Darren Shan: Death's Shadow

“Hmm,” Meera says dubiously, brushing my hair from left to right. I’m soaking up memories each time she touches me, but contact is brief so I’m not taking too much. I try not to absorb anything at all, to block her memories, but I can’t.

“You sound like Billy sometimes,” Meera says casually. “You said ‘coolio’ earlier, and ‘weakening distraction’ was the sort of thing he’d say too.”

“There’s a lot of him in me,” I admit. “Bill-E spoke much faster than I did, and he used odd words sometimes. I find myself mimicking him. It isn’t intentional.

“I have his handwriting too,” I confess, lowering my voice to a whisper. “I never wrote before. I wouldn’t have been able to without Bill-E’s memories to show me how. When I write, I do it the way he did, exactly the same style.”

“I wonder if you have the same fingerprints?” Meera says.

“No,” I frown, studying the tips of my fingers, recalling the whorls from before. “This is my flesh. I moulded it into my own shape. On the outside there’s nothing of Bill-E left. But in here…” I tap the side of my head.

“That must be weird for Dervish,” Meera chuckles. I go very quiet. She applies new lipstick in silence, then says, “Dervish never talks about you. I haven’t been able to phone often, but whenever I call, I ask how you’re doing. He’s always vague. Says you’re fine, no problems.”

I grunt sarcastically.

“I don’t know about your time,” Meera says slowly, “but in today’s world, girls love to share. Boys don’t so much—they bottle things up inside, hide their pain even from their best friends. But girls know that a problem shared is a problem halved.”

“Bill-E hated that cliché,” I tell her. “He thought if that was true, all you had to do was tell your problem to dozens of people. Each time you told it, the problem would be halved, until eventually it would be of no real importance.”

“That definitely sounds like Billy,” Meera laughs, then looks at me seriously “If I can help, I will, but first I need to know what’s troubling you.”

I chew my newly painted lower lip, wondering how much—if anything—I should tell her. She’s Dervish’s friend, loyal and once in love with him. Maybe she can only see his side of things and will turn against me if I…

No. She’s not like that. Meera’s criticised Dervish before when she thought he was in the wrong. She believes in being honest with everyone. I’ve no guarantee that she’ll side with me, but from what I’ve absorbed, I believe she’ll give me a fair hearing.

“He’s only interested in Bill-E,” I whisper, then fill her in on all that’s happened since I stepped out of the cave, only holding back the information about my gift, since that has no bearing on what’s been going on with Dervish.

She listens silently, her brows slowly creasing into an angry frown. “The idiot,” she growls when I finish. “I guess anyone in his position would want to know what was going on inside Billy’s head, but he’s taken this way too far. Who does he think he is, treating you like dirt?”

She stands up, fire in her eyes, and strides towards the door. My heart leaps with excitement—she’s going to confront Dervish and subject him to a tongue-lashing.

Brilliant! But then she slows, stops, thinks a moment and turns.

“No,” she says quietly. “I can’t say anything to him about this. You have to.”

“Me?” I cry, disappointment almost bringing tears to my eyes.

“I can take you away from here,” Meera says, returning to my side. “Dervish is no kin to you, so you don’t have to stay with him.”

“Actually,” I correct her, “we are distantly related.”

She waves that away. “Like I said, I can take you from him, but I don’t think you’d be any happier. If you run away now, you’ll always be running. You need to talk to Dervish, make him see you’re not Billy’s ghost, but a real child with real needs. I wouldn’t treat a dog the way Dervish has treated you.”

“He doesn’t do it on purpose,” I mutter, surprised to find myself sticking up for him. “He’s sad and lonely.”

“So are you!” Meera exclaims. “If I was in your place, I’d have set him straight long ago. But you’re just a girl. You were afraid to hurt his feelings… maybe afraid of what he might do if he lost his temper?”

I nod softly, amazed that she can read me so easily.

“I’ve known Dervish a long time,” Meera says. “He’s not as shallow as he must seem. You’ve caught him at a bad time, the worst of his life. He’s lost Billy… Grubbs… that horrible Swan cow didn’t help matters.” Dervish had been in love with Lord Loss’s assistant, Juni Swan. He thought she was a wonderful, kind-hearted woman. When he learnt the truth in the cave, he killed her.

“Any other time, Dervish would have welcomed you warmly,” Meera continues. “But he’s mixed up and you’ve become part of all that’s wrong with his life.

“That has to change,” she says sternly. “He can’t carry on like a spoilt child. If he can’t see sense himself, we have to make him. You have to. Because you’re the one who lives with him. I could shake him up, but he’d feel guilty and shameful, and that might makes things worse. You need to sort this out yourself.” She smiles encouragingly and nods at the door.

“What… now?” I stammer.

“No time like the present,” she grins.

“I don’t know what to say,” I protest.

“You’ll think of something,” she assures me.

“But what if you’re wrong? What if he doesn’t want to hear from me? What if he only wants access to Bill-E?”

“He can’t have it,” Meera says softly. “Billy’s dead. Dervish has manipulated you to hide from that, but he can’t anymore. It’s not healthy. Now quit stalling, get up there and put him in his place. And remember,” she grins, “he’s only a man. They’re the inferior half of the species. He’ll be putty in your hands.”

I trudge up the stairs to the third floor, nervous and hesitant. I don’t want to do this. I can’t think of anything to say. I wish I’d kept my mouth shut.

Except Meera’s right. This is unacceptable. I’ve been silent too long. The old Bec wouldn’t have tolerated such disrespectful treatment. I remember when I addressed the men of my village and insisted they let me go with Goll and the others on their mission to find out where Bran came from. Conn—our king—was against it, but I stood firm. If I can stare down a king and tell him what I think, I can certainly face Dervish.

The door to his study is open. I enter, rapping on the heavy wood as I go in. The room is protected from strangers by spells. Dervish never taught me the spells, but I found them easy to break. I don’t have the power I experienced when I first came back to life—the cave was filled with energy which I could tap into—but I’m much more advanced than any present day mage.

Dervish is reading a book about werewolves.

Someone in our family bred with demons many generations ago. As a result, lots of our children transform into savage, mindless beasts who must be executed or caged for life. Various family members have searched for a cure over the centuries. Dervish is the latest, but he’s had no more luck than the others.

It’s possible I might turn one day, but I think I’ll be able to fight it. Grubbs got the better of his wolfen genes. He’s part of the Kah-Gash, and the magic of the weapon gave him the power to reject the change. I suspect I have that same power.

Dervish looks up and squints. “Is that what passes for fashion now?”

I touch my face automatically. “Does it look awful?”