm with a sulky look. He dropped his shoulders haughtily.

  “Yeah I guess,” he said sharply. “See you tomorrow then.”

  He went by in a huff and Jazzy sidled up to Lily quickly, wearing a curious grin.

  “Who is he?” she marvelled. “Is he a shade?”

  Lily nodded. “Novel’s father.”

  “Whoa,” Jazzy breathed, “what a family.”

  “Don’t even start,” Lily answered with a smile. “I’ll be in later.”

  They said their goodbyes and Lily slipped up the stage stairs and through the curtain gap where Salem had been standing. He and Novel were sitting together next to a man Lily didn’t recognise at first. As she came closer, however, she realised the man was eating something that looked suspiciously bloody, and the tufts of wayward hair sticking out at the back of his neck reminded her of where she had seen him before. And the cage that had contained him

  He was Eno Rolin: the werewolf.

  “I’m telling you it’s not like that anymore in London,” Salem was saying to the lycanthrope as Lily arrived, “the wolves are practically running the South Bank. There’s a society for God’s sake.”

  Salem was lounging on a box as he dried off, presumably naked save for a towel draped around his waist. He was a stark contrast to Novel, suited elegantly from his neck to his toes in black stage-hand gear that was about a century old. His face said everything as to how he felt about being demoted for the night in his own theatre. The illusionist was the first to catch Lily’s eye as she arrived and she stood next to him, hoping to stay as far away from Eno as possible.

  “I don’t think it’s for me Say,” the werewolf growled in a sandpaper voice. “I like it here. It’s peaceful enough in the catacombs.”

  “You don’t want to run?” Salem pressed, a wicked grin on his face again.

  Eno grinned too, showing hideous yellow teeth. “A wolf always wants to run,” he confessed, “but it’s a dangerous business. I’m too old for that now.”

  Novel held out a hand suddenly, cutting into whatever Salem was about to say.

  “Please Eno, never again use the words ‘too old’ in front of him.” Here he shot Salem a nasty look. “I needn’t hear his ‘five centuries and still going strong’ speech for the thousandth time tonight.” He turned to Salem properly and looked him up and down. “Put some clothes on and come up to the rehearsal space,” he barked.

  Salem didn’t question the order and Novel took Lily’s elbow quickly to lead her away. She could feel the heat in his hands as he led her, annoyance bubbling in every tense muscle of his face.

  “You know, you could always just let the shadehunters have Salem to play with, if you hate him that much,” she whispered.

  His jaw relaxed a tad.

  “Don’t think I haven’t considered it,” he answered darkly.

  Salem’s version of putting clothes on was not the same as Lily and Novel’s. He arrived in the room in a short, silky robe that could well have belonged to Dharma, and it was still a questionable business as to whether any underwear was involved in the ensemble. The older shade sat himself down on the two-seat sofa, kicking his bare legs up and giving both Lily and Novel another wayward grin. Novel was pacing the floor, a vein in his temple throbbing as he returned the expression with a grimace.

  “Tell her what you told me,” he urged, sweeping with his hand.

  Lily perched on the old desk as Salem began to speak.

  “I didn’t see them up close, but there were six or seven trying to track me down. Usually your average shade, who’s been around a while, has enough power to subdue that number.” Salem gave a noncommittal little shrug. “I thought a little wave of water would knock them out long enough for me to get away. I couldn’t have done any more by myself. Someone like Lemarick could have killed a half dozen outright.”

  Lily’s eyes flashed to Novel worriedly. He waved a hand at her, still watching his father.

  “I wouldn’t have killed them,” he said in that same dark tone, “but I could have. Go on.”

  Salem gave a smirk. “They’re always surprised by water, since not many of us can do it. So I shot my best wave at them. It knocked all but one down. The last guy, a really big guy, he blocked it.” The senior shade’s face became just a little tighter, his smile faltering. “With a wall of air.”

  Lily’s brow creased.

  “I thought you said shadehunters were humans?” she asked Novel.

  “This one clearly isn’t,” he answered gravely. “One of our own has turned against us. And we need to find out who.”

  “So where do I fit in?” Lily asked nervously. Apart from her own proficiency in water casting, which was now apparently useless, she rather thought she was fit for very little else.

  “I want to make contact with someone who might know a little more about this turncoat hunter,” Novel explained, “but I need another shade to help me do it, and I don’t want it to be him.”

  Salem didn’t take the least bit of offence at the nasty look Novel was giving him. Lily shifted uncomfortably, hoping she would be well out of the way before they broke into a fight like the one Baptiste had witnessed.

  “You know I’ll do what I can,” Lily said, trying to placate Novel with a smile.

  “Excellent,” Novel replied. “I’ll make the arrangements. It could be a while before the moon’s right.”

  “Why?” Salem asked. “Who are you going to talk to?”

  “Edvard Schoonjans,” Novel replied with a lump in his throat.

  APRIL

  The Night Of The Dead

  “Aren’t you scared about this?” Jazzy asked as Lily was getting ready to go out.

