by Sherry Soule
Dad ran his fingers through his ebony hair. “Did you hear that, Jillian? It’s happening again. How many people have to disappear before we take action? We should burn that place down. This town has tried to bury its secrets—”
“Whispering Pines was built on secrets.” My mother—Jillian—shot him a cold look. Hazel eyes dark and burning. “You should understand that better than anyone.” Her tone pulsated with so much violence and intensity I felt it creep across my skin. Something vicious and fearsome passed over her face. She switched off the TV when I entered the kitchen. A slow smile quirked her lips. A false smile. “Breakfast, Shiloh?”
I slouched on a chair next to my dad at the Formica table and landed a peck on his unshaven cheek. “Nah. Just some orange juice, please.”
Jillian’s eyes scanned my outfit. “What have you got on your feet?” One hand rested on her hip.
“What? I love these shoes.” I lifted a hot-pink Doc Martens boot. “It only has a little scuff mark.”
She handed me the juice she’d just poured. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
My big phony grin hurt my cheeks. I gulped the juice to avoid her stare, then wiped my mouth with the back of one hand just to annoy her.
“Oh, Shiloh!”
“Let’s not start arguing first thing this morning.” Dad stood and stretched his arms, lacing his fingers and cracking his knuckles. The sound reminded me of when I was little and he’d hold me tight, cracking his knuckles as he squeezed me close to him, telling me he’d always protect me. Talk about role reversal. I’d just dealt with a demon in order to protect my dad.
But there is no way he’d ever know what to do. Not my straight-laced, facts-are-facts dad, who’d probably never believe dark creatures walk among us.
Jillian took my glass and set it in the sink with a loud clink. She turned to say something else but I cut her off. “Thanks, Mom.”
She frowned, and I knew she’d heard my stop-bothering-me tone.
Dad squinted at his wristwatch. “Ah, let’s go, ladies. Don’t wanna be late for church.” Although my dad is a handsome man, today he looked drained, almost sad. The skin around his brown, almond-shaped eyes sagged, his strong, square chin seemed tight. Severe angles around his cheeks were prominent and his olive skin was sallow.
“I’ll grab my purse,” I said before Jillian could tell me to change my shoes. I grabbed my bag, then went through the house and waited on the porch for my parents. Thick ground fog swaddled Whispering Pines. An early morning hush settled over the town, the drizzling mist softening the streets. I drank in the brisk air, welcoming the chill on my flushed cheeks. Maple Drive appeared uninhabited, the houses strange and reticent.
My parents came out of the house. Jillian wore a cranberry dress of silk; the extravagant scent of orchids, lilies, and musk floating behind her. Once she used to be known as “Mom.” Before she became obsessed with her appearance and those peculiar tonics she created to keep herself young. That was back when I trusted her. Now she didn’t want me to call her “Mom” in public. Jillian. Sounded odd whenever it left my lips.
Dad breezed past me, pulling up the sleeves of his black button-up shirt tucked into slacks, before he unlocked our faded green Chrysler sedan with the key. I hopped in the back seat and my parents got in the front. Now I had a chance to relax and rebuild my psychic armor. I closed my eyes and focused on creating a golden barrier of light, which I knew from experience would block anything supernatural. Weird, I know, but when this all started happening, I was pretty little. I guess I’d just accepted the fact that dark shadows stalked me.
Breathe, Shiloh, concentrate.
I imagined a high, impermeable wall. Unfortunately, the images from earlier—the yellow eyeballs, the smoky black skin, the deformed face…
“Errr,” I grunted and, my eyes flew open.
“Did you say something, lambchop?” Dad’s inquisitive gaze caught mine in the rearview mirror.
“Um, no…nothing.” I needed to work on my happy face and grin like an idiot. Instead of hoping to study architecture, it occurred to me I should try to be an actress, because I had mad skills. MTV might even star me in a reality TV show: A Girl’s Guide to the Supernatural.
