by Jess Evander
Once again, I’m convinced he’s insane. “You’re in no condition to play doctor.”
Police officers surge past us, on their way to Wall Street.
“But it’s what we’re made for. We’re supposed to help ease human suffering.” His teeth start to rattle. Shock? “Or else they win.” He points, indicating the havoc caused by the explosion.
I squint. Then I see them. The shadow people—Shades. They’re limping out from the shadows cast by the buildings, but the people don’t seem to notice them. Shades move closer to the ones that are injured and crying, and they bend close to their faces—sucking in the air.
A tremor works its way up my spine. “Wh-what are they doing?”
Michael leans more of his weight into me. “They feed off human despair. They’re growing stronger.”
We need to get out of here before they see us. “Tell me where to take you.”
He nods. “You’re right. We can’t let them see you. Leave me. Just run, Gabby.”
I tighten my arm around his middle. “I’m not leaving you.”
The door to the storefront jingles, and the family from earlier shuffles outside. Mary’s father has her in his arms, her head buried against his chest. Her mother gasps as she looks down Wall Street. She dabs at her eyes.
Mary’s father approaches us. “Are you the ones who saved my girl?”
He’s a towering sort of man. I gulp. “Yes, sir.”
He hands Mary to the mother and reaches for Michael. “Here, I can help him. Our vehicle’s around the block.”
I don’t have time to argue. Michael hobbles beside the man and I fall into step with Mary and her mother.
Don’t look back. Don’t look back.
Within minutes, we’re in their old style pick-up truck. It rides low and in the back, where Michael and I are, the sides are made from wooden slats. Michael’s lying on his side, his head on my thigh again. Even though I have a blister growing from when I slapped out the fire, I rub the palm of my hand back and forth on his shoulder. Every bump in the road causes him to groan.
“Michael,” I whisper. “What year was burn cream invented?”
My words elicit a small smile. “Not yet. Shh.” He closes his eyes.
The truck rumbles past the city limits, and fields roll into view. I’m sure in my time there aren’t farms so close to New York. It’s surreal, seeing a field and the city in the same instance. I peek at Michael’s oozing back—charred flesh—and wish I hadn’t.
We turn up a long drive, and the truck stops. The man helps Michael out of the truck, and I follow them into their home. The house is small—one story—a kitchen, a family room, and a bedroom or two. Mary’s mother sets water boiling and hands me a jar of amber goo.
“Here,” she smiles at me. “This will help your husband. You may have him lie on the table.” She presses a wet rag into my hand. “My daughter has experienced a trying day, and I’m disturbed too. I’ll see to my family and you see to yours.” I can tell she ties to smile and just can’t.
“My husband?” My voice ratchets up five decibels, but I catch Michael’s gaze. He shakes his head subtly. Two young people traveling together. I guess it’s best if they assume we’re married. I run my tongue against the back of my teeth. “And what do I do with this?”
Before I can finish my question, Mary’s mom backs out of the room. I turn to Michael.
“Don’t mind her. She’s being proper. They won’t come in here again.” He’s trying to struggle out of his shirt without yowling. I cross the room and help ease the fabric from around his wound as we slip it over his head. Evidently they have a gym in this Keleusma place, because Michael’s more ripped than I would have guessed. I try not to get caught gawking as I help him onto the table. He lies, stomach down.
I freeze. “I don’t know if I can do this. Help you.”
“You can.” His voice is so soft. How can he do that? Use his strength to sooth me when he must be in an incredible amount of pain?
I swallow. Hard. “Okay. Tell me what to do.” My hands shake.
“Make sure there aren’t any pieces of my shirt stuck in the burn. Then use this.” He taps the jar of goo.
I pick it up and unscrew the lid. “Is this stuff safe to use?”
“Honey? Sure.”
I dab at his back with the damp cloth, biting my tongue and blinking my eyes to keep back the tears that are burning to drop. Michael grips the edge of the table. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s holding hard enough to leave marks. I should have found a stick for him to bite before starting. That always seems to work in old movies.
The muscle in his jaw pops. “Now, honey.”
