The Shadow

Skyla thought of the yard at her childhood home in Chestnut Hill. When she walks into the yard from the kitchen, there is a screened-in porch. If she looks to the right, there is a narrow vegetable garden. It had been there for as long as Skyla could remember. Out the screen door, to the left, the yard stretches in front of you. The left and back property lines are always lined with lilac bushes. In the summer, large flowers cover them and their perfume fills the yard. Behind them, a chain fence stands to keep out critters. The fence continues along the right side of the yard and the vegetable garden. The garden stretches all the way from the screened-in porch to the back of the yard. When you first walk into the garden, the tomatoes greet you. During the summertime, the plants are tall and bright green. The tomatoes grow red and plump.

Skyla remembered there were always tomatoes. Over the years, other vegetables were planted in the garden: cabbage, carrots, pumpkins, and whatever else dear Vera decided to plant. There were always those beautiful tomatoes, though.

There is a gate at the farthest left end of the garden that allows the gardener to exit and enter into the other part of the backyard. This gate stands only about a hundred feet from Skyla's tree, the only tree in the backyard. It is a large oak, and it presides over the farthest left corner of this property. A great big tire hangs from one of its thick branches. When Skyla was a little girl, she would swing as her mother worked in the garden. Sometimes she would run through the sprinklers to keep cool. She would dance around the yard, enjoying the cool drops that would catch her as she leapt over the oscillating spout.

Skyla remembered an evening when she was swinging on the tire and a dark figure sprang up from the shadows of the lilac bushes. The shadow lingered in the corner where the back fence met the left-side fence. Skyla had looked over at her mother, who was in the vegetable garden tending to the ripened tomatoes. Vera was at the front end of the garden, nearest the house, and Skyla could see the top of her straw hat glistening in the fading light.

It was probably an evening late in August, when the sky remains light until nearly 9. The figure in the corner of the yard was all in black. Skyla could remember that clearly. He wore a black jacket with a black hood. His pants and shoes and gloves were black, too. Even as a young child she realized that that was strange. One didn't wear gloves in the summertime. Gloves were for the winter.

He did not come out of the shadows. He merely stood there, still as a statue, and watched her. He could have been there all her life. She did not know. He seemed so much a part of the landscape, as if he'd been planted along with the lilacs. She stared at him, flipping her head back and forth as the tire continued spinning. Once she noticed him, she couldn't look away. Skyla was still frozen to her tire when her mother finally broke into her reverie.

"Skyla Jane," she said, and Skyla turned toward her mother. "I'm going inside to run your bath. You have five more minutes," Vera called over her shoulder as she walked into the screened-in porch, a basket of tomatoes on her arm.

Skyla turned back to the shadows. He was gone. She climbed down from the gently swinging tire and stepped to where he had been, between the two touching bushes. It was empty now. He had vanished. But this memory would visit her dreams often in the years to come.

"Once. I saw you once that I can remember," said Skyla.

"When we are young, we don't repress our true self," James said. "It is when we grow up that we learn to assimilate into our new culture. Now you are here. You can let down your guard and be you again. You are home."

"You are going to make me immortal?" Skyla's eyes began to haze over. Her head felt foggy and heavy.

"I would. I would do it right now, but it isn't my place. Steve will do it. If he doesn't get back safely, then I will carry on the family. Then it will be me. That is why Peter and Lucy are going out to find Steve. I will stay here and watch over you, Mara, Alex, and our home."

"Lucy? It is too dangerous for Lucy to go," Alex interrupted.

"No. I won't let Peter go alone," Lucy said. "I will be careful. We will go at night, obviously. I will stay quiet and let Peter take charge. He knows the swamp better than any of us."

"This is ridiculous! You don't even know how crazy you sound. You can't go blind into the swamp in the middle of the night with Peter. Too many of the others know Peter. You will be the bargaining piece for Steve. Don't you see? Peter would trade you in a second."

Peter stood up abruptly. Lucy jumped between them. "You forget yourself, Alex," Lucy said. "Look to your higher self."

"No, I haven't forgotten anything. I just got a little distance from this place. You never have. You have never left and come back. It seems different now."

Peter maintained his stance. His fangs showed, and his eyes looked as black as James'.

Mara began to cry. "Please stop this. Please don't fight. I think the most important thing is to find Steve. Our den is thrown out of harmony. We need him back. I think we all should just join hands and send our energy to him now. We didn't finish our meditations yet.''

Slowly, they all began to sit back down. Peter sat last. Skyla realized that Peter seemed so much scarier than James, but she didn't get that same physical reaction. Maybe he wasn't "made" either.

She took a deep breath and asked, "Peter, are your fangs real?"

Peter was taken off guard but then found the question to be funny. They all began laughing, and it broke the tension.

"No, not yet," Peter said. "I am next in line, though. Well, I was until you showed up."

They all had another long laugh and then settled back down. They joined hands and finished the energy-circle exercises. All took turns chanting The Seven Sacred Let Lines that Peter and James had spoken earlier. The prayers were sent up and out to the universe. James added his own special words to ask that the clan be brought safely back together.

James could feel the daylight outside and went to his bed. The others followed suit. They would all take a rest. Alex took Skyla to his old bed and they lay down together. She didn't sleep. Her eyes stayed on James.

Brooke woke up early to begin packing. She did not know what type of clothing she would need for her trip. She filled her bag with five dressy options for dancing and dining. She added five casual outfits-khakis and crisp button-downs-to the pile. Daytime outfits would be easier. Sundresses were perfect for any daytime occasion. She would just make sure to take her espadrilles and flat sandals. She neatly put two pairs of sandals, one perfect pair of espadrilles, her black and camel-colored heels, her cute sneakers, and her running sneakers into separate shoe bags. The sneakers reminded her to take her workout clothes. She would need to fit some runs in if she wanted to eat Southern food. This would take some creative packing once she added underwear, bras, bathing suits, bathing-suit coverups, and toiletries. It was possible that some articles were not going to make the cut.

