Among the Shadows (The Ash Grove Chronicles)

by Amanda DeWees

  “I guess every father’s going to be critical of the guys his daughter goes out with,” said Tanner, thinking of Rose and wondering if he’d ever get to be in the position of vetting her dates.

  “Probably. There’s not much scarier than seeing your daughter get involved with a loser who could ruin her life. Especially knowing that if you try to warn her, she’s liable to marry the SOB just on principle.”

  “How did you deal with it?” Wouldn’t hurt to get pointers for future use.

  “Sometimes you have to get sneaky.” Bobby filled in some pieces of sky at the top of the puzzle. “There was one particular waste of space. A druggie, probably a dealer too. I knew Ginny wasn’t safe with him. May be why she took up with him, for that matter; girls never seem to want guys who’re safe. Anyway, I told him he’d have to take a drug test to go out with Ginny and that unless he wanted to pee into a cup in front of her and me both, he should hit the road.” He fitted the last piece of sky into place. “He didn’t think I was serious until I got my rifle out.”

  “What’d he do?”

  “Hit the road. I don’t think he cared about getting busted, though—I think he just didn’t want to have to reveal his, uh, shortcomings to Ginny. And Ginny may have cottoned on to that, because she sure didn’t go running after him when he took off.” He glanced over at Tanner as he shook more puzzle pieces out of the box. “Why the sudden interest? Is Joy’s father still busting your balls?”

  Tanner froze. His mind went to that last council meeting, when Steven had been thrown out for devoting his energies to that secret research instead of keeping the school safe from supernatural evil. What had he told them about his secret work? It was about causality. Maybe some day they’d be able to go back and prevent people from coming to harm, he had said.

  Could that mean that he thought his daughter’s relationship with Tanner was something harmful and needed to be corrected? He’d made it clear that his ambitions for Joy didn’t include a shotgun marriage to a high-maintenance grease monkey with PTSD and self-esteem issues, but would he have actually changed the course of history for no other reason than to get him out of Joy’s life? He thought back on the tension, the arguments, Steven’s bitterness when Joy went off the grid with only Tanner in on the plan. It wasn’t out of the question.

  But Steven had to have known that erasing him from Joy’s past would also mean erasing Rose. Did he care that little about being a grandfather?

  Or was it more important that his grandchild be fathered by someone better than Tanner?

  The answer seemed all too clear. He got to his feet, disturbing Duke, who had been drowsing with his head on Tanner’s lap. “I need to go see someone,” he told Bobby. “I may not be back for supper.”

  Bobby gave him a shrewd look across the TV tray. “Don’t be getting any ideas, now,” he said. “About making your rival pee in a cup, say.”

  He meant it as a joke. But Tanner did have a rival for Joy: her father.

  Chapter 4

  A memorial service was held in midweek for Sheila. Maddie learned from Gail Brody, the math teacher and senior girls’ dorm RA, that Sheila’s remains had been found. So had Reed’s, although he wasn’t getting a memorial service from the school where he’d tried to recruit a meat puppet for his demon master.

  Maddie didn’t have trouble finding something black to wear; she still had enough of her goth wardrobe to give her plenty of choices. William wore a sharp charcoal-grey suit that she hadn’t seen before. Had he bought it on that shopping trip with Sheila? She would never ask, but she wished she knew.

  His mother stood on the other side of him. The school faculty and students—all who had not traveled far away for the winter break—were gathered on the front steps and front lawn of the music building. Ms. Stuart, the dance program chair, was placing a wreath on the building entrance in Sheila’s memory; it had been decided that a tree would be planted for her when spring came, but for now the memorial was temporary. Then Ms. Stuart spoke from the lectern, cataloguing Sheila’s talents and the honors she’d accumulated in her less than eighteen years of life.

