by J. S. Malcom
He’s older, much older now. Seventy, at least. Gone is his thick, wavy black hair, replaced now by thinning gray strands. His skin is pale, baggy and deeply lined. But this is a profile I’ve studied many times in the past few weeks, and I have no doubt who I’m seeing. This old man, dead upon the ground, is the same man I came to know as Grayson.
CHAPTER 5
The next day, I decide to test a theory. Grayson is gone, or at least the changeling who wore that man's younger face. He left the realm at least long enough to break the spell he'd cast upon Lauren Flannery. Which just might mean that the spell keeping me from finding my way back to the Shadow Order headquarters is gone now too.
Why I want to go there, I’m not entirely sure. I guess partly to ask a few questions. For example, how much did Beatrice and the others within those halls know about Grayson? Beatrice seemed like she knew him well, but is it possible he fooled her all that time? Or was everyone there part of whatever he was about? Or, was anyone else even there? Grayson mentioned a few names, but I never met any of those people. Just how much of it might have been an illusion?
It might be a risk going there, but I don’t know where else to look for clues, and each minute I wait is another that Julia remains trapped. I start by driving the roads I remember before things started getting hazy. As I get past that point, the recollection starts to blur a little, but not to the point where I have no clue. The route starts to feel familiar as I continue to drive, and soon visual clues jump out at me too—a fork in the road where there’s an old clapboard church, a tree that must have been split by lightning—images my subconscious managed hanging onto. So, maybe I’m right, and either the magic is gone or it’s quickly losing its potency.
Half an hour later I drive into the same forgotten lot I remember from before. The asphalt remains cracked, old and crumbling, just as I remember it being before the wards came down. The same rusting train trestle looms above, and the city skyline rises on the other side of the river, although it feels farther off than I imagined. I’m sure this is the right place. At the same time, one thing is completely different. Now there’s an old brick warehouse where the Shadow Order headquarters stood. I can tell at a glance that the place has been abandoned for some time. Half the windows are smashed out, and the exterior draped with ivy so thick in some sections that you could probably climb it to the roof.
I get out of the car and walk toward the building, being careful not to step on broken bottles that litter the ground. It seems nearly impossible that just days ago I visited this same place. A faded sign above the front door, painted onto the brick long ago, reads “D & S Enterprises.” The door itself is a thick, wooden barrier I expect to find locked. That’s not the case. I try the knob to find that it doesn’t turn, but it doesn’t have to. The door swings open with just a light shove. I enter the space within to encounter a hallway that’s completely dark, except for the light coming in through the door behind me.
“Hello?” As soon as I call out, I realize how pointless it is. I can’t imagine there’s anyone inside this place that smells of must and mildew. But if there is someone here, do I really want to announce my presence?
I click on my phone’s flashlight app and venture further in, to find that the hallway leads toward what must have been a suite of offices. They’re empty, of course, no more than blank spaces with scratched wooden floors. The walls and ceilings are stained from mold and water damage. I stick my head into one room, then another, as I make my way deeper into the building.
I’m close to the end of the hall when the front door creaks closed. I freeze, then turn to stare back into what’s now a dark tunnel. I try to remember. Was it partly open when I put my weight against it? Did I find it swinging free? Yes, it opened easily. It wasn’t latched in any way. Probably, it was just a breeze that blew in somehow. But from where? The smashed windows I saw outside weren’t on that part of the building. Come to think of it, they were on the second level, the windows on this level boarded up.
Come on, Cassie. Don’t freak out. It’s just an abandoned building. Of course there are going to be creepy noises. Creepy noises are what old buildings do.
Keep going or turn back? I’m already this far, and I’m not sure what made that door close. Might be better to keep going.
The hall ends in another door, which opens onto what must have been a manufacturing floor. It’s hard to gauge how big it is, the only light seeping in past boarded windows, but I move further into the darkness. I’m halfway across the room when a floorboard creaks somewhere behind me. At least, that’s what I think I heard. I freeze again, wondering if it could be rats, or maybe some other animal. It sounded like it came from the hall. I remain listening for another moment. I hear nothing, so I start moving again.
