Shadow's Edge (15 page)

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R
ap rap rap rap.

“Five more minutes,” I mumbled into my pillow, turning over. I started to slip back into my dream about being stranded on a desert island, away from all things, both human and ethereal.

Rap rap rap rap.

“Still dark out,” I said, louder. “Not time yet.”
Why is my mom harassing me before dawn on a Saturday?
I rolled over again and threw my comforter over my head.

“Leah,” a low, muffled voice said.

I froze.
When did my mom turn into a guy?
I remained still, prickly hot sweat beads beginning to form on my upper lip.

“Leah,” the voice said again.

I slowly peeled the comforter off my shaking body. I sat up in bed and squinted at the clock: 2:37 a.m.

“Over here,” the voice said from behind me.

I craned my neck around and saw a dark figure slowly climbing through my window.

“AHHH—” I started to screech, but the dark figure rushed at me and clapped his cold hand over my mouth.

“Shaman, it's just me. Slade.” His cold breath blew into my ear canal and I shivered. Still clasping his hand against my mouth, he drew me closer to him. “Don't scream.” His breath chilled my body through the thin fabric of my pajamas.

With his freezing hand still against my face, I nodded. He released me, his dark figure looming above me, his features hidden in the darkness save for his glowing eyes. His black leather pants and tight black T-shirt hugged his lithe frame.

I yanked my comforter off my bed and threw it around my body like a puffy strapless dress. “What are you doing?”

“Come with me,” Slade commanded. He held out an icy hand.

“Where?” I gripped the comforter more tightly around myself.

“You must see. Come,” he said again. He took a step closer to me and I leaned back. His icy presence chilled the room and I shivered. “It's the only way,” he whispered. “You have to come with me. It will help you put to rest what happened to Fiona.” He took another step toward me, his legs nearly touching mine as he stood above me. I craned my neck upward and met his softly glowing eyes.

I held his gaze for a moment. As much as I didn't trust him, it wasn't like I had a whole lot of other options.

“Fine. Just let me get dressed,” I said. But Slade didn't move so I could stand up. “Can you let me get dressed?” I asked.

He stepped backward a few feet and I stood up. I bent down and pulled a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt off the floor. I held them up and looked over at him. “You're seriously not going to watch me change, are you? Get out.”

“Meet me outside.” He moved back toward the window. He climbed through it in one smooth motion.

“What the hell am I doing? I must be crazy,” I muttered to myself as I changed out of my pajamas. Grabbing my coat off my dresser, I sighed as I looked out into the dark night. I could see the headlights of Slade's motorcycle parked down the street. I gave my comfy, warm, marshmallow bed one longing look before I pulled myself through the window and into the crisp night.

“Okay, so what do you need to tell me?” I said to Slade. He was sitting on his motorcycle, holding out a helmet. He just waved the helmet at me. “Great,” I muttered as I took it from him. I slid it on and climbed on the bike behind him. I wrapped my arms around his cold waist and I felt the motorcycle lurch forward into the autumn night. I screwed my eyes shut.

Fifteen minutes later, the bike slowed down and I opened my eyes and looked around. We were at a dark, tiny building illuminated only by a fading green sign.

“The Kerry Piper,” I read out loud. Slade pulled into the parking lot. I looked around, searching for a familiar sight. But I didn't see anything near the building except miles of open land—dark cornfields and power lines. “Where the hell are we?” I asked. We peeled ourselves off the bike.

“You'll see,” he said. He started to walk toward the entrance of the Kerry Piper. I stood still until I stole a glance at the surrounding cornfields. An overwhelming sense of creepiness filled me and I jogged to catch up with Slade. I reached him just as he pushed the heavy wooden door open and walked in.

Immediately, rhythmic, pounding music spilled
out into the parking lot. I winced a little as I followed Slade inside.

The club was nearly pitch-black, with bodies dancing, twisting, and flailing about in front of a stage. I felt Slade's hand grip mine and lead me through the crowd. I kept my head down so as to avoid an errant elbow in the eye or a slap across the face.

“Sit down,” Slade commanded, pulling me toward a dimly lit bar. I obediently sat on one of the empty bar stools while Slade stood next to me and leaned against the top.

