Chapter 17
Alanna
“That way,” I point from the passenger seat. A soft drizzle has begun, falling from the bruised twilight sky overhead. Storm clouds are rolling in on the horizon, making the dim evening light much darker than usual.
Kade says nothing, but he takes the turn.
It’s been silent between us since we left the hospital, loaded with unspoken arguments, mutual fears, and whatever else is going on inside of that head of his.
His hands are practically strangling the steering wheel as we pass through dark city patches, unnatural cold spots, and flickering streetlamps. The city itself feels wrong.
It’s so surreal that I wonder if I’m having an out-of-body experience.
A part of my brain—the logical, sensible part that I think of as “me”—is insisting that this is insane.
A few weeks ago, my biggest crisis was technical problems with the archival scanner.
Now . . . what? I’m willingly hunting a monster made of shadow and stolen energy through the downtown core?
The smart thing to do would be to keep hiding in Kade’s den, let him handle it.
But as I think of Lizzy, lying wan and shivering in that hospital bed, and Jen’s tear-streaked, accusing face, my fear is eclipsed by an unfamiliar ferocity.
I am not the same woman who was terrified by a shadow in the library stacks.
Maybe I’m not exactly Buffy the Vampire Slayer, either, but with my newfound powers, I feel a strange and potent sense of purpose, of agency.
I am not helpless. I don’t have to just hide from the echo-beast—and now, I’m the reason we’re able to track it.
For the first time, when I focus, I can feel my own senses sharpening, homing in on that wrongness.
It’s a strange, dissonant hum beneath the surface of reality, like static, only more chaotic.
And I don’t have a whole lot of data points on this, but something inside tells me that maybe I am the only one who can tune into it.
Kade might be a weapon, but tonight, I am a compass.
My concentration shifts inward, away from the tension in the truck, and away from my own racing thoughts—and toward that erratic buzz that sets my teeth on edge. It’s strongest to the east, a jagged, angry thread of energy.
“Take this turn,” I instruct, my voice steadier than I feel. Kade glances at me, his expression unreadable in the intermittent glow of the streetlights, but once again, he changes course without a word. Whatever is going on between the two of us, at least he seems to trust my instincts on this.
As we get closer, the outward signs become undeniable.
A whole block of apartments looms ahead, a black hole of dead windows against the stormy sky.
The rain slicks the asphalt, reflecting the lights of our truck in the oppressive gloom.
Kade slows, his head on a swivel, his senses alert to any physical threat while I track the magical one.
“It was here,” I say. “It fed, and moved on.”
The path leads us through a neighborhood of quiet residential streets, and my stomach plummets as I recognize the familiar brick facade of Northgate High.
“Em’s school,” I whisper.
It looks so painfully normal, with its manicured lawn and the faded banner for the school play tied to the railing. This is her world—a world of petty drama, homework, and plans for the future. A world that knows nothing of magic or monsters in the shadows.
A protective, almost angry, surge floods my chest. This isn’t just about saving the city; it’s personal. This thing is drawn to the people and places I care about. I’m not going to let anything happen to any of them.
I risk a look at Kade and find his jaw is set like granite, his attention fixed on the school with an intensity that tells me he’s thinking the exact same thing. He’s not seeing a school, he’s seeing innocents at risk, a sister at risk. History, repeating itself.
But it won’t. This time, he’s got me.
My resolve hardens to a sharp point, right as the dissonant hum I’m tracking pulls on my gut, sending a rush of nausea through me.
I tamp it down, guiding Kade toward the outskirts of the city, onto the old highway that winds toward the substation.
There’s a grim sense of satisfaction in being correct about where it was headed.
The drizzle turns into steady, cold rain as we pass a labyrinth of unlit warehouses and chain-link fences.
We finally round a corner and see it: the sprawling, defunct railyard, wedged between the highway and the forest. A handful of rusted train cars sit silent on the tracks under a single, buzzing security light that flickers erratically, casting long, dancing shadows.
And beyond, the gantries of the substation rise up like eldritch skeletons in the night.
The chaotic energy is almost overwhelming here, a physical pressure in the air.
“It’s close,” I breathe.
