Page 54
Story: These Fleeting Shadows
“Is she going to be okay?” Desmond demanded.
“We have to get out of here,” Celia said. “It’s completely dark. How did we stay out so long?”
I hardly heard her. I was looking at Bryony, and she was looking at me. My hand tightened over her arm.
“I saw you,” she whispered, and I couldn’t read the look in her eyes.
“What?” I asked, stupefied and feeling foolish.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know that would happen,” she said.
“Let’sgo,” Desmond said. He grabbed his backpack and kicked dirt over the fire. He stamped out the coals, and we booked it away from the lake.
My heart hammered in my chest, and nausea roiled through me again and again. I’d looked into Mary Beaumont’s eyes, and I’d lost myself. It had been like there was no difference between thinkingmeandherandus. Or rather, that there was a difference, but I could slip quietly between them without a ripple.
The shadows were moving, unfurling themselves from the creases in old tree trunks, sliding slickly from the damp hollows beneath the rocks. Nearby, a lithe six-legged beast peeled itself free from the dark hollow of a tree, its eyes burning white.
“I thought you said there weren’t any hounds at Harrow anymore,” I croaked.
“There weren’t,” Bryony said, her hand twisting my sleeve in its anxious grip.
We moved at an uneven lurching pace. The bushes rustled madly to our left. Celia yelped. Then came the rasping sound of nails on tree bark. On the right, and then behind us, and then above, and we started sprinting—
A light flicked on right in front of us, and we skidded to a halt. I threw up a hand to ward off the bright beam, barely able to make out the shape behind it. Something buzzed within me, a vibration in my blood.
“What the hell are you kids doing out here so late?” Roman demanded.
“We lost track of time,” Celia squeaked. “We’re trying to get back. We’re sorry.”
“Just get inside where it’s safe,” Roman rumbled. We traipsed past him. Roman didn’t turn back toward the house. He kept walking, deeper into the trees. “He had something,” Bryony whispered to me, tilting her head toward mine. “He was carrying something in a duffel bag. Did you see?”
I shook my head. The light had blinded me too much.
“I don’t like that guy,” Bryony mused.
“You don’t like anyone,” I reminded her.
“I like you,” she said, and I looked at her with surprise. She smirked at me. “For now. We’ll see if it lasts.” She’d stopped walking. We were at the edge of the patios now. Desmond paused on the steps, looking back. “I can’t go inside,” she reminded me.
“Will you be safe getting back home?”
“The shadows don’t bother me,” she said. “And I don’t think anything else is out tonight.”
“Good.” I hesitated, feeling intensely awkward and deeply unwilling to say goodbye. “Did you learn anything tonight? Anything useful? For yourself, I mean.”
“I’m... I’m not totally sure what I learned,” Bryony said. She had an odd expression on her face, a little smile that was somewhere between pleased and puzzled. “I’ll have to see how things play out. But...”
“What?” I asked.
“Just be careful. Harrow is a trap. If you let yourself stop believing that, you’ll be lost to it.” She lifted my hand to her lips and pressed the softest, faintest kiss against my palm. Then, gently, she folded my fingers over a leather-bound charm. “I’ll see you soon, Rabbit.”
And then she was gone, drifting like a ghost across the lawn. My whole skin tingled with the touch of her lips, and grinning like an idiot, I stumbled up the steps.
17
THE HOLIDAYS WEREa blur of tradition and ritual. Thanksgiving came and went, and my cousins disappeared back to Atwood School. Christmas planning started the instant they were gone and didn’t let up. It left me exhausted. I dragged myself through every day, pretending to have opinions on trees and ornaments, menus and mistletoe. Every night I collapsed into my bed and hardly dreamed at all.
Bryony hadn’t kissed me since that night, on my hand or anywhere else. I hadn’t dared ask if she wanted to. But we walked by the lake and ate lunch at the folly and talked about things other than figments and shadows. It had been nice for a while to pretend that things were normal.
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39
- Page 40
- Page 41
- Page 42
- Page 43
- Page 44
- Page 45
- Page 46
- Page 47
- Page 48
- Page 49
- Page 50
- Page 51
- Page 52
- Page 53
- Page 54 (Reading here)
- Page 55
- Page 56
- Page 57
- Page 58
- Page 59
- Page 60
- Page 61
- Page 62
- Page 63
- Page 64
- Page 65
- Page 66
- Page 67
- Page 68
- Page 69
- Page 70
- Page 71
- Page 72
- Page 73
- Page 74
- Page 75
- Page 76
- Page 77
- Page 78
- Page 79
- Page 80
- Page 81
- Page 82
- Page 83
- Page 84
- Page 85
- Page 86
- Page 87
- Page 88
- Page 89
- Page 90
- Page 91
- Page 92
- Page 93
- Page 94
- Page 95
- Page 96
- Page 97
- Page 98
- Page 99
- Page 100
- Page 101
- Page 102
- Page 103
- Page 104