The room ends in what must have been a loading dock, with two large doors bound together by a heavy chain. If I planned on going out the back, I can forget it now. The only way left to go is through one remaining doorway, where a staircase leads to the second floor. One would have thought that to be at the front, but it wasn’t, obviously. Or maybe there are two ways up and down, and I just didn’t notice. Anyway, whatever. It’s time to get out of here. I turn to go back when another floorboard creaks.
“Hello?” Jesus, I just did it again. An instinctive reaction, but a stupid one. Possibly a very dangerous one.
There’s no one there, Cassie. Come on, it’s just your imagination.
The problem is, I don’t believe myself. Not enough to go back in that direction. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from my seriously messed up life, it’s to trust my instincts. I’m not alone. I can feel it.
I head upstairs, trying to remain silent. Maybe whoever I heard doesn’t realize I’m in the building, somehow didn’t hear me call out. That seems unlikely in this tomb, but I guess it’s possible. I’m about halfway up when I hear footsteps downstairs, traveling fast.
This time, I don’t call out. I run.
I clear the second floor landing in a leap to enter another large workspace. When I was hoping for light before, now I wish it was dark. Up here, the windows run across the wall. Some still have glass. Others don’t. All spill light into the room, which is completely empty except for me, my shadow a million miles long. I keep running, reaching the other end to find that the upstairs mirrors the downstairs floorplan. I run down the hall, past more empty offices, hoping to find a way back downstairs at the front. Maybe I can get out the way I came in.
What I find is a wall, a window, and two office doorways to either side. I’m trapped. There’s nowhere to go. Footsteps sound loud now in the room I just left, coming my way fast and with definite purpose. My heart hammers in my chest as I try to think. Come on, Cassie. Come on!
I spin around, facing one of the doorways. Maybe I can hide somewhere. Sure, in empty rooms. What the hell was I thinking? Vampires, demons and ghosts, I can handle. But I’d know if I was up against something supernatural. I’d feel it. Whoever is coming my way is human. It has to be. And that’s the one area where I keep forgetting to strengthen my defenses.
Suddenly, I remember what I saw from outside. I spin around again, this time calling up my magic. I hold my hands out, fingers spread, toward the window. A burst of light shoots forth and glass blows out in a violent spray, shards shooting off into the air. I whip off my jacket, throw it over the sill, and then climb out. I take hold of the ivy, bunching the vines in my hands to create a rope. I’m halfway down when the ivy tears from the wall and I plunge to the concrete below. I hit hard, the wind getting sucked out of my lungs. I lay there stunned, gasping for air and staring up.
A shadow falls across the window above me, and my adrenalin kicks in again. I flip over, dig my feet into the ground and sprint. Pain sears through every muscle as I race toward my car, digging for the keys in my pocket. I fling the door open, jump in and start the engine. I slam my foot to the gas. My tires screech as gravel and dust spray out behind me. Just before I clear the parking lot, I lo
ok back through the rearview mirror. A dark figure stands in the window from which I just escaped, watching as I drive away.
CHAPTER 6
Two days later, I get ready for Ian’s birthday dinner and head over to the restaurant. I don’t know how I’ll get through it. I’ve been climbing out of my skin with worry. While I was barely sleeping before, the last two nights have brought only sparse and fitful bouts filled with nightmares. Still, I promised I’d go, so I’m going. It’s the least I could do. After all, Ian was the one who unraveled the mystery of the Vamanec P’yrin. He and Autumn both risked their lives to save me.
I show up at the restaurant, find my way to the table and immediately want to leave again. Yes, Autumn told me she was inviting some people. “To make it feel more like a party,” she’d said. I forgot that part. On top of that, I’d been distracted at the time and didn’t think to ask who. Silly me. After all, how many people do we actually have in common? I mean actual human people. Not many.