“You don’t have to keep calling me that.” I pour a glob of the goo onto his back.
“Not you. In the jar. It’s honey. Only thing to help with burns,” he says between pained gasps.
I’m glad he can’t see my face. My cheeks flame with embarrassment. Of course he wasn’t calling me honey.
There’s a light tap on the door, and Mary’s mother walks into the kitchen, averting her eyes from Michael’s back. She lays a wad of fabric on the counter. “These are clean. You may use them as bandages.” She hesitates at the door. “I have this for you as well.” She holds up a bundle of clothes. “I noticed that something happened to your clothing during the blast.”
I look down at myself. Besides some soot and scrapes, I’m fine.
Oh, right. Modesty in the twentieth century. My shorts are acceptable by my standards, but to her, I probably look like I’m in my underwear.
“Yes, um, thanks.” I slip down into a seat again, hiding myself behind Michael.
Mary’s mother sets the clothing beside the fabric scraps on the counter. “Thank you for saving my daughter. We can never repay you, but please let us try. You’re welcome to stay here until your husband has mended. We don’t have much. No spare rooms or beds to offer, but I’ll bring some quilts. Will it suit to leave him on the table?”
I nod and she disappears.
When I look back at Michael, he’s studying my face. I tuck my bangs back behind my ear. “Do you need something else? Are you in a lot of pain?”
A slight smile tugs on his lips. “I told you you’d scandalize them.”
I cross my arms and glare at him.
He shuts his eyes again and his shoulders rise with a long breath. “Actually, there is something you could do.”
“What?”
“When you ran your fingers through my hair—that felt nice. Distracting.”
I lean forward and slip my hand into his mocha hair, smoothing it back into place. Its slightly damp, but soft.
After a while, Michael’s breathing is deep and even. Hopefully he’s fallen asleep. I relish the silence for a minute. I guess everything’s happening so quickly, my mind hasn’t had time to process. But in this free moment, I fight the urge to run out the front door and leave Michael again. Not because I’m afraid of him any longer, we’re past that now. I just can’t deal with this.
I shove back from the table, but Michael’s hand snakes out and grabs mine. “Hey, you said you wouldn’t leave me.”
Guilt claws at my stomach. “I won’t.” I sit back down. “Could those people on Wall Street see the Shades?”
Michael props his head in his hands. “No. Only Shifters can see them. I’ve heard that normal people can sense them, but I don’t understand it all.”
“So you’re saying, back in my time, there are Shades wandering around? Wouldn’t I have been able to see them?”
“Have you ever walked into a room and felt the creeps but couldn’t place why? Or been somewhere that suddenly went cold? Have you ever had the feeling that someone was following you, and no one was there?”
Only all the time. I bite my lip, nodding.
“That means Shades were nearby. I never sensed them when I was still normal, but then, I wasn’t a threat to them.”
“Are you saying I am?”
“I’m
saying I don’t know.” He closes his eyes.
I can hear the fire in the next room crackling, and the floor boards creaking with tip-toed steps.
I clear my throat. “Why haven’t we switched—er—shifted? Is there something else left to do? Tell me, and I’ll do it.”
He blows out a long stream of air. “It doesn’t always work like that. Sometimes you do what you’re supposed to, and you still have to wait until he’s ready to shift you.”
“Hold on! He—as in, someone is controlling all of this?”
Michael laughs softly. It must have hurt because he groans. “Did you really believe you were in control?”
My hands ball into fists. “Who then?”
“Why are you so upset?”
“I don’t believe in someone else calling the shots in my life.”
“Well, learn to.” His eyebrows lower. “I assumed you heard him.”
“If you’re talking about the ‘leadings’ you mentioned earlier, no.”
“But the little girl? Didn’t you feel a nudge to save her?”
“If by ‘nudge’ you mean did the right thing to do whiz through my mind, yes. I did the only decent thing that could have been done. But I don’t think that’s what you’re talking about, is it? Michael, you need to start giving me plain answers because I can’t stick with you if you don’t. I think I’ve done well so far but—”
He taps the table. “One, if you don’t stop talking and just let yourself be quiet every once in a while, you’ll never feel a leading. Two, you’re driving me crazy. Let’s just not speak for a little bit.”