  It was 3a.m., and she’d arranged to meet Novel at quarter past the hour outside her dorm. Lily had been reluctant to have so distinctive a character as Novel standing outside Wellesley again, but she’d agreed after he reminded her that the full moon was no time for a girl to be walking out alone, no matter how short the distance. She glanced out of the window into the dark night when the hour had struck, but there was no sign of him yet. She turned back to Jazzy with a shrug.

  “I guess I’m getting desensitised,” Lily said. “I think it’s kind of comforting actually, to know that you can pull people back from beyond the grave.”

  “Depends on whether they want to be pulled or not,” Jazzy said, rubbing her arms despite the warm air of the room.

  “Edvard was Novel’s best friend,” Lily reasoned. “If he’s anything like his wife, then there won’t be a problem.”

  “I don’t know,” Jazzy mumbled, pulling her blankets up around her, “I think there’s a weird feeling in the air tonight.”

  “Look,” Lily reasoned, putting a hand on her friend’s knee, “if there’s anyone knows how to run a séance, it’s Lady Eva, right?”

  Jazzy tensed at the name. She had never got around to telling Lily exactly what she had wanted to speak to the Gypsy Madame about a few weeks ag
o, and now so much time had passed that Lily didn’t like to press her for buried answers. She only knew that whenever Eva’s name came up, Jazzy went off into a quiet bout, like her mind had been overtaken by thoughts that she didn’t enjoy. Lily was headed out the door when Jazzy spoke again.

  “You trust Novel to look after you, don’t you?”

  Her friend’s face was disturbingly serious as she asked the question. Lily nodded, her chest tightening a little.

  “I do, actually,” she said, despite not really having thought about it before.

  By the time she got downstairs and out of the front doors, Novel was waiting under a tree with an umbrella crooked over his arm. There was a thin mist in the air that had not yet broken into proper rain, but Lily put her hood up to shield her hair from the moisture all the same. She approached the dark figure and he inclined his head, his bright white hair lit by speckles of moonlight breaking through the new leaves on the tree. As his head rose again, however, it passed Lily by, eyes roving up the Wellesley building.

  “She’s worried about you,” Novel said.

  Lily followed his gaze back to her upstairs dorm window, where Jazzy was watching them with her purple duvet wrapped around her head. Lily gave her a little wave, which Jazzy returned before promptly shutting the curtains.

  “She’s freaked out tonight,” Lily said with a tiny, somewhat guilty shrug. “It happens sometimes.”

  “It’s going to happen a lot, having a shade for a best friend,” Novel mused as they set off for the park.

  He hadn’t said it in a lecturing way, but Lily couldn’t help agreeing that her human life and her shade life were not currently mixing very well. At first it had been handy for Jazzy to know all the ins and outs of where she was going and what she was doing – it saved a lot of time on excuse making, for one thing – but since she had mentioned the dangers of the shadehunters to her, Lily had noticed a mother-hen mentality creeping into her best friend that she could really do without. It wasn’t as though Jazzy could actually do anything to help, after all.

  “This isn’t the night to be talking about my friends,” Lily said eventually, shaking her worries out of her head. “This is about your friends. Are you happy to see Edvard again… or not?”

  “I wouldn’t say happy,” Novel mused with his ever-unsmiling lips. “I’m certainly not looking forward to hearing how he died, which I’m sure he’ll want to tell me every detail of. He was like that, you know, terribly gory.”

  Lily gave a tiny chuckle. “Did he talk loads and loads?”

  “Incessantly,” he replied with a nod, “and about all manner of rubbish no sane person would want to hear about.”

  “Did he make you laugh?”

  Novel’s face tightened a little as he looked out into the damp, hazy drizzle of night. He was walking faster now, with every pace back towards the theatre getting heavier, and though no sign of it showed in his expression, it was clear that he was anxious about the deed ahead. To keep up with him, Lily stepped up and grabbed his arm, looping it with hers. He was warm to the touch despite the chill of the wet spring evening, and he did not pull away when she latched against him.

  “I laughed often enough,” Novel answered eventually, “but that was a long time ago.”

  “Come on,” Lily pressed. “You’re going to break sometime, surely. Why don’t you smile anymore?”

  “Because it’s not necessary,” Novel said with a sigh. “I have seen and done everything worth smiling about already.”

  “I don’t believe that,” Lily protested, shaking her head again. “The world is changing all the time. You meet new people and have new experiences every day. There must be something out there than can kick those underused facial muscles of yours back into gear.”

  “In that case, you’re more than welcome to search for it,” Novel said in an impossibly emotionless tone. “Meanwhile, I’ll do other things, like saving us all from a cut-throat assassin squad led by a treacherous maniac with unknown powers.”

  “Yeah, see,” Lily added glibly, “That’s a great working relationship right there.”

  Novel’s elbow flexed and Lily felt him grip her arm a little closer. There was mirth in their exchange, but what he had actually said was a very real threat, if the hunters got wind of where Salem had escaped to. They might have had the whole of Lancashire to scour, but Lily had a feeling that the turncoat shade amongst them would have a trick or two for seeking out his own kind.

