Irina Taylor, a girl who lives in the 1940s with the gift to see any human's soul, goes from a social outcast to a prophecy come true. But there is a realm that coexists with ours, invisible to the majority of mankind; only a select few can see thro...
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𝓣ʜᴇᴅᴀʀᴋꜱʜᴀᴅᴏᴡ gaped at me, not reacting to my question whatsoever. I pressed on.
"You said my name earlier; I heard you, so I know you can speak. How do you know my name?"
There was still no response. The Shadow made no move to attack me or flee. It just canted its head slightly. I did not understand why this Shadow was watching me but not willing to respond. If it was not here to steal my soul or help me, then why?
"Why are you here?"
Nothing.
My frustration creeped out of its hiding place and reared its ugly head. I growled, "Either go away or give me a damn answer!"
"He can hear us," it said. The voice was so quiet that I had to concentrate to hear it. The sound was like a faraway whisper of the whistling wind, a mournful tune. It was a boy's voice. I sucked in a breath, surprised and partly nervous that I actually got a reply.
"Who is he?" I asked warily. "The winged creature? The one that took my friend, that killed my father?"
The silhouette nodded its head once.
How could that monster hear us? Had he always been listening, watching? Was that how he knew to go after Charlie?
The Dark Shadow's long, jagged fingers spread apart, palm facing up, offering a hand to me. I thought back to the night in the alley. That Shadow was trying to kill me and take my soul straight out of my body. How could I trust that this one was any different, that it was not just luring me in with the unspoken promise of desperately needed answers?
But I was so desperate for answers, so much so that safety was a faraway thought in my mind when I closed the distance between the Shadow and I. It was time to move forward.
"Free your mind," the Dark Shadow breathed.
I looked at the Shadow curiously but did as it asked, clearing my mind of all thoughts. I focused only on the Shadow as I reached out and mindlessly grabbed his outstretched hand as if in a trance. I listened to the sound of the midnight breeze outside, a soothing distraction from the voice within, screaming at me to come to my senses and realize the danger of the situation. I closed my eyes. As I did, the gentle breeze turned into a howling wind, ripping through my hair and assaulting my face. A shiver overtook my body from a chilly bite that seeped into the air. When my common sense finally won, and I opened my eyes, I jolted back.
I was no longer in the shabby old motel room of Balkensdale. I was standing on barren land. Dirt was being carried in swirls of violent wind, assaulting my face and other exposed skin. The sky was a muddied, ugly thing, similar to how it looks after a forest fire when the sun is obscured by smoke, making it appear red in color. There was no fire that I could see—only dark sand and suffocating skies for miles. I stopped paying attention to my surroundings fairly quickly and reigned in my focus on what was right in front of me.
