The Shadow Prince
Page 64

We’re halfway through the song when I realize that Brim’s growling has been replaced by a steady purr. She’s curled herself into a tiny ball in Daphne’s hands. Daphne smiles down at her.
I suddenly feel jealous of the cat.
I haven’t dared to add my own voice to the music for fear of spoiling it. I don’t even know how to sing, but as the song rounds into the final lines, the warmth of the music engulfs me to the point that I feel as if something inside of me is pushing its way out to meet it. I cannot help myself. My voice crackles at first and is barely audible, but when Daphne turns her smiling eyes on me, my voice grows stronger, mingling with hers. Our voices ring together, and for a moment, I feel as though I am free. Even freer than I felt in the Tesla. Freer than owls soaring from their roost.
I hold the final note of the song with Daphne, almost afraid to let that feeling of freedom go. Finally, she lets the note fall and I end the song.
I pull my fingers from the guitar strings and find Daphne staring at me. Her head is cocked to the side as if she is listening to something even though the music has stopped.
“What is it?” I ask her.
“Huh. I didn’t think you had an inner song, Haden Lord,” she says softly. “I guess I was wrong.”
I have had five lessons with Daphne in the last two weeks. Each one starts almost the same as the first. She peppers me with questions about my family and my past until she becomes frustrated with how little pertinent information I give her, and eventually she moves on to the music. I bring Brim with me since she seems to have a softening effect on Daphne, who lets her sit on her knee as we play.
My mastery of the guitar is coming along quite nicely, thanks to Daphne’s gifted hands. She has even let me play the piano in her father’s studio a couple of times. I prefer the guitar, though; it gives me something to hold on to.
It is late in the evening. I am headed back to Simon’s mansion after my latest lesson with Daphne. Brim clings happily to my shoulder, enjoying the fresh air, and I carry the loaner guitar that Daphne has sent me home with to practice. It’s an ebony black Stratacoustic from her father’s collection. “Believe me, he won’t even notice it’s gone. Besides, he owes me one,” she’d said. I think of how her hands had brushed mine when I took it from her.
I am crossing the bridge that leads to the school, taking a shortcut to Simon’s, when the smell of sulfur permeates my senses. Brim catches the scent also and jumps from my shoulder. She yowls and runs across the bridge, following the scent.
“Stop!” I shout. But she doesn’t listen. Harpies. I hitch up the guitar and take off after her, thinking of the consequences of letting a hellcat get loose near a school.
I don’t have to go far before I find her. Thankfully, she’s just standing on the back end of a parked car, meowing plaintively at something behind the vehicle. That is when I see it.
The body.
She lies on the ground behind a crop of bushes just beyond the parking lot, her hair splayed out around her head like a brown halo. Gashes cover her arms, and her chest has been ripped open. Her heart is missing.
This time, the Keres has done more than cause a heart attack. It’d ripped it right out of her. I wonder how the town officials will try to explain away this death.
I can’t tell what set the Keres off at first, why it had gone after her in the first place, but then I notice a small bandage on the woman’s pinky. Probably no more than a nick on her finger from a piece of paper.
My fears were right. The Keres is growing stronger.
Its thirst for blood is making it bolder.
I look more closely at the woman, realizing that I know her. Mrs. Canova, the teacher who had dragged Garrick and me to the counselor’s office after the fight.
Garrick.
The realization hits me so hard, I don’t know why I didn’t see it the moment I first glimpsed the Keres the night it attacked Lexie. There is only one person in the mortal world right now who would know more about Keres than I do. Only one person here who had access to them before we came.
Only one person who could have known how to bring it here …
“It’s not fair,” Garrick says as he and Dax enter the mansion via the garage. “When are you going to let me drive?”
I hear them coming and stand up from the couch, where I have been waiting for them to return.
“Sorry, kid. You’ve got to be at least sixteen here to get a driver’s license.” Dax tosses a grease-spotted paper sack onto the coffee table. “Dinner,” he says to me.
“Dax picked,” Garrick says. “So I hope you like deep-fried fat.”
“They’re called chimichangas. And they’re awesome. Almost as good as tacos.”
I wrinkle my nose at the smell. “I’m not hungry.”
Garrick flops into an armchair. His leg dangles over one of the arms. I assess him for a moment and notice how he’s dropped the small, cowering mannerisms of a Lesser. He has become too comfortable here. “Can’t you get me one of those fake ID things you got Haden?” He leans over and digs into the paper bag. He takes out two bundles wrapped in grease-spotted paper. He tosses one to Dax, who catches it without looking up, and then offers the other to me.
“I don’t want it.” I wave off the foul-smelling food. Garrick doesn’t even notice me glaring at him.
“I could get you an ID, but I won’t. You’re too young. I wouldn’t let you near Venus.”
“Venus?” he asks mockingly. “Is that what you call your car?”
“She’s my little goddess. And I’m not letting you near her again. You tried to eat a chimi in the front seat.”
“What’s that?” Garrick asks, with a mouth full of meat and cheese, pointing at the guitar Daphne gave me. It’s tucked under the coffee table.
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s something.” He bounces up and grabs it out from under the table. His greasy fingers leave prints on the black gloss paint. “What the Tartarus is this thing?”
“Put it down,” I say, but he doesn’t listen.
His filthy fingers are on the strings now.
“Don’t touch that.” I reach for the guitar just as Garrick slides his fingers over the strings and a discordant jumble of notes fills the air.
“Harpies,” he says, almost dropping it. The clatter of notes as it smacks against his leg makes me cringe.