Out the car windows, lawns were russet, birch and pine trees stood in abundance, and spring flowers were struggling to reach the sun. We lived five blocks from the church, in a one-Starbucks town named Whispering Pines north of San Francisco in Marin County, neighboring Muir Woods. Fog rolling in from the Bay lingered like clouds had fallen from the sky and blanketed the earth, making Whispering Pines overcast and gloomy. We passed silent, melancholy clusters of weathered houses shackled with ivy, amidst ancient shade trees. On Laurel Avenue, when we crossed over the railroad tracks, sunlight split through the haze, shining upon the heads of the identical tract houses lining the streets. Crows perched on a clothesline watched us drive past. My gaze caught eerie shadows swooping menacingly within the shrubs and trees.
Dad turned into the church driveway and parked in the lot. Outside the dirty windshield, my best friend Ariana Parsons’s waving hands snagged my attention.
I opened the car door and ran toward her, yelling, “Hey!” I took the porch steps too fast, tripped and nearly fell to my knees. I grasped the rail and straightened. God, I hate being a klutz.
“You okay?” Ariana attempted to stifle a laugh by raising her hand, her metallic nail polish sparkling in the morning sun. She hugged me tightly, he sleeves of her ivory babydoll pullover wrapped around me. Her hair smelled like honeysuckle.
The terrifying emotions that had bound me in their tight embrace slowly unraveled. Safe in the sunshine. Safe with my friend. Safe from the shadows. Everything would be okay.
Yeah sure. Not with Shadow Man obviously threatening my life.
“Yep. I’m good. How’s your weekend?”
“It sucks. My aunt left for Vegas with her new boyfriend who—for the record—is seriously annoying. And she didn’t leave any food in the house. So I hit the donut shop on my walk here.” Ariana rolled her eyes. Flaxen curls outlined her pretty, round face. When she moved, the silver earrings dangling from her ears tinkled like bells. “Whatcha doing the rest of the long weekend?”
Oh, you know…sleeping with the lights on, cowering in bed, and burning sage in a large seashell trying to drive out bad spirits. The usual stuff.
“Nothing,” I said.
Big, cerulean eyes stared into mine. “You’re wearing makeup today. You look good, but tired.” Ariana lowered her voice. “Things still bad at home?”
Self-consciously, I tugged on the sleeve of my dress to hide the angry scar on my arm. I knew I looked like utter crap. “Everything’s good. Honest.”
She studied me, one eyebrow raised. “No. It’s not.”
We stared at each other until my shoulders sagged.
“Fine, it’s not.” I gave her a weary smile. “So you’re saying I’m a hot mess?”
“Saying someone is tired doesn’t mean they look like pooh.” She tilted her blond head. “Although more concealer couldn’t hurt.”
Some boys from school smiled at Ariana, and she winked. Ariana had that kind of outgoing confidence most high school girls would kill for. I think it was a residual from her days as a Trendy. Before the accident that changed her social status. And majorly changed her life. Or maybe she’d always had swag.
Ariana and I were total opposites. Not that I was shy, but I was super thin compared to her; my slight 5’6 frame made her curvy 5’2 figure seem excessive. Her delicate features, eyes as blue as the sky and a pale complexion, were in complete contrast to someone like me who was composed of differing shades of brown. With my mix of Sioux and French ancestry, I’d inherited high cheekbones, smooth olive skin, bronze eyes that dominated my face and a flood of hair the shade of midnight.
Did I mention I’m jealous of Ariana’s porcelain skin and bigger boobs? Ah, well, I still love her.
I turned to go inside the
church, but a crunch of tires on the gravel drive stopped me. A sports car sped by, and through the tinted windows, I glimpsed the driver: male, golden hair, sunglasses resting on a straight nose. About my age, I guessed.
“Nice,” I said.
Ariana giggled, her curls bouncing freely on her shoulders. “The car or the guy?”
“Both?” I giggled too, and a little of the tightness in my chest loosened.
“Yeah, that’s a clean ride. New Mustang Boss.” Ariana grinned at me, making the world seem sunnier. Not so terrible. For a second, I almost forgot the demon. Almost.
The sleek car roared past us, the driver obviously hunting for a space.
“Shiloh.”
