* * *
Leslie sat in the backseat of Professor Alistair Brown’s car, clutching Gray’s limp hand. She wished he would wake up. It had been a struggle getting Gray into the car and buckled in, and he hadn’t so much as twitched on the drive so far.
Professor Brown talked on his cell phone as he drove. “Right, then. I’ll meet you there.” He snapped the phone shut and placed it on the empty seat next to him. “I’ve contacted a couple of acquaintances of mine—a doctor and a shifter with some medical knowledge of his people. They’ll meet us at my house to treat Gray. We’ll do what we can, though I wish we had met earlier in the week when Gray wasn’t so sick.”
Leslie bit her lip and clutched Gray’s hand tighter. She wished they’d met early too. Their sneaky plan to remain in control and go behind her father’s back seemed pointless now.
“Leslie,” said Gray suddenly. His voice was weak.
Leslie shifted anxiously in her seat towards Gray. His eyes fluttered open. “I’m here.”
Gray opened and closed his mouth again before saying, “Everything’s too bright.”
Immediately, Leslie grabbed her purse and fumbled inside for her sunglasses. She pulled them out and put them on Gray. “Do you want earplugs too?”
Gray nodded slightly.
Leslie’s fingers scrambled around the inside of her purse and found the earplugs at the very bottom. She gently put them in Gray’s ears and slipped her hand in his once more. “Is that better?”
Gray nodded.
“How do you feel?” Leslie asked, squeezing Gray’s hand for support.
There was no sound except for that of the car engine. Gray’s lips twitched downward, and a single tear slipped out from under the sunglasses. “Everything hurts,” Gray finally said in a strained whisper. “This is it, isn’t it? I’m going to die.”
“Don’t say that!” Leslie said. She wanted to squeeze Gray’s hand, wring it in her own, but she didn’t. She didn’t want to cause Gray any more pain.
“Just hang in there, Gray,” Alistair Brown said, peering at them in the rearview mirror. “We’ll be at my house in fifteen minutes.”
There was silence for a few minutes. Suddenly, Gray asked, “Leslie, did I hurt the child?”
“No,” Leslie answered. “You didn’t hurt anybody.”
“Good,” Gray mumbled. “I couldn’t remember.”
Leslie waited for Gray to speak again, but he must have drifted off to sleep. She sat in silence, holding Gray’s hand gently in her own. He was so still. What if he slipped away as they drove? Leslie’s heart clenched in fear. She could never live with herself if Gray died now. She wanted to curl up in a little ball next to Gray and hold him close, but that was impossible in the car.
Finally, Professor Brown turned his car in to the driveway of a two-story house. It was in the middle of a modest neighborhood. Leslie wasn’t sure what she was expecting—a mansion or an English Tudor, surrounded by trees in a remote location, maybe—but this wasn’t it.
Two men were already at the house. One, a young man in his mid-twenties, glared at Leslie as the car pulled up. She flinched and instinctively looked away. Timidly, she turned back to look at him. The tips of his hair was bleached, and he wore a faded green t-shirt, jeans, and black gloves. His ice blue eyes caught her gaze, and she felt like he was scrying into her soul. Intimidated, she looked away again.
The second man was holding two large duffle bags. He set them down and ran to the car as soon as the car came to a stop. He pushed his dark-framed glasses up the bridge of his nose as he stopped by Gray’s door. He must be the doctor, Leslie decided, with his pepper-gray hair and quick but professional smile.
“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” Alistair said as he and Leslie climbed out of the car.
“No problem,” the doctor said. “I’ll do what I can, though I must admit it’s been years since I’ve done clinical work. It’s mainly research now.”
“Well, research is what we need,” said Alistair.
Leslie helped the doctor lift Gray out of the car and draped his arm over her shoulders as they half-carried him to the house. Gray flinched at their touch, though he did what he could to walk on his own.
“Hello, my boy,” said the doctor as they walked. “My name is Doctor Monroe. What’s your name?”
“Gray,” he said in a strained voice.
“Gray, huh?” said Doctor Monroe. “And what’s with the sunglasses?”
Light from a streetlamp glanced off the dark lenses. “The light hurts my eyes.”
Professor Brown unlocked the front door and picked up Doctor Monroe’s duffle bags. Leslie and the doctor shuffled inside, supporting Gray. The professor and the icy-eyed shifter followed them inside. After fumbling for a minute, Professor Brown turned on the lights.
