Page 9 of Soul of Shadow #1

Lou leveled Charlie with a serious look. “It’s time, Charles,” she said. Then, before Charlie could argue, Lou started over toward Abigail’s table.

Looking back, Charlie was ashamed at how reluctant she had been to befriend Abigail.

At the time, she had chalked it up to how unpleasant Abigail had acted that day, lashing out at nearly everyone in their class, standing with her nose firmly pointed upward, braided hair dangling regally down her back, the picture of a chic, cosmopolitan city girl forced to endure a small-minded small town.

But even then, Charlie knew that wasn’t who Abigail really was.

She was alone in a new place—a town that was not only completely different than where she had grown up, but where almost no one looked like she did.

Where she was one of the only Black faces in an endless stream of white.

She missed her old school, her old friends, her old life. She wasn’t stuck-up; she was afraid.

No, Charlie knew that her reluctance had nothing to do with her first impression of Abigail.

It had nothing to do with anything related to Abigail.

She could have been the sweetest, most angelic person Charlie had ever met, and she still would have felt the same way.

Because it wasn’t that Abigail was Abigail; it was that she wasn’t Sophie.

Though almost two years had passed since that day, very little had changed about Abigail. “Back in New York,” she was saying as they continued across the school’s front lawn, “kids start studying SAT vocab in seventh grade. You spread out your flashcards, and—”

“I’m done with this conversation,” said Lou. “Charles, you know that one vanishing-sandwich trick? The one you did last week at Big Betty’s Café?”

“Of course,” Charlie said.

“Great.” Lou reached out and patted Abigail’s shoulder. “Now, can you do it with Abigail’s voice?”

“Hey!” Abigail pushed Lou’s hand away. “I take great offense to that. I wouldn’t…” Her voice trailed off. “Oh.”

“Oh, what?” Charlie looked between Lou and Abigail, who had both turned in their chairs to look at something behind her. Their eyes were wide. Charlie started to turn around. “What are you looking a—”

And came face-to-face with Elias.

“Oh,” Charlie said. “It’s you.”

His eyes glinted as he smirked down at her. The chain, which she first noticed the day before, was still around his neck, dipping down into his T-shirt so that she couldn’t see if anything hung from its end. “It’s me.”

“Wait,” said Lou. “Do you two know each other?”

“Only in passing,” Elias said without taking his eyes off Charlie. “We ran into each other in the woods yesterday.”

“You were in the woods ?” Abigail’s voice climbed several decibels. “What the hell were you doing there? ”

Charlie winced and glanced over at Lou, who was already looking back, eyes wide.

“No,” Abigail said. “You two did not .”

“Anyway,” Lou said loudly, redirecting her gaze to Elias. “What can we do for you?”

An excellent question , Charlie thought. Unwillingly, she looked back at the boy standing above her. He was still staring down, as if he had never looked away.

For several seconds, Elias didn’t speak. His eyes danced with something unspoken. Charlie felt oddly nervous, as if he might suddenly pull out a knife.

How ridiculous , she thought, shaking away the feeling. If he really is dangerous, he wouldn’t do anything in the middle of a public cafeteria, would he?

Then, as abruptly as a light switching on, his expression changed. Melted to one of need and vulnerability. “I have a headache.” He touched his temple, just below his dark curls, and winced theatrically. “Your brother mentioned that you usually carry Advil?”

Charlie narrowed her eyes. He was lying. She was sure of it. And yet, what ulterior motive could he have for coming over here? Was it just to loom threateningly over her? Or was there something more?

The more she interacted with this boy, the less she understood him.

“Well?” he prompted.

“Sure.” Charlie picked up her backpack from the bench and unzipped the front pocket. She reached inside for the little white bottle that always sat at the bottom. “I do carry Advil, though I’m surprised Mason knows that.” I’m surprised he knows anything about me is what she didn’t say.

She held out the bottle.

Slowly, Elias lifted his hand—pale but noticeably strong—and picked up the Advil. As his fingers brushed her palm, Charlie jerked her hand back. She had to hold in a hiss. His hand was hot. Impossibly hot, as if he had just pulled it out of an oven. His touch burned.

Elias tilted his head, a smirk playing at his mouth. “Something wrong?”

Charlie stared at him. What the hell? What was wrong with this boy? Was he ill? He didn’t look sick. He stood as tall and confident as he had the day before, no sweat on his brow, no worry in his eyes.

She glanced over at her friends, who were looking at her as if she’d lost her mind. And maybe she had. How else could she explain the last two days?

“No,” Charlie said at last, unable to look back at Elias. “No, nothing wrong at all.”