River answered with a snicker and an eager nod.
Then the two of us headed down the hallway, toward Driscoll’s room.
Chapter 42
Bittersweet
Ash:
There in a grotto laced with the song of black-chinned sparrows, we placed the body. I sang the funeral poems, head bowed, hands crossed on my chest, wings tight against my back, my voice in braided harmony with the voice of my sister. But even as I sang I could hear the empty melody, the missing notes.
The harmony that belonged to Lily.
Death always brought her back. The days after her murder had been the worst. Once the sun rose, it had baked the sky, sent white-hot shards of light to sizzle the ground. It was never the fact that I couldn’t walk in the light.
It was that I was alone.
Measured in meaningless hours, this human eternity had dripped past, heartbeat by heartbeat, and the green shelter of the forest always seemed too far away. There in the dark spaces between the tree trunks, I could sometimes find peace—though not often. I would stand on the craggy hill, always leaving space for her beside me; I would speak as if waiting for her to finish my sentences, would wait longing for the full moon. And then when it finally came, I would realize that even the perfect, magic night would not bring her back.
My own curse held me here.
My revenge.
Not sweet, not even bittersweet.
And then one night of blinding moon promise, I had stumbled into another bedroom, discovered a human woman with dreams like milk and honey. This one could not see the world—her eyes had never looked upon green fields or blue skies—so she never really saw me as the beast I was. I would kneel beside her bed while she slept, clinging to the visions she brought, harvesting each of them with gentle care, never taking too much, always leaving enough for her.
So we could both have hope.
But then, like a moth, I had flown too close to the flame.
A year after I began visiting this woman, Elspeth was born, a child of two worlds, a child with wings singed by my sin. I couldn’t leave my babe to be discovered by the other humans. She was too young to mask her Darkling features. The humans would have killed the child and persecuted the mother.
So I stole the babe and gave it to my sister, Sage.
Then the mother had withdrawn from me, barring her windows and doors. I didn’t know how the loss of the child had tormented her, or I would have broken every rule, would have forced my way inside. I never expected that she would take her own life a few weeks later.
I would have found a way to rescue her—that is the story that I tell myself, over and over.
After that, I vowed that I would never let a closed door or window stand in my way again.
Chapter 43
The Boy with the Music
Elspeth:
Wearing blue jeans, black leather and human skin, I sauntered up the road toward the herd of boys. A slight apprehension slipped across my shoulders and down my neck. I felt naked and exposed without my wings, like I wouldn’t be able to get away quick enough if I had to. Out of instinct, I tried to sort out their hierarchy, tried to figure out which one was the pack leader—that was the one I needed to be wary of.
Pack leaders often made wrong decisions. But it didn’t matter. Followers would still follow.
Two of them stood almost a head taller than the others. One slouched against a tree and his clothes carried the stench of smoke and alcohol. The other stood a little apart from the group, quiet. I could almost hear poetry in the rhythm of his breathing. As I drew nearer I noticed that he tapped the side of his leg with his fingers. A song. He could hear a song in his mind.
Just then they all swiveled and turned to look at me. One of them must have said something.
I stopped, cautious.
The one with the song in his fingers gave me a shy grin. “Hey,” he said. Pale eyes the color of the sky after a storm, bronze skin, hair bleached almost white blond.
“Why are you all standing here?” I asked.
The leader moved, catlike, away from his position by the tree. Dark hair and dark eyes and skin the color of milk. He was lovely and dangerous. And I was sure that most of his dreams would be about himself. “We’re waitin’ for Mad Mac,” he said, his words slurring a bit.
The taint of alcohol grew stronger as he approached.
“Who?” I asked.
One of the younger boys sidled up next to me, russet hair and sandy-brown eyes. “She wrote the Nemesis series.”
Another child frowned. “And the Shadowland series. You always forget that. Nick and Pinch used to drag children into the Land of Nightmares—”
“Dude, I didn’t forget. That series gave me the creeps when I was little.”
The boy with the music stared at me with a pensive gaze. I wanted to know his name. Almost immediately he held out his hand. “I’m Jake.”
I glanced at his hand, not sure what to do. “I—my name is Elspeth.”
Jake shrugged, put his hand back in his pocket.
The leader laughed, then pushed his way closer. “You can call me Hunter. Hey, I like your accent, where you from?”
I shuffled, uncomfortable.
“Don’t hassle her—” Jake said.
“It’s okay.” I tossed him a smile and heard the soft drumming of his heart speed up. “My family’s from Western Europe, someplace in the Carpathian Mountains of Romania or Hungary.”
“Wicked! Vampire country,” Hunter said, laughing again. This time the three younger boys laughed too, a bit nervously.
My gaze focused on Jake. He hadn’t joined in the laughter. With a quiet rebellion, he was challenging the leader. I could smell the stain of the forest on his skin, like he had been lying in the grass. “Do you all live in Ticonderoga Falls?” I asked.
“Unfortunately,” Hunter answered.
Then the three younger boys chimed in, words tumbling over each other.
“The Falls. It’s the edge of the universe.”
“Yeah, nothin’ ever happens here.”
