Shadow's Edge (12 page)

Sixte
e
n

I traced my finger over the spiral glyph sketch, winding
it around and
around. In contrast to my triskele birthmark, the spirals had
a cross running through them.
It was the symbo
l for the Fomoriian demons, and
Folkloric Traditions
had four pages of illustrations of their power in battle and their grotesque methods for killing enemies. The stuff of nightmares, really.

Ben was right; the archive room at Seneca College had a bunch of additional folkloric texts. But most of them got Créatúir history wrong, or else seemed to have a warped version—it was like one long, historical game of telephone where the message is sort of right but the details are all messed up.

My brain whispered that the only source where I could be certain the facts were correct was
The Grimoire of Annwn
. This reminded me of Oran's invitation to visit Inis Mor … his assertion that I could find answers there. But this thought was quickly replaced by the memory of Slade's threat against my sisters.
How can I trust any of them? They could lure me to their world and keep me there forever. For all I know, Slade is responsible for Fiona's death.

I rested my head on the cool wooden table that smelled like dust and old paper. I was nowhere closer to solving the mystery than I was when I heard the news. I was letting everyone down—Fiona, the Light, the Dark. Not to mention the promise I'd made to myself to maintain a normal life. I was literally being pulled in two directions, with no way to stop.

I sighed and turned another page. In the center of the book was an elaborate woodcut drawing of a Fomoriian demon in green ink. The demon had diamond pupils and long black hair and stood atop a group of Créatúir, squeezing them underneath his long claws and collecting their magic with a long wooden straw, like an anteater sucking up bugs.

“Library's closing.” The archive librarian made me jump and quickly shut the book. I nodded, shoved my notebook into my bag, and thanked her for her help. I walked out of the library and into the crisp October night.

Although I still wanted to summon more Créatúir witnesses and research a few more texts, this much I knew was true: I was running out of places to look in my own world.

S
e
v
e
nte
e
n

You even listening to me?” I heard Alex say.

“What? Oh, sorry. I was totally spaced out,” I said,
shaking my head. It was so clogged with worry about Slade, fears about not being able to solve Fiona's murder, and stress about my upcoming English paper that it was becoming harder and harder to remain in the present.

“Are you okay? I asked if you care that I need to stop by my dad's work on the way home, to drop something off.” Alex leaned against the locker next to me and closed his eyes. His normally tanned complexion looked sallow and there were bluish bags around his eyes.

“No, that's fine.” I pulled my math book out of my locker, threw it into my bookbag, and kicked my locker shut. “You look kind of tired,” I said. I touched his arm lightly and leaned against the locker next to him. I wanted him to move toward me, to feel his shirt against my hand, but he remained motionless.

“I'm fine. Practice has been killing me lately. I'm so glad I have today off.” His eyes were still closed. He looked like a stone statue, his features perfect and angelic. Like a marble god—a really tanned and hot one.

“I know,” I said. “But I'm sure—”

Brooke and Caroline had appeared in front of us.

“Hey guys,” I said quickly.

Alex snapped his eyes open and straightened up.

“Hey.”

Brooke twisted a long strand of blond hair around her index finger. “Everything okay?”

“Fine. Good.” I shifted my bookbag over my shoulder and looked at Alex. His eyes were closed again.

“So, Leah … ” Caroline began, and Alex snored loudly.

I looked over at Alex and elbowed him slightly. He straightened up again quickly. “What did I miss?” he asked breathily.

“Narcolepsy?” Caroline laughed, shifting her backpack on her shoulder.

“Something like that.” Alex rubbed his chin. He turned to me. “We should run.”

We waved to Caroline and Brooke and started walking toward the door. We'd made it halfway there when I heard my name. I looked up and saw Ben passing us in the hallway. He gave me a quick nod and a wave.

I grunted a little and quickly walked past.

Alex and I didn't speak much on the way to his father's work. His exhaustion made his brain total mush; I didn't have anything to say, either.

“Stay in the car, okay?” He pulled through the gate of a large construction site. “It's kind of dangerous and I don't want you to get hurt.” A large banner hanging over the entrance to the construction zone read,
Future Home of the Wildcats
.

“Looks pretty cool, right?” Alex said as we drove through the gravel lot.

