Among the Shadows (The Ash Grove Chronicles)

by Amanda DeWees

  “But this new life seems to be completely in place for her and Bobby. They’re all caught up—both the chain of events and the memories.”

  Steven pondered that a moment. “I wonder if something about your time with Melisande made you immune? It could very well be that your prolonged exposure to her stronger powers has made you impervious to my, er, less potent magic.”

  Made sense, he supposed. So he had at least gained one parting gift from the she-demon. He hated to have to ask the next question, to be so needy in front of Steven, but… “Has Joy’s memory of me come back at all?”

  “Not as far as I can tell.” Steven had the decency to sound sorry. “You mustn’t take it personally, Tanner. It’s simply the way the timeline played out. And it’s quite likely that you and I will both forget the original past if the new present continues to fall into place unimpeded.” He sighed. “It’s what I was counting on—that I could keep you away from Anna and Joy until this reality caught up with you. With us.”

  “We can’t let that happen.” Urgency tightened his voice. “We’ve got to reverse this before any more things change.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” Steven’s voice was resigned, but still regretful. “It was such an elegant solution: rid the world of a truly evil creature, a monster who has taken who knows how many human lives.”

  “But Joy practically killed Melisande, so if we can prevent Raven from reviving her, we haven’t lost that much.” He didn’t let himself think about past victims of the succubus, the unfortunates who had preceded him. That was the past; it was done.

  “Raven?” demanded Steven, dragging Tanner’s attention back to him. “What do you mean, reviving her?”

  “That’s right—you weren’t picking up your phone. I guess Mo didn’t get in touch with you before you made everything change.” Steven shook his head urgently, so Tan filled him in on what he and Joy had figured out: Raven, Melisande’s onetime PR man, had fooled the council into thinking he was a reformed character, when actually he was a shapeshifter determined to resuscitate the succubus with whatever means he could devise. When Joy went into hiding and Raven couldn’t use her to charge up Melisande, he arranged to have all her fans around the world tune into the concert webcast to think of her at the same time, and that concentration of adoration might have succeeded in bringing the succubus back if the concert hadn’t been stopped.

  “Good god,” said Steven finally. “I hadn’t realized how dangerous he was, or how close he came to bringing her back.”

  “Maybe you can find another way to get rid of her—another place in time to take her out of existence. Can you do that?”

  Steven’s shoulders moved in a weary shrug. “We have to try, don’t we?”

  “We?”

  The professor unfolded from the bench slowly, stretching his legs to work out the kinks from long sitting. “Your help would make things easier. But we can’t do it tonight. I’ll have to check the star positions online, but I believe New Year’s Eve is a possibility.”

  “But that’s three nights away. I want to get things back on track as soon as possible.” Even just three more nights in this strange new reality seemed like forever. If only Joy were on his side of the chasm instead of separated from him. Having her with him brought him courage nothing else could. He handed Steven his phone. “Check now, and see if we can do it sooner.”

  That just made Steven huffy. “Young man, it’s going to take some calculation. I assure you I’ll call you if there’s a time between now and New Year’s that will work.”

  He had to be satisfied with that. “I’ll plan on New Year’s Eve, then. Where should we meet?”

  “At the old courthouse on the Hayesville town square. It should be full dark by seven. Anna and Joy will be bringing in the new year at the Daltreys’. I was supposed to go with them, but I’ll plead a headache or something.”

  After an awkward second’s indecision, Tanner stuck his hand out to shake. Steven grasped it briefly. “I’m going home now,” said his father-in-law. “For Joy’s peace of mind, it’s best if you don’t accompany me.”

  What about his own peace of mind? But Steven was probably right. This new Joy would only be freaked out if he kept trying to force his company on her. He shut his eyes against the anxiety trying to rise in him. They’d straighten things out. He’d get her back—her and Rose.

