The Shadowed Manse (4 page)

Derek must’ve given him one super-nasty concussion. That was the only thing that could explain this.

The angelic girl faced Arthur and spoke. Each syllable of her mesmerizing voice was like the ringing of a clear bell. Unfortunately, most of her words didn’t make it through to him.

“Arthur Primus … at last … Lady Ylliara … Herald of the Aetheria.”

“Um … hello.”

“Cloaking device … broken … fulfill your destiny … become … Multiversal Paladin.”

“You want me to become a … what?”

Her eyes flared like miniature supernovas. “You … not know?”

“I don't have a clue what you're talking about,” Arthur replied. “And your signal is weak.”

“Trans-Multiversal projection … outside Manse … vast amount of energy … quite …”

This was all absolutely insane, and Derek still wasn't moving. This couldn't be actually happening. It just couldn't.

“Are — are you real?” he asked, timidly.

“Of course. Manse … on its way … first you … answer the Call.”

“The Call?”

“Everyone … choice. You could … but … doom your universe and mine.”

“You need me to agree to become a … whatever it was you said. Is that it?”

“Yes,” she said, with a hint of desperation in her voice. “No others left.”

Regardless of how nonsensical this seemed, in his gut it felt real, more real than anything else in his life. And he knew — knew in his bones — that if he agreed to what she was asking, his whole life would change. A sudden panic gripped him … but that was what he wanted, wasn't it? A purpose. A meaning to his life.

Maybe this was what he was missing.

Arthur shook his head.
Keep your wits. Don't fall into the rabbit hole. You're just dazed. Probably knocked unconscious and dreaming.

Ylliara stared at him with a pleading expression that tugged her lips into a frown. “Please … desperately need … no others left …”

Well, what could it hurt to go along with a hallucination?

“Okay, sure. I'll become the next … Multiversal Paladin.”

“You have … wisely … find the Manse.”

“The Manse?”

“Nearby … probably a cottage … only a few … away. Be careful … broken device … enemy can find … Interfacer assassins … warlocks … shades … every world … if they —”

Ylliara jerked her head up.

“Shades … already found … run … Arthur.”

“What?” he asked her.

“RUN NOW!”

Ylliara vanished. Derek shook his head and blinked his eyes, as if he had been in a trance. He stepped awkwardly toward Arthur, but then stopped and squawked out something unintelligible as he stared off to his right.

Scrambling to his feet, Arthur followed Derek's gaze … and then understood his fear.

Shadow men! Five ahead and six more to the left — as dark as starless night and shaped like skinny men with absurdly long necks, arms, and legs — but without eyes or clothes or faces. They had no features at all! Then Arthur began to feel them, or rather, he felt … nothing … complete emptiness, as if all the emotions he had ever felt, from anger to laughter, had drained away, while all the colors of the world faded.

The woods fell silent and turned winter-cold.

Arthur shook his head and let the breath that was caught in his lungs out with a
whoosh
. The daze cleared as he began to breathe deeply. He still felt the shades’ presence, but not nearly as intensely. Arthur knew now, without doubt, that they were real. Not a prank, not a hallucination — real.

Derek had fallen under their spell, too. Arthur reached out and touched his shoulder. Startled, Derek nearly jumped. The spell on him was broken now.

“What — what are those things?”

“Shadow men,” Arthur responded. “Shades. Demons maybe. I dunno.”

Derek shuddered. “Do you feel them? The way —”

“Yeah, I feel it.”

The shades headed toward them.

Arthur glanced around. Behind them, the ground sloped down towards the hollow. It was rough, rocky terrain with lots of briars and underbrush, but he didn't see any shadow men in that direction.

“This way! RUN!”

Arthur and Derek plunged into the depths of the forest, leapt over stumps, twisted through vines and briars, ducked under low-hanging limbs, and splashed through streamlets and puddles. But every time they glanced back, the shades were there, giving chase. Which was weird, because the shades moved languidly, as if they were only jogging. However, they slid over and around obstacles like water flowing over rocks. Nothing actually got in their way; their speed never changed. Arthur and Derek just couldn’t shake them. Eventually, they were going to tire out, and Arthur had a feeling the shades would never quit coming.

Arthur leapt over a fallen tree, stumbled out of control as he dodged a big, jagged rock on the other side, and continued on. Derek was a step behind him, right on his heels until —

“OOF!” Derek sputtered, followed by a crash — then a cry of pain.

Arthur ran a few more steps before he realized Derek hadn’t gotten up and wasn't following anymore. He turned back. Derek was clutching his leg and rolling around on the ground just beyond the fallen tree. He had struck the rock Arthur had narrowly dodged.

The shadow men closed in.

Even if Arthur could reach Derek in time, he wasn't certain how he'd get him away. Derek wasn't going to be running, or walking, anywhere. His foot was twisted out at a sharp, unnatural angle; his ankle had snapped.

Derek crawled toward Arthur, desperately glancing back at the shades. He stopped when he saw them coming over the fallen tree. Arthur was still heading toward him; he would get there a moment before the shades.

Grimacing in pain, Derek shook his head. “Go!”

Arthur hesitated. His eyes met Derek’s. Arthur wanted to say, “I'm sorry.”

There was no time.

Arthur launched into a sprint. He didn't head down into the hollow as before, but around its edge and up along a slight hill. He hoped he could work his way around the shades and get back up to the houses on the cul-de-sac. He had to get help.

Derek screamed — one sharp burst that cut off suddenly — then there was nothing but silence.

