1 Chapter 1
Acknowledgements
As always there are people behind a story other than the one who wrote it. I don’t think most understand just how much time is invested even in a short story like this one, but those other than me who have invested their time are Amy Spector, Lourenza Adlem Gabi Cervenka, Jean Malherbe, Carole Reid, Susan Lewis and Leonie Duncan. And I’m very grateful they took the time to help me out. You’re my superheroes!
Micah Thaxter pressed his back against the cold brick wall, making sure no part of him was visible outside the shadow of the building. The air was thick with the stench of urine and the moldering trash that littered the alley.
His heart was stuck in his throat, but no amount of swallowing made it drop to his chest where it belonged.
How could he have been this fucking stupid? February meant darkness fell early, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise. God, he couldn’t believe he’d allowed it to happen. Again.
After thirty years on this earth, he should be able to keep track of time, but the library had been warm and cozy, the book about the history of European kings and queens captivating, and before he knew it, shadows stretched into the illuminated areas.
He blew out a breath, pushed his glasses into place, and glanced across the street. There was no way he’d make it. If he stepped out into the lit circle underneath the lamppost, his shadow would separate itself from the surrounding shadows and it would come alive.
If he was outdoors when the sun dropped and his shadow got enough light to hold its shape unmarred by any other shades, it got a life of its own. He’d been born this way, had adjusted his existence, and normally all went well. When he wasn’t being stupid or became too engrossed in the lives of long-lost kings, it went well.
His building was right there, his door mocking him from forty feet away, a soft glow coming from his kitchen window. So close and yet so far away.
Filling his lungs with the putrid air, he prepared to run. Every muscle in his body tensed before he leaped. His feet hit the asphalt—one step, two.
A chilling chuckle echoed in his ears. He managed one more step before his shadow no longer followed him. One second it was copying his motions, the next its arms reached for him.
The ghostly fingers grabbed Micah’s shoulders, one hand moved up to curl around his throat as his shadow stepped in front of him to block his path, its feet the only part that couldn’t break free of Micah. The chuckle bled into a manic laugh as black dots invaded his vision.
He tried not to panic, silently praying he wouldn’t have to explain to Gary what had happened. His lungs burned and his pulse thundered. No amount of clawing at the hand choking him made it corporeal. His nails scraped the skin on his throat, but he didn’t have time to think about what the stinging burn or the wetness trickling down his chest meant.
He kicked.
He hit.
He scratched.
But there was nothing there—nothing except laughter.
Gary! Had he been able to, he’d have cried for Gary, begged him to come. Gary. His heart slowed, his shadow tsk-ing in his mind. His body grew heavy right before his knees buckled. The second before the world went black, there was a crack of lightning followed by blue smoke, but despite Micah knowing Gary had arrived, he couldn’t fight the darkness any longer.
***
“Micah. Time to wake up.”
A cold hand lightly slapped Micah’s cheek, and he sucked in a breath. “Stop it.” The croak was a surprise. Though, considering he’d been strangled, it shouldn’t have been.
“Oh, it talks.” Gary’s unimpressed huff would have made Micah smile if he’d had the energy. Squinting at Gary, he noticed they were in his apartment. His small, safe, apartment.
“Are you okay?” The worry in Gary’s voice had hot and cold clashing in Micah’s chest. Those unnaturally blue eyes skidded over his face and he wondered how many scrapes and cuts there were this time.
“Of course. I just missed your cheerful company and was wondering if maybe you’d be up for a nightcap.”
Gary groaned and rubbed his eyes, his shoulders slumping as if Micah had stolen what little energy he had. Guilt, and maybe a little worry, had Micah struggling to sit. There were bloody scrapes on his forearms. Bruises encircled his wrists—that was new. He frowned at them and glanced at Gary.
Gary flew to his feet, pointing a pale finger at him. “Do I need to remind you—” His black cloak billowed around him, blue smoke wafting from around his ankles, and his face etched in stern lines. Had this been the first time Micah had seen him, he’d have been petrified.
“Oh, shut up, Scary Gary. Do you want a drink or not?” Micah refused to acknowledge the way his hands shook and how he wished Gary would sit on the sofa next to him.
“—that you can’t go outside after dark.” Gary sighed and rubbed his forehead, his shoulders slumping as some of the fight—fear?—leaked away.
“I think I was the one who first informed you of that fact.” Micah tried to get up. His entire body ached, but he gritted his teeth and stood. He hated when Gary thought of him as an irresponsible child. All his life he’d had to deal with this shit, and, yes, he should’ve known better, but he’d been...immersed in a history book. He grabbed his glasses off the table and slipped them on. The world didn’t become any brighter, but at least there were no cracks in the glass this time.
