Shadowhunter (Nephilim Quest Book 1) (3 page)

 She had her answer the day one of the shadows materialised inside the old lady's house. She returned from the kitchen with a tea tray for the old lady, and saw her sitting in her armchair, tenderly holding the baby. She was crooning an old nursery rhyme to the child.

"Bye Baby Bunting, Daddy's gone a hunting, to get a little rabbit skin to keep a Baby Bunting in..." The absurd words rang in her brain and would not go away.
 

It's a trick of the light, she told herself. A trick of the eyes. A trick of - the brain. But that - she did not want to think about that, the possibility that it was only in her mind. It was standing right next to the old lady, who had no idea of the presence of the nightmarish creature, and kept on cooing at the child. The mist - entity - reached out human-like arms towards her baby.

Her rage flared in an instant, and her body responded. She slashed the shadow down and killed it with the fury of a lioness protecting her young. Quickly, without hesitation.

The shadow silently crumbled into a heap of dust. The landlady seemed not to hear the sounds the killing made, and thankfully could not see how the shadow had been destroyed, or her deepest secret would have been out. But that also meant there were no witnesses to the existence of the shadows. Only she had seen them.
 

She was now horrified. He had told her that there were things in this world people had no idea about, and she had nurtured the thought that he was talking in metaphors. She had not quite believed all he had to say about her heritage, because it had been too strange for her rational mind. Now, after what had just happened, there was no way of denying that he had meant it literally.

She served the old lady her tea with unsteady hands, avoiding the heap of dust on the carpet, and then cleaned the floor. The dust looked just like ordinary dust, and there was much less of it than she had expected.

"It's time for her bottle. I'll take her for her feed." With her hands still shaking she reached for her baby, careful to avoid the spot where she had killed the darkness. She fed her daughter in her room, rocking her body back and forth, mumbling prayers under her breath, calling on heavenly forces to protect her and her child. Looking down at her daughter, she came to a sudden decision.

"I need to go out and try to find something to eat. I heard of a place that has some meat and we've still got coupons." She tried to sound calm. "I'll take the baby with me."

"Be careful she doesn't catch a cold. That can be a serious thing for a baby! Wrap up warm." The old lady seemed to be reluctant to let them go.
 

She had no clear plan of what to do next, but she couldn't get the hideous image out of her head. If one of her nightmares could make it into the house, surely more of its kind would follow later. For now, she did the only thing that came into her mind - she ran away.

Then the air raid siren started its wailing scream, and she took shelter with the baby until the bombing was over. When she returned, in the place where the old lady's house stood there was nothing but a blackened, smoking ruin. The stench of burning filled her nostrils as she watched the hopeless task of the wardens and the fire services as they picked their way carefully over the debris. She knew that they would find no survivors. She turned away, with a catch in her throat, holding her baby even closer to her, kissing her head. But mingled amongst her sadness for the grumpy old woman who had turned out to be so kind, there was relief. Surely the shadows now thought she and the baby were dead too?

She sought shelter in an old church with her child, but did not dare to sleep for fear of the shadows returning. She sat there, with dark rings around her eyes, holding her baby, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible in the midst of others who had lost their homes. They were avoiding her - or was that her imagination? In the corners of the room, she seemed to see shadows, but they were real shadows - the shadows of people who had lost their homes, and sometimes their loved ones. Only, her eyes darted from one figure to the next, seeking reassurance that they were normal people, and not shades.

And now the air raid siren had started to wail again. She ran towards a shelter, through the darkening streets, holding the baby tightly. Her heart was beating so loudly she couldn't even hear the sirens anymore. The shadows on the streets condensed around her, moving at the same speed as she was running. She sobbed silently, scared out of her wits.

They were waiting for her under the notice with the underground sign and text that read "This way to the air raid shelter". People ran right by them, not paying any attention to the shadowy mist that was darkening and swirling by the gaping entrance to the Underground.  It was as though they did not see the creatures at all.