“Except fires and mud slides and global warming.”
“What’s global warming?” I asked.
They all stared at me with blank expressions. Finally Jake said, “My dad says it’s all a myth. That everybody’s reading all the data wrong and makin’ a big deal out of nothin’.”
“But what do you think?” I asked.
At that moment, everything and everyone around us seemed to fade away. All I could smell was his breath, all I could hear was the music of his heartbeat. I wanted to peel him back, layer by layer, and find out what was underneath.
“I think it’s like every other myth. Based on truth, when you look deep enough.” He paused. “Like the Legend of Ticonderoga Falls, ’bout the shape-shifters that come here once a year to harvest.”
I froze. Unable to speak.
The humans know about our clan?
“You’re scaring her,” one of the younger boys said.
“No, I—it’s just—where I come from, we have legends about shape-shifters too.” I stammered my way through what I hoped was a plausible explanation. “But I’ve never heard of a harvest. Who—what do they eat?”
“You’re shivering,” Jake said. “Maybe we shouldn’t talk about—”
Hunter moved closer, slid an arm around my shoulder. “Honey, our shape-shifters eat humans,” he said in a low dramatic voice.
“And goats,” the little boy with sandy-brown eyes said.
“And babies—”
“Stupid, babies is the same as humans,” Hunter chided the kid with a swipe on the arm.
I pulled away from him. “Your shape-shifters eat people?”
“I told you guys, drop the subject.” Jake’s voice was firmer now. Ice crystals shimmered in the air around him. Like magic. Everybody held still for a moment and I almost thought that he had cast a Veil.
Then I realized what it really was.
The first snow
of the year. Tiny perfect flakes drifted down, swirled in patterns around him. A few of them landed on his shoulders and clung for a second before his body heat melted them. For now, the subject of carnivorous shape-shifters was gone.
Everyone was captivated by the bewitching snow. Even me.
Until someone finally broke the spell.
“Hey, we can’t all stand around and freeze to death,” Hunter said, stamping his feet in the cold. I wished Jake had spoken first, that he would have proven that he truly was the leader of this pack. “It’s time to go trick-or-treating!”
“Come with us, Elspeth,” one of the younger boys pleaded.
“Yeah, come with.”
Jake didn’t say anything, but I could see it in his eyes. He wanted me to come too. I had no idea what trick-or-treating was, but I wanted to spend more time with him. Maybe if I could get him alone, I’d be able to harvest his dreams. I’d be more careful this time, keep my scent under control. I stole a quick glance at him again, hunger in my eyes this time. I couldn’t hide it anymore.
And then I saw something almost as magical as the snow that continued to drift down.
When his eyes met mine, I realized that he carried a secret hunger too.
Chapter 44
Strange Costumes
Thane:
Paintings of Cousin Ash and his dead wife covered the walls; this room was a mausoleum, a temple, a place where a tormented human begged for release. I pulled away from Driscoll, even before the dream was finished, then sat back on my haunches. The meal wasn’t what I had expected. It lacked effervescence, it lay in my gut, flat and stale. I stroked one long taloned finger across my chin, thinking about the many nights last winter when I had shivered beneath a pale moon, crouched low in snow banks at the edge of the Belovezhskaya Pushcha Forest, waiting and hoping that a human would wander off the path, that an unexpected and sudden feast might be laid at my feet.
Such were the dreams of a Darkling who doesn’t own land. Dreams of food and harvest. Even now, I could still taste the foul, twitching dreams of the rabbits and squirrels, remembered how the furry creatures had fought to be set free, then fell still. Before I was finished with them, even their flesh, ripped and raw, had been devoured.
My stomach and my soul had ached for weeks after each woodland creature died.
Until even the forbidden flesh of my brothers began to look winsome and whole.
I stood up and rubbed my arm, still aching from that horrid werebeast.
One good meal, maybe two, and my wound would be healed. After that my strength would grow. If I only could find a way inside the little homes of Ticonderoga Falls, if I could find a way to get a quick succession of meals—
Just then a knock sounded on the downstairs door.
I peeked out the window. From this angle I could see a portion of the downstairs wraparound porch. A small crowd of children gathered there, all dressed in strange costumes, holding bags.
With a grin, I left my brother to finish his bland meal, and I changed my skin as I walked down the stairs. By the time I reached the front door I looked exactly like Cousin Ash. Except for the fact that my feet curled up a bit on the ends.
But none of the children noticed that small detail.
Chapter 45
Like a Beacon
Maddie:
For two hours we roamed the woods, flashlights dividing the night into black and white. Sheriff Kyle taped off the area where the body had been, made vague comments—Maybe the guy was drunk or maybe some kids had been partying in the woods and they’d decided to play a practical joke. So far no one had been reported missing. Ticonderoga Falls was a small town, we would know if someone was missing—
“Not if that someone was from out of town,” I said. “Like me.”
“True,” he answered me with a slow nod.
But I could tell he was humoring me. He didn’t think there was a body out here, despite the effort he was making. No body meant no crime and therefore no paperwork or investigation. Once reality set in, I could feel the tension between my shoulder blades return.