“But—”
“Not speaking.” He sighs.
I work my jaw back and forth. Maybe I should leave him. Leave all of this. Go and live on my own without having to worry about another person. Right. Then let the Shades claw me again. Not likely.
I close my eyes, willing myself to take ten deep breaths, one after another. Mary’s mother comes in again at some point. Tells us they are going to bed now and that they’ll see us in the morning. I block everyone out and see only darkness.
“Gabby.” The whisper wakes me with a jolt.
I must have fallen asleep in the chair because it’s now dark in the kitchen. Michael’s beside me, a make-shift bandage tied around his middle. “Sorry if I scared you, but we’ve got to go.”
I rub circles over my eyes. “But the woman said we could stay as long as we wanted.”
“This isn’t a vacation, Gabby. We’ve got work to do. Come on. I need you to be my crutch again.” He motions for me to stand.
I stretch. “Shouldn’t we at least say good-bye to the family? Thank them for helping?”
He shakes his head. “It’s better this way. Less questions.”
“We can’t go out there with you hurt like this. It’s not like I can protect you.”
“I don’t need you to, just crutch-duty.”
I growl as I wrap my arm around his middle. It’s probably considered poor manners to question my Obi-Wan, but I can’t help it. “Where are we off to, oh Wise One?”
“There’s a portal nearby. I can sense it. Can’t you?”
“I sense that I’m hungry, and that’s about it.”
He juts his chin toward the door. I unlatch it, and we’re outside. The sky drapes like rich black velvet above the earth. Pinpricks of starlight push through the dark canvas, offering small beams of hope. The air smells damp as we pick our way across a knee-high field. I can’t relax. I scan the horizon over and over again for signs of Shades.
“Where are we going?” I whisper.
Michael points at a grouping of trees. When we stumble closer, I see a tree that’s bowed to the ground to form an arc. Just like the one earlier, a glow illuminates the space between the ground and the trunk.
Static electricity zips around us. “It’s a portal, right?”
“Yes.” Michael sounds relieved. “Now we step through.”
My palms sweat. “Where will it take us?”
“To Keleusma.”
Light ripples around us. This is different than shifting. When you shift, it feels like your lungs want to burst out of your mouth. It’s uncomfortable. Almost torturous. Whereas walking through a portal brings on the sensation of traveling in a high-speed convertible with the top down. I can’t wipe the smile off my face. I want to laugh. A bubbly feeling tickles my stomach, like I’ve drunk too much pop. After a few moments, the brightness fades away and we’re bathed in a pink-orange splash of setting sun.
We stand in front of a large, old warehouse. The roof sags and spiraling graffiti paints the walls. Swallows have made a nest in the base of a broken lamppost. The surface of a nearby lake is crusted with sprawling algae. A dank, marshy smell fills the air. Foot tall weeds shimmy through cracks in the concrete walkway.
This is the place Michael mentioned with such reverent awe? Maybe it’s like the leadings, and I can’t see what it really looks like yet. But Michael sidesteps a pile of crushed cans, so clearly he can see them. He winces with every movement. Most of his weight presses against my shoulder. I won’t be able to support him much longer.
I tighten my hold on him. “Malfunctioning portal?”
“Naw, this is Keleusma. We’re here.” He grits his teeth, making the muscles in his jaw form a grim line.
My nose wrinkles. “I expected something, I don’t know, a little ... grander.”
He raps on the door. “We can’t afford the Norms getting curious. Everything about the outside repels them. Remember, they see what they want to see.”
With a lurch, the front door swings wide open, and I gasp. Inside, this could be the lobby of a five-star resort. A two story waterfall crashes onto a catacomb of stones in the center. The mammoth room is full of plush carpeting and richly upholstered couches. People scurry across the expanse.
Despite his pain, Michael smirks. “Welcome to our sanctuary, Gabby.”
I help him over the threshold. The door shuts behind us. I’m struck with a crisp smell of citrus and mint. Do they have it pumped through the air? I peek around for vents. “What is this place?”