Still, I didn’t expect to see Paul and Claudia. Not that I mind. It’s just that I never pictured our two reformed body-snatching friends joining us for fajitas and margaritas. No, I didn’t count on Dylan being there either. Who knew Autumn’s werewolf buddy was in town? I sure as heck didn’t. And while it should have occurred to me that Autumn would invite the Aimes family—who are at least fully human, although witches every one—I simply didn’t.
Honestly, I don’t know what I was expecting. Now, my face goes red as I see the empty chair waiting beside Phoenix. Meant for me, presumably. It seems highly unlikely he brought his new girlfriend. On top of that, with all of that Grayson stuff going on the last couple of weeks, did I actually forget to tell Autumn what happened? Why, yes, come to think of it. So, that’s my fault entirely. But still.
I do my best to plaster a smile onto my face as I take my place at the table. I coach myself silently. Okay, this is going to suck, but I’m the only one who knows that I caught Phoenix cheating on me. Well, technically, I told him I needed some space. So, maybe he wasn’t so much cheating as taking me at my word. Had I said anything about not seeing other people? Again, technically, no. I just thought that part was assumed. Should it have been? I just don’t know. I’ve only been back in my body for a couple of months and I’m just not that good at relationships.
I really need to work on that teleportation thing. If I had that down, maybe I could just fake a sneeze and vanish. Pop up in Spain or someplace. Maybe explain later that it had been a magical accident. Now, I’m stuck.
Thankfully, we kill the first half hour with table-wide small talk, just sort of catching up on how everyone is doing. Of course, some things are understood. For example, we can ask Dylan about his life out by Charlottesville and how his job is going. It turns out he works construction, which for some reason feels right. On the other hand, we steer clear of whether he’s morphed into a wolf lately or ripped out the throats of any wild animals during the last full moon. We learn that Paul and Claudia traveled through Mexico extensively in the past, and can speak to the authenticity of the restaurant’s fare. We don’t ask whose bodies they might have been wearing at the time. Like I said, nothing too personal.
As far as the Aimes’s go, everything at least seems fine on the surface. I don’t get any weird vibes from Phoenix’s sister, Bethany, or from his mother, Isabel. I mean, they must have noticed my absence lately, but I don’t pick up on any subtext to anything said. They just seem happy to see us. Things are pleasant, the food is fantastic, and the margaritas definitely don’t hurt.
At one point, though, my mother turns to Ian and asks, “Have there been any new developments in those cases with the teenagers?”
In and of itself, asking isn’t a problem, but it sets a more serious tone. It also reminds me that it’s been two more days and I’ve gotten nowhere. In fact, since my adventure at the abandoned warehouse, I’ve been at a total loss. I still have no idea what the hell that was about. Was it just some weird freak encounter? I’ve kept telling myself that was the case. That whoever came after me had no idea who I was. I just wish I believed that.
“Not much new going on,” Ian says. “At least, not that I know of. Although I heard about an old man they found wandering around a few days ago. I guess he was saying some crazy things.” He adds finger quotes to indicate that crazy is, of course, relative. “At any time in the past, I probably wouldn’t have thought much of it.”
My pulse ratchets up as images of old, dead Grayson rise within my mind.
Dylan asks, “What kinds of crazy things?”
“Apparently, the guy was accosting people up on Franklin Street, saying he’d been taken to some other realm forty years ago. And that he’d just somehow found himself back here again.”
I sip my margarita, avoiding eye contact. He has to be talking about Grayson. If that was even his name.
I’m hoping the conversation will move on when my mother says, “What do you think, Paul?”
Oh, my God, really? Someone take that drink away from her. She might as well have said, “Paul, you have a long history of body-snatching. Could it have been your people?”
To his credit, Paul remains unruffled. Although, come to think of it, he always does. I guess if you live a thousand years, not that much gets under your skin. Especially if you can ditch that skin whenever you feel like it.