“Yeah.” I looked out the window, up at the looming concrete in front of me. Huge yellow cranes and backhoes were everywhere, squealing and gnashing the soft earth. A few white trailers dotted the dirt landscape and people seemed to be milling around everywhere. A group of men wearing hard hats and business suits, one of whom I recognized as Alex's dad, Steven, stood in a circle, squinting over blueprints. They were pointing toward a group of hawthorn bushes that grew in a circular shape near the center of the site. They gave some sort of signal, and I saw one of the construction workers power up a chain saw and head for the bushes.

“This'll only take a second. I'll be right back.” Alex leaned over and kissed me, his hand protectively holding my upper arm. He got out of the car and walked over to the group and handed his dad a leather folder. I couldn't hear what they were saying over the incessant buzz of the chain saw, but I saw Alex gesture wildly to the men and they all laughed.

I looked back at the hawthorn bushes. As the construction worker lowered the chain saw to the branches, a white hot jolt flashed across my eyes.

Screeches loud enough to cause pain.

Furiously beating wings.

Nails reaching out to scratch.

Teeth bared to bite.

One by one, as the branches fell to the ground, ethereal sparks that only I could see shot across the skyline.

“A
sceach
,
” I whispered as I gripped the dashboard in front of me. “They're cutting into a
sceach.
They're reaching into the Other Realm.”

A sceach … a hawthorn grove sacred to the Créatúir, both Light and Dark. A place where the veil that separates our worlds is too thin. Any damage done to the Earth, in a sceach, reaches through into the Other Realm, affecting that world like a cancer. It's a stab through the delicate energy that separates mortals and Créatúir.

It had happened before, in other places. With immediate consequences.

I waited. Waited for the skies to open up and a funnel cloud to appear. For torrential rain to start pouring down, for the power tools to suddenly stop working, for one of the workers to suddenly drop dead.

But … nothing. The work continued, despite the ethereal pain and screams that only I heard.

Why? Why aren't the Créatúir retaliating?

I looked over at Alex, who waved goodbye to his dad and started back to the car. He seemed to be approaching me in slow motion, and an unwelcome realization fell over me.

Something was holding them back. Something strong enough to stop Light and Dark forces. Something not Créatúir.

Demons
,
the voice in my head whispered.
Fomoriians.

I looked around and saw that most of the sceach had been cleared already, with no signs of struggle. Was a mere whiff of demon magic really enough to cripple Créatúir? Perhaps it was like a drop of mercury polluting an entire ocean … it might not kill the fish, but it certainly would slow them down.

As Alex reached the car and grabbed the door handle, his dad came jogging over. Alex sat down next to me, and his dad bent over to peer in my window.

“Hi Leah, how are you?” he said, leaning into the car. He smelled like asphalt and gravel. He extended his giant hand through the window. My hand shaking and clammy, I shook his hand, the chain saw still buzzing over the background.

“I'm okay,” I whispered.

He said something else that I couldn't hear, and he pointed to my neck.

“What?” I yelled, trying to block out the many ethereal hands that were now brushing against me, asking for my help.

Alex laughed. “He said, ‘I thought Alex gave you back your necklace.' ”

The blood rushed to my ears as I felt my chest constrict. My body trembling, I stared at Alex's smiling face. I turned back to Steven, whose hulking forearms still hung on the passenger side of the car, and he smiled at me. My head snapped back and forth between the two of them, searching their faces for … something.

“Uh—I—not—know,” I said.

He patted me on the shoulder and said, “Have a good evening.” He straightened up and walked back over to the group of men.

My hands vibrating, I pulled my bookbag into my lap and clutched it tightly.

“You okay?” Alex asked as we pulled out of the construction site.

“Fine. Great,” I said, the bile rising in my throat. “Alex, what were those problems people talk about? You know, when the construction first started?”

“Oh, those,” Alex said with a shrug. He stopped at a red light and looked at me. “Mechanical or something.” He leaned forward to turn on the radio.

“What happened?” I whispered.

“They were taken care of.” He stopped fiddling with the radio and glanced back at me. His brows furrowed and he leaned toward me, his eyes soft. “What's wrong? You're shaking.”

“I'm okay. Just cold or something.” I gripped my backpack and exhaled slowly.

