The Shadow Prince (16 page)

“Call me a chicken all you want. It’s starting to get dark. How
about we go get cupcakes back at the row. My treat.”

“Come on, ya dork. It’ll be an adventure.” Tobin’s resistance is starting to freak me out, but I need to go back to the grove. I’d left Gibby’s case behind—which, yeah, I could probably easily talk Joe into replacing for me—but I had also left my tote bag. Along with it, my cell phone, wallet, my school registration forms, and various other bottom-of-my purse junk. Which means Mr. Creepy Eyes could possibly have access to the contact information for all of my friends in Ellis Fields, my Pomegranate Bliss lip gloss … 
and
my new address. I could only hope he hadn’t noticed my tote and had left it there. I need to get it back before he, or anyone else, happens upon it.

“Then I guess I’ll have to check it out on my own,” I say, and head toward the bridge that leads to the island. Tobin could either follow or let me go alone. I’m pretty sure he’ll follow.

“This place has the creepiest vibe ever,” he says as we get closer, his reluctant melody echoing on the bridge.

I don’t know what he is talking about. The only thing creepy I had found about the grove was the stranger. Its vibe had been what had drawn me to it. I don’t know how it can repel anyone else. Then again, they can’t hear it singing the way I do.…

As we near the grove, I notice that something is different about the grove’s song this evening. I stop and listen for a moment. Instead of being a soothing lullaby, it sounds off. Like it’s full of broken, discordant notes.

“Something’s wrong,” I say, leaning my bike against the bridge’s railing. “With the grove.” I jog toward the ring of poplar trees.

“If something is wrong in the grove,” Tobin says, huffing with Gibby in his arms, trying to keep up, “shouldn’t we be running away, not toward it?”

“Not in the grove.
With
the grove. I can hear it.”

“You’re kind of weird, Daphne Raines.”

“I know.” I pass between two poplar trees into the dark grove of aspens and laurels. I gasp. This place barely resembles the beautiful grove I had sung in this morning. Several of the smaller trees are broken, and mounds of earth have been upturned. One of the aspens looks like it’s been struck by lightning: its trunk is scorched, and one of its large branches has been turned to ash.

“What happened here?” I whisper, more to the grove itself than to Tobin.

“This damage looks fresh,” he says. “I didn’t think anyone came here. Not since …”

I jog over to the laurel tree that’s shaped like a tuning fork. It’s one of the few trees other than the poplars that are undamaged. I find Gibby’s case, but my tote bag is gone—along with all of my personal information.

“Not since what?” I ask Tobin, realizing he didn’t finish his sentence.

He leans my guitar against the scorched tree. I follow him as he follows the path of destruction, which slopes down the steep side of the island toward the lake.

“My sister,” he says. “She used to hang out here. She’d come here to run lines—she was on the theatre track. She’s the only one I ever knew who came here.”

“Used to? Did she go away to college or something?” But by the way Tobin’s tone has changed, I know that whatever made Tobin talk about his sister in the past tense isn’t something pleasant.

“She ran away. Six years ago. I haven’t seen her since.”

“Oh,” I say. “I’m sorry.” I really am. Here I’ve dragged him into a place that reminds him of something painful, for my own selfish
purposes. I feel like such a jerk. “Hey, we can go back now if you want.”

Tobin stops abruptly and takes in a sudden breath. “Is that someone … down there …?” He takes off running down the slope. I follow at a slower speed, trying not to trip on a rock or branch and go tumbling into the water head over heels. I come up short when I finally see what he saw. Light from the lamps, which line the jogging paths across the island, reflects off something lying in the water at lake’s edge. It looks like the body of a girl, submerged almost up to her chest. Tobin splashes into the water, wing-tip shoes and all, and kneels in the mud next to the girl. He presses his fingers against her throat. I hold my breath while he searches for a pulse.

“She’s still alive!” he says, scooping her up. I almost protest his moving her, but it’s not like we can just leave her in the water. “It’s Pear,” he says. “Pear Perkins.”