  He had a hard time getting to sleep that night, as he had every night since the strange magic had unwoven his world. Whenever he shut his eyes he found himself remembering Joy and their time together, and the pain of missing her kept him awake far into the night. Tonight, as he lay in bed with Ducati curled at his feet, he found himself remembering their first night together, the night of the Beltane dance, and what a shock it had been to return to the succubus after being with Joy.

  On the ride back to Melisande’s house he had felt almost lightheaded; the rising sun cast a shimmering haze on the fields and shone transparently green through the trees on the wooded banks that curved away from the higher stretches of the road. He was lost in the feeling of wind and speed and soft spring morning and, most of all, the memory of Joy everywhere—her voice in his ears, her face in his eyes, her lips on his lips. When he parked the bike in the huge half-moon drive at Melisande’s and entered the silent house he felt as if he were the only person awake in the world.

  The feeling of enchantment was broken when he stepped into his room and a figure sat up in his bed.

  “You’re late,” came the soft voice of his mistress.

  “I didn’t know you’d be waiting for me,” he said. His euphoria vanished and dread took its place, a nervous tightness in his belly. “I thought you were out with Saxon tonight.”

  “I was. Now I’m home and I want to be with you.” Languidly she stretched her arms above her head, seeming to know just where the sunlight shining through the window behind her would be most flattering. It made a tinseled aura of her pale hair and silhouetted her figure as she rose from the bed. She slept naked, and the light glowed on her pale skin as she crossed the room toward him. He felt that shaming ache of desire that she always evoked in him, and he shut his eyes, trying to summon up Joy again in his mind. Her sweet face, surrounded by a tangle of sandy hair against a background of crushed grass. The soft curves of her body with its unexpected sprinkling of freckles. The unquestioning love in her eyes that humbled him, since he was so undeserving of it.

  Then Melisande stepped through the image as if she were stepping through smoke, and the tatters of memory dissolved into the sight of the woman before him, all cool, smooth perfection, unyielding as ice yet exciting as fire. In that moment he hated her.

  “I’ve been riding for hours,” he said, the lie sounding almost convincing. “I’m tired. I just want to get some sleep.”

  Resting her hands against the lapels of his tuxedo jacket, she brought her face close to his neck and inhaled deeply. When she raised her head, her eyes were hard. “You smell of lawn clippings and cafeteria worker,” she said.

  Tension tightened his chest. Did she know that Joy worked in the school dining hall? Probably. She seemed to know everything. “I’ll take a shower,” he said, and made to step past her toward the en suite bathroom, but she kept her hands on his chest, pinning him in place.

  “In a moment,” she said. “I have something to ask you first.”

  Her eyes never left his. He swallowed and tried not to let his breathing quicken. Tell her nothing.

  “I’m making preparations for us to go to Los Angeles,” she said. “I have a project for us. I’m expanding my cosmetics line, and you’ll be appearing with me in the advertising campaign for a new collection of beauty products.”

  When? How much more time did he have with Joy?

  “And I wondered if you would like me to send some free samples to the little troglodyte you’ve been tupping.”

  His heart gave a thud of dread that left him feeling sick. “That’s really low, Melisande.”

&nbs
p; Her slender shoulders lifted in the hint of a shrug. “Not as low as you’re stooping, Tristan. You are flinging my kindness in my face by gracing this girl with your favors.” The green eyes flicked over his, searching his thoughts. “I may find it in me to be jealous, and I don’t think you wish to see what I might do to your Joy in that mood.”

  She knows Joy’s name. “Don’t hurt her,” he blurted. “Leave her out of this. It’s my fault—I’m the one you should be angry at.”

  “And I am,” she purred, but when her hands moved on his body it was not to inflict pain but to summon again that humiliating desire. “I have other ways of punishing you. But I’m tired of sharing your thoughts with her. Tell me, Tristan, what do I have to do to get this dwarfish female out of your head?” She put her mouth to his, cool and soft, and nipped at his upper lip.