“Well, here.” He put his hand on my knee and rubbed it. “Better?” he asked after a moment.

The warm touch of his arm against mine, his hand on my leg, lowered my blood pressure. But it did nothing
to calm the thoughts smashing together in my head. Had I opened my mouth, I surely would've asked him what
he knew.

If
he knew. If he knew anything.

But I kept my lips pursed tight and put my hand
over his.

Ei
g
hte
e
n

S
he seemed to be looking for you in her final days.”

I tried to concentrate on my math homework, but the words were running through my head like a stock-market ticker. I squinted at the page and then leaned back on my bed. My lower back sunk into the pillows as I lifted my math book up and propped it against my bent knees.

“She missed you greatly.”

I screwed my eyes shut and brought my hands up to my forehead. I felt the familiar tingling of hot tears behind my eyelids. I pressed my fists into my eye sockets, willing them to stop the waterworks.

“The Dark killed her, Leah.”

I released my fists and opened my hands, burying my face in them as tears began to flow from the empty space between my heart and my head.

I'd summoned Nuala, a Light Créatúir, after getting home from school, to ask her for information about Fiona's death and see if she knew anything about the
sceach situation.
She'd come to me in the garden, silent, her white robes spotted with red. As she lowered her mask, I saw the red rivers falling from her clear ivory eyes, tears of sadness and pain. Her long white hair was tangled around her shoulders, matted with tears.

She was crying for Fiona, like she cries for every soul that departs to the Beyond. As a banshee, Nuala stays with families after they lose a loved one, crying out in pain with them. Tears of blood and pain fall from her eyes permanently; it's her burden to feel loss and sadness.

Yet despite this aura of sadness, Nuala is also usually surrounded by a soft white light said to represent hope. But her glow wasn't there this time. Just pain.

I'd sat, curled up, on a slate rock and listened to her account of Fiona's death. The intense sadness that I hadn't quite allowed myself to feel before settled into my bones.

“Shaman, there is something else you must know,” Nuala added. “One of the
sceachs
—”

I nodded and held my hand up. “I know, I saw it. I was there. What's happening?”

“Some of my kin tried to retaliate for the assault and reclaim the sceach
,” Nuala told me.
“But after a few forays, their efforts were for naught. They said it was like an unseen force was holding them back—as if an invisible barrier had arisen between our worlds. A force, strong and cold.” Nuala's voice caught. “We fear it is somehow related to Fiona's death. We fear it is—”

“Fomoriians,” I said.

“Dark Créatúir,” Nuala finished, at the same time. Her eyes crinkled at my statement, blood still spilling from them in crooked trails. “Fomoriians? They were defeated many centuries ago. No, it is a twisted plot of the Dark to gain control of Tara.”

I clasped my hands in my lap and sighed. “But why would they want to allow the destruction of a
sceach?
That doesn't make any sense. And
how
would they do this, anyway?”

“The how is not for me to know. It is for you to find out. Do not suggest it is the Fomoriians again—Queen Anya would not approve of this frivolous discussion. Discomfort is rising among the Light beings, and any word that the Shaman is exploring worthless possibilities would surely cause further distress.” Nuala's voice had become flat and hard. “We know the truth, and the plotting of the Dark will not come to fruition.”

I'd nodded and remained silent. Nuala might be
a Light being, but that didn't stop her temper from flaring up.

After talking with Nuala, I'd summoned Myrddin, the aging Dark Créatúir who, I'd heard, was a kind of historian of Inis Mor. A dark elf, his deep purple skin and white hair had illuminated the lawn with an uncomfortable presence. His two huge housefly eyes, mirrored with endless pixels like a disco ball, stared at me.

“Fomoriians,” he began, his voice only barely above a cracked whisper, a hiss into the wind. “They battled with our kind many, many generations ago—before we split into Light and Dark. Their magic, poisonous to all Créatúir, nearly extinguished us before we vanquished them.” He coughed, a dry wispy cough which turned into a buzzing swarm of gnats that scampered off into the grass.

I'd shifted and glanced around quickly to make sure no one was around. I didn't want Myrddin to disappear without giving up the goods.

“Do you think they're back? I mean, do you think it's them?” I whispered to him.

Myrddin's eyes glinted again, affirming my statement.

“So, how do we defeat the Fomoriians again?” I asked.

