Shades And Shadows Collection: The Complete Series

SHADES AND SHADOWS COLLECTION

THE COMPLETE SERIES

NATALIE J. CASE

CONTENTS

Through Shade and Shadow

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

In Gathering Shade

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Where Shadows Fall

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

About the Author

Copyright (C) 2023 Natalie J. Case

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2023 by Next Chapter

Published 2023 by Next Chapter

Cover art by CoverMint

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

THROUGH SHADE AND SHADOW

SHADES AND SHADOWS BOOK 1

To my dedicated cheerleaders: Cassie, Lisa, Nicole

To the women who inspire me: Victoria, Karla and so many more

Thank you for being with me on this journey!

CHAPTER ONE

"It is now being reported that this man, this serial killer, is in fact a Shade, Alec. Mason Jerah turned from his grandmother's bedside, lifting the television remote to increase the volume. For those of you just joining us, we are covering the recent arrest of late night DJ, William Darchel, from Salt Lake City, Utah, for the murder of as many as 25 women over the last ten years. Darchel was found drinking the blood of his latest victim, Marisel Deboi."

Mason watched as video played of the arrest, with Darchel being led out of a house with blood on his face and painting his shirt. "Until very recently, Shades were believed to be nothing more than folklore, brought over with immigrants from places in Europe."

I told you they'd find us.

Mason turned back to find his grandmother pushing herself up to lean back against the headboard. They didn't find us, Nana. They caught a killer.

Her lined face clearly showed her disgust. It's always the worst of us that they find. Mark my words, Mason, this is not going to do us any favors. Bad enough as it is.

He let her words go without protest. It wouldn't do any good to argue. She had lived a life he barely knew about, had seen things he never would. She had earned the fear that had kept them separate, hiding from a world she knew would never understand or accept them.

I'll bring you some tea.

No, boy, help me up. I'm tired of this bed.

He sighed, but pushed his chair back while she pulled the blankets off herself. He offered his hand as she put her feet on the floor, letting her use it to steady herself and pull herself upright. Once she was steady, he let her set the pace, taking them out of her small bedroom and into a spacious kitchen.

His father had grown up in this house, and his Nana had helped build it when she was in her teens. Mason had spent a lot of time in the house as a boy, and since the fire that had destroyed his own house and killed his father, he too had considered this place home.

I'll make some tea. Mason said as they reached the kitchen.

That's my good boy. She patted his arm and shuffled into the living room. He heard the television come on and sighed. The more she saw of the world outside, the more she was afraid.

Not that he could blame her.

They were the last of their line. He was a few weeks shy of eighteen and he had never met another Shade who wasn't family.

Mason set the kettle on the stove and set up the tray for his Nana's tea. He'd always thought they were the last, until they had received a letter from a Shade on the east coast, the daughter of one of his Nana's friends.

If it was true that Darchel was a Shade, things would change for any living Shade. They had always been a thing of myth and legend, stories told around campfires and written about in books with other fantastical creatures like dragons and unicorns and witches.

Darchel had been found three days before in a house in Utah with blacked out windows and bodies of missing women, all hung upside down and bled dry.

Clearly the man was deranged.

Mason filled the teapot from the kettle and set the tea steeping before putting a couple of cookies on the tray as well. He headed into the darkened living room.

"Of course, liberal media is going to say there is no such thing as Shades, a man on the television was saying as Mason set the tray down. They will try to tell us that this man has some sort of disease, that he should be pitied. I'm here to tell you that William Darchel is the son of the devil himself. How else do you explain him?"

Mason poured tea and handed the cup to his Nana, sitting beside her on the couch. Do you think he really is one of us, Nana? Mason asked.

I think he might be. Look how pale he is. Never seen a sunny afternoon, that one.

Mason watched the footage again as they replayed it, Darchel being dragged out of the house by two men, his face a mask of rage and blood. He flinched as the sun found his skin, pulling back instinctively, only to be dragged forward again.

"We are joined now by Utah senator Norman Douglas. Senator, thank you for being here." Mason didn't recognize the man in the dark suit, but one look told him the man was a politician. His thick brown hair was sprinkled with gray and styled in a typical rich man's haircut. His gray eyes belied the serious set of the man's face. Something made him happy, probably the free publicity.

"Thank you, Alec, I'm glad I could be here. Let me tell you something. This is not something we could have predicted, but rest assured that we are prepared to do whatever it takes to keep the people safe."

What an ass. Mason glanced at his grandmother, smirking at her use of the pejorative. That man… She shook her head, never finishing the thought.

They sat in silence for a while, watching as the news cycled through to other stories and came back to Darchel. It was all of his Nana's worst fears come to life.

