The Shadow Prince (37 page)

Singing a song on a real live rock album? One that is almost guaranteed to go platinum? The idea both thrills me and terrifies me at the same time. But does Joe really want
me
on his album, or is this just another one of those promises he uses to make himself feel better?

If it were anyone else asking, I’d say yes in a heartbeat.

I think about what Lexie said about my being an idiot for not wanting Joe’s help. And then what Haden said about how I
should give him another chance at being my father while I still have the opportunity.

“Okay,” I say, and the band cheers.

Later that night, as we say good-bye to everyone, Bobby’s wife, Elle, takes both Joe and me by the hand. “You’re a lucky man, Joe,” she says. “I can only hope our little Samara grows up to be like Daphne. She’s absolutely perfect.”

Joe is quiet the whole way home after that. I hope he hasn’t decided that he’s made a big mistake.

The day after Thanksgiving is the big Light-up Olympus Festival to celebrate the turning on of holiday lights in Olympus Hills. Which also means it’s the day of the big music showcase that Haden and I have been preparing for.

To be honest, I’ve pretty much back-burnered Tobin’s investigation, until I get an urgent SOS. Meet me at the docks in twenty text from him only an hour and a half before the festival is about to begin. I finish fixing my hair and put on the new outfit that Joe let me pick out from Bloomingdale’s and head to the lake on my bike to meet him.

I pace the floating dock, the wood creaking under my steps, the whole structure rocking slightly under me. Fifteen minutes go by. Several families and kids from my school pass me on the lake trail, making their way to Olympus Row, where the festival is about to begin.

I wait a few more minutes, and I am about to take my bike and leave, when Tobin finally jogs down the dock, making it rock even more.

“Sorry,” he says. “My mom was in a snit over the PA system setup for the showcase. She thinks I should be able to fix any mechanical problem—she forgets I’m not my brother.”

“You had me worried,” I say, feeling a bit unsteady on the water. “What’s going on?”

“I found it,” Tobin says, rubbing under his eyes. He looks like he’s barely slept in a week. “Ms. Wells finally let me have access to the old yearbooks. I’ve been poring through them for the last couple of nights. I found what I was looking for.” He pulls out his phone and opens the memo app. He holds it up, showing me a list of dates. “These are all the years someone with the last name of Lord attended the school. Do they look familiar?”

I nod.

They’re all the same years as the ones those girls disappeared.

“But what does that even mean?” I ask. “Yeah, it’s an eerie coincidence. But that’s still all it is.”

“Coincidence? This is damning evidence. We can use this to find Abbie. I even have the full name and picture of the Lord guy who was friends with her.” He shows me a grainy photo of a photo of a guy who bears a vague family resemblance to Haden. “It proves that Haden—”

“What? That Haden comes from a long line of serial killers? That’s insane.”

“Exactly!”

“I know Haden,” I say. “Yeah, he’s kind of different and his family sounds a bit off, but he’s not some lunatic in training. He’s
nice
.”

“Ted Bundy was nice.”

“Stop it, Tobin. These are serious accusations.”

“I know. Which is why you shouldn’t see him anymore.”

“Anymore? Tobin, I’m going onstage with him”—I check my watch—“in twenty minutes. You’re the one who challenged him to this. I’m not going to just cancel on him.”

“He’s up to no good. He’s dangerous.”

“Dangerous? What’s he going to do to me in a large group of people? I’ve been alone with him several times in the last two months. If he were going to do something to me, he would have done it then. And you know what? Instead of hurting me, he’s protected me
twice
now from whatever that thing out there is that’s been attacking people.”

“You’re starting to like him, aren’t you?” Tobin asks, like it’s an accusation.

“This is ridiculous,” I say. “I don’t have to answer that.”

“You’re being ridiculous!” Tobin practically drops his phone in the lake as he gestures at me as if he thinks I’m acting unhinged. “I’ve got proof your boyfriend is—”

“He’s
not
my boyfriend.”