Kade grunts his agreement, able to sense the beast at closer ranges. He kills the engine, plunging us into a false stillness that is immediately broken by the agonized shriek of metal being rent apart from somewhere deep within the yard.
The noise dies out, leaving behind a ringing silence. Kade’s hand is already on the door handle, but I clamp my hand over his forearm, digging my fingers in.
“Wait. We need a plan.”
At the contact, he swings his head to me, eyes blown wide with adrenaline. “The plan is I go in, you stay here. Keep the engine running.”
“No.” I tighten my grip, refusing to let him bolt.
“Force only makes it stronger, remember? You can’t just fight it.
I—” Another screech makes the truck vibrate, interrupting my next sentence.
My heart is pounding, but when it goes quiet again, I swallow and go on, trying to be the bravest version of myself. “I have an idea.”
Kade’s jaw works, his gaze darting between me and the looming trainyard. “I’m not letting you near that thing.”
“You don’t have a choice!” I hiss. “We need to try something new. The ‘Aura of Clarity.’ I think it could work.”
He stares at me for a long moment, his entire body taut. “This isn’t a time for research experiments, Librarian.”
I bristle. “This is exactly the time for research experiments. No one has ever beaten it before, at least not that’s been recorded.
No one has ever had to face it when it’s been feeding on modern electricity grids.
No one has ever tried using my Aura of Clarity.
Testing our theories is precisely what we need to be doing right now. ”
He scowls, looking like he’s going to try to lock me in the car. “No. I don’t like it.”
“You don’t have to like it. You just have to try it. Fighting it is suicide! Why else are we even here then?”
For a moment, I think he’s going to refuse again.
But then, he surprises me. “Damn it,” he growls, but I know I’ve won.
His face is contorted, protectiveness warring with the tactical truth.
“Fine. But you’ll stay back. I’ll draw its focus.
You have to promise me.” He reaches out to grip my arms, holding so tight it’s almost bruising.
His voice is pained as he repeats himself.
“Promise me, that you’ll stay behind me.
You’ll get one shot, Librarian. Then we’re out. ”
I look at him, not seeing the intimidating Warden who captured me, but the broken man who lost his sister, and my answer is the only one I can possibly give. “I promise.” It’s only a whisper in the dark, but it feels like a vow.
Something raw and vulnerable flickers in his eyes before the hard mask of the Warden slams back into place. Then the screeching noise comes, startling me with its intensity.
“Follow my lead,” he commands, and without further discussion he’s exiting the truck, moving without a sound. He glances back at me, gesturing for me to stay close as he pulls a long-bladed knife from his jacket.
My own senses are stretched taut as I fall into step behind him.
We move past a derelict caboose, the rain dripping from its rusted roof in a rhythmic patter that does nothing to soothe my frayed nerves.
At least the rain is muffling the sound of our approach.
But it can’t dampen the roiling discord in my mind, which radiates from a massive, corroded roundhouse in the center of the yard, making me want to run in the opposite direction.
The shrieking sound comes again from inside, louder this time, followed by a shower of blue-white sparks that erupt from the building’s bay door.
Kade stalks forward, keeping his back to the meager cover offered by a line of forgotten train cars.
Right before we reach the wide-open bay door, he stops, raising his hand.
I freeze, and he points to a large, grease-stained piece of machinery—some kind of discarded engine block—a few yards from the entrance.
“There,” he mouths silently, then gestures for me to get down.
Once I’ve crouched behind the relative safety of the solid metal, he turns his attention back to the gaping, blackened maw of the roundhouse, inching closer to get a better look.
I hold my breath, peering around the edge of the engine block as he prowls forward.
From my vantage point, I can see past the threshold as he approaches.
Fuck, please let this work. Please don’t let me be sending him into needless danger. He’s already been wounded several times while protecting me.
He’s on the edge of the entry when, from the interior, a patch of impenetrable gloom churns, then detaches itself. My blood runs cold as the shadows pour—no, congeal—upward into a hulking silhouette made of viscous darkness that seems to crackle with stolen electricity.
It has more mass than before. It’s more menacing, there’s more darkness. More discordant magic, crawling under my skin like a swarm of insects. Just . . . more.