Peter and the Shadow Thieves (33 page)

O
MBRA’S SHIFTING FORM hovered alongside the blinded Jenna, who groveled at the hem of his cape, her ink-stained eyes stinging painfuly. The knife, with its shining blade, lay on the floor between them.

“My lord…” said Jenna, “I’m sorry. Forgive me. I—”

“A knife?” came the low wheeze of Ombra’s voice. “You might have hurt her.”

“I beg you, my lord—”

“We
need
her, you fool.”

“I only meant to—”

“You dare disobey my instructions?”

As he spoke, Ombra moved so that his cloaklike shape edged over the maid’s shadow, cast by the hal ’s flickering wal lamp. Jenna’s stinging, bloodshot eyes widened in fear.

“No!” she cried, trying to scramble away on the floor. “I’m sorry, Lord Ombra! Please!”

But it was too late. Jenna’s shadow, where it touched Ombra, was turning bloodred. The coloration spread rapidly across her shadow to her feet, then through her legs into her black-and-white uniform, disappearing briefly until it appeared again on her arms, her neck, her face.

Jenna, her entire body crimson now, writhed on the floor in agony, her voice weakening.

“Please…no…”

Ombra stepped off her shadow. Instantly the redness began receding from her body, flowing back into his cape, as if sucked into a huge black sponge. Jenna’s skin returned to its sal ow, pale color. Her eyes wept indigo tears.

“You wil remain here,” Ombra said, “and await my orders. You wil obey my orders
exactly
.” Jenna nodded vigorously.

Ombra turned the doorknob, pushed: the door was locked. He looked down at the bottom of the door. And then he disappeared.

Except that he had not disappeared. Where he had stood, now there was only a shadow—a black, lightless pool on the floor, next to the crack at the bottom of the door.

Silently, the shadow began to flow forward under the door, and into Mol y’s room.

P
ETER PERCHED ON a narrow ledge outside the third floor of the house. He had been flying from window to window—the house had dozens—peering painstakingly into each one, looking, without success, for Mol y. He’d tried opening them, but they were latched shut. He’d also considered breaking one, but the panes were too smal for him to climb through.

A few minutes earlier he’d heard muffled screams; these had drawn him to the window of the room he stood outside now. He’d gotten there just in time to see a lady-—not Mol y

—being dragged out by Slank and another man.

Now, looking down at the front walk, he saw the lady being carried roughly to the cab. She was putting up a game fight, but she was no match for the two men. Peter hesitated, wanting to help the woman, but knowing that he could not leave Mol y alone in the house. He watched helplessly as the men forced the lady into the cab; two of the other men climbed in after her. The driver flicked the reins, and in a moment the cab disappeared into the foggy night.

Peter turned back to the house and resumed going window to window. His search was al the more urgent now. The dark-cloaked man had not emerged from the house. He was stil inside, no doubt looking for Mol y.

Peter had to find her first.

M
OLLY ON HANDS AND KNEES, swept her eyes back and forth along the floor, desperately searching by the dim lamplight for the falen locket.

She tried not to think about what was on the other side of her door. She’d heard Jenna’s voice—an awful, agonized cry, an inhuman groaning. She tried to concentrate her mind only on finding the locket, and not on whoever,
whatever,
was making that sound.

She jumped as the doorknob rattled. The door moved as pressure was applied from the other side, but the bolt held. Mol y ran her hands along the floor under the writing desk, feeling for the locket. Where was it?

Suddenly the air—already chil y—grew much colder. Mol y thought at first it was a gust of wind coming through the open window. But she was facing the window now, and the cold air was coming from
behind
her.

From the door.

She turned and raised a hand to her mouth. From the crack at the bottom of the door, blackness was seeping into the room. At first it was a dark line along the base of the door, but it quickly spread outward on the floor, and then began to bil ow upward, like a cloud made of night itself, formless at first, but gradual y assuming the shape of the cloaked thing from the stairway.

For the fourth time this terrible night, Mol y screamed. She backed away as the cloaked creature glided a few feet toward her. Then, from the featureless blackness that served as its face, it spoke in the hideous groan Mol y had heard before, though now she could make out the words:

“Do not be afraid. I mean you no harm.”

Mol y struggled to control her voice. “Who are you?” she said. “Why have you taken my mother?”

“I am Lord Ombra,” groaned the dark thing. “Your mother wil not be harmed, provided that you do as you are told.”

“What do you want me to do?” said Mol y.

Ombra’s shape shifted, and from somewhere—Mol y could not tel where—he produced a white envelope, about six inches square. This he extended toward Mol y.

“You wil give this to your father,” he said.