Her fear had kept him isolated. All he knew of his heritage as a Shade he had learned from her, and most of what she taught him had been to teach him how to hide what he was from the world.

There was a lot more to who and what they were, he knew that. He knew how to find clean water and to avoid salt and sunlight. He knew how to use the energy within him to ease aches and pains. But he also knew from the memories inside him that there was a lot he didn't know.

The fullness of those memories wouldn't unlock until he turned eighteen. They were his mother's, hers and her line's, taken with her last breath when he was only nine and locked away by his father until Mason was of age, when presumably he would have learned enough to understand them. His education in his heritage ended two years after that, however, when his father was killed in the fire. His grandmother had forbidden him to use his gifts outside of the house, refused to teach him how to use the healing energy inside him to affect others.

She was terrified they'd be found and killed. Or worse. Listening to some of the people on the television now, he couldn't say her fears were unfounded.

His birthday was a somber event, there was no cake, no presents. He sat beside his Nana in the shadows of her bedroom, holding her hand as if his grip could hold her in her body.

There was a time, Mason, when we did not have to hide what we are. We were sought for the gifts we can give, and not feared for them. She coughed weakly. But those times have long past, and you need to be safe. You need to protect yourself from them that would use a Shade to evil ends.

I know Nana, Mason said softly, blinking away the tears. She had told him the same thing over and over for most of his life.

There had been a great uproar about Shades since Darchel's arrest. Old myths were pulled out and then debated on every news channel, along with talk of medical research. People were scared. Darchel had people believing the old stories about Shades drinking blood to survive.

It wasn't true. Shades could survive on blood, but it wasn't a first choice. Like anyone else, they required nutrition, food. But a Shade's physiology required liquid and lots of it. Preferably good, clean water.

If they know what you are, they'll kill you. And if they don't kill you outright, they will torture you, make you do things, make you a monster. Her old, wrinkled hand lifted, one bony, arthritic finger poking into his chest. You hold on to the heart the gods gave you, boy. I won't be there to remind you. She took his hand again, squeezing it tightly. You take what I'm giving you.

He shook his head. No, Nana. Not yet. He wasn't ready to let her go, and he certainly wasn't ready for what she was giving him. He was too young, too inexperienced.

Yes, now, before it's too late. She pulled him closer with a surprising strength for one about to die. Close your eyes, open your mouth. Take the strength of our line. You're the last of a lineage, Mason.

Tears slipped past his eyelids as he closed them, opening his mouth and leaning over her. Her body vibrated and she breathed in deep, holding it for an impossibly long time before she grabbed the sides of his face and pressed her open mouth to his.

Mason pulled away involuntarily, but she held him, breathing out into his mouth while her voice filled his head. "Swallow it, Mason. It was too much, too hard, like a giant rock formed from her breath, getting bigger as he held it in his mouth. You must."

He sucked in and forced himself to swallow and the rock moved into his throat, then slowly down, until he could feel the fingers of it stretching out, pulling itself into him, expanding as it filled him. She fell back to the bed, panting. There's my good boy.

His throat burned and he reached for the water on the side table, swallowing rapidly as the lump melted into him. It was different from when it was his mother. More, somehow. Images started leaking into him, memories from down their line, the heritage of his people, the root of their gift.

They had been a proud clan once, and his Nana had always told him that once he was the last of the line, all the power, all of their history would be his to safeguard.

She was the keeper of their line, and that hard ball of power and memory would bloom and flare in him… It was the right of the leader of his line: the power to lead, the memory of the world from which they came, the parting gift of every Shade, every life collected.

It was meant for an elder, for someone trained, someone who knew what he was.

It was never meant for someone like him. Nana?

Her eyes were closing and he could feel the cold creeping into her. You be a good boy, Mason, she whispered. Make me proud.

He felt her letting go and clung to her a little harder. Please don't leave me.

"I'll always be a part of you." He couldn't tell if that was her actually thinking in his head or the part of her that was inside the gift she'd given him. Her death rippled through him, activating parts of him that were meant to be dormant until he was old enough to handle them.

Mason stood, his stomach churning with grief, even as his body grew hotter. There was too much light in the room suddenly, the last rays of a late spring sun slanting through the closed slats on the wooden shades, and he ran, down the stairs into the basement, drowning himself in the dark, stripping down and immersing himself in the cool waters of the soaking pool.

The water welcomed him, and he sank deep into it, clinging to the feeling of her until it slipped away and he was alone. He surfaced slowly, as his body shifted inside, as it accepted those that had come before, the memory rippling through him of times past, of ancestors tormented, chased into hiding.