The shadows were not alone. In the midst of them stood a tall, dark man. He was leaning against the wall, with his face half-hidden by the brim of his hat, and and the swirling mass of shade responded to his slight movements as he inhaled his cigarette and then exhaled the smoke, slowly.

On the other side of the street was another man, without a hat, whose skin seemed to glow strangely in the gloom. This man had piercing dark eyes and his stillness made her wonder for the moment if he was a mannequin. His whole attention was directed on her and her baby, and his eyes did not blink.

The tall dark man with the hat turned his head in her direction and she saw him clearly for the first time as he looked pleasantly back at her. It was the look of someone who was absolutely certain of his power. There was something about him that did not fit in - he did not seem British, somehow.

She knew what he was the second she saw the golden, piercing eyes measuring the baby in her arms. Her lost love had explained all about the yellow eyes to her. And he had warned her of this man especially, if he was whom she suspected him to be. He was just as he had been described to her.
 

"Give the baby to me," said the man, from the midst of the shadows. His voice was barely audible, but for some reason she heard him loudly and clearly. She did not recognise his accent.
 

"No." She was holding her daughter so closely to her that she heard the baby give a little squeak of protest.
 

The planes were right above them now, the last of the running people had vanished through the underground's entrance. The air raid sirens were still wailing and the shadowy mist seemed to swirl around the dark man to the rhythm of the sound. She thought she saw monstrous forms within the misty darkness, half animal, half human. The screeching of the bombs as they fell and the crump of the first explosions came from not too far away. The ground was shaking under her feet.

"Then we shall take her, if you will not give her up willingly," said the man in a bored manner and with a slight movement of his hand gestured to the shadows to move forward. They began to glide towards her.

"Why?" She squeezed her baby even tighter, feeling the rage rise again up her spine as the shadows formed a dark circle around her. The mist licked around her feet and she looked down to see human-like hands grabbing at her legs.

"She is of our kind. She belongs to us. She should have been born to the wife we chose for him, but he chose you. Still, the blood is pure in you, so the child might fulfill our expectations. She will grow and help our race in our journey back to glory."

She knew now for certain he was the one her lover had warned her about. Still, she had no idea what the glory might be that the man was referring to. He sounded like a religious zealot. One thing she knew for certain, however. She would not give her baby up without a fight. Not to him. Not to anyone.

The world blew apart just as the shadows reached out for the baby. The blast blew the darkness away like smoke in a storm. She flew– up, up, away from the demolished street. She landed on the debris of a building shattered by a previous raid and gasped for air. Blood ran into her eyes, but she felt no pain. She only knew she had managed to hold the baby safe, and was lying on her side like a broken bird, crouched around the tiny creature.

The air in front of her seemed to tear apart like paper. She knew she must be hallucinating, because she had hit her head so hard. What she was seeing could not be real - yet it seemed impossibly clear to her. A woman in strange clothes stepped out of the air towards her. She was wearing trousers like a man, made of some worn-out blue fabric, and a bright red, short leather jacket. She had some kind of sports shoes, with odd thick soles, on her feet. And her hair was very short, like a man's... maybe she had been ill and they had been forced to cut her hair...maybe it was some new uniform... maybe...

"Here, let me take your baby to safety."

She looked into the eyes of the woman with short hair. They were ordinary, kind, concerned human eyes. She trusted her.

The woman took the baby from her arms and tucked her safely in the crook of her left arm. Then she just stood there, looking at her with a curious expression on her face.
 

She fought through the mist in her mind for the word. Concern. That was the word. That was the look on the short-haired woman's face.

"Come, sweetheart. It is your time to go."

She rose with amazing lightness. She couldn't have hurt herself badly, after all, if moving was this easy. They went through the opening in the air, and the woman, holding the baby safely, turned and raised her hand. The woman made a slashing movement and the opening closed quickly. But not quickly enough. She had seen her own body, in an odd, twisted position, in the midst of the bricks and broken glass.

She understood.

"Your time has come, sweetheart," the woman repeated, "You can go in peace – your baby will be safe with us, and will do our best to hide her from the shadows and their masters."