A bartender with more lines on his face than years under his belt looked at us, unimpressed by the high schooler wearing zero makeup and the tall, dark, skinny guy with glowing eyes. “Yeah?” he said. He glanced up at the stage and shook his head.

“Uh, I'm okay,” I said to him. The bartender looked pointedly at Slade, who shook his head.

I turned around and focused my eyes on the stage at the other end of the club. The all-male band members were dressed in black, with dark spiky hair and pale white faces. The lead singer slunk around the stage, singing unintelligible lyrics while the crowd moved rhythmically, reaching out to one another, stroking each other's faces.

I turned back to the bar, pretending not to notice the couple licking each other's faces to my left.

“So?” I looked at Slade.

He turned around and leaned against the bar, his elbows resting on the dark, scarred wood. His eyes focused on the crowd while I wondered what the hell I was doing at some punk club in the middle of the night.

“Wh—” I started to say when Slade grabbed a mohawked guy walking past us. His arm darted out like a frog's tongue capturing its insect prey, or, in this case, a guy with taller hair than a Miss America contestant.

“Hey!” Mohawked Guy said.

“Tell her,” Slade hissed at him. He lightly pushed the guy in my direction. Mohawked Guy looked me up and down, unimpressed. But as he turned back to Slade, he did a double take, his eyes widening.

“Is she—really—seriously?” he said to Slade, who nodded. “Whoa,” he whispered.

“What?” I said as I pulled my arms around my body, a chill moving across my arms.

Mohawked Guy leaned in and whispered something in Slade's ear. Slade nodded and they both turned toward me.

I kind of felt like an innocent little mouse, right before a falcon swoops down and eats it.

“Shaman,” Mohawked Guy said to me. His thin lips curled into a smirk as he briefly shifted into the image of a wolf, then back to his human form.

My stomach dropped and I shivered again. White hot fear began to build in my stomach and chest, and my throat began to close.

Another Dark Créatúir in the human realm? Another shapeshifter?

He took a step toward me. “Going to help us?” he said, lifting a long hand. I winced as he picked up a strand of my hair and released it. He watched as it fluttered back down to my shoulders.

“Back off, Asher,” Slade said. He swiftly placed his arm across Asher's stomach.

Asher fixed his eyes on me, and they began to glow a dark purple. “She will fix everything,” he said.

“Tell her,” Slade commanded. His arm was still across Asher's torso, a barrier between me and him.

Asher licked his lips with a forked tongue. “The nothingness is destroying our world. Soon it will be gone.”

I nodded. “I've heard.”
Fomoriians. The nothingness of the demons.

Asher turned to Slade and shared a silent exchange. He turned toward me. “So, will you not come to our realm and see for yourself?”

I leaned as far back as I could and gripped my freezing cold hands together. “No—I—I just don't—I—”

Asher leaned in. “I've heard you're going to look for the Four Treasures.” He exhaled a cloud of icy vapor in my face.

“I don't know what—” I began, when I heard the band's lead singer start to sing a new song. He growled into the microphone, the lyrics unrecognizable until I narrowed my eyes and turned my head toward the stage. And suddenly, my brain clicked and I translated what he was singing about.

Créatúir-speak. He's singing in Créatúir-speak.

I turned toward Slade, feeling dizzy. “Where are we?” I asked.

“They're leaving Inis Mor, Shaman,” was Slade's reply. “They're coming here. Panic is taking over the Other Realm. The rest will leave Inis Mor on Samhain if you do not defeat the nothingness. They'll come here. Live here.”

“But they can't! But then the natural world will—but—they can't leave the mystical realm.”

“There is nowhere else to go. They will sooner destroy your world than be destroyed themselves.” Slade fixed his gaze on me.

“How am I supposed to make it all stop?” I said
desperately.

Asher spoke. “You have to find the Four Treasures, to stop the demons before it's too late.”

“I don't know where they are!” I shrieked.

Asher turned to Slade. “I've heard there are scrolls hidden deep in Inis Mor, with ancient writing from the lost times.” He turned to me, leaned in, and blew into my ear.

I tried to stand up, but the cloud of ice was overtaking my brain. The dark room began to spin, like I was in a funhouse tunnel.

“Sla-ade,” I said as my legs began to turn into butter and melt into the floor. Slade pushed Asher back and reached out for me. He grabbed my hand and steadied me. Despite the cold, I leaned against him and tried to breathe. But my lungs felt heavy and constricted, like a wet mop.