It was noon when Brooke finally pulled the apartment door shut and locked the bolt. She lugged her large rolling suitcase down the apartment staircase and out onto the curb. She rolled and bumped the bag over to the corner and waved down a cab. She opened the door and shoved the suitcase in first.

"JFK," Brooke ordered.

It was Friday afternoon. Brooke would arrive in New Orleans later that evening. She had tossed and turned all night until she finally got out of bed and booked her ticket. She just charged it. She certainly deserved a vacation. Her parents couldn't disagree about that. She would explain it to her mother. In turn, her mother would take care of her father. Her mother would agree that Brooke had been through a traumatic experience. "Brooke Leigh," her mother would say, "you must always take care of yourself. If you don't treat yourself well, then no one else will."

Brooke had thought about taking the train. It would cost only $130. It might even be romantic to take a thirty-hour tour through the South. She would probably meet some interesting characters. She just didn't want to take the time. All Brooke knew was that she needed to see Skyla. She needed to be around her best friend and sort this personal crisis out. Yesterday morning she had a job and a purpose. Today she had no job and couldn't remember why it had been so important to work at Bloomingdale's anyway. There had to be something better. Hmmm, Bergdorf's maybe?

Brooke shook her head and rubbed her eyes. Not even the thought of Bergdorf's could put a smile on her face. She realized she wanted nothing to do with that exhausting industry anymore. She definitely needed a break. It did not make any sense. Being a buyer was the only thing she had ever wanted. She would not let one slimy guy ruin all that for her. One terrible boss should hardly be enough to turn her away from her career aspirations. Rob had left a real bad taste in her mouth. Maybe she was not cut out for New York City. It was coldhearted and conniving. Was it possible that she was not meant for this place? Maybe this wasn't home. Maybe she belonged somewhere else.

Brooke was suddenly so lonely. She could not wait to grab hold of Skyla. She needed a hug. She needed her friend.

Brooke would call Skyla when she landed. Skyla would be utterly surprised. Actually, Brooke was quite looking forward to seeing Alex, too. She would never admit that out loud. She would never tell Skyla about that. However, the thought of seeing Alex made her stomach do a little flutter. Of course, she would never tell Alex, either. It was out of the question. Friends like Skyla and Brooke followed a very strict code. Alex was off limits unless Skyla was not interested in Alex anymore. Then it would be acceptable, perhaps. Either way, this trip was a much-needed adventure. Brooke would stay in New Orleans for the last few days of Skyla's excursion and then they would take the ride back to New York City with Alex. Brooke thought the two couldn't be planning on staying much longer. It had already been a week. They would have to start making the trip back soon. They would probably arrive in New York one week from today. When Skyla had first told Brooke about the trip, Brooke worried that Skyla was planning on leaving New York for good. After talking to Skyla the last couple of times, Brooke realized that Skyla was definitely not planning on staying in New Orleans. She would discuss it with Skyla. Maybe they would choose some other city to live in. Skyla would follow Brooke anywhere. Well, she had always done so in the past. Either way, Brooke knew Skyla was getting restless again. She could hear it in her voice.

Brooke smiled-this impromptu flight sounded much more like something Skyla would do than something she would do. Brooke just needed a temporary escape from the city. She needed to get on that plane and think. She would read some fashion magazines and that new trashy novel she had downloaded to her Kindle. She would totally relax and enjoy the plane ride into the South.

Mara and Skyla sat at the bar. The doors were open, but the bar remained dark. It occurred to Skyla that the bar was always dark no matter what time of day it was. Alex worked behind the bar because Peter and Lucy had stayed down in the den to get some extra rest before the trip. James had been sleeping below since sunrise.

Locals and tourists drifted in and out. The tourists enjoyed drinking during the day. It was fun and naughty. The locals needed it to still their nerves. Skyla watched the different characters interacting. She saw the stragglers on the street. She watched as the day grew later and the streets grew more populated. Time was flowing by so quickly now. When it grew dark outside, she didn't bother to even look at her watch. Skyla had been in a time warp ever since she entered this town. Some more locals came in. They got a beer, nodded a thank-you, and went to sit on the opposite side. They made sure to keep the four at the bar out of their line of sight. Tourists came in now to have food with their beer. They talked incessantly and asked questions about the stacks of ghost-and-vampire tour pamphlets on the window's ledge. One visitor grabbed a hold of Skyla's arm and pulled her in to tell her a secret.

He whispered in her ear, "It's a well-known fact that hundreds go missing from the French Quarter every year. It isn't reported, because the majority of people who come here are either hiding from the law, illegal immigrants, or runaway kids."

The interloper leaned back in satisfaction, rocking his bar stool. He was thoroughly satisfied that he had impressed the young woman. Then he grabbed his beer bottle and walked over to a far table where his friends sat.

Skyla stared wide-eyed, with eyebrows raised, as he walked away. She silently wished that he would disappear tonight. The others laughed a bit. She guessed they had heard her thoughts.

"Noted," Mara silently responded.

Skyla hoped they were kidding. Did I really just wish that an innocent guy would go missing? Doesn't he have family? What would they think? What about his friends? Wouldn't they notice? Skyla was about to panic when the wind whooshed in through the open door and commanded attention.

Skyla couldn't move. The hair stood up on her arms and a bitter taste came up into the back of her throat. Out of the corner of her eye she saw blackness. She tried to focus, but she couldn't. Moments passed before Skyla finally found the strength to raise her eyes. A woman in a black cape stood towering over her bar stool. James appeared by Skyla's side. He bowed ever so slightly.

"Good evening, Charlotte," James said.