Hands on my hips, I stopped. This was what he had been waiting for—me to give up. “There really was a body,” I said.
He nodded. Quiet. Then we both turned and headed back down the trail toward my cabin.
“I’ll call the search-and-rescue team,” he said. “They’ll come over in the morning and comb the woods. We might have been looking in the wrong spot. These trails all start to look the same after a while—”
I could see the cabin then, flickering like a beacon through the forest deep, peeking through a fine netting of black branches. The path steepened here at the edge of the wood. Somewhere up ahead, in one of the cottages that dotted the Driscoll property, someone was baking. The scent of apples and cinnamon wafted through the trees, reminded me that I hadn’t eaten lunch or dinner.
“I’m not imagining this, any of it,” I said, half to myself. “I don’t care what Dr. Madera says about hallucinations from deadly nightshade.”
Sheriff Kyle pushed his hat back on his head, then stared at me quizzically. “Deadly nightshade? What’s that? Sounds like a horror movie or a kid’s book.”
We were walking up the steps and I could see the inside of the cabin through the screen door. There were three silhouettes inside—and Samwise, paws up on the windowsill; the dog stared out at me with a big grin. I temporarily lost interest in what the sheriff was saying when I realized that someone was talking to my son.
Someone I hadn’t invited inside.
Chapter 46
Trick or Treat
Thane:
The door swung open, a gust of autumn wind swirled into the foyer, and with it, a chorus of voices chanted, “Trick or treat!” My heartbeat slowed to a deliberate, calculated rhythm as I scanned the crowd of costumed children standing before me. Bedecked in plastic masks and fluorescent fabrics, faces painted in garish colors, skin glittering with sparkle dust, hair tucked beneath heavy wigs, they each held arms outstretched with open bags. I grinned, opened the door wider for them to enter, one word pressing against my tongue, though I dared not say it aloud.
Delicious.
Instead, I chatted in a cheery tone, one hand poised with palm up as the other gestured toward a table that rested against a near wall. Some of them may have noticed the glittering enchantment that hung in the air, almost as lovely as the light snow that swirled outside. But even if they did, it only added to the magic of the evening.
“Come in,” I said, speaking in my most soothing voice. “Help yourselves to the candy in the bowl. Take as much as you want. Only, please, wait until all of you are inside and I can close the door to the chill wind.”
“We can have as much as we want?” One little boy gazed at the bowl, eyes wide.
“Of course. Inside now, all of you.” I nodded to the two adults who chaperoned the bunch. “You too. You need a tiny reward for watching over these wild ghouls and goblins.”
A hearty laugh resounded through the group, all of them pleased that their efforts to appear macabre had been successful.
I guarded the door, counting as they shuffled inside.
Six, seven, eight—
Already the children were lining up in front of the bowl, staring down into untold treasures of chocolate and caramel and licorice.
Eleven, twelve, thirteen—
I closed the door behind the last adult, gave the signal for the trick-or-treaters to help themselves. Then amidst the clatter and the chatter, when no one was paying attention to me anymore, I locked the door.
Finally, with a theatrical flair, I raised both arms above my head, almost like the conductor of a great opera. I then lowered them with mercurial speed, casting a spell with a single word at the same time.
“Sleep.”
Chapter 47
Below the Surface
Maddie:
From the moment I walked onto the porch, a delicious heat beckoned from inside the cottage. And
when I crossed the threshold, I almost thought that the room glittered, like there were sparkles floating through the air; I even imagined that I heard a song, but as quickly as it came, it vanished. I felt like I had been interrupted mid-thought, awkward and disoriented.
He spoke first and the silence broke like a bubble on the surface of a rushing stream.
“Are you all right?”
It was Ash. I was surprisingly glad to see him, especially since he had helped us find our way home last night. I remembered how comfortable I had felt with him at my side as we walked through the wood. Up until now, every time a new man wandered into my life I would get an uneasy feeling in my stomach. Sooner or later, I was going to have to learn to trust men again. Right now, I was hoping it was sooner.
I could feel myself blushing as I stared at him. It felt like the temperature in the room had ratcheted up about ten degrees.
“I saw the patrol car and wanted to make sure everything was okay. I hope you didn’t get hurt in the woods.” His words came out all smooth and soothing, a sincere concern rippling below the surface. There was much below the surface here, I realized. He took a step closer and again, I noticed how incredibly handsome he was, that he had the slender, broad-shouldered build of a swimmer or a gymnast, as if every muscle was poised and ready for flight.
“I’m fine,” I answered, hoping that no one else in the room noticed how long it had taken me to answer. When he leaned even nearer I realized that he smelled like the forest—pine needles and cedar chips and crumbling leaves.
He glanced at my arm and I saw a sudden suspicion in his eyes. “What happened?”
Did he know about the creatures in the woods? “Something in the forest bit me,” I said.
“May I see it?” He gently took my arm in his hand.
I carefully pulled away the gauze bandage, just far enough to reveal part of the wound.
“Oh, that’s a nasty scrape,” Deputy Rodriguez said, beside me now in what might have been a protective stance, though I wasn’t sure. “You should have Doc Weatherby look at it.”
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