Some of it he knew from the stories his Nana would tell them, some he had guessed at from her silences. His line was long, stretching all the way back to the days when Shades were the healers and shamans, before the coming of the Church had bred fear. There was too much to follow coherently. It exploded in small bursts of information, memories. It prodded at the barrier his father had put in his head to keep his mother's last breath safe, breaking it open and doubling the effect.

Mason inhaled and sank deep into the pool again, willing the water to ease the transition. Knowledge came alive inside him and he tentatively stirred the water with his hands, letting energy stimulate the water, which in turn warmed against his skin.

He would stay there, in that cool pool of water until it had unrolled inside him, until his brain had sorted it into some sense of order and his body had adjusted. Then he would see to his Nana's body, and decide what to do next.

Mason pulled himself up out of the pool, a little dazed, but driven by hunger. He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but he knew he needed to eat.

He dried himself and pulled his clothes back on, climbing the stairs wearily. He opened the basement door cautiously, checking for sunlight, but all was dark. He eased through the door and stopped in the kitchen. It was too quiet. Not that she had been loud, exactly. Her presence could fill the house and now that she was gone, the silence was empty. He pulled bread from the cupboard and ham from the refrigerator, throwing together a sandwich to satisfy the hunger inside him.

His time in the dark had given him insight into what was possible, but did nothing for his practical knowledge. There was more to learn than he had ever imagined. It all bubbled there inside him, and he had no idea what to do with it all.

Once he was done with his sandwich, he checked the time. It was nearly one in the morning. It gave him time to do what needed to be done.

He let himself out into the night, pausing to appreciate the smell of damp earth and pine sap. It was the smell of home. Grabbing a shovel from beside the house, Mason headed down the dirt path into the woods. The clearing that was home to the Jerah family's earthly remains was small and well hidden.

His mother was buried there, her stone small and carved by his father's own hand. Her father and a brother Mason had never known lay there as well. His great grandparents both were buried in the center of the plot, the only formal headstone adorning their grave in the tiny cemetery. Mason paused in respect, closing his eyes and feeling inside him for the lingering presence of those who were buried there.

His Nana would want to be buried with her husband. Mason turned to his grave, marked simply with a small cairn and set his shovel to the earth.

It was hard work, the earth heavy with recent rains, but Mason found it comforting to lose himself in the physical labor, and he dug his way down to the linen shroud wound around his grandfather's remains.

Mason had loved spending time with the old man when he was small, following him around as he worked in the garden and, later, learning to fish and hunt at his side. Like his mother and father, his grandfather had died far too early. Mason cleared the dirt from what was left of his body and climbed out of the hole.

He trudged back to the house, feeling a little guilty for tracking mud onto the gleaming floors, and into the bedroom where his Nana lay. She was beautiful, looking peaceful, as though she had only fallen asleep. He knelt beside the bed, reaching up for the talisman she wore around her neck. It was a dark stone, barely the size of a half dollar and carved with a symbol that represented the Jerah family. His grandfather had carved it before they were wed, the stone taken from the family hearth in the old country.

Mason removed it carefully, kissing the stone before lifting the leather cord and sliding it over his head. The stone sat heavily against his chest as he stood and prepared his Nana to join her husband.

When he had wrapped her securely in a sheet, Mason carried her out to the graveyard and gently lowered her in to lie atop his grandfather's remains. For a long moment, he knelt beside the grave. Memories spilled through him of other graves, other losses, back through time.

The sun would be rising soon. Gathering himself, Mason stood and covered the bodies with dirt. He was weary as he returned to the small house, his heart heavy with loneliness. He showered and crawled into his bed, closing his eyes against the pain.

"You are not alone."

Mason sat up, half certain the voice had been spoken, but he was alone in the room. Slowly he lay back down, reaching inside him for the voice. In the dark he could see others, Shades. They were scattered, each line had taken its own path centuries before, but they weren't all broken.

"You must find your Book of Line. You must carry the line forward." The voices inside whispered to him, carrying him off to sleep, to dream of times when whole families came together to learn and teach, when the gifts a Shade can bring were welcomed into the world and not feared.

Mason woke shortly before the sun went down, filled with an urgency to find his grandmother's book. She had kept it hidden from him, afraid he would learn from it and somehow expose them. He dressed quickly and went into her bedroom. It still smelled of her as he turned on the lights. There wasn't much in the room that he wasn't familiar with – her bed and nightstand, her antique dresser and mirror. All had stood in their place since she had been a girl.

Mason crossed to her closet and opened the door. There was a small stool against the back wall. He pulled it toward him and stepped up so that he could see the shelves on either side