I know that name. “The girl who missed the auditions?”

“I guess we know why,” Tobin says, grave notes marring his voice. “I think she’s been unconscious for a while.”

I climb down the hill and help him lay her down on the sandy bank away from the water. He pulls off his jacket and covers the girl’s upper body, but before he does, I see that she has four deep gashes in her arm, just above her elbow. The gashes make my stomach churn, but it’s her shoes that make me think I’m going to be sick. Pink and silver platform sandals. Just like the ones the girl I’d hit with my bike had been wearing. I hadn’t realized it when it happened, but as I replay the memory in my head, I see that the girl had jogged off in the direction of the grove. I place my hand on Tobin’s wet elbow. “I think I know who did this,” I say. “And I think it’s my fault that it happened.”

chapter seventeen

“Touch those shears to my head one more time and I swear to Hades, I will blast your face off!”

Dax only laughs, and snips at my hair again. “Just a few more cuts,” he says. “I got pretty good at this when I was here before.”

Underlords, even Lessers, don’t cut their hair. When my father had cut my braid from my head, it was the first time a blade had touched my hair. Cutting a Champion’s braid is supposed to symbolize rebirth. The start of a new life. To me, it feels like an insult. With every snip Dax makes, I feel that what little is left of my honor is falling to the floor.

Garrick sulks in the corner. Someone had fetched him new clothes and he’s changed out of his grubby robes. His eyes are pink and watery, still irritated from the harsh light of the sun. His hair is shorn almost to the scalp.

“You cut my hair as short as the Lesser’s, and I
will
kill you.”

“Promises, promises.” Dax chuckles again. For a former Underlord, he laughs far too often. Then again,
former
is the word that needs to be emphasized with Dax. “I had to shave Garrick’s hair. It was filthy and matted, so I had no other choice. Yours, on the other hand”—he makes one last snip—“is done.”

I jump out of the chair I’ve been forced to sit in through this ordeal and quickly bring my hands to my head. I brush my fingers through what hair remains. It is longer than Garrick’s, but I can tell that a slight curl pulls at the edges of my shaggy locks over my ears. “What have you done?” I demand. “You have made my hair curl like a Boon’s, or a nursling’s!”

Dax shrugs. “Sometimes you don’t know you have curls until you cut your hair. Besides, it’s not all that bad. The girls will love it.” He puts the shears down on the kitchen table and I am sorely tempted to stab him with them. “Now, as promised, you will get your reward. Follow me outside.”

Dax is looking giddy again. This concerns me greatly, but I follow him still. Garrick trails behind us out of the house. What I see in the driveway makes my mouth water with anticipation.

“Unbelievable,” Garrick whispers. It’s the first word I’ve heard him speak since we passed through the gate.

“Are those automobiles?” I ask.

“Cars,” Dax says. “Call them cars. Master Crue’s take on English vocabulary is a bit archaic. And these are more than cars. They’re Teslas. Very hard to get, but Simon procured them for us this afternoon. There’s a Model X and a Model S—but the Roadster is mine.” He points out each car respectively.

Garrick, having suddenly found new life, runs to the Roadster. His fingers caress the lines of the car. “Can I … Will you teach me to drive?” He looks at Dax with an eagerness in his eyes. He’s like a Lesser who’s been given an entire hydra leg for supper.

“Lord Haden first,” Dax says. “And we’ll take the Model S. Neither of you is touching my Roadster until you’ve mastered driving.”

Garrick’s shoulders drop and he skulks into the backseat of the car.

“Best thing about these cars,” Dax says, placing his hand on the hood of the Roadster. “They’re powered by electricity.” I see a soft blue pulse radiate out from under his hand into the hood of the car. It is quiet, but the Tesla comes to life under his touch—the headlights gleaming like beacons in the dusk of the evening. “You’ll never have to stop for fuel; just give it a zap every few hundred miles. You could drive from here until the ends of the earth and no one could catch you.” A wistful look lights in his eyes. I wonder if it’s the thought of driving from here until the ends of the earth that seems to enchant him, or the idea of never being caught.

