RISING SHADOWS (Shadows Book 2)

Chapter 13

Mrs Phillips with the help of some others prepared the Immemor in record time. As well as pouring it into the water supply, I asked Fawn to help me hand out cups of the stuff directly to survivors. When a glassy sheen fell over their eyes, that's when we started planting the stories of the gas explosions over and over to each person, to groups at the same time until the words fell from their own lips to each other. Your own magic is always the strongest and most believable.

"Have you heard the terrible news?" the vicar asked no-one in particular.

"Yes," a woman sniffed tearfully, taking a handkerchief from her pocket to dab her eyes. "I just can't stop thinking about the Taylors. Lovely, young family just snuffed out like a candle in a storm. Such a tragedy."

And it was. At least that part was true.

Mrs Horton herself checked the human remains concluding that they were badly burned, burned enough to hide any demon bites or marks that would cast doubt on our story. But they would be left for Pagnall residents to discover, we couldn't interfere there. And they would be buried according to the rights of their own religion, whatever that may be.

A new day had broken on the horizon before any members of my coven began trickling home to Valestone. Those with children left first, the most experienced hanging back to make sure the story stuck.

"Help! Help!"

I recognised Jack Middleton's voice straight away. "He's badly hurt."

He had his arm around Toby's waist, but the younger boy hung loosely at his side, feet dragging behind. His copper hair was much darker than normal, sweat drenched and matted. And though as a redhead, Toby was always on the pale side, today he was as white as a water lily without any hint of his usual pink blush.

Somewhere behind me, a blood-curdling scream rang out. At first I thought it was Mrs Horton panic-stricken but it was Arden, face ashen and eyes wide who raced forward. He was screaming Toby's name.

When I turned back to Toby, I realised what Arden had seen. The front of his green shirt was soaked crimson red and a trail of bloodied drops followed him.

"My son! My son!" Mrs Horton took in the horrific sight. She lunged forward, grabbing hold of Arden by the shoulder and yanked him back. Arden tumbled to the ground landing on his backside. "Not you. Don't you dare touch my son."

Even from where I stood I saw the devastation on his face.

Mrs Horton flew to Toby, taking him herself. His body crumpled like a soggy biscuit. Jack stayed by her side, helping her turn Toby over to assess the damage. She brushed away the strands of sweaty hair. "My darling boy, we're going to get you sorted."

Arden stared ahead. I went to him, easing my hands around his shaking shoulders. "Let's go home," I whispered in his ear.

"To-by," he managed to say through continuous sobs. "I-I can h-help," he gasped for breath in between the words.

"He's with his mother now," I said as gently as I could. "We can help him later."

Arden was still in a state when Fawn and I got him back to the cottage. He alternated between sitting in Gran's armchair, drumming his fingers on his jean-clad knee and pacing the living room asking questions he knew we didn't know the answer to.

It was past 5am and none of us showed any sign of going to sleep. Fawn had curled up at one end of the sofa, a blanket over her knee and sketching pad and charcoal balanced on the sofa arm. The kitten, now happy he'd been fed, perched on her shoulder.

"What if he's dead," Arden rubbed at his chest as if he could erase the pain.

"He isn't dead," I said. "Someone would have told me."