“But you like him, don’t you?”

“I … I don’t know.”

“You’ve gotten too close, Daphne. You’re letting your feelings for him cloud your judgment.”

I throw my hands up. “I don’t have time for this.” I storm up the dock and grab my bike.

Tobin follows me. “I’m not saying he’s a killer. That’s the thing—I know Abbie is still alive. I know she’s out there somewhere. I can feel it, Daphne. I can feel that Haden can lead me to her.”

“I hope we find your sister. I really do. I just think you’re looking in the wrong place.” I get on my bike.

“Don’t go, please.”

“I’ll see you at the festival, Tobin.” I give him a smile so he knows we’re still friends. “Good luck with your number.”

I set off for the festival, leaving him to follow behind on foot.
I can’t quite explain why I’d gotten so defensive of Haden. I just can’t believe he’s a bad person. Maybe it’s because of what he told me about holding his mother when she died. Maybe it’s because he’s the one who encouraged me to open up to Joe, and I’d actually gotten a positive result out of it. Maybe it’s because I enjoy singing with him so much—his voice complements mine so well. Or maybe it’s because Tobin might be right.

Despite my better judgment and despite my utter lack of time for a relationship, when it comes to the idea of my starting to like Haden … All signs point toward yes.

Crap balls
.

chapter forty-three

I was born to a race of warriors. My training began when I was six years of age. I have fought and bested Underlords who are twice my size. I have killed a hydra with my bare hands. Placed my head on the altar and left myself to my father’s wrath or mercy. I have traveled through Persephone’s Gate into a realm unknown to me. But I have never experienced fear quite like the anticipation I feel: knowing that in mere minutes, I am expected to sing with Daphne in front of the entire town.

I’m pressing hard on my knee to stop my leg from shaking, and in turn, the row of chairs beside me, when Daphne sits down next to me. I breathe out a small sigh. I’d almost been afraid that she wasn’t coming.

“Want one?” she says, offering me an orangish, discuslike thing. It’s speckled with brown spots. “Might help calm your nerves.”

“What is it?” I try not to wrinkle my nose at her offering.

“It’s a pumpkin chocolate-chip cookie, dork.” She makes a teasing face at me. “You eat it.”

She drops the said cookie into my hands. It’s soft to the touch, yet firm. “You made a pumpkin into
this
?” I sniff it. It smells too sweet to be a squash.

She smirks. “Believe it or not.”

I start to take a tentative bite.

“And, no,
I
didn’t make it. Lexie and her Sopranos just gave me a whole box of them from Olympus Hills Bakery.”

I pull the cookie away from my mouth and cast it onto the table in front of us. “Are you sure they’re not poisoned?”

She smirks again, thinking I’m joking. “Good point.” She takes a cookie out of the box and takes a bite out of it anyway. I watch, horror-stricken, waiting for any signs of a toxic reaction.

“Mmm,” she says, and takes a second bite. “Lexie and I have reached an understanding.” She looks up as Lexie, Bridgette, and a couple of the other Sopranos call out their wishes of good luck to us. They’re manning something called a Check Your Heart booth as part of the festival. Signs posted around their booth announce free cholesterol tests and blood pressure screening. There’s a long line at the booth. I’m not surprised. With there now having been seven “heart attack” victims—three of which were fatal—in the last few weeks, I’m sure the humans are getting anxious about their well-being. The school principal even announced that they’re banning something called trans fats from the cafeteria, indefinitely.

If they had any idea of what is really causing the attacks, I doubt they’d be gathering out in the open en masse like this. They’d all be at home with their doors and windows locked tight—not that it would do them much good.

Watching the crowd mill about the festival makes my nerves bristle more. This place could be a feeding frenzy for a Keres. I can only hope it isn’t hungry tonight.

Brim and I have gone hunting for the Keres every night for the last two weeks without much luck. Every scent trail has led to either a dead end or another hapless victim. How it manages
to keep eluding me, I don’t know. If I didn’t know that Keres are mindless beasts, I’d almost call this one cunning.