“It’s where we train, relax, learn. Some Shifters even live here.”
A wispy girl with long blonde hair, alabaster skin, and enormous china-blue eyes jogs toward us. “Michael? I was afraid you’d never return. Oh, goodness, you’re hurt.” Sidling up to his free side, she eases him from my grasp. “Your back looks terrible! You must be in so much pain.”
Michael grimaces at the girl. “Don’t go into mama hen mode on me, Lark. I’ll live.”
Her eyes grow wider, which I honestly didn’t think was possible. “I’m taking you to the health center this instant. And I’m not going to listen to any arguments otherwise.” She pouts. Her cheerleader voice is already nettling my nerves.
I stand behind them, my fingers knit together. What am I supposed to do? I scan the room. Everyone has stopped what they are doing to stare at me. Some have their brows drawn together. Others appear to be holding their breath. My gaze plunges to the ground. I’m probably just being sensitive. They don’t even know me. Most likely, they’re shocked to see Michael injured. And if they have a thought about me, it’s probably how ridiculous I am for letting Michael get hurt. Besides, how many Shifters are there in the world? Certainly they can’t know every single one of them. They can’t know I’m new. Can they?
Michael and the blonde have continued walking down the corridor. Squaring my shoulders, I hurry after them. The toe of my shoe skids on the polished tiles in the hallway. Momentum tips me forward, and I tumble onto the floor. My knee burns. Shoving my bangs out of the way, I peek upward and everyone’s gawking. Well, everyone but Michael and the girl. They’re still hobbling down the hall together.
Like I don’t matter.
No one offers me a hand up or asks if I’m okay.
Fine. I shove to my feet and thrust my hands out, palms-up. “Show’s over, folks.”
Groups of people part for me, li
ke they don’t want me to touch them. Seriously, do I smell? I casually lean my nose to catch a whiff of myself. Not my worst. I jog faster after my errant Obi-Wan.
Ahead of me, Michael leans and says something to the blonde. He must mention me, because she stills and turns, as if seeing me for the first time. She blinks repeatedly.
Her mouth drops open. “I don’t believe it. I mean, people have been whispering for years. But I always figured it was just talk.”
Michael sends an encouraging chin nod my way. “You need to come with us. Since you’re new, the medics will want to run tests on you.” He squints. “When’d you get the shiner on your knee?”
Oh. When you were busy flirting with the size-zero blonde.
But then my brain clamps onto something he said. Tests? I swallow hard and look at the girl—who hasn’t closed her mouth yet. “Hi, I’m—”
“I know who you are,” she whispers. Her eyes are still bugging out.
“Yeah, that seems to be going around. Now if only someone would tell me why.” I give Michael an is-she-from-the-loony-bin look, and he nudges her back to attention.
She closes her eyes, and shakes her head like she’s shooing away mosquitos. Then she looks right at me. “I’m Lark Anderson. Pleasure to meet you.”
“Medical ward?” Michael grunts.
We tread down a hallway in awkward silence. At least to me it’s awkward. I want to ask Michael why people are staring. Why do they stop talking when I walk past? But I’m not going to open my lips until I have a better feel for the Lark situation.
Keleusma sprawls in every direction. The exterior of the warehouse must be a trick of the mind. On my left, we pass a gym. A few people run on a wide track, and others lift weights. Loud clangs resound as two men in the center wield swords against each other. Are those real? They sure sound legit. Will I have to learn that? I scrub my sweaty palms over my thighs.
The pungent aroma of garlic trickles from the westward-facing hallway. A cafeteria? My mouth waters and my stomach grumbles. This morning’s charred pancakes are only a memory. What will Dad do for dinner? A lump the size of Russia bobs in my throat.
When we turn the corner, the wide doors of a horse arena are open. A petite, red-headed woman rides a giant, spotted Clydesdale. Sand splatters with each hoof fall. The woman takes the beast over an impressive jump. On the far end of the enclosure, a boy about my age guides two fierce-looking black horses harnessed to a carriage.