A crowd began to form in front of us, inching closer and closer, whispering in their language. I looked around and saw countless pale white faces framed by dark, jagged hair. The pulsing music continued around me, massaging the bottom of my feet as the cold began to overtake me.

“Slade,” I said again, and gripped his black T-shirt.

“We have to leave,” he said, grabbing my shoulders. He tried to turn toward the door, but a crowd of Dark Créatúir shapeshifters had gathered in front of him, blocking our escape path.

“Shaman. She's here,” they whispered in their language. The crowd began to push forward, hands outstretched, reaching toward me. They began to shift. Into wolves, then into Slade, into mirror images of me, into each other. Their faces all melted together like grotesque candle wax until just flashes of light surrounded me.

“Follow me,” Slade said, and pulled me through
the crowd.

I kept my head down, eyes closed as we pushed through what felt like a cloud of ice against my skin. My face felt like it was being pulled across a row of razor blades, cutting deep into my cheeks. I felt my hair being touched, stroked, and my ears being pinched and pulled. Maniacal laughter echoed throughout the bar as the Dark beings sought me.

“C'mon!” Slade pushed open the heavy wood door. We stepped out onto the gravel parking lot and ran toward his motorcycle. We threw ourselves onto the bike and sped off as the Dark Créatúir began to spill out of the club, searching for me.

A few miles down the road, Slade pulled off onto a dirt road and stopped the bike.

“What the hell just happened?” I asked as I stumbled off the bike. I fell backward into the dirt with a thud, my neck jarring.

“You needed to hear it from them,” Slade said quietly.

“They could've killed me!”

“I wouldn't have let them. You were safe.”

“Not even close! I almost got a chunk of hair ripped out of my head as we left! Just how many are there, huh?” I leaned forward and put my head into my hands.

“More and more come every day. They're starting to fear there's nothing left for them in their world.”

I lifted my head up. “Do you really think these scrolls on Inis Mor will help us find the Four Treasures?”

He took another step toward me, looming above
me like a dark redwood tree. “There is only one way to find out.”

I sighed deeply and put my head in my hands. “But I have a life now,” I whispered.

“Not much of one. Your boyfriend—Alex—is using you for your Shaman skills.”

“No! No! He's not involved in this at all!” I sputtered as I struggled to stand up.

Slade laughed, his tongue unfurling from his mouth before he sucked it back in as if through a straw. “You humans are too trusting. Believe only what you want to see.” He grabbed my arms and pulled me up, my face inches from his. “But what I believe, what we all see, is that you have no choice.”

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I stayed home sick from school for two days after my visit
to the shapeshifter club with Slade. I'd caught a horrible cold that night and was more than willing to hibernate in my room. I hoped that I'd find miraculous answers at the bottom of my cold medicine bottle, but no such luck.

When I finally felt well enough to re-enter the world, I decided to pay another visit to Melissa. She was my last hope; the only other former Shaman in the mortal world. I thought she might know … something, or be able to help in some way. I also half-hoped I could convince her to go to the Other Realm and do my bidding for me. I waited for her outside her house and stepped in front of her as she walked to her car.

“What are you doing here?” She dropped her hands to her side and frowned.

“I have to talk to you. I have a sort-of favor to ask. Can we go somewhere and talk?” I said.

“Talk? To you?” Melissa broke out into hysterical laughter, her eyes nearly rolling back in her head.

I eyed her suspiciously and hooked my thumbs
into my backpack straps. “Are you okay? Are you on something?”

She stopped laughing and took a swig from her paper coffee cup. “I'm fine.” She adjusted her nose piercing. “I bet I can guess what you want to ask me to do.” Her hand dropped to her side and the coffee cup rolled onto the sidewalk, leaving a milky brown trail across the pavement. She took a step closer to me and I thought I saw a red glint in her eye. “I heard you were at the stadium construction site.”

My heart started to pound. “Yeah.” I nodded. “What of it?”

“Then you know, right?” she said, her pupils dilating into an oval shape. She smiled and briefly, her incisors narrowed into sharp points, followed by the rest of her teeth, like little rodent teeth.

“Know what?” I said, my face growing pink. I shivered and wrapped my coat around my body.

“Know about the … plan,” she said.