  At the Imaginique, Eva had set up her table on the grand stage to conduct the séance. The air was so cold in the cavernous space that Novel didn’t remove his thick outer coat. He simple led Lily to one of the two vacant seats, and pulled out her chair for her. The Hispanic Madame had donned the same floaty clothes she wore on the stage, all black beads and crimson tassels for the occasion. Eva’s thick brow and usually smiling mouth were set in a serious fixture as she eyed them both, though she spared Lily a kind nod for the briefest of moments.

  “I have made offerings to the Great Gitanos for us, Monsieur,” the gypsy said in a hoarse voice, “but there’s no guarantee that they can give passage to the soul of a shade, not even with a full moon.”

  “All I ask is that we knock upon the door,” Novel replied. “If there’s anyone who could find a way to answer, it’s Edvard.”

  “We must make the joining of hands, then,” Eva said, displaying her own palms.

  Lily took the hand nearest to her, feeling the strength in the older woman’s grip. She turned to Novel and looked down at his waiting hand, slipping hers into it like it was a glove she knew too well. The instant they connected, the sparks she had felt once before came to life, but this time, before she could pull away, Novel gripped her fingers tightly. After the initial fizz of energy, Lily watched as a gentle orange flame encased their hands. It didn’t burn, it didn’t even tickle, it was just there, with its flames licking away at their enjoinment.

  “Is this going to bother the process?” Novel checked, looking from their hands to Eva, “because I’m not sure I can stop it.”

  Eva shook her head with a ghost of a smile. They seemed to know something that Lily didn’t, a feeling she rather wished that she wasn’t getting used to, but there was no time to ask questions. Lady Eva, Gypsy Madame, had begun her trademark chant. Lily had seen her performance on stage, with the same entranced concentration as she summoned all manner of spirits, entreating them to speak with her or grant her access to the great beyond. But something in the air of this Spanish chant was different, and her tone of voice suggested pleading more than the usual command. The Madame gripped Lily’s hand tighter and tighter as her voice rose high into the rafters of the old theatre, growing in volume until she was shouting obscenely to the ceiling, and trying to rise violently from her chair.

  Lily looked to Novel to find him already watching her, his pale blue eyes torn with worry as his breathing became sharp. Lily too was losing air, as the atmosphere around them grew even colder than it had been thus far. The shades looked down together at the flame burning around their hands as it grew larger and smaller, oscillating and bending to the very words that Eva was now shrieking into the ether. Lily felt a shocking shiver run up her spine, as if the hand of death itself had touched her. She was about ready to let go and bolt from the table when Eva suddenly stopped shouting.

  There was a flash of pale light, and Novel’s mouth fell open.

  “Egad,” he whispered.

  “Egad?” said a hefty, Germanic voice. “Nobody says ‘egad’ anymore, my friend. You mustn’t fall behind the times, lest the times befall you.”

  In the centre of the table was half a body, specifically the torso and head of a young, good-looking man with flyaway hair. His charming smile was quirked in a lopsided fashion, and surrounded by a pale golden beard that matched the wild look of his locks. If Lily looked very carefully, she could see straight through his pale frame to where Lady Eva was watching him too, but for the most part he was solid and in fairly good
focus. He was wagging a finger at Novel playfully.

  “Don’t break the circle!” Eva said suddenly, squeezing Lily’s hand and giving Novel’s arm a yank.

  “Yes don’t do that,” Edvard repeated with a grin, “since it seems you’ve only managed to manifest half of me as it is. God only knows what will happen if you break before I return to the ether.”

  Edvard’s voice was happy and charming. He would have been terribly handsome, Lily thought, had he not been dead. Though there was nothing specific that gave him away, the lack of colour in him told Lily instinctively that he was a corpse, however well groomed and cheerful he appeared.

  “Edvard,” Novel began, “I need your help dear friend.”

  “You always did,” Edvard replied, his yellowish eyes glinting past his friend and onto Lily. The manifestation looked down at their hands, still covered in flames, and gave a wry grin. “So this is she. What a shame I didn’t get to meet you, dear girl.”

  “My name is Lily,” she said tentatively, trying not the think about the fact that she was talking to a ghost.

  Edvard nodded to himself. “Hmm. That will do well.”

  “Ed, focus. Please,” Novel pleaded. “This is about the hunters that tracked you down. I need to know their methods.”

  “Are you in danger?” Edvard asked, his face suddenly less serene. His body blurred in and out of sight for a moment, as though he were part of the ever-shifting Dreamstate.

  “Not yet,” Novel replied gravely, “but Lily’s so new to this life. I need to know everything you can tell me, to help me protect her.”

  Something heavy and emotional swelled in Lily’s chest to hear Novel speak so openly about her safety. She clutched his hand tighter, and the flames around her grip glowed brighter. The illusionist didn’t look away from the ghost of his friend, but she felt him squeeze her fingers in return.