The question that keeps nagging at me is what am I even supposed to do when I find it? How do you attack something that has no form? How do you stop something you cannot touch?

How do you kill a shadow?

I pull out my phone and send a quick text to Dax, telling him that I want him to patrol the perimeter of the festival. I wait for a response but none comes. Dax is supposed to be here somewhere, but I haven’t seen him all day. I’ve barely seen him at all in the last two weeks.

I try Garrick next, sending an order to get his ass to the festival to help with patrols, but that message goes unanswered also. Ever since he admitted knowing the truth about my involvement in his banishment, he’s become more and more obstinate to my commands. Like he knows that I know if I push him too far, he’ll go squealing to Dax about what I did. He’s probably glued to that stupid Xbox device he brought home a couple of days ago.

My “entourage” has been anything but attentive as of late.

“Oh. It’s starting,” Daphne says, pulling me out of my frustrated reverie. She squeezes my arm with happy excitement.

How can she be so confident?

We watch as the mayor walks out on the temporary stage that has been erected for the night’s entertainment in the middle of Olympus Row. Each end of the street has been blocked off to make the festival a pedestrian event. The crowd quiets as Mayor Winters announces the lineup for the entertainment. Tobin will perform first, then Daphne and I, followed by a group number by Lexie and the Sopranos, and then a few more students—but I am too distracted to catch their names. Distracted by the look of
disappointment that crosses Daphne’s face as she scans the people in the crowd.

I think I know whom she wishes to see.

“He’ll come.”

“You don’t know that.” She gives me a weak smile. “Things have been going well between us. We eat breakfast together every morning and we go to school together.…”

I nod. Joe had been visiting music class each morning, running through songs and assigning some of the parts. I’d even seen him bring Daphne lunch on a couple of days.

“I just thought he might come tonight.” She washes down the last of her cookie with a swig of water from a bottle. “But I guess that’s what I get for hoping on Joe,” she mumbles to herself.

“It’s not our turn yet. There’s still time. He’ll come.” I hope for her sake that I’m right.

“Funny,” she says. “Just a couple of weeks ago, I wouldn’t have cared if he never heard me sing again.”

Tobin takes the stage, to much applause from the audience. Surprisingly, Daphne doesn’t light up as she usually does when she sees him. Almost like there’s a fresh strain between them. Tobin performs a rocked-out version of one of the older songs in my new music collection. He starts out kind of stiff, like something is agitating him, but once he gets into it, I would be lying if I didn’t admit that he’s good. The audience seems to agree, clapping enthusiastically when he finishes.

I take the pumpkin cookie—poisoned or not—and shove it in my mouth. (Anything to help stop my urge to run and hide.) Surprisingly, it’s the first thing I’ve eaten in the mortal world that doesn’t make me want to gag. Actually, I could eat about ten more. I eye the box sitting next to Daphne.

She looks at me and smiles in the strangest way.

“What?”

“You’ve got chocolate on your mouth.” She reaches out and brushes her fingers over my lips. “There,” she says. “That’s better,” and she absentmindedly sucks the chocolate from the tip of her finger.

If it were possible for an Underlord to spontaneously combust, it could have happened at this moment.

“Come on. We’re up,” Daphne says, taking my hand.

My mouth runs dry and I regret having eaten the cookie. I down half a water bottle as she leads me to the stage.

Her friend Iris joins us there. Daphne asked her to play the violin in the background, while Daphne is on the piano, and I am the guitarist. Once we’d started rehearsing the song, and I discovered that my voice is supposed to carry the bulk of the lyrics—with Daphne joining in, complementing mine in certain parts—I wasn’t sure I could pull this off.

“You can do this,” Daphne had said after a few failed attempts during rehearsal. “Your voice is perfect for the song and your playing is technically spot-on. You just need to open yourself up to the emotion of it all. Let the words fall through you—like the song says.”