Erin Kellison - Shadow Fall

Bright red drew his attention to succulent berries hanging heavy and fat like grapes on the branches of a nearby bush. Custo’s mouth watered with their sweet, wet scent. His stomach felt suddenly, miserably hollow. How convenient that these should be right here when he needed them. He reached for a cluster, licking his lips in anticipation, but stopped himself.

He didn’t need to eat. He was dead.

Still, the berries promised a succulent burst of flavor in his mouth. Just one bite—

No. After the mermaid he couldn’t trust anything. Every story, every fairy tale he’d ever heard, counseled against eating something in the Otherworld. He couldn’t trust anything in Shadow. Custo turned away.

A small creature skittered through the trees, something like a rabbit. It stopped on its haunches and craned its head to regard him with too-human eyes. Strange. The animal perked up its head, as if sensing danger, and bounded off again.

Custo listened as well, but he heard only the shift and sigh of the trees. An occasional crack. An eerie whine.

No. Not a whine. Sad, slow violins.

He turned around, his gaze searching the trees. Ahead, a scrap of white light glowed, partially obscured by black trunks. The light dimmed and then grew again.

He moved forward to investigate and discovered a clearing surrounded by wicked, wintry trees. In the center of the clearing, a woman danced. She was made of light, her figure slight, long and waifish, her skin pale and glistening. Her dark hair was pulled into a knot at the back of her head, like a fairy or a ballerina. Likewise, she floated on tiptoe and defied gravity with the stretch and arch of her body. The haunting music was part of her, yet it scored him.

More faerie magic? He didn’t care.

She kept her eyes downcast for the most part, so terribly sad, but when she raised her face to twirl, shining like hope, he knew he would never be the same.

She had to be his. He knew it with every broken fiber of his being.

The soft curve of her jaw, her full young lips and her storybook eyes were his perfection. A momentary pang of reservation struck him hard: The woman—little more than a girl—was everything that he wasn’t. Where he was coarse, she was all silky lines and smooth dips. While he was grasping and gritty, she moved with the sweetest magic, like a dream. Where he was tainted and used, she was bright and new.

Custo pushed his hesitation aside. So he was a selfish bastard. Too bad. He had to catch her or he knew he’d be soul sick forever.

He concealed himself behind a thick tree, tensed, ready. He didn’t want to scare her, but if she’d just move this way…

A growl rumbled across the clearing.

Custo’s attention snapped to the darkness of the opposite trees. A huge black wolf bared his teeth, his body crouched and ready to attack the woman.

The dancer stiffened slightly, but continued to move. Why? She obviously knew the wolf was there. A deeper pallor to her skin told him she was afraid. Why didn’t she back away?

The wolf spotted Custo and altered his stance, ears pinned back for attack.

Custo felt a wave of electric anger burn through him. He could not let the wolf harm her.

He stepped out of the trees slowly, his arms raised and open. His attention was divided between the shock of the woman, finally coming to a skittery stillness, and the redoubled menace of the wolf, his lips retracting to the gums, his teeth sharp as blades.

Custo moved into the center of the clearing. The woman’s gaze flitted from him to the wolf, to something beyond them in the trees.

“Oh, no. Not again,” she murmured. Then louder, with false brightness, “No, Jasper. Just a slick spot on the floor right here. Anybody have some rosin?” Her nervous voice was oddly warped and distant. The glow of her skin dimmed, her magic shifting.

The wolf charged her, two great bounds. Custo threw himself between them and pushed her out of harm’s way. He felt the weight of the wolf crush his back and they fell.

The air burned like white lightning.

They landed on a hard surface, but he felt no impact. The girl jumped out of the way, quick on her feet, and the wolf jumped over Custo’s head. It leaped out into a great void, filled with empty red velvet seats, row upon row with balconies above, and was lost in the darkness. A theater.

“I’ve got some, Annabella,” someone said.

The dancer didn’t answer; she kept her gaze on Custo, unblinking, fearful, and yet so lovely. The other mortals disregarded him as if he weren’t there, though he stood up, center stage.

He was back. Somehow he was back, returned to Earth. But as what?

Then he began to burn. He had no substance, but he was on fire regardless. His body screamed with pain, and he ran.

“No, wait!” the girl called.

He’d have answered, but he couldn’t bear the heat. Every nerve was quivering, sizzling. He passed through the layered curtains at the side of the stage and felt the dust from the corners rise to chase him. He felt the dirt and moisture of the air whip into a frenzied, pursuing swarm. Every stray mote and drop gathered to him.

He ran, though he had no feet to touch the floor.

He fled down a winding corridor, out the exit, and past a smoker’s propped doorway into the night of the city. On the sidewalk the cloud of earth and wetness descended upon him. The earthen tornado drove him down onto the ground to inundate and…reform him.

He could sense the atoms of his mass rearranging, recom-bining, the zap and snap of molecules configuring cells to create organs, flesh, and bone. The crack and pull of sinew stringing him together had him quivering in terror. He felt the moment the fluid thickened to blood, and then its first rush through his new veins, charged by the slam of a heartbeat. With his first breath, he screamed his agony, arching his back on the concrete. Then he wept, gulping and hoarse.

“Call the police,” somebody said.

Custo swiped at his running eyes and nose and scuttled back toward the building. The concrete scraped his butt, so he knew he was naked.

“Just stay calm,” the man said, arms extended, palms down. He was youngish, in sweats and running shoes. “Help is on the way.”

Help? He had to be out of his mind.

Another voice echoed off the building’s walls. More people coming.

Custo’s breath came in harsh pants, but he managed to stand. His knees buckled, but he caught himself on a rusty railing and held himself up. A wild shiver ran over him. Damn, it was cold. So damn cold.

“Stay back,” the man said, retreating a few paces himself.

Custo looked around. Where the hell was he? Tall buildings rose around him, most of them gray, but one had a shiny mirrored surface.

He turned and lurched into a jog, his hand skimming the building for support. When he found his balance, he picked up speed, ducking into a service alley when he heard the twerp of a police car. He waited there, shaking with shock and a strange sense of vertigo.

Custo held up his hand, stretching the dark lines of his palm, then flipped it over. It appeared to be his own, minus the ragged scar across his knuckles. He closed his fingers into a fist and squeezed until his hand burned. Strong again. He wasn’t a ghost, that was for sure. Angel? He had no idea. Maybe he should have asked more questions of Luca when he’d had the chance.

He tried his angel’s trick and opened his mind. Humanity crashed into his consciousness, soul after soul, their inner voices crowding out all coherent thought. Too much, too much. He tried to disengage, but couldn’t find himself in the chaotic press. A last gasp, and he sought her. He reached for her like a lifeline and felt a blissful tug. Sanity returned with the knowledge that the girl was safe, inside. And?—he touched her mind—she was getting ready to head home and she was arming herself for a fight.