I heard my dad call my name and twisted around to see him standing in the entry. At his beckoning, Ariana and I followed him into the church. Dimly lit by wall sconces, the interior had a burgundy carpet lining the middle aisle between the two rows of pews. We found seats in the back row, as a group of children gathered on the platform to sing hymns. My parents sat apart, not touching. Dad stared at his bible; Jillian crossed her legs, eyes forward. Ariana and I parked ourselves at the other end of the wooden bench. Sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows, dappling the congregation in scarlet, butter, and golden hues. Most of the town attended Whispering Pines Chapel, a tradition started a century and a half ago by the town’s religious founding fathers. The benches were congested with people who coughed and murmured. Babies wailed and children squirmed in their seats.
Jillian fingered the triquetra-shaped pendant hanging from a thin silver chain around her throat. Her skin had the kind of unlined creaminess that never saw the sun. So different from my dark tone that looked tan even in winter. She turned and caught me staring. Her body tensed. She didn’t like me watching her. Interesting. Warring emotions passed over her face with vivid swiftness. She faced the pulpit again, dropping her pendant beneath the neckline of her dress.
The double doors behind us opened with a bang. Several people turned their heads and glared at the intrusion. A guy ambled into the empty pew across from ours—the guy with the Mustang. Ohmygod. My mouth dropped open like a moron’s.
He shrugged off his leather coat, revealing a slightly wrinkled, charcoal button-down shirt. Dang, the boy filled out his jeans nicely.
Now that’s how you rock the just-got-out-of-bed-and-threw-this-on look.
Would it be too much to ask for him to be as awesome on the inside as he was on the outside? I flicked hair over my shoulder and removed the lip gloss from my purse, smearing strawberry over my lips. The hottie sat down and reclined, stretching out his arms on the bench. He crossed his legs, and I caught a glimpse of his badass black motorcycle boots. The skin on his face was pale and smooth, and only his strong, square jaw saved his features from femininity. Gorgeous—a ten on a scale of Abercrombie model hotness. Tall too, with tousled blond hair brushed sideways across his forehead—giving him an arrogant, sexy look—with eyes an amazing emerald hue…
He turned his head, his gaze capturing mine. My face flamed, interrupting my ogling. His eyes widened, then narrowed. His arms dropped to his sides. Once those hypnotic green eyes seized mine, the atmosphere shifted, and for a moment, my heart ceased to beat. His gorgeousness silenced the thoughts and whirling emotions inside my head. The lingering anxiety from earlier vanished.
Finally, he turned away. I exhaled. He kept his head down like he had something to hide. Something he didn’t want people to see. Something he didn’t want me to see.
Why did his attitude change when he caught me gaping at him? Does he think without even talking to me that he’s so far out of my league that we aren’t even playing the same game? Or worse…has he already heard about me? My family?
“Who’s the guy?” I whispered to Ariana, jerking at the sleeve of my sweater to make sure my scarred forearm remained covered. The skin tingled and burned again.
Ariana giggled. “The babe staring at you with smoldering eyes is Trent Donovan. Whispering Pines’s newest bad boy.”
“Interesting.” I pretended to stretch, glancing sideways over my shoulder to peek at his sublimely beautiful face again. His jaw clenched and his mouth contorted with an unpleasant twist.
“Stop staring.” Ariana bumped my shoulder with her own. “And close your mouth, your tongue’s hanging out.”
I bumped her back, and we giggled. The children finished singing, and everyone applauded. Pastor Williams took his place behind the pulpit. He droned on about how the townsfolk of today were forgetting their heritage, and all that the founding fathers had sacrificed to keep the community together after the Civil War. I’d heard the lecture many times before, about how the founding families had permanently settled in Whispering Pines in 1868. Bored with the history lesson, I easily tuned out Pastor Williams’s voice. Yadda, yadda, yadda. I hung my head and pretended to read my bible, but it wasn’t long before my gaze strayed to Trent again.
I noticed Ashley Witheridge twisting around in her seat to smile and wave at Trent. Holding up a hand, Trent twirled his finger to indicate that she should turn back around. Ashley’s bottom lip pouted, but she faced forward. Good.
The energy shifted in the room. A chilling wave passed over me. I blinked and noticed something odd. A woman in a tattered off-white dress (wedding gown?) sat close to Trent, her hands laced in her lap. Odd, because she hadn’t been there a second ago.
Opaque, wobbly shadows swished over the white walls, swooping near Trent and the lady. They swirled on the ceiling in a dance above their heads, making soft rustling noises. The shadows licked at the air. Fed off my fear like leeches.
