Shadowplay (40 page)

She wasn’t the second client of the Shadow. She
was
a second Shadow.

When the coffees arrived, Lily put them on the small shelf below the chair and pushed it back onto the street. We waited for her to leave and then dashed up to the till and paid for our unfinished coffee. I put extra coins into the tip jar to make up for the tea I had stolen months ago.

Lily disappeared around the corner. She wore her wine-colored dress. I nodded to a drainpipe and we made our way up to the roof. As we climbed, I felt a little dizzy. Why hadn’t she turned us in after our actions resulted in the death of Shadow Elwood? What did she want from us?

Poor Maske.

She made her way through the streets. She gave one of the pastries to the boy and we finally had a clear view of the boy in the wicker basket.

Despite the mild weather, the child, who must have been around eight, wore a coat, a hat, and a thick scarf that covered most of his face. But the child used his weak arms to tug at the scarf and managed to disengage himself from it so he could eat his pastry. I stared, my mouth falling open slightly. The boy’s face was peeling badly, and patches had fallen away. Beneath, the skin was dark green, like the back of a beetle. Beneath the hat, I saw two small protrusions.

Horns.

Like Ahti.

Of course,
Anisa breathed in my mind.
I should have seen it. This is why the world is in danger. If someone hurts or frightens this little Chimaera, then all is lost.
She sounded so sad.
Once he finishes his change, he will look identical to Ahti.

Drystan was staring at the boy as well. “Did I just see what I think I saw?”

“Yeah. That’s a true Chimaera. A Theri.”

Lily drew the covering back again, surveying the street. But she didn’t look up. We followed her as she made her way to the nicest part of town, passing the palace. She paused at the gates, and for a moment I thought she would enter.

Instead, she gazed through the bars and continued onto Ruby Street, to press the buzzer for Doctor Samuel Pozzi’s apartments.

She was let in immediately.

 

Drystan and I froze in shock. The woman who joked and comforted us, helped tidy the theatre and had supposedly fallen in love with Maske was all smoke and mirrors, like any of our illusions. I shivered again, but it was not from cold. I felt very warm. I loosened my coat, sweating. Drystan peered at me.

“Micah, are you alright? You’re pale.” He put his palm on my forehead. “Styx, you have a fever.”

“A fever?” I asked him thickly. “Is this what a fever feels like? It’s terrible. I don’t like it.”

“Come on, let’s get you home. There’s nothing more we can do here.”

It was so difficult to climb back down the drainpipe and trudge home. I kept having to pause to catch my breath. My eyes felt like they were cooking in my skull, and I’d never been so weak.

Drystan didn’t seem unduly concerned. “It’s just a fever, Micah. You’ll take a cool bath, get some soup and liquids, and you’ll be fine in a day or two.”

In response, I stumbled to an alleyway and retched up my coffee. The bile burned my throat.

In all that happened, it turned out I still kept one secret from him. That if I became ill, it could be the sign of something being very wrong.

Are you going to go see Doctor Pozzi?
Anisa asked me as we made our way home again.

“Come on, Micah,” Drystan urged. “We’re almost there. I’ll take care of you. You’ll be fine.”

I opened my mouth to answer, but my eyes rolled up into my head and I fell into his arms. I had just enough time to be annoyed before I fainted yet again.

31

THE DREAM, THE NIGHTMARE

 

“Mystics and Seers” from A History of Ellada and its Colonies, Professor Caed Cedar, Royal Snakewood University.

 

Part of me knew it was a fever dream. That didn’t make it any less frightening
.

The phantoms, the parts in this play to come, walked across the stage. The woman in the red dress whose son was eaten from the inside. My new charge knew who she was now, and what she had done. Things might still fall into place the way I thought
–
hoped
–
they would. The way the world whispers to me that it might.

The doctor with the clockwork hand appeared onstage, smiling that self-satisfied grin, though he was as ignorant as all the rest. He did not even know what he wore against the stump of his arm. The ones who side with him float around him, waiting in the wings. The young girl with the lie around her neck. The one who was Matla, young Cyan, her powers just beginning to unfurl. The boy Drystan, who despite his lack of power could destroy everything. And my little Kedi, my newest charge, the one called Micah, or Gene, or Sam
–
my last and greatest hope.

 

“Micah.”

I turned my head away from the noise.

“Micah.” A cool cloth rested on my forehead.

I opened my eyes, but the brightness hurt. I closed them again.

A brush of lips against my cheek. “Wake up, Micah.” A whisper in my ear.

Drystan. I opened my eyes, meeting his blue ones.

“Are you feeling any better?” he asked, his brow furrowed in worry.