  Sheila’s parents and older sister were there. Mrs. Hardesty was clearly a former dancer, with a slender build and perfectly erect posture. Whenever she moved, even if it was just to bring her handkerchief to her eyes, it was with grace. Her husband, who had bushy greying hair, kept his arms stiffly at his sides, not once putting an arm around her despite her distress. The older sister wore her red hair in a French twist and stared into space with a stony expression; her only sign of emotion was her hands, twisting the strap on her handbag.

  William still hadn’t gained all of his color back. Maddie, stealing a look at his face, was worried enough to slip her hand into his. “Are you going to make it?” she whispered.

  He started and glanced at her. “I’m okay.” After a quick squeeze, he released her hand and shoved his hands into his pants pockets.

  She realized at once how heartless it would look if the dead girl’s boyfriend was seen holding hands with a new girl at the first one’s memorial service. It didn’t seem fair that appearances should keep her from comforting a dear friend, but… “Sorry,” she whispered, to let him know she understood.

  After Ms. Stuart finished, she invited anyone who wanted to share their memories of Sheila to speak. Some of their classmates spoke, sniffling and talking about a kind, considerate, generous person who bore no resemblance to the real Sheila that Maddie had known. Boy, could I blow the lid off this thing, she thought, imagining the reaction if she were to go up to the microphone and out Sheila as a ruthless harpy who had tried to trade William to a demon for her own career’s sake.

  Sheila’s main cohorts in the Ballet Bitch Brigade, Alissa Pennington and Grace Li, also took the microphone to speak about her. Evidently the falling-out they’d had when she had started going out with William was forgotten. Both girls had pale, tear-streaked faces, and looked more human than they ever had before.

  Sheila’s mother spoke then. Her voice was thread thin, but clear. “My younger daughter was a strong, ambitious, passionate dancer,” she told them. “She worked hard to get where she wanted to be. Now I realize that she may have had some premonition that—that she didn’t have much time on this earth. I will always wonder if that is what drove her.” She paused to compose herself. She had red hair like her daughters’, and her eyebrows and eyelashes were so light they were almost invisible, making her face look eerily naked. “I am not surprised that it was fire that killed my daughter,” she said. “Sheila was too driven to let anything but a force of nature stop her.”

  “In other words, she was so mean nothing human could kill her,” muttered a voice behind them, and William turned to glare at Clark.

  Dr. Aysgarth brought things to a close with a poem by Christina Rossetti: “Better by far you should forget and smile / Than that you should remember and be sad,” she finished. Maddie couldn’t help but wonder how literal the principal was being. In view of what a toxic person Sheila had been, maybe she was suggesting that it was actually better to forget her. But that was probably just her own cynicism.

  When William and his mother went to speak to Sheila’s parents, Maddie trailed reluctantly behind, hoping she wouldn’t be drawn into a conversation about Sheila. For all she knew, Sheila had griped to her parents about that Elvira Rosenbaum who was trying to steal her boyfriend.

  She was amazed when Mrs. Hardesty reached out and hugged William to her, and as soon as she released him her husband gripped William’s hand in a firm shake. “Thank you for coming,” said Mr. Hardesty gruffly.

  “I had to,” said William.

  “I hear you were in the hospital with injuries,” said Sheila’s mother, dabbing at her eyes again. To Mrs. Russell she added, “You must be so grateful that he was spared.”

  “More than I can say. I’m so sorry for your loss.” Mrs. Russell clasped Mrs. Hardesty’s hand and they spoke in low voices.

  Maddie drifted away and
let them go through the routine. Then a voice said, “Wait up, diva,” and Clark and Blake drew up to her. She had never seen either of them in a suit before, and they looked weirdly grown-up. Blake’s three-piece was a rich brown almost as dark as his skin, and Clark, with his butter-colored hair and deceptively innocent blue eyes, looked like a cherubic gangster in a navy pinstripe. They made a handsome couple, even as subdued as they were today.

  “This is pretty twisted, huh?” she said.

  Blake sized her up with his velvety dark eyes, taking in her asymmetrical hair. They had crossed paths at the hospital when he and the other members of the band came to visit William, but hadn’t had a chance to really talk yet. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he said. “But I have to tell you, girl, you look like Cyndi Lauper circa 1983.”