Mol y looked at the envelope, but did not reach for it.

“I don’t know where my father is,” she said.

“If you wish your mother to be unharmed,” said Ombra, “you wil find him.”

“But
how
?” said Mol y, her voice breaking. “He didn’t tel me where—”

“
You will find him,
” hissed Ombra.

The dark robes began gliding forward again, the envelope extended. Mol y was about to reach for it, if only to stop this horrible thing from coming any closer. But something nagged at her. There was something odd about the way Ombra was moving. Her mind raced.
What was it
?

She looked down at the floor and back up. Then it came to her.

She was standing next to her writing desk, upon which sat the oil lamp. The lamp was to her right; her shadow was cast on the floor to her left. Ombra was not moving directly toward her; he was moving diagonal y, to his right.

He was moving to her shadow. He was inches away from it.

Beware the shadows.

Mol y reached forward, as if to take the envelope. Ombra paused in his advance and extended it to her. At that instant, Mol y lunged to her right; the envelope fel to the floor.

Ombra, seeing what Mol y intended to do, moved swiftly after her shadow, but just before he reached it, Mol y reached the lamp and blew out the flame.

The room went dark.

“That was very foolish,” groaned Ombra.

Mol y didn’t answer. As quietly as she could, she moved in the pitch blackness toward where she remembered the door to be. She screamed when she felt the deep coldness directly in front of her and heard the hideous mocking voice only inches away.

“Do you think I’m going to let you simply walk out, little girl?” it said. “Do you think I can’t see you? Do you think the darkness hampers me?” Mol y stumbled blindly backward into the room. She heard the door swing open.

“Jenna,” Ombra groaned.

“Yes, Lord Ombra,” came Jenna’s eager voice.

“Gome in here and relight the young lady’s lamp, so she and I can become…
acquainted.
”

“Yes, Lord Ombra.”

Mol y heard Jenna moving tentatively into the room, feeling her way in the darkness to the fireplace, where the matches were kept. She heard Jenna picking up the wooden matchbox, then shuffling over to the writing desk, then lifting the glass globe. She heard the scrape of the match, saw the flame, saw Jenna’s indigo-stained face, first leaning over to light the wick, then flashing Mol y a smile of joyful hatred.

The lamp flared to life. Ombra turned toward Mol y. Her shadow was cast behind her now. Ombra began to glide forward. Mol y looked desperately around, but there was nowhere to go, nowhere but the open window. She edged toward it, but hopelessness was overwhelming her now. The window was four stories up; to jump from it was to die.

For the rest of her life, Mol y would remember what happened next.

First, she caught glimpse of a pulsing glow from just under her bed: her locket. But
if it’s glowing
…

Next, a sensation of something deeply familiar infusing her being, like a missing part of her soul had returned.

Then, final y, a voice—a voice she’d thought she might never hear again, a voice that, even in this moment of despair, swel ed her heart.

“Mol y!” the voice cried.

She turned and saw him crouched in the window.

“Peter!”

“Look out!” he said, seeing Ombra moving toward her, a few feet away now. Peter jumped into the room, clapped a hand over Mol y’s eyes, closed his own, and shouted, “Now, Tink!”

A blinding light fil ed the room for an instant, then was gone. Peter opened his eyes and took his hand from Mol y’s. Tink lay on Peter’s shoulder, exhausted, nearly unconscious.

Tenderly, Peter lifted her and tucked her into his shirt.

By the dim light of the oil lamp they saw Jenna at the writing table, blinking and disoriented. In the far corner of the room, on the floor by the door, was a dark, roiling, indistinct shape. Jenna stumbled toward it.

“Lord Ombra!” she cried.

The dark shape began to bil ow upward. Jenna, stil blinking, looked around the room, her gaze finding Mol y and Peter.

“Over there, Lord Ombra!” she said. “By the window.”

The dark cloud, now taking Ombra’s form again, began to ooze toward them.

Peter jumped to the window ledge and held out his hand.

“Come on, Mol y!” he said. “Take my hand!”

“But…can you fly us both?” she asked.

“We have to try!” he said. “Hurry!”

Mol y looked back at the advancing form of Ombra, then at Peter. She took a step toward the window, then turned. There was no time to retrieve her locket from under the bed.

Quickly she bent down and scooped something off the floor: the envelope.

Holding it, she ran to the window and climbed onto the ledge, sitting next to Peter, their legs dangling out. He put his left arm around her tightly, and she put her right arm around him.

“Hold tight,” he whispered, and as he strained upward with al his might, they slid off the ledge, inches before the black shape got to the window and reached, grasping, into the night, clutching only fog.