I tried to sit up, but a swirl of nausea drove me back. “No, I don’t think I am.”

“What’s happening?”

“I didn’t tell you, but Pozzi warned me… that if I grow sick…” I trailed off, my body racked with coughs. I hurt. Everything hurt.

“Then what?” Panic entered his voice.

“Then I could be dying.”

“No.” He shook his head. “No. You can’t be. It’s just a fever. It’ll pass.”

“If I die…” I started.

“Shut up. Don’t speak like that. We’ll get you sorted.”

“Listen, you numbskull.” I managed a weak smile. “I’m trying to tell you something important. If I do die, I’d regret not telling you…”

“Telling me what?”

I closed my eyes again, not brave enough to tell him with my eyes open. “That I love you.”

A sharp intake of breath. Silence. Horrible silence. A tear slid down my cheek.
Say something, Drystan,
I wanted to say.
Say something while I’m still conscious
. The dreams, the nightmares, hovered in the corner of my mind. Crouching. Waiting. My mouth was dry with fever and fear. I had never felt so vulnerable.

Drystan leaned close, pressed his palms against my warm cheeks. “I love you, Micah Grey. More than the sun loves the moon,” he whispered, quoting the magic show.

I gave a half-laugh, half-sob. Drystan pressed his lips to mine.

I began to shiver, my body jerking beneath the sweat-soaked sheets. The visions of the world ending came closer, pressing close, their whispers filling my ears. I felt even warmer, as though I were a bit of tinder about to explode into flame.

“And now,” he said. “I’m going to save you.”

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS: SHADOWPLAY

 

It’s scary, writing these. I’m always afraid I’m going to miss listing someone, because there are so many people who help make a book far better than it would be if I’d been laboring on my own vacuum. So thank you to my earliest readers and some of my closest friends: Shawn DeMille & Erica Bretall, for giving me feedback on what was a decidedly shaky draft. Thank you to my literary BFF Wesley Chu being there every step of the way, including dealing with my anxious rambles with the patience of a champ.

To my many other betas who have each provided such valuable critique: Mike Kalar, Rob Haines, Molly Rabbitt, Vonny McKay, Megan Walker, Mike Stewart, Stephen Aryan, Anne Lyle, Amy McCulloch, Colin Sinclair, Joseph Morton, and my Tuesday writing buddies Lorna McKay and Hannah Beresford.  Thank you to my writing groups the Inkbots and The Cabal. To Emma Maree Urquhart for the name “Alvis Tyndall.” An especially huge thank you to Corinne Duyvis and Erica for not only reading an earlier draft but also being invaluable at the 11th hour.

Many thanks to the publishing people who helped me with my second book baby: my leopard-print-clad, lindy-hopping, honey badger of an agent, Juliet Mushens, and of course to my editor, Amanda Rutter, and to all the people who have given
Pantomime
&
Shadowplay
a lovely home in Strange Chemistry/Angry Robot.

Lastly but definitely not least: to Sally Baxter, to whom the book is dedicated, for being my number one fan and the best mother. Thanks to my family and friends. And my everlasting gratitude and love to my husband Craig, for listening to my endless plot ideas, for the many cups of tea and cooked dinners, and for forcing me to turn off the laptop occasionally.

And thank you to the readers who followed Micah Grey from the circus to the magician’s stage.  

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Laura Lam was raised near San Francisco, California by two former Haight-Ashbury hippies.

She relocated to Scotland in 2009 to be with her husband, whom she met on the internet when he instant messaged her and insulted her taste in books. She almost blocked him but is glad she didn’t.

At times she misses the sunshine.

and a member of the Osprey Group

Lace Market House,

54-56 High Pavement,

Nottingham

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UK

Angry Robot/Osprey Publishing

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USA

Strange Chemistry #23

A Strange Chemistry paperback original 2014

Copyright © Laura Lam 2014

Laura Lam asserts the moral right to be

identified as the author of this work.

Cover art by Tom Bagshaw

Distributed in the United States by Random House, Inc., New York.

All rights reserved.

Angry Robot is a registered trademark and Strange Chemistry, the Strange Chemistry icon and the Angry Robot icon are trademarks of Angry Robot Ltd.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Sales of this book without a front cover may be unauthorized. If this book is coverless, it may have been reported to the publisher as “unsold and destroyed” and neither the author nor the publisher may have received payment for it.

UK ISBN: 978 1 90884 439 2

US ISBN: 978 1 90884 440 8

Ebook ISBN: 978 1 90884 441 5

Set in Meridien and Dirty Headline by Argh! Oxford

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