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t have time for a full haircut, so I just chopped off the burned bits.” She’d penciled in eyebrows where they’d been singed off, too, and she knew that overall she looked a bit eccentric.

  “I’m not sure if I should congratulate you,” said Clark. “As big a bitch as she was, I wouldn’t have thought of killing her to get your man back.”

  “Clark, for god’s sake! It wasn’t like that at all.”

  He put up his hands. “Whoa, sugar. I’m just messing with you.”

  “Well, don’t.”

  “Oh, all right, if you’re going to be that way. I was just trying to lighten the mood. Does this mean I don’t get to make my Little Arson Annie joke? You know, because of her red hair?”

  Blake shook his head at him. “Baby, we talked about this, remember?”

  “I know, I know. It’s just my stress response—I default to witty banter. If Stephen Fry were here he’d be doing the same thing.” He sighed and draped an arm around Maddie’s shoulders. “Ignore me, honey. I’m just trying to get my head around it.”

  “Yeah. Me too. I guess I just feel kind of defensive.” Some tiny part of her couldn’t help feeling responsible. She could tell herself over and over that Sheila had brought it on herself, consorting with demons and all, but she still shuddered whenever she thought of what it must have been like. “It’s such a horrible way to die.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  It kind of had been, though. If she hadn’t knocked over that turpentine—

  Stop it. There wouldn’t have been a fire to set the turpentine off if Sheila hadn’t been trying to summon a demon and sacrifice William. And Maddie wouldn’t have spilled the turpentine if she hadn’t had to save William.

  Speaking of William, he should get some rest. He and his mother were still talking to the Hardestys, and even from here she could see how slumped his posture was, as if he were about to fold up with exhaustion. “I’m going to check on William, see if I can rescue him,” she said. “See you guys later?”

  “Sounds like rescuing William has become your full-time job,” said Blake, and gave her a wink.

  “There are worse jobs out there,” she said, smiling for the first time that day, and made her way across the lawn to him, her high heels sinking into the ground.

  When she reached him she took his hand to draw him away from the adults. “You look like you need to get out of here,” she said. “Why don’t we go back to your room, and I’ll rub your back until you fall asleep.”

  The offer didn’t seem to tempt him, though. “I’m going to spend the afternoon with Sheila’s family. They’re having a rough time.”

  “So are you. You need to rest and get well. And I thought maybe we could spend a little time together this evening, just you and me.”

  “Why?”

  He really must be exhausted not to pick up on her meaning. “Because that’s what girlfriends and boyfriends do,” she said teasingly.

  He looked at her with a faint frown line between his eyebrows. “Maddie,” he said slowly, “I think you may have gotten the wrong idea.”

  “What do you mean? In the room underground, you said—”

  “I know, and I meant it. I love you; I think I always have.” His matter-of-fact tone almost made her smile. He was so cute when he was serious. “But the thing is… I loved Sheila too.”

  Stunned, she stared at him for a second before demanding, “Why?”

  He glanced over his shoulder to make sure the Hardestys hadn’t heard. “I know it may not make sense to you. She wasn’t exactly, well—”

  “She tried to sell your soul to a demon!” Maddie hissed. “Not to mention the way she bullied you and bossed you around and ran your life. She always thought of herself first, not you. She—”

  “Shh!” He took her by the elbow and led her a few steps away. “Mads, I get what you’re saying, and it’s not that you’re wrong, exactly. But she believed in me. And she, well, was the first girl who ever seemed attracted to me.”

  She wished she could deny that, but it was the truth that she hadn’t seen William as a possible boyfriend type until Sheila had done the major excavation to remove his study-nerd shell. Honesty compelled her to say, “She did figure out before I did what a hunk you are. And I know you had chemistry with her. But that’s hardly a reason to fall in love with her.”

  He shrugged and looked at the ground. “There was something real between us, even though I know now that she was using me. And it’s going to be hard for a while, missing her.”

