Sweet Shadows

At first she doesn’t speak. Then Grace gently nudges her and she says, “I had a vision.”

“A vision?” I repeat.

“Yes. I’ve been having them since—” She and Grace share a look. “For a while now.”

“And?” I prod. “What was this vision about?”

She looks up at the ceiling. “Monsters,” she says. “Here. Lots of them. I sent everyone else away. Hypnotized them.”

If nothing else clued me in, the fact that Greer is disrupting her precious tea means her fear is real. But I can’t see anything to justify it.

I shake my head. “Maybe you’re just worried?” I suggest. “The past couple of weeks have been tough. Maybe it’s—”

In the space of a breath, the sunlight streaming in from the row of windows high above us disappears. It’s like a cloud suddenly surrounds the gym. The lights inside flicker and then go out.

There is a terrible sound, a pressure, and then the windows above are shattering. Wind whips inside, pulling down the fabric covering the ceiling and blowing out the dozens of candles glowing on every surface.

“Move,” I shout above the wind, pointing at the empty space in the middle of the gym, away from the raining glass. “Get to the center of the floor.”

I don’t know what’s going on, but I have a feeling it’s bad. Really bad.

“Keep our backs together,” I say. “No one gets surprised.”

Grace screams. Into the end of the room, through the doors I just used, marches a line of men. They are dressed in gleaming white-and-gold armor, carrying long spears and heavy swords. If the Nychtian Army from the abyss was terrifying in the dark evil radiating off it, this group is just as dreadful. They look trained and well armed, and if the hard looks on their faces are any indication, they aren’t here to defend us.

“What the hell?” I ask.

“The Arms of Olympus,” Nick whispers in my ear. “They are notorious for pursuing an order until it is fulfilled.” His voice drops even lower. “They march for the side that wants you dead before you unseal the door.”

“Great.”

The line shifts, moving as one as they widen their stances and wield their weapons.

Together, we four back away, toward the other door.

Greer gasps. I look up. Streaming in through the now nonexistent windows is a flock of flying beasts. Black as night and with the scent of evil on their wings. The scent of blood.

The Nychtian Army.

I feel Grace and Greer squeeze tighter against my back.

Nick says, “Don’t move.”

I cut him a look. Right. I’m trapped between the army of darkness on one side and the Olympian soldiers with orders to kill us, and I’m going to … what? Try a karate chop?

“If we can get to the door,” Greer whispers, her voice quaking, “the hall leads to a side exit.”

A flying creature sweeps down, squawking at the line of golden soldiers that is starting to advance on us.

“We’ll never make it,” I say. “There are too many obstacles.”

“The good news,” Nick says, “is they’ll be just as busy fighting each other as they are worrying about us.”

“Well that’s something,” I reply. “Maybe we can—”

The door Greer wanted us to head for smashes open. A woman, dressed in a black flowing gown that waves in an unnatural wind, stands there with a dozen blank-eyed humans flanking her.

She walks forward, her eyes fixed on me. I gasp as I recognize her.

“Mrs. Knightly?”

The grin that spreads across her mouth gives me the chills.

“Are you ready for the war, Misss Sharpe?” she hisses.

Every hair on the back of my neck stands up. The screeching of the flying creatures and the clanking of the golden army’s weapons fade away as I realize my biology teacher is somehow involved in this other world. How did I not see this coming?

“Gretchen?”

Greer’s voice cracks as she says my name. I turn away from Mrs. Knightly, who is advancing across the gym toward us with her human drones, to see the Arms of Olympus approaching from the other side. We’re caught in the middle, with the flying beasts swarming above.

Trapped.

“I think I can get us out of here,” Grace whispers. “I think, if I focus, I can autoport all of us.”

“We can’t leave these creatures here,” I argue. “Once we’re gone, they’re not going to be content to fight each other. The whole city will be at risk.”

“I—I know what to do,” Greer says. “Give me your knife.”

“What are you—”

“Just give me the blasted knife, Gretchen!”

Shocked by Greer’s outburst, I lean down and retrieve one of my daggers.

“Now,” she says as she very calmly draws the blade over her palm, over another cut mark I hadn’t noticed before. A thin line of blood appears, bright red with a shimmer of silver, like drops of mercury. Then she takes each of our hands, mine and Grace’s, and slices matching marks in our palms. “When we close the circle”—she hands my blade back—“we will have to get out of here quickly.”

Grace nods. “I’m ready.”

As Greer presses her palm against Grace’s, Grace places her other hand in mine. I glance at Nick and nod. He understands and wraps his arms around my waist.