He regards my mother pleasantly, keeping his pale blue eyes on hers. “I’m afraid I’d have to know more. From what Ian says, this example is inconsistent with the others so far, who’ve all been younger people. In fact, it seems just the opposite, a matter of returning rather than going missing. And, of course, there could be a number of perfectly natural explanations, such as delusional schizophrenia or psychosis, possibly dementia or Alzheimer’s—Ian did mention the man being old—or even possibly amnesia. There have been quite a few recorded instances of amnesia victims reporting having felt absent from their bodies.”
As if things aren’t already awkward enough, my mother shifts her focus to Paul’s daughter. “What’s your opinion, Claudia? The girls say you’re always a straight-shooter.”
The implication being what? That we claimed Paul to be a liar? I fight the urge to call out, “Mom, cut the shit!”
Presently, Claudia resides in the body of an attractive forty-year-old woman with ringlets of auburn hair. Neither Paul nor Claudia take bodies from unwilling humans anymore, and they haven’t for a long time. Somehow, they capture bodies just after the moment of death. In Claudia’s case, the woman who died must have been looking good. Paul, on the other hand, always looks too thin, too pale.
Claudia calmly finishes chewing her shrimp panucho, seeming as unruffled by the question as her father. “It seems unlikely to be our people,” she says. “As my father said, with the exception of the case Ian just described, the pattern seems too consistent. There’s no logical reason I can think of why there’d be some sort of group accord to suddenly inhabit the bodies of teenagers, or even people in their early twenties. The social and financial disadvantages too far outweigh the advantages.”
“I don’t know,” my mother says. “I wouldn’t mind having a teenager’s body again.”
Okay, that’s it. I’m about to leap over the table when Autumn says, “Mom, have one of my fish tacos. They’re delicious.”
In other words, shut your yap and stop sucking back tequila. Our mother hardly ever drinks more than a glass of wine, so she probably has no idea that the jumbo frozen concoction in front of her could tranquilize a rhinoceros.
Undoubtedly sensing the awkwardness, Dylan changes the subject. “How have things been around here?”
By which he means tension between vampires and werewolves, of course. I don’t know Dylan well, but he seems like a nice guy. Earthy and natural, with surfer good looks and an easygoing manner. Changing the subject is a diplomatic move, intended to steer the conversation toward the other two supernatural communities.
Claudia fields the question. “Quiet
on all fronts, I’m happy to report.”
They continue talking and, before long, I realize that I've been spacing out while thinking about other things. Julia, mostly, but Ellie Kaminski too. I haven’t forgotten that conversation I had with her parents. Meanwhile, Paul, Claudia, Autumn and Ian have formed one pocket of conversation, while Isabel, Bethany, Dylan and my mother have formed another. Which leaves Phoenix sitting next to me waiting for me to snap out of it. Which I do now, as I become aware of his attention.
He speaks softly. “So, how have you been?”
I consider pretending I didn’t hear him, but he’s sitting next to me staring at my profile.
“Pretty good,” I say. “You know, busy.”
Which is basically just one level above saying, “screw off.”
Phoenix pretends not to notice. “I thought about calling you a few times,” he says. I assume he means despite my claim of needing a little time, when he adds, “You know, after you came by the farm last week.”
Which is just about enough to make me do a margarita spit-take. Oh, come on! Did someone plan this dinner as a practical joke? Because right about now being chased by a psycho through an abandoned warehouse is starting to look good.
Phoenix reads my shocked expression correctly. Yes, speech is eluding me at the moment. “Listen,” he says. “I can ex—”
“I’d like to make a toast!” my mother announces.
Somehow, she managed to get her hands on another fishbowl sized goblet of margarita. At any other time I’d be horrified, but now I’m grateful. Never mind, Mom, I changed my mind. Keep slugging them back and keep talking.
“To Ian,” she says, straining her wrist as she hoists her drink into the air. “I’m so glad you and Autumn found each other.”