  She wanted to yell at him that Sheila wasn’t worth mourning, but clearly William had seen a side of her Maddie hadn’t. The unfairness of it burned in her. That he would grieve for the vicious cow who had tried to kill him was something she hadn’t bargained for.

  “So I just don’t feel ready to start anything with you yet,” he finished.

  That brought an ominous cold spot to the pit of her stomach. “Well, it’s kind of started already,” she said, trying to speak lightly. “As you recall.” Then the cold grew worse, and she exclaimed, “Is that what this is? Is this to get back at me for saying sleeping together didn’t make us a couple?”

  The reproachful look he gave her made her feel guilty all over again. “No, Maddie, it’s not about that,” he said gravely. “I just really need some time.”

  She searched his face. “Is that guy code for I should go away and leave you alone? Because I’m not going to do that.”

  He took off his glasses and polished them on his sleeve, and she knew it was so that he wouldn’t have to look at her. “Just for a while, Mads,” he said. “I’m just not ready to be with you right now.”

  She wanted to argue with that, but over by the stairs, his mother turned to scan the lawn for him. She touched his arm. “Your mom’s looking for you,” she said.

  “See you later, then,” he said. But his distant tone didn’t make that sound likely.

  “Get some rest, okay?” she pleaded. “You look like death warmed over.”

  He flinched, and so did she. “Sorry,” she mumbled, and pressed an awkward kiss onto his mouth before remembering that PDA would make him look bad. Screwed up again. She turned and fled for her dorm.

  Idiot. Stupid, stupid idiot. Of course William wouldn’t just fall into her arms. After she’d broken his heart and then acted like a crazy stalker… sure, she’d probably saved his life in the underground chamber, but she could just as easily have gotten him killed. If it hadn’t been for luck, or maybe a little supernatural intervention from old Josiah Cavanaugh—

  Her footsteps slowed. She had gotten a magical assist that night by throwing a coin for luck into the Cavanaugh statue’s top hat. She was almost sure of it. Now, as she changed her path to cut by the dining hall, the statue came into view. The bronze gentleman in the frock coat was jaunty as he surveyed the mountains that ringed the gently rolling fields on which Ash Grove was built. His walrus moustache almost seemed to lift in the breeze that caught up what remained of her hair and eased her turbulent mood into something less angsty.

  It’s not that I’m not grateful, she thought at the statue. But if only the luck Cavanaugh had brought her had extended
a little further.

  Back in the room she shared with Becca, another drama student, she shucked off her dressy skirt and blouse, hose and heels, and pulled on the ratty jeans and faded black sweatshirt that she wore when coloring her hair. She still had black dye on hand, thank goodness; she could go back to her normal color and get rid of this gaudy burgundy that seemed to remind everyone of Sheila, and that would always make her think now of the terrifying night of the theater fire.

  She found a stained towel and went down the hall to the communal bathroom to set up at one of the sinks. Studying herself in the mirror, she thought that she didn’t look too bad for someone who’d been through what she had, but she definitely could use a pro’s touch. Maybe she’d get Tasha to drive her into town to get her hair properly cut. It would be good to spend time with Tasha; she was so sensible. Maddie felt as if life hadn’t made sense for months now, and it would be a relief to be around someone who seemed impervious to drama.

  When she’d finished, she wrapped her head in the towel, swabbed the spatters of dye off the sink, and went back to her room to call her father.

  “Hey, Madagascar,” he said, using his pet name for her. “How was the memorial?”

  “Depressing.”

  “Well, that’s kind of par for the course. How are you feeling? The ribs bothering you any?”

  “Not much. Listen, Dad, I was thinking—if I felt like I needed to take a little more time off after winter break, could I come stay with you in Atlanta?”

  “Take spring semester off, you mean.”

  “Yeah.” She scratched at a bit of melted chocolate that had fused itself to her comforter. She was terrible about eating candy in bed when she had PMS, and she was always finding little chocolate marks on the bedclothes. “I’d make it up over the summer if I could, or next fall if I have to, and graduate then.”