Gray screamed in pain. His legs collapsed under him, pulling Leslie and the doctor to the ground with him. A sharp pain bit into Leslie’s shoulder. She turned. The fingers on Gray’s hand from the last knuckle onward were transforming into razor-sharp claws.
“Gray!” Leslie cried. “Stop. Calm down.” She looked frantically at Alistair. “Turn off the lights. They’re hurting him.”
Doctor Monroe stared in shock as Gray’s hair turned black and fur began to creep down his neck. Fangs grew in his mouth, his jaw-line changed, and the sunglasses were knocked askew as the bridge of his nose thickened and flattened.
The shifter slammed off the lights. He rushed forward and pushed Leslie away from Gray, tearing the sunglasses off of Gray’s face. Placing one black-gloved hand on either side of Gray’s head, the shifter stared into Gray’s eyes. Slowly, the color in Gray’s eyes swirled, changing from gold to yellow. Scowling, the shifter snapped, “Where’s his soul binder?”
After fumbling in her pockets, Leslie pulled out the arrowhead and Gray’s soul binder. She handed the soul binder to the shifter. Frayed pieces of shifter’s vines dangled from the black carved stone. He snatched it from her, stuffed it in Gray’s mouth, and forced Gray’s mouth shut.
“What are you doing?” Leslie demanded. She started to reach for Gray, but the pain in her shoulder made her stop.
“Stay back,” commanded the shifter. “His soul binder needs to be inside his body right now.” He placed his hands on either side of Gray’s head once again, shut his eyes, and began to chant in a low, rhythmic tone. The words reverberated through the air, weighty, hypnotic. Leslie’s eyelids began to flutter, but she forced them open. She watched as Gray’s fangs receded, the fir disappeared, his face reformed, his hair lightened, and his eyes turned to gold-flecked brown. Last, the claws on his hands became fingers once more.
Gray coughed and spat his soul binder into his hand. The ends of the shifter’s vines touched, and they weaved around each other, extending shoots and feelers until they formed one solid chain. Gray slipped the chain over his head. He looked at the shifter in awe. “You’re a Spell Weaver.”
The shifter nodded. “One of the few on this side. I’m called Ravenstorm.”
“Now, we all know that’s not true,” said Professor Brown. “Most people call you Adam.”
Ravenstorm’s eyes went dark. “That’s the name the man and woman who raised me on this side called me. My true name—my shifter’s name—is Ravenstorm. And I would rather all shifters know me by that name.”
Leslie shivered. Ravenstorm was intense—far too intense for her liking. And she wondered why he wore those gloves.
Gray didn’t seem to notice anything strange about Ravenstorm. He stared at his hands, slowly opening and closing them, and gave a deep sigh. “I feel better—better than I have in a long time.” He smiled and looked at Ravenstorm. “Am I healed?”
Ravenstorm shook his head. “I’ve suppressed the symptoms for a while, but we need to get you to a bed before you collapse again.”
Gray pushed himself unsteadily to his feet, supported by Ravenstorm. Professor Brown bustled down the hall and up a staircase, saying something about a guest room as he went. Gray and Ravenstorm followed him.
Doctor Monroe pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and watched slack-jawed as Gray and Ravenstorm exited the room. “That was the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen,” he said.
“It wasn’t incredible. It was sad. Gray’s sick, not a science experiment,” Leslie muttered. She tried to push herself to her feet, but her shoulder throbbed. Leslie grabbed her shoulder and winced as the pain shot up her neck. That was a bad idea. She let go. Warm, sticky blood smeared all over her hand. She stared at it.
“You’re hurt,” Doctor Monroe said, stating the obvious. He helped Leslie to her feet. “Let’s bandage you up, then I’ll help Gray.”
The world spun around Leslie, but somehow she managed to stagger to the next room. She didn’t realize she’d lost so much blood or that Gray’s claws had dug so deeply into her. A brown leather couch sat opposite a wood-burning fireplace, and Leslie gratefully sat down. She stared off into space as Doctor Monroe pushed back the ruined sleeve of her shirt and cleaned her shoulder wounds. Had they really arrived at Professor Brown’s house?” Would they really be able to find a cure in time to save Gray and the people in his village? Usually finding a cure to a disease took days, years, lifetimes even. Gray was dying—and if he was so close to death, so many people in his village must have already died. Maybe there was no one else left to save.