Chapter Four

A Girl, Twelve Shades, and a Cottage

Arthur ducked under low-hanging limbs and tore through vines. Thorns ripped through his shirt and into his skin, adding to the dozens of tiny cuts from the shattered glass door. He ran faster than he had ever run before — so fast he finally outpaced the shadow men tailing him. But at that pace, he soon lost track of exactly where he was.

Arthur burst from the woods into a narrow clearing that overlooked the hollow. A familiar, black-haired girl stood at the edge of the steep slope that led down toward a stream in the hollow’s basin.

Morgan Apple was staring at her phone, with her back turned to him and a pair of designer headphones clamped over her ears. She couldn’t see or hear him thundering through the woods and heading straight toward her.

Out of control and sprinting full-tilt, Arthur didn’t have enough time to stop or change course. All he could manage was to slow down a little.

“Look out!”

That got her attention — but it was too late. She turned around and shrieked as Arthur crashed into her. Together they tumbled down the slope, banged over rocks and tree limbs, and skidded through leaves and debris. Finally, they slid to a stop in a shallow puddle of mud just short of the stream.

Arthur sat up with a groan, and then fell back and rolled around as a sharp pain spiked through his chest. At first, he thought he’d cracked a rib, but no. A piece of the broken plate over his heart had been jammed back into his ribs, and now the wound was bleeding again.

Morgan pulled herself up. Her clothes — even on a Sunday she was wearing the same monochrome school uniform — were mud-splattered, and one sleeve was torn and bloodstained. A trickle of blood seeped from a scratch on her cheek. Nearby lay a busted pair of headphones and her iPhone — the sunlight glittering off its face revealing a spidery web of cracks.

Her fierce storm-blue eyes were wide with shock … until they glanced up and focused on him — sparked with recognition — then narrowed in anger.

Oh crap.

Tears streamed from her eyes as she leapt to her feet and slapped him. “YOU JERK!”

She reared back — he scooted away — she pursued. She attacked again. He threw his hands up to block, and she slapped him on the arm.

“Ow!”

Her slap wasn’t that hard, but his arms were already bruised and cut up.

She tensed up and was about to attack again.

“Stop it, Morgan!”

She made her hands into fists and held them at her side. She stared at him, fuming — a cobra ready to strike.

He stood and took a step back. “Morgan, I’m really sorry.” He glanced at the ridge above — no sign of the shades … yet. “I didn’t mean to run into you.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Morgan snapped. She rifled through her muddy backpack, muttering something about magnesium roll-cages and foam padding.

“Do you really think I wanted to charge off that bluff?” he said.

She shrugged. “I dunno. You are a —”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm a moron. You hate me, blah blah … I’ve got it. We don't have time for this. We can’t stay here. We
have
to leave.” 

She didn't budge. With a stunned expression, she stammered, “I — I don't hate you, Arthur.
Why
would you think that?”

“You really have to ask that?”

“Arthur, I sit beside you in every class.”

“Yeah, what's up with that? Who sits beside someone they hate?”

“No one, you idiot.”

“Then why do you sit beside me?”

“Because we're friends … duh.”

“Since when?!”

“Since you told me we had a lot in common, being freaks and all.”

“Morgan, that was last year!”

“I’m aware of that.”

“You told me I was a moron and … and that's about it.”

“I started sitting beside you in class after that. Don’t you remember? And across the table at lunch …”

“You've never said a word to me at lunch.” She shrugged in response. “If you think that makes us friends, then … then you
really
need to work on your social skills.”

“I do,” she said gravely. “Two hours, every Thursday afternoon. It’s the worst.”

“Wait, what?! No, don't answer. We don't have time for you to explain it.”

Morgan flipped open her laptop and sighed with relief. “Not a total loss. Guess I’ll let you live.” She returned it to the backpack. “Why are you in such a hurry? And why were you running like an idiot?”

He glanced up — still no sign of the shades. Had they lost the trail? He doubted it. They had been right behind him. What was taking them so long?

“Look, you’re not going to believe me …”

“Yeah, I probably won’t,” Morgan responded.

“But there are these … shadow men … demons, I guess. They're chasing me and … look, we've
got
to get out of here. I’m certain they’ll be back any minute. I can explain it all later.”

Morgan snorted. “Demons? Okay, short bus. Sure thing.”

“Hey!” he retorted. He struggled for a comeback … but gave up. And then he realized something remarkable: Morgan had struck him, and all he’d done was defend himself calmly — without going crazy-mad-angry like normal … without striking back. This had never happened to him before. Was it because she was a girl?

She examined the cut on her arm and shrugged. Then she really, finally looked at him. “Ugh, Arthur, you’re covered in blood.” She cocked her head to the side and crinkled her face into a worried frown. “You know, you’re really messed up.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“Are you okay?”

He nodded. “Nothing’s broken. Just a bunch of little cuts and scrapes.” He didn’t mention the broken plate that went over his heart. That would just lead to questions he couldn’t answer. “Hurts like crazy all over, though.”

“You didn’t get all those injuries in that tumble.” He shook his head. “What happened?”

“Really, there’s no time to explain. We have to go. You need to trust —”

His eyes locked onto the ridge. The nightmare wasn’t over. He pointed up at the slope. Eleven shades stood in a line at the top. The setting sun's light was full against them, and yet they were still shadows.

“What … what are those?” she asked in horror.

“I don't know, but like I said, they’re after me, and we've got to run.”

“This can't be real,” she muttered, staring up at the shadow men. “This has to be a trick.”