  “I don’t think of her,” he forced himself to say when she released his mouth. “She’s—she’s just a fling.” Thank god Joy would never hear him say this, would never know how he denied her. “I get jealous too,” he improvised. “When you spend time with Saxon or Sven, it tears me up.” He struggled for breath; her lips were on his throat now, and the familiar warm languor was drugging him. “I wanted to hurt you,” he rasped. “That’s why I chose the… the ugliest girl I could find.”

  She raised her head and, after a terrible moment, smiled. “There now,” she murmured. “That wasn’t so difficult, was it?”

  He hung his head in defeat. He’d thought before that he was worthless. But now he had proven it. He felt a tearing in his chest, so strong that he almost expected to see a knife cutting into him. But it was only an illusion.

  Just like the man Joy believed him to be. He had never been that man—would never be.

  Just as long as she’s safe. It didn’t really matter if he found new lows to descend to. He’d never get to see her again; Melisande had made that clear. But if he could keep her safe by betraying her…

  He forced himself to put his arms around his mistress, feeling her silken skin begin to warm under his hands, and kissed her as hard as he dared. Don’t think of Joy. Don’t think of how amazing it was being with her, feeling cherished. Feeling worthwhile.

  “I’m all yours,” he promised. “Always.”

  Now, remembering that night, Tanner shuddered. He had been almost relieved when Joy told him that Melisande was a succubus; her strange power over him was at last explained, and he didn’t have to despise himself so much for his weakness in giving in to her. The creature was engineered, whether by man or hell, to make men slaves of desire.

  Was it really fair of him, then, to release her back into the world—both past and present—to win his own happiness back?

  He thought of Gareth Godwin. Joy had told him of finding that wreck of a human being, weak from Melisande’s ravages and the sadistic fury of her followers, and how he had disappeared entirely after telling his story. He turned restlessly in his bed. Who knew how many victims like Gareth were in Melisande’s past. And they could all be as if they had never crossed the succubus’s path—if he gave up Joy and Rose.

  But that wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. Joy was supposed to defeat Melisande, and start a family with him and Rose. It wasn’t selfishness on his part—or at least not only that; it was restoring order. Still… helping Steven play god didn’t feel right. And they hadn’t discussed who would be removed from the timeline in Melisande’s place. Raven, maybe? The amoral shapeshifter wouldn’t be any loss to the world, except that the succubus would need a different PR man. That was hardly a tragedy. And a primal part of him would find it very satisfying to take out the thing that had worn his appearance and kissed Joy in his place.

  Easier in his mind, Tanner shut his eyes and relaxed into sleep. His last waking thought was of Joy, holding their newborn daughter in her arms. Bring us back to you, he could almost hear her say.

  Chapter 6

  Although the solstice festival had been canceled after the fire, Young Harris College had offered the use of its facilities for a rescheduled concert on New Year’s Eve. The guys of Aerosol Cheese and members of the other bands who had canceled holiday plans to stay in town were continuing to meet up to rehearse so that they wouldn’t get rusty in the intervening time.

  Having nothing better to do, and nobody she’d rather be with, Maddie had been hanging out during rehearsals, sometimes pretending to read or text, but mainly just watching William and listening to him. He was so good at what he did. She’d known that already, of course, but seeing him interact with the other guys, being there when he came up with new ideas, seeing the animation and energy that infused him then, and best of all being present for the music that only he could make—she was amazed at him all over again.

  And today, with the concert just two days away, it looked like she’d be present at the beginning of another of his strokes of brilliance—but one that she couldn’t get so enthusiastic about.

  “A number in honor of Sheila?” Jeremiah repeated. “Well, sure, I guess… let’s just not close with it, okay? We don’t want everyone to go into the new year thinking about, you know…”

  “Dying in a fire,” finished Clark, who was sitting next to Maddie in the risers, another self-described band girlfriend.

  “Oh, I wasn’t thinking of closing with it,” said William. “It would be in the quieter section with ‘Mesmerize.’ You guys could take a break, even. I was thinking it would be kind of nice just as an acoustic guitar piece, and it’s more in my vocal range than Blake’s—but I don’t want to step on your toes.”