“The demons can be vanquished by the Four Treasures: the Stone of Fal, the Sword of Nuada, the Spear of Destiny, and Dagda's Cauldron,” Myrddin murmured.

“Where are the Four Treasures now? What happened to them?” I leaned toward him.

“Lost,” he said, and coughed again. “Unknown.
Legend says they can be found again, but does not tell
us how.”

I sighed and straightened up. “Well—” I started to say, but Myrddin cackled loudly. “What?”

“You will find them for us. You. A mortal. A Créatúir Shaman. You … ” Myrddin's cackling had turned into intense coughing as he disappeared into the dusk.

In the safety of my bedroom, I buried my face further into my hands.

How am I supposed to solve this? I'm only sixteen,
for chrissakes!

“I thought Alex gave you that necklace back,”
Alex's dad's voice echoed in my head.

What did he mean by that? Anything? Or am I just so stressed out that I'm questioning everything?

And Alex. He's the only person I've got right now. But what if—no. Don't even entertain that idea. He's great.

This was never supposed to be my job. And I have no idea why they want me to do it.

I can't do it. I'll just tell them to find someone else.

Yet despite my resolve to bow out of the investigation, I knew Slade's threat was real. And Rhea, despite all of her annoying behaviors and qualities, was my sister.

“Rhea,” I whispered to myself.

Go.

I sprung up out of bed and wrenched open my bedroom door. “Rhea?” I called down the hallway.

No answer.

I walked down the hallway, the plush carpeting squishing against my bare feet. “Rhea?” I said again.

Still silence.

What if he's already taken her?

“RHEA!” I screamed as I ran through the house.

“What?” I heard her call from the family room.

I tore into the room and found her and Gia lying in front of the television, watching a reality show and doing magazine quizzes.

“This is so much better than last season,” I heard Rhea say. I glanced at the television and had no clue what show it was.

Ack. Must've premiered while I was trapped in the
Other Realm.

“Leah, you can answer this one,” Gia said as she held up the magazine. “Your idea of the perfect date is: (a) a long walk on the beach, (b) a visit to an amusement park, or (c) dinner and dancing.” My youngest sister looked up at me, her eyes wide.

“Try (d) watching her lame boyfriend play football and forcing her sisters to sit in the geek section,” Rhea muttered from the floor. Her eyes flicked to the television. “Snakes. Yuck.” She shuddered as she watched the reality show contestants being covered with reptiles.

I stifled a laugh. We'd learned in history class that Cleopatra was killed by a snake bite. Guess some things truly are ingrained.

“So, why are you running all over the house and screaming my name?” Rhea asked, craning her neck backwards and looking at me upside down.

“Um, nothing. I just wanted to ask you about … ” I glanced at Gia, who'd turned back to her magazine.

“Things.”

Rhea narrowed her eyes at me.

“Okay, Slade,” I said. “I wanted to ask you about Slade. How's that going?” I tried to say this casually, and picked up a strand of hair so I could stare at my split ends.

Rhea turned back to the television and shrugged. “Fine.”

“Er, I know. But I don't think he's the right guy for you. Maybe you should stop seeing him. He just seems so … ” I trailed off as I searched for a phrase better than Scary Dark Shapeshifter Dude Who Will Possibly Kill You But I Cannot Tell You Because Then He Will Definitely Kill You.

Oy.

“Dangerous?” Gia filled in.

I nodded at her. “Kind of.” I turned back to Rhea, who'd started to peel herself off the floor.

“Whatever. You're just jealous because my boyfriend is hot and sexy and yours is some football dork. Speaking of which, what about you and that guy My Ben?” Rhea stretched her arms above her head like a cat and bent backward halfway before coming back up again. “Well?” She folded her arms across her chest.

“He was
so
nice,” Gia said from the floor.

“Nothing. He's my friend,” I said.

“I think you should go out with him, Leah,” Gia said, smiling up at me.

“Ben is just my friend,” I said firmly.

“Not to mention her boyfriend is kind of blah,” Rhea said and rolled her eyes. “He couldn't even get our names right.”

“Neither can Mom half of the time,” I retorted. “Remember what I said about Slade. Think about it.”

“No. You probably just want him for yourself,” she said.

Not a chance.