I nodded slowly, afraid if I spoke, she'd realize I didn't have a clue what she was talking about and quickly
shut up.

“I figured, especially after I heard you and Alex were getting close. So, you're on board?” Melissa's dark eyes began to change color, becoming first a greenish brown and then an olive color before changing back into glowing red embers.

“I'm on board,” I said quickly, and glanced around.

“When I read about all those construction problems with the new stadium, I knew it was perfect. Perfect because I could help them fix the problems and perfect because then I—we, I guess—can finally gain control of all that magic.” She laughed, a growling sound behind her cackle. “So I contacted Alex's dad, explained why there were so many problems with the site—the sceach and all that—and offered my help. I figured, add in a few strategic Light and Dark offings and the little critters will be so panicked it won't even occur to them that Fomoriians are involved.”

“Good thinking,” I said, my throat constricting.

“I gotta be honest, though. I was worried that you'd try to stop everything when you took the title back.” She held her head very still as the outside corners of her eyes drooped downward, moving toward her cheekbones as if her face were melting into wax.

“Right,” I said, despite the blood rushing through my skull. “Nope, I'm definitely on board with the
plan
.” I couldn't believe I had been so blind, so
…
stupid.

“I figured you would be,” she said. “There was no way you'd give up your only shot at a regular life for those … things.”

The grass below me started to grow blurry and I took a long breath in, trying to steady myself. “So, what's the next step?” I managed to squeak out.

Her eyes dripped a little further down toward her jaw, her skin looking like blue-veined silly putty. “Samhain night. Halloween, when the veil between the worlds is the thinnest. We'll go to the site and rip a huge hole in the veil between the Other Realm and our realm. Créatúir will come rushing out, and the Fomoriians will be there to greet them.” As she laughed, her jaw unhinged and hung slack toward the ground.

“Melissa,” I shrieked, pointing at her face, “what's—”

She waved her hand and instantly her face restored, firm and human once again. “And to destroy them,
or destroy them just enough to make them and their magic our slaves. Imagine, all that power belonging to us. We'll be invincible—we'll rule both worlds.” Her head jerked backward as she laughed, a guttural sound deep in her throat.

My brain registered two things automatically. The first: Halloween, Homecoming. The second: that by working with the Fomoriians, Melissa had inadvertently allowed herself to become possessed. It was as though they were eating her from the inside out, almost controlling her. And she seemed to have no idea of this. I highly doubted that the demons would just step aside and allow Melissa to get all the power, no matter what they'd promised her.

I wanted to ask her how she'd figured out how to summon an ancient force that no one seemed to have any knowledge about. I knew it was selfish, but I also desperately wanted to ask her if Alex knew about what was going on at the construction site. If he was a part of the plan.

If he was still just Alex.

“Listen, Melissa. I have to head home, but everything sounds good.” I kept my voice light, afraid of becoming infected by the Fomoriian energy possessing her. I turned and hurried down the sidewalk.

“Leah, remember this,” she called out. I turned to face her as she continued, the corners of her mouth curling upward. “I can turn them on you. On your family, your sisters. I can have them destroy everything you love, before they destroy you. They will slowly tear everyone you care about to pieces, right in front of you, before devouring you themselves, while I sit back and watch. So think carefully if you have any plans to cross me.”

I wobbled as my knees gave out slightly. Prickly sweat tingled my scalp. “Of course not. Don't be crazy,” I said, shaking my head. “I'm definitely in. I really have to catch the bus now.” I turned and walked away with long strides.

“Who's crazy?” she called out before launching into hysterical, wheezing laughter.

As I approached the bus station, I zipped my jacket up a little further, noticing a cloud form when I exhaled. The autumn wind was just starting to take on winter's edge, just starting to turn from slight chill to actual cold. Yet, even though I stuffed my hands into my pockets, I couldn't escape the freeze.

The freeze of knowing I had but one choice. One choice to keep my family safe.

I managed to remain a ghost in the hallway for the rest of the week, floating from class to class, not really present. I spent the weekend cuddled up under my comforter, faking the flu, ignoring my cell phone and emails. I hoped by the time Monday arrived, Slade would've found the Four Treasures on his own, Melissa would have been eaten by a raptor, and my Spanish paper would've written itself.

No such luck.