Dax insists on being the one to drive the Model S first so I can watch and absorb how it’s done. He takes us up a few side streets until we reach a large, empty, paved area that surrounds a building with a tall spire. He drives us slowly around the lot for a few minutes, explaining the name and function of each part of the car.

“You think you’ve got it down?” he asks.

I nod, aching to get my hands on the steering wheel.

We trade places. I melt into the leather driver’s seat, and the moment my hands touch the steering wheel, I am sure that I know how to drive this thing. I can feel it in every muscle of my body. My foot makes contact with the accelerator. I press it down and it feels as though the car becomes an extension of myself. I press harder and the burst of acceleration sends us rocketing forward. I spin us around the lot several times but it isn’t enough. I want to be out on the open road. I want to actually
go
somewhere. The speed makes me feel as if I am one of the screech owls soaring from the roost.

I know exactly where I want to go. Dax would say I am being
foolish. But he doesn’t have to be told where we are going or why. I just want to see where she lives. It’s recon, I tell myself, picturing the map of her address in my head.

I steer the car out of the empty lot and onto the road. Dax starts to protest that I’m not ready, but I don’t listen. I want to fly.

We tear down the street while he shouts commands at me. But he isn’t the Champion here. He’s the servant. I’m the one who should be in charge. I pick up the speed.

Garrick lets out a cheer from the backseat.

“Now, that was a stop sign!” Dax shouts. “Slow down! You don’t know the rules of the road yet.”

At the moment, I don’t give a harpy’s ass about rules. We are only one turn away from her house.

“Flashing lights!” Dax yells. “Flashing lights! Stop now!”

I don’t know what he means until I see lights flickering in the distance in front of us.

“Police,” he says. “Flashing lights means police!”

A thought surfaces from one of the recesses in my brain. Police are like the royal guard, enforcers of the law. I slam on the brakes. Dax grips the dash as we come to a halt. I hold my breath, waiting for the flashing lights to advance on us. Only after a few moments do I realize that they are stationary. The vehicles with flashing lights are parked along the street. Several people stand out on the lake trail that is adjacent to the street. I think I recognize the shape of one of them.

I lift my foot off the brake and nudge the accelerator. We roll forward slowly toward the flashing lights.

“What are you doing?” Garrick says nervously. I can tell he likes the idea of encountering human police as much as he likes encountering one of Ren’s guards. “Let’s turn around. Go back.”

“I want to see what’s going on. Don’t you, Dax?”

Dax can’t deny it. “Maybe that’s not the best idea,” he says instead.

I move forward and come to a stop by one of the vehicles with flashing lights. It isn’t an official police car, I realize as I read the seal on the driver’s side door.
OLYMPUS HILLS SECURITY
. A man in a blue uniform steps out of the car and I roll down the window. A terrible scent stings my nose, but there are so many new scents in this world that I can’t quite place it.

“You’ll need to go around,” the security guard says. “No rubbernecking.”

I don’t know what that means, but I give the guard my most earnest look. “What’s going on? We live around here. Is there anything we should be worried about?”

“Couple of kids found a girl in the lake. Near the grove.” He sighs, realizing he probably shouldn’t have said so much. “Now move along.” He pats the roof of the Tesla.

As he moves away from the window, I finally get a view of what I came to see. I’d been right when I recognized the curve of her body, even from a distance. Daphne Raines is standing in front of another set of security guards. She’s talking with her hands, giving emphasis to her words. I can tell she’s upset. There’s a boy with her. He’s shorter than she is, but he has his arm stretched up around her shoulder. It’s a familiar gesture that makes my hands feel hot. A thin stream of blue electricity crackles around the steering wheel.

“Haden, are you all right?” Dax asks.