  “You’re not,” said Blake. “It’s more appropriate for you to sing it anyway.” He glanced over at Maddie, but when she didn’t pipe up or start a scene, he went on, “Want to run through it now, get some feedback? Or are you not ready for that yet?”

  “No, I could use an outside opinion.”

  “He didn’t ask for yours,” said Clark sotto voce to Maddie.

  She shrugged. “It’s not like I’m a musician.” But she did feel a little hurt that he hadn’t mentioned the idea to her. Sure, she wouldn’t have been enthusiastic, but it was still a classy thing to do. It would have been nice to get the chance to show she could be supportive.

  The room quieted as William perched on a stool with his guitar. The other guys slouched against the wall or lounged in the risers, Maddie put away her phone, and all of them focused on William.

  He didn’t seem even really aware of them, though. He picked out the opening, a light little descending cascade of notes, and it wasn’t until he began to sing that Maddie recognized the song. It was “She Sheila,” the Producers song that the guys had covered with so much success. But with the tempo slowed down, played on acoustic guitar and sung in William’s light tenor, the upbeat pop classic had become a poignant song of regret. Without changing a word or a note, William had transformed it.

  Maddie felt a stab of unreasonable jealousy. Sheila didn’t deserve this kind of sendoff. She didn’t deserve to be mourned with such sincerity and tenderness.

  She waited until William had finished, and then she slipped out of the building under the cover of the guys’ enthusiastic response. Enough was enough. All week she’d been hoping to see something else when William looked at her—something besides the memory of pain.

  She had paused in the middle of the path to light a cigarette, shielding the lighter flame against the brisk December breeze, when his voice behind her said, “Wait up.”

  Telling herself not to get her hopes up, she turned, and he held up her jacket. “You forgot this.”

  Oh. “Thanks.”

  “So what did you think?”

  She sighed a smoky sigh. “It was great, William. Really beautiful.”

  “I just thought we should, you know, acknowledge her at the concert.”

  “Sure.” She took her jacket from him. “You’d better get back, I’m sure the guys are waiting on you.”

  But he didn’t move except to shove his hands deep into his
jeans pockets. He wasn’t wearing a jacket himself, and his long-sleeved t-shirt probably wasn’t warm enough. The breeze riffled his hair, reminding her of how he used to look when his hair was longer and shaggier. Back when he was the old William, the one she was close to.

  “You didn’t like it,” he said.

  “What I don’t like is that every time you look at me, I feel like it reminds you of her being dead,” she said. “I feel like you blame me for still being here when she’s not.”

  “I blame myself.”

  “And me.” He didn’t deny it. “William, why can’t you put the blame where it belongs—with her? She did it to herself.” His jaw stiffened, and she knew she was doing more harm than good. “I don’t want to argue,” she said quickly. “I just feel like for so long, there’s been something to keep us apart. Sometimes it was me being stupid, I admit, but I get it now. I know how much you mean to me, and I want to be with you. Why is that so bad? Why can’t we be together?”

  He didn’t say anything, but that was answer enough.

  “Okay,” she said wearily. “I won’t bug you any more right now. But it’s not just me I’m fighting for, William, it’s you too.”

  “There’s been too much fighting already,” he said, and, hunching his shoulders against the cold wind, he turned to lope back inside.

  Craptastic.

  She stabbed Tasha’s number into her phone. When her friend picked up, she said, “Hey. I need to go to McCloskey’s and get trashed. You free?” McCloskey’s was about the only place in a hundred-mile radius where an underage high-schooler could drink. Not coincidentally, it was one of her favorite hangouts.

  “Maddie, it’s like four in the afternoon.”

  Maddie considered. “I’ll make it Irish coffee instead of shooters. Please?”

  A patient sigh came over the phone. “Let me see if Joy wants to come. She’s been feeling rattled lately, and it might do her good.”