And the football team didn't have much luck over the weekend, either. My dad was upset because, for the first time in thirty-six games, the Westerville Wildcats lost.

As in, didn't win.

Final score: 20–17 in overtime.

My mom said the cheerleaders had tears streaming down their faces, the moms were wailing about an unfair penalty call, and the dads were grumbling about a lost national ranking. She was like, “I know football is entertaining, but these people were practically creating a vortex of negative energy with their disappointment. It was almost irresponsible.”

I think I'm glad she never joined the Booster Club.

As I walked into school on Monday, the negative energy of the lost football game around me, I felt a hand on my shoulder. Slade.

“What are you doing here?” I hissed, trying to walk away.

“The rumors are true. There are scrolls on Inis Mor. You must come,” Slade said.

“What do they say? Why didn't you just look at them yourself?” I said quickly.

Slade shook his head. “They can only be read by people who walk 'tween. Those who connect the Créatúir and the human world.” His long fingers grasped my wrist and he twisted my arm around to look at my
triskele
birthmark, which glimmered slightly with his touch. “You have to come.”

I noticed that Alex was over at his locker. “I'll talk to you later. After school,” I whispered to Slade. The last thing I wanted was for Alex to see me with Slade and have to answer a whole 'nother batch of questions about my sister's “boyfriend.”

“Hey!” I said as I walked over to him.

Dark purple circles rested under his eyes and his cheeks were long and drawn, his forehead creased. His beautiful summer tan had faded, and his knuckles had deep creases in them from playing so much football. He looked about ten years older than he had on Friday.

I stiffened my body as I approached. I wanted to rush up to him, to ask him what had been drilling into my mind all week—if he
knew
why the construction problems had suddenly gone away, if he knew that his dad had teamed up with Melissa. If he knew about the Créatúir.

If he knew that I might disappear.

But I just said, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I guess,” he said. He leaned back against the locker and closed his eyes. He looked so sad, so lost, that I wanted to throw my arms around him.

“I'm sorry about the game,” I said quietly. I leaned next to him, looking up with a mixture of regret and sadness. I studied his face and noticed he still had a little bit of toothpaste in the corner of his mouth.

“Thanks. Be glad you weren't there. We played awful. Coach nearly killed us after the game. We basically had to practice all weekend after that.” His tone was low and flat. He opened his blue eyes and looked down at me. “Feeling better?” His voice held so much concern and emotion, I desperately wanted to remember who he was—just Alex.

“Yeah, I guess,” I said, resting my head against the cool metal of my locker.

“Oh, listen, I wanted—” he started to say, then he stopped, his gaze following a group of people walking down the hallway. One was the Hideous Sweatshirt Boy who Ben had joked around with by the vending machines on my first day.

“Freak,” he mumbled under his breath.

Instantly, the moment between us was shattered. And with that one syllable, something inside me began to hurt.

Hurt because I wondered if he would call me a freak if he knew even half the story. Hurt because I'd called myself that so many times, berating myself silently while trying to fit in. Hurt because I was still trying to give him the benefit of the doubt about the construction project, but I wasn't sure if he would do the same for me. Hurt because I realized Alex probably would never want anything other than Normal Leah.

“You excited about Homecoming?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yeah. I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to do, but yeah, it sounds like fun. The dance is a big deal, right?”

“Yeah, it's a big deal,” Alex said, clipping his words and running his hands through his hair. “Speaking of which, make sure that boyfriend of your sister doesn't show up. It wouldn't look good to everyone to have some loser chasing after you, okay? He's not the kind of person you want to be seen with, trust me.”

“The kind of person I want to be seen with? What about my family? You probably think they're all freaks, right?” I jerked my hand away from him.

His shoulders slumped forward as he tried to grab my hand, but I held it away. “No, Leah,” he said. “I didn't mean it like that. It's just kind of weird, because you and your dad are so normal, and your mom and your sisters are … ”

“Freaks,” I said again.

“Yes—no—I mean—” Alex stumbled over his words.

“Nice,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest.

“I didn't mean it like that. Chill out,” he whispered, looking around nervously to see if anyone was listening. His soft face had become hard, as though the time had passed for him to be sorry.

I opened my mouth to say something as Alex's eyes continued to shift around me, nervous that someone would overhear our fight. I quickly closed my mouth and exhaled. I didn't have a response.

There was nothing to say.