Sweet Shadows (25 page)

He winces in pain and I almost let him go.

“You said you were going to be gone for two or three days,” I say. “You’ve been gone a week and a half. Do you know how hard it was to keep Mom and Dad from going to Milo’s to find you?”

He stands there, silent.

“I lied for you,” I say, getting louder. “I covered for you.”

I have the urge to punch him.

“You have no idea,” I say, “what things have been like since you left.”

My eyes water, and I guess that finally breaks through his tough-guy act, because he shakes off my grip on his arm and pulls me into a hug.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“Don’t be sorry,” I say, stepping out of the comfort of his hug. “Tell me where you were. Tell me what happened.”

His stormy gray eyes are full of shadows. “I had to confront something from my past. Something that wouldn’t let go of me.”

“What? That’s not an answer,” I demand. I reach up and touch his bruised eyebrow. “Who hurt you?”

“I can’t,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m not proud of my past.”

“You’re my brother. I love you. I don’t care about your past, I only care about you.”

“We all have secrets, Grace,” he says, with a hint of accusation—or maybe that’s me projecting my guilt about the secret I’m hiding. His gaze drops to his hands. “I have to keep mine.”

I want to push him for more, to find out where he went and what he did. To make him tell me who hurt him so I can hurt them right back. But if I’ve learned anything in the last month, it’s that some secrets are worth keeping. How can I fault him for keeping his secrets when I’m steadfastly keeping mine?

Maybe that’s something I can make him talk about in the future, but at this moment, I don’t care. He’s home, he’s mostly unharmed. That’s all that matters.

“I respect that,” I tell him. I lean in for another hug. “I’m just glad you’re home.”

He whispers, “Me too.”

“Are you hungry?” I ask. “I bet you’re starved. Let me see what Mom left in the fridge.”

Before he can answer, I dash into the kitchen. I’ve just found the bowl of leftover vegetarian chili from last night when the doorbell rings.

“Got it,” Thane says.

And just like that, everything is back to ordinary. As I pop the bowl in the microwave, I grin. Mom and Dad are going to be so overjoyed that he’s home—even if they didn’t know he went anywhere other than Milo’s house. Life is going to be back to normal before I know it. Now, if we can just get Gretchen home, then everything will be perfect.

W
hen I ring the doorbell at Grace’s apartment, I don’t imagine anyone but Grace will greet me. I know I should have considered a scenario in which one of the other members of her household opens the door, but when the handle turns and the door swings open, I’m speechless to see a boy standing there.

His eyes are startling. A dark, stormy gray that sweeps over me like a spring thunderstorm. The look on his face—a face full of sharp lines and chiseled planes—is equally turbulent. Angry even. With his thick brows drawn into a deep scowl, it doesn’t take second sight to know he’s not thrilled to see me.

Oh dear. This is Grace’s brother. What was his name again?

If I could go back in time five minutes, I would pull out my phone and call Grace instead of following another resident into the building and taking the elevator to her floor. I would stay on the sidewalk around the corner.

That’s not an option now, though.

As lame as I know it is, I say, “Hi. I’m Greer.”

He looks me up and down, his scowl deepens, and he turns and walks away. I watch his broad shoulders retreat into the apartment. Since he didn’t slam the door in my face, I’m going to assume I’m welcome to follow.

I follow him to the kitchen door, where I can see Grace punching buttons on the microwave. She turns when he calls her name.

I brace myself for her reaction.

Her face drops, and I can practically feel her panic. Not that I blame her. If she’d been spotted at my school the other day, I’d have felt the same way. She recovers quickly though and gives me a little wave. “Hi, Greer.”

“Grace?” her brother repeats.

She squares her shoulders, and I admire her bravery as she says, “Thane, this is my long-lost sister Greer. Greer, this is Thane.”

He looks over his shoulder, the twisting motion pressing the edge of his arm against mine. Everything about him—the grim set of his mouth, the furrowed brow, the stiff stance—clearly indicates he is not happy with my presence.

I feel awkwardly uncertain. I don’t have siblings—well, I
didn’t
have, not ones I grew up with. I have no frame of reference for what goes on between brother and sister. I don’t understand the dynamics.

“Greer,” she says, “can you give us a minute?”

I nod and retreat to the living room next to the front door. Even though I try hard not to hear, some of their muffled conversation is unavoidable. Words like
blood
and
family
and
can’t tell
ring clear.

All the words are Grace’s. If her brother is speaking, I can’t hear him.

As I sit there, trying not to eavesdrop, I can’t get the image of his eyes out of my mind. Dark, gray, hard. Lonely. Longing. The image blurs and shifts, zooms out. Becomes something else.

I see him standing in the kitchen with Grace. Either this just happened, or it’s happening right now.

“Greer?” Grace shakes me, pulling me out of the vision. Her eyes are puffy and her cheeks damp. A door down the hall slams shut.

I try to focus my mind, back in reality. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she says, wiping at the tears beneath her eyes. “He’s happy for me. He’s just … shocked, I guess.”

She drops down next to me on the couch. For several long moments she’s lost in her thoughts. I want to comfort her, but I don’t think telling her about my vision will help.

“I—” She sniffs. “I knew I couldn’t keep this a secret forever. But I wasn’t ready. Not yet.”

And this is all my fault. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” she blurts, turning to face me with her whole body. “No, it’s fine. I
should
have told them sooner. As soon as I found out. I was too scared, I guess. It’s better that they know. Well, Thane knows. He won’t tell Mom or Dad unless I ask him to.”