Leave me alone! My pulse rocketed. My head was gonna explode. Isn’t there anywhere I can escape these damn things? Shouldn’t evil be unable to enter a church?
The lady sitting next to Trent turned her head to fix her gaze on mine. Her sapphire eyes were radiant. Her body flickered. She was gray. Seriously, from head-to-toe she was an unusual grayish color. Except for the twin glittering blue flames of her eyes.
Trent stared straight ahead, occasionally flipping through his bible. Oblivious to the shadows and the creepy lady.
The longer I stared at her, the more I realized there were strong similarities in our appearance. Our facial structure and hair color were remarkably alike. Like looking at a zombie version of myself. A quiver of apprehension ran through me. Her disturbing gaze held me immobile. The strength and intensity of her eyes gave me the terrifying sensation of being pinned by an unseen force.
“Shiloh, you don’t have much time.” The words swept past me, lightly brushing my subconscious, and I heard pain in the tenor. And trepidation. And warning. “Soul Eater’s coming for you.”
CHAPTER THREE
My body twitched. Snatching my bible, I held it against my chest like a shield.
Dammit! A wraith. Nasty things. Won’t leave you alone.
I guess today just wasn’t my day. Paranormals were out in droves and they had apparently decided to pester me.
Ariana nudged me. “What’s with you?”
I didn’t answer. Only gripped my bible tighter. Shudders rocked me as my mind fought to ignore the shadows. I dropped my gaze, but their hoarse whooshing noises were unnerving.
“Shiloh?” Ariana placed her hand on mine. “What’s the matter?”
Lowering my head, I mumbled, “Nothing.”
“Donovan is checking you out,” Ariana whispered.
My stupid face burned red again. “No, he’s not.”
“An educated hottie and a heartbreaker. Nice combo, eh?” Ariana elbowed me in the ribs.
“Ow,” I said, rubbing my side. “Will you stop that?”
She stuck out her tongue.
I gritted my teeth. “Very mature.”
“What? He is…” Her words trailed off when Dad threw us a “shut the heck up” glare.
Dang, it’s hot in here. Is it because of the nocturnal creatures swarming Trent and the creepy lady?
&
nbsp; Unknown heat crawled over my arm, seeking the scar. I pushed up the sleeve of my sweater and stared at the mark gracing my forearm. The sight of my scar gave me an emotional chill, part melancholy and part horror. It extended from my wrist to my elbow. A long, serrated, nasty reminder of the time I’d blacked out and awoken lying in a puddle of blood with a razorblade in one hand. Evidently, I’d pulled the blade across my arm, and the kiss of the razor had more than pricked my delicate skin. My muddled attempt at suicide. My dad had found me before I’d slit the other wrist, and I was rushed to the ER. The paramedics said I almost died. I wore bandages from my wrist to halfway up my forearm for a month. I’d lost enough blood to need a transfusion.
We never spoke of it again. I’d been on the brink of death and had viewed the underworld. Not a place I planned to revisit. Since that day, seeing shadows and auras became an everyday occurrence.
I flipped through the bible, looking for the verse the pastor had recited, and silently chanted: Wall of light. Wall of light. Wall of light! No use. I dared another glance. The lady beside Trent had vanished. So had the shadows. My heart returned to normal. Well, almost normal.
Once the service ended, I overheard everyone talking about Trent’s guest appearance. I strained to catch what they said, but the fading conversations were rendered inaudible by the ceaseless shuffle of feet as we left the building. From the exit, I gazed at Trent one last time and instantly regretted it. He stopped next to his Mustang and found me gawking. Again. His eyebrows drew together in a frown before he got in and drove off.
As we crossed the parking lot, Jillian offered Ariana a ride home, which she accepted.
“I’m gonna catch the game with Sheriff Boyd. He just bought a flat screen,” Dad said. “He’ll drive me home later.” He came over and wrapped me in a hug.
I felt a tug on my heartstrings and buried my head against his chest. The warm scent of his aftershave reassured me. I’d faced a demon on my own this morning to protect my dad. I knew he didn’t know any of this, but still, I wanted to hug him tighter. Make sure he was all right. Assure myself that he was safe.