The young woman had one last look at her beautiful baby. She tried to touch her child's face, but she couldn't feel her fingers. The words came out in a whisper. "Goodbye, my darling." She smiled, and felt great love flow towards her in return.
 

"Thank you!" she said and her voice sounded oddly clear to her now, and somehow like a gentle wind blowing.

Then she turned and began her journey into a beautiful landscape, heading towards the light that had come to greet her, leaving her old life behind.

CHAPTER TWO

2. Kitty Is Gone

I was sitting on the lounger on the patio, with my hands resting on the warm back of Nugget, my cat, when the phone rang. I heard Mom answer it in the kitchen. Nugget carried on purring contentedly on my lap, and I continued to stare at the garden with unseeing eyes.
 

"Dana!" Mom was calling me in her perky phone-voice.
 

The heavy lump in my chest was pulling me down so badly that I did not want to move, let alone speak.

"Dana!" the voice was more demanding, "Dana, it's Kitty's mum. She wants to talk to you."

I forced myself to answer, even though it physically hurt to speak.

"I can't," was all I could say.

"Dana..."
 

"I'm sorry, Mom. I just... can't." As I spoke, I realised I'd called her "Mom" rather than "Mum". I remembered how hard I'd tried to break the habit; tired of the sniggering that broke out in the classroom each time I'd said it. Now, it no longer seemed to matter.
 

I heard a sound that told me Mom had put her hand over the phone - her rings clanked against it. Her voice came a bit closer to the patio doors.

"I know this is hard for you, but Kitty's mother is worried about Muffin."

"Muffin?" Despite myself, I became a bit curious. Muffin was Kitty's ugly little mutt who loved Kitty with all his heart.

"He misses Kitty so badly. And she wonders if you'd take him for a walk? So sorry to keep you, Rose," Mom clearly took her hand off the receiver, "Dana is just in the middle of something. She'll come to the phone soon. But do tell me how are you getting along now? Is there anything you need, anything at all? You do know you only have to ask?"

Mom kept on chatting in a compassionate voice, and I still sat there, unable to move. There was an aching hole in my heart.

"I'm putting you on hold for a moment, Rose."

The next words would be for me.

"Kitty's mum says if you don't want to see anyone, you don't have to. They'll put Muffin out in the garden for you. Do you think you can do it now?"

"I don't know, Mom..."

"I know this is hard for you, dear, but think about Kitty's mum and Muffin."

The memory of Muffin's joyful squirms whenever he saw Kitty finally dragged me out of my misery. I was not the only one grieving.

"OK," I gave in, "in about an hour?"

"She'll be over in about an hour," Mom announced, "and do take care of one another now, Rose, won't you? Whenever you want to talk, just give me a call. Any time. Any time at all."
 

It was still morning when I left, and the sun hadn't yet dried the grass. The spider webs were decorated with dewdrops and the light of the sun glistened on them, as if someone had draped diamond necklaces everywhere. Mist was moving slowly in golden swirls in the shadier parts, and little birds were announcing their presence loudly while they flew and hopped about. They were everywhere, busy finding food for their young. It was a golden day, and life was making itself known. The kind of day that I'd have revelled in, once.
 

I walked along the familiar back road deep in my thoughts. Fresh hoof prints told me our neighbouring farmer had already been riding here this morning. The big round hoofs had pushed deep half circles in the soft verge. His Welsh cob, Cariad, was the kindest horse you could imagine. Kitty often went to groom her and all the other cobs that belonged to Tony and Jen, who bred them. She loved horses.

Had loved horses, I corrected my thoughts, with a lump in my throat.

Muffin's ugly little goblin face greeted me at the gate of Kitty's house. He was so happy to see me he squirmed as if he was going to wriggle out of his skin, and his little stump of a tail wagged so fast it was a blur. I took his leash that they'd left hanging from the gatepost for me, bent over the low gate to attach it to his collar, receiving several wet dog kisses while doing so, and then opened the gate for him. He jumped against my legs and whined until I lifted him up, and then he concentrated on washing my face thoroughly.