“Will you tell him everything? Will you tell your parents?”

“How can I?” She shakes her head. “I’ll have to. Someday. I just—I don’t want them to worry.”

I nod, but I don’t really understand. If I told my parents about my heritage, my destiny, they would rush me to the nearest therapist. I’d be committed to a psychiatric ward for life. They would never understand. They would never
want
to understand.

“It’s okay. It’ll be fine,” Grace says. “So, why did you come over?”

“Right,” I say, relieved to be back on solid ground. “I think I know how to get to Gretchen.”

“Really?” she squeals.

“Well, I know how to figure out how to open the portal anyway.”

“Okay,” she says, slightly less enthusiastic. “How?”

I take a breath. “I need to hold the pendant.”

“Oh no.” Grace jumps to her feet. “No way—you heard what Nick said.”

I rise to face her. “I know. But I had a”—I search for the appropriate word—“I guess, a vision.”

Grace gives me a skeptical look.

“I did,” I say. “Besides, what do we really know about Nick? What do we know about his motives? His background?”

“Gretchen trusts him.”

“Yes,” I say, “but even if he’s trustworthy, that doesn’t mean he’s right. That doesn’t mean he knows everything. What other options do we have?”

“I found a lead,” she says quietly. “To our birth mother. Her name is Cassandra Gregory and I found a phone number from four years ago.”

“That’s wonderful,” I say, not fully understanding the change in subject.

“We can find her,” she insists. “She can help us. You don’t have to take this risk.”

I smile at her concern. “We don’t have time,” I reply. “If the number you found is old, it could take ages to find her again. If we can find her at all.
Gregory
is not an uncommon surname.”

“But it’s another option. I don’t want your”—she wipes at tears—“brain to explode or anything.”

“Grace,” I say, taking her hand and looking her straight in the eyes. I feel as if I have never been more certain in my life. “Trust me.”

She takes a deep breath, considering. I can read her thoughts in her expression. She’s scared—for me, but also for Gretchen. She wants to do the right thing. She’s just not sure what that is. I know she’ll make the right decision.

Finally she says, “Okay. It’s in my room. I’ll go get it.”

“Good.” I sigh a relieved smile. “Then I think we should go to my rec room, to have plenty of space for whatever happens.”

She nods. “Let me tell Thane I’m going.”

“I’ll wait out in the hall,” I say, wanting to give her and her brother as much privacy as possible. “And when we get Gretchen home, we can start looking for our biological mother.”

She smiles and heads for her room.

While she’s gone, I take a moment to savor her news. Our birth mother. Cassandra Gregory. I could have been Greer Gregory. Doesn’t have quite the ring of Morgenthal, but I could have made it work.

A minute later, Grace is walking through the door, pulling a small cross-body bag over her head.

“Let’s go.”

She starts walking and I follow quickly behind. If she doesn’t want to talk about her brother, I’m not going to force the issue. What do I know about sibling relationships? But I can’t help wondering what that weird final echo in my vision was all about. What does it mean? Did he really already know about me, or was that some trick of my mind? I don’t know enough about my power to be sure.

That’s something I’ll tackle after we use the pendant, after we get Gretchen back. Thane can wait; we’ve got a sister to save.

Grace and I sit on the floor facing each other, kind of like in a sacred circle or something. She pulls the pendant out of her bag, holding it carefully between her palms.

“You’re
sure
you want to do this?” she asks.

I want to make a sarcastic quip, but I don’t think that will alleviate her concerns. “Yes,” I say. “I’m sure.”

Holding out her shaking hands, she lets the pendant dangle. The light from the overhead fixture hits the gem, spreading golden beams throughout the room. I feel the magic drawing me closer. I take a deep breath and brace myself for whatever is to come. I reach for the pendant.

When my fingers first brush the gold, I feel a tingle. Kind of like the shock of static electricity. Just a little spark.

Emboldened, I clamp my fist around the whole thing. Instantly it feels like I’ve stuck my finger in a light socket. Flash after flash of pure energy jolts through me, over me, around me.

My brain swirls with the same kind of hazy image I saw earlier in Contemporary Civilization, only there is no solid object at the center. As much as I try to focus my mind, to rein in all the racing thoughts, I feel that I’m in free fall. Bursts of momentary clarity.

Knife.

Blood.

Prayer.

Then things turn darker. Amid the shadows I see glinting steel and tearing claws. Flesh shredded, bodies piled, deafening roar. It’s like a vortex of blackness, of evil. And high above, I see streaks of purple and gold.

I can’t draw breath. I feel like I’m drowning in air. The images narrow, shrinking down to a—

“Greer!”

My eyes flash open. Grace is screaming, leaning over me with a desperate look in her eyes. Her hands grip my shoulders, shaking me as if she’s trying to bring me back to consciousness. To life.

I struggle to breathe for a minute, my eyes never leaving hers. Silver to silver. She’s like my anchor, keeping me conscious and rooted in this world. Saving me from drifting back into that dark place that almost claimed me.

Finally, when I feel that I have control of myself and my mind, I say, “What?”

“What?” she echoes. “What! Are you kidding me?”

She moves off me and pulls me to a sitting position.

“You were screaming in terror,” she says. “Gasping like you couldn’t breathe. Your eyes rolled back into your head and—”