by Kat Zaccard
Moon Shadow
Kat Zaccard
Copyright ©2018 Kat Zaccard
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the author. For information regarding permission, please email [email protected].
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either used fictitiously or are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
ASIN: B07JKT6P9M
Cover design by CreativeGerman
Map art by Corina Soares
For Andy, my true mate.
Acknowledgements
So much more than writing goes into a book! This project was a dream-come-true! I have many people to thank for their support, and I am humbled and honored by the scope of their kindness and talent.
I offer a heartfelt thanks to Rebecca Zaccard, my sister and editor, for her initial encouragement, brilliant insights, and continued support. Thank you for joining me on this journey. Jack and Kulani thank you, too!
Thank you to my author friends, Jonathan Yanez, Terrica Simmons, and Erin Bailey, who offered encouragement, wisdom, and advice throughout the publishing process. Type on!
Thank you to Les at German Creative for creating the beautiful cover art, Kimberly Grenfall for skilled proofreading, and digital designer, Corina Soares, for illustrating the magnificent maps of Mt. Henley. Your expertise is much appreciated.
A resounding cheer of gratitude goes to all my beta readers, Becky, Erin, Terrica, Steve, and Guthrie, you guys rock! I sincerely thank you.
Having daydreamed of writing this page for most of my life, there’s always been a growing list of people to thank including my dad, who sparked the idea long ago. I love you, Dad!
Thank you to the late Doug Elfers, who encouraged my artistic pursuits. He believed in the magic of life, and I benefited from his imagination.
Thank you to the fans! I’m so grateful you decided to read Alice’s story. Way to trust your instincts!
Special gratitude goes to Andy and our two teenage kids. I spend many a minute attached to my keyboard, and your support means the world.
Thank you for reading!
With Love,
Kat
Moon Shadow
Kat Zaccard
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 1
The plane landed at the Kamloops airport in British Colombia around two in the afternoon. My first view of the beautiful, clear lake reflecting the round mountains and stunning sky impressed me despite my mood. The neighboring hills were dappled red, green and gold as autumn danced across the valley. The sight surpassed my expectations. The scale of beauty was lost on the photo in the visitor’s guidebook. Brushing an auburn lock out of my eyes, I scowled at the book, happy to find something nearby worthy of disdain. I didn’t want to like anything about British Colombia. I was in exile here. Without warning, my parents had decided to send me off to some obscure boarding school in Canada, and my whole world flipped upside down.
It was warmer than I’d expected—perhaps 60 degrees—but the signs near the terminal were in Celsius, so I had to check my smartphone app to get the conversion to Fahrenheit. The reminder of how stupid I’d seem to everyone at school had me in a sweat. Freaking United States and their stupid refusal to join the rest of the world’s preference for the metric system, I silently fumed, glowering at the airport employee, who wished me a pleasant day.
I found my luggage and made my way to the bus terminal. My bus headed north along Southern Yellowhead Highway for another couple of hours. I tried to stay awake so I could follow the GPS on my phone. The connection was spotty and grew worse the farther we went from Kamloops. I wasn’t exactly sure where my folks had exiled me to. They only told me a week ago that I was being shipped off to a private boarding school, and on my birthday no less! Apparently, I was too young to have a boyfriend and the best way to ensure I never saw Nick Stevens again was to send me across the continent to a new country where I didn’t speak the language. Yep, that will curb any potential dates in my future.
The bus pulled into a station around five o’clock. The sun was low in the sky, and as I disembarked, I couldn’t help feeling like I just stepped off a bus and onto the edge of the world. My phone had lost its signal a while ago, so I was a little lost. It was chillier now, and I pulled on my jacket. After getting my luggage, two suitcases, and one backpack, I turned in a slow circle, surveying my surroundings. I saw a bus terminal—duh—a gas station with a familiar-looking lot full of semis and a truckers’ restaurant with large advertisements in the windows in English and French, a rundown motel, and beyond that, a stretch of mountains that nearly dwarfed the setting sun. The late afternoon light lengthened shadows. Surrounding the depot was a forest of trees taller and larger than any I’d ever seen before. The air smelled damp and loamy, like Wisconsin in spring, but older. The trees were larger, and I didn’t know why, but something in the air felt ancient. No wonder it seemed darker and colder than it should have been around five.
A tall, rugged-looking man in jeans and a red flannel shirt stood near the station, with a placard that read: Alice Luna Nacht. How in the world did he know my middle name? It was so embarrassing! I never fill out anything but the first letter of my middle name on all forms since I learned to write. I used to like it until Harry Potter came along and every kid in my elementary school started calling me Looney Luna. That was maybe the only good thing about a new school; I could leave old taunts behind. Don’t get me wrong, I loved the character, but I didn’t want to be her. With a sigh, I realized you could never leave your past behind, even if you don’t know where you’re from. Luna had been my last name before I was adopted. My parents decided to keep it as my middle name. Believe me, I tried to research my old name to find an article or obituary or something about my birth parents, to no avail.