Leslie shook her head to clear her thoughts, but it only made her more woozy. There was something…something she still needed to do. Her eyes focused on her purse by her feet. The scroll was inside. They still hadn’t given Professor Brown the scroll.
Doctor Monroe taped a final piece of gauze to Leslie’s shoulder. “There,” he said. “That gauze should be good for a couple of hours at least. The cuts weren’t the right shape for stitches, though they bled a lot. Drink plenty of water and get some rest.”
Even though her head was spinning, Leslie grabbed her purse and stood up. “I have to see the professor,” she said faintly. Doctor Monroe tried to protest, but Leslie pushed past him. “I have to give him something. It’s important.”
Somehow, Leslie made her way upstairs. The first room looked like a hastily made up guest room. A lamp shone low on an end table, revealing Gray lying under a white blanket on a bed with Ravenstorm sitting beside him. Ravenstorm held Gray’s soul binder by the vine chain over Gray’s body, letting it dangle like a pendulum. It swayed back and forth as Ravenstorm chanted, moving by some unseen force. He stopped as Lesie entered the room, his eyes flashing up to meet hers. Leslie shrank backwards.
“What do you want?” Ravenstorm snapped, his voice cold.
“Where’s the professor?” Leslie stammered.
“I’m right here,” said Alistair, and Leslie jumped in surprise. He sat in a darkened corner of the room watching Ravenstorm work. “What do you need?”
“I have the scroll Gray’s supposed to deliver to you,” said Leslie.
Immediately, Alistair stood and strode over to Leslie. He held out his hand. “Give it to me.”
Leslie reached in her purse and pulled out the Pringles can. She opened it and shook the container until the wooden cylinder slid out. As soon as she did so, Alistair snatched up the cylinder and walked closer to the light of the lamp. He popped off the end of the cylinder and pulled out the scroll, letting the cylinder clatter to the floor. His fingers brushed the surface of the scroll, stopping when he found the broken wax seal. Urgently, Alistair opened the scroll. His eyes scanned the first few lines of the indecipherable text.
Alistair let the scroll spring shut and stormed towards Leslie. “You,” he barked, “the seal on the scroll is broken. Did anyone read this scroll? Did you read this scroll?”
Leslie shrank away from the professor, pressing against the door frame. “No—no one read it.”
“Did Gray read it?”
“No,” Leslie insisted. “He never even opened the case. No one read it.”
Alistair Brown stood tense for several long seconds. He raised his hand as if to strike Leslie. Then, he seemed to change his mind and let his arm fall to his side, smiling. “That’s good to hear. I’ll translate this as soon as I can so we can find a cure for this dreadful illness. Go get some rest.”
Doctor Monroe climbed the stairs and stood in the doorway next to Leslie.
Ravenstorm peered at him and said, “I assume you’re ready to work now?”
Doctor Monroe nodded and straightened his tie. “I’ll start with some blood samples—see if I can find what we’re dealing with.”
“Gray’s mind, soul, and body are in harmony right now—try not to ruin that,” said Ravenstorm. He placed the soul binder around Gray’s neck. “And for heaven’s sake keep the lights down.”
Leslie was still leaning against the doorway. What had just happened? Had Professor Brown really just snapped at her? Her head and shoulder ached too much for her to think clearly.
“Leslie, I told you to go get some rest,” said Professor Brown. He came over and stood on the opposite side of the doorway. “The couch downstairs is pretty comfortable if you don’t have a way home.”
“My car,” said Leslie. She pulled herself upright. “It’s still at the shopping center.”
Professor Brown smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry about it. Give the keys to Ravenstorm, and he’ll bring your car here in no time.”
Leslie pulled out her keys, and Professor Brown motioned Ravenstorm over. Reluctantly, Leslie handed her keys to the professor—she couldn’t bring herself to hand them directly to Ravenstorm.
Professor Brown took care of that for her. Tossing him the keys, he said, “Go get Leslie’s car and bring it here. What type of car is it, and where’s it at, Leslie?”
Leslie’s head swam. “It’s a blue Ford Aspire. It looks a little like a Geo. I parked it in the underground parking under Macys.”
Ravenstorm nodded and slipped past Leslie and Professor Brown. Leslie heard the front door open and close soon after.
“Now,” said the professor once Ravenstorm was gone, “go get some sleep.”
Obediently, Leslie made her way downstairs and to the living room. She let herself fall onto the leather couch and was asleep in moments.
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