With a grumble, I lugged my bags toward the man holding my name. When he looked at me, I was surprised by the gold of his eyes. I mean, they glowed golden. That’s the only color to describe them. He was younger than I originally thought, maybe early thirties. He had the worn yet handsome face of someone who worked outdoors. He was rugged in a Wolverine sort of way, minus the crazy facial hair. He wore work boots, jeans, and a button-up red flannel that was clean if a bit worn. His unruly, sandy-blond hair was just starting to show flecks of gray at the temples.
“Hi, Alice Luna?” he said, extending his hand. “I’m Jack Winterstone, Head of Patrols at Mount Henley. I also teach outdoor survival skills and martial arts. I’m here to take you the rest of the way to school.”
“Alice, please.” I shook his hand, and he loaded my luggage into the back of his Jeep
. “How much farther is it?”
“Not far from here. Another forty-five minutes once we’re out of Cedarburg.” He gestured to indicate the truck stop, motel, and the few streets beyond that I could just make out in the fading light.
“So forty-five minutes and forty-five seconds?” I joked.
He grinned, which crinkled his golden eyes. “Yeah, it’s pretty small, but the mountains are beautiful and the school grounds are massive. Lots of places to run.”
“I hate running,” I muttered, feeling uncharitable toward my new prison at the moment.
Something I said had made him laugh. “I doubt that. C’mon, let’s head out. Do you want to grab a bite first?”
We went through a drive-through, though I didn’t recognize the chain. All of the signs were in French and English.
“I shouldn’t have taken Spanish,” I complained.
Jack, who seemed to chuckle easily, replied kindly, “Don’t worry, most everyone speaks English, too, and all of your classes are in English—well, except French class, of course.” Then he said something in French that I didn’t understand. It’s amazing to me how different languages can obscure a natural accent. He had a heavy Canadian accent when he spoke English, but I would have sworn he was from Paris, the way he rattled off French so easily.
Jack was easy to like, friendly, and talkative. I was able to stare out the window while he went on about Mt. Henley. “You’ll like it there once you get used to it,” he said. “I’ve been here since high school myself, and to be honest it’s the best home I’ve ever had.” I tried not to feel uncharitable, but school is NOT home.
I couldn’t help noticing the beauty of the landscape. The evening sunlight was fading, splattering the clouds with purple and orange. The sky seemed larger somehow, and I could see for miles. Jack steered us north and eventually we turned off the main highway, winding our way through the drumlins as we neared the mountain range. Three peaks stood prominently in the early twilight.
“They have many names and many legends.” Jack nodded. “But I always call them ‘the sisters.’” He smiled and slowed a little, rolling down the windows a bit and letting in the cool evening air.
I heard a few howls on the breeze, and shivered. “Are there many wolves out here?” Somehow I knew they weren’t coyotes.
Jack smiled broadly. “Oh yes, quite a few, and we’re always happy to have more.” I smiled back, impressed by his love of nature and commitment to the natural ecology of the area.
We traveled up a mountain road and finally found our way to a long and winding private drive. My first view of Mt. Henley was, I’ll admit, impressive. The main building looked like the architectural child of a castle and an enormous manor house from Jane Austin’s England. Nestled in the foothills of two large mountain peaks, the large stone edifice stretched across a sprawling lawn with several other buildings scattered behind, each one a mansion in its own right. My guess was tuition was high, and my parents had paid a small fortune for my exile.
“This is a high school?”
“Well, they teach some college courses here, too,” Jack told me, “and all students and some staff live on the premises. Up that road to the left is a small village we call Dryden. It's technically part of Mount Henley school grounds, and students are permitted to go there on the weekends. Most of the faculty and staff keep homes in Dryden. There are also a few shops, a movie theatre, and a hotel. Student dorms are those first two buildings you see there, behind the manor. Mount Henley’s high school girls and boys dorms.” He pointed to two large mansions to the left and right, respectively. “They’re called the Artemis and Apollo dorms. Transgender students can choose either dorm, of course. The college dorms are farther back in the valley, just down that road, past the arena.”
Great. I thought my exile would last three years, but my parents had apparently thought of everything. My heart sank as I thought of being stuck here through college. Past the Artemis dorms on the left, I could make out a sprawling garden and a large orchard beyond that. To the right, there were more buildings, including a round coliseum-shaped building I could only assume was the arena for sporting events. I wondered what the big sport in this school was, but guessed it was likely hockey.
“How many students are there?” I asked.
For the first time since I met him, Jack’s smile wavered. “Not as many as there should be,” he answered, and something in his tone made me uncertain if I should inquire any further. After a moment of silence, he went on, “There’s about four hundred high school students and three hundred or so college students.”
“That’s it? My freshman class had four hundred kids alone!” Still, it was actually a bit of a relief. My hometown eighth grade class had exactly twelve people in it, so freshman year had been beyond intimidating.
“Trust me, there will be times when it feels like this place is too small for all of us.” He barked out a laugh that held an edge of something I couldn’t quite place.
We pulled up to the first mansion behind the school, though “school” was not a grand enough term for the majestic edifice, and Jack unloaded my bags. “This is the Artemis dormitory.” He stabbed his thumb toward the building. “And your Den Mother should be… ah, here is Ms. Grissle now.”
A woman stepped out from the main entrance, wheeling a luggage cart. She wore a severe expression, her mouth a tight line. Her voice was sharp. “Jack. Late as usual. This is the new pup?” Given her dour expression and obvious disapproval of, well… everything, I guessed, I was affronted by the… let’s go with “term of endearment.”
Still, I was raised to be polite. “Alice Nacht. Pleased to meet you, Ms. Grissle.”
“Den Mother Grissle,” she introduced herself firmly. Her thick, grey hair was pulled into a tight bun. She wore a woolen suit and brown leather boots. She was only missing oversized glasses on her small, piercing, black eyes to complete the hawkish school librarian look.
Just then, a young man, who seemed closer to my age, stepped out of the lengthening shadows. He moved so silently I didn’t notice him until he was nearly at the base of the stairs. As he drew near, I could see he was also a teenager. He was tall and lean, but had the look of a boy not quite finished growing. I felt my cheeks redden as I realized he was shirtless, his long arms tan and muscular. He glanced up at me with warm, chocolate-colored eyes. Brushing his dark locks off of his handsome, copper face, he smiled. I smiled back, noting that Mt. Henley was an attractive campus. He held my gaze a moment, but didn’t speak. I couldn’t find my voice before the moment passed.
He nodded at Den Mother Grissle, then his gaze quickly found Jack. “Sir, we have an unusual report from the last patrol. Olaf found another dead animal in the northern pass, this time an elk. He’s insisting its proof the upyr have returned, and Sir Henry is laughing his head off.”
“Olaf can be riled when it comes to those old superstitions, even if a roaming mountain lion is more likely the culprit. Let’s go, before things get out of hand.”
“I’m afraid it might come to blows.”
“All right, Diego, I’m coming.” Jack bid us goodnight, and they departed into the yawning darkness.
I jumped as Ms. Grissle barked, “Well, let’s not stand around here all night. I’ll see you to your room.”
“What’s an upyr?” I was curious by the unfamiliar term.
She scowled in the direction the men had gone, then turned back to me with an attempt at a smile. “Nothing but a myth. You Americans might call them ‘the boogeyman’ or some such nonsense. Let’s get you to bed.”
Six-thirty and lights out? I wondered, but kept my mouth shut. Whatever else she may be, Den Mother Grissle did not seem like someone to cross.
The “dorm” was a five-story manor house that was even more ostentatious on the inside. The foyer was tiled in pink marble with thick, dark-red carpet leading to a wide staircase that would have Scarlett O’Hara in a swoon. I thought the combination was a bit garish, but somehow it worked w
ith the flickering faux candlelight coming from half a dozen gigantic chandeliers. Large, ornate frames lined the tall walls with ancient Greek scenes depicting Artemis and Apollo; animals, both mythical and real; and other scenes of ancient life. A few large portraits of stern-faced women had the same golden eyes reminiscent of Jack’s, and other paintings seemed to be of gory hunting scenes. We went behind the staircase to a very modern-looking elevator. The inside was completely mirrored so I could not hide from the scrutiny of Den Mother Grissle from any angle. I hunched my shoulders a bit, a defensive habit I’d picked up from being taller than my dad.
“Do not slouch, Ms. Luna,” she snapped at me. Reflexively, I straightened up as if a nun had thwacked me with a ruler. I couldn’t believe she knew my middle name, too!
“Nacht, Mam,” I tried to correct her. Props to me for bravery.
She glared daggers at me, then after a beat, she conceded. “Ms. Nacht.” The words were ice.
We got off on the fifth floor and headed down a wide, carpeted hallway. I pushed the luggage cart ahead of me as we passed numbered doors and small alcoves with windows streaming in the last few rays of light. At the end of the hall to the left was a door numbered 513. Ms. Grissle opened the door with a key that she handed to me. “Your room is your own business and your own responsibility. Once a week, I will inspect it for cleanliness, so try to be tidy. Usually girls can stay in the common rooms after dinner until nine, but as this is your first night here, I imagine you will wish to get settled.” It wasn’t a question. “Breakfast is at seven a.m.; please be prompt. Here is your class schedule for this semester. I will assign someone to show you around tomorrow.” Almost as an afterthought, or maybe a threat, she added in her growly voice, “Welcome to Mount Henley, Ms. Nacht.” She shut the door and, I’ll be damned, locked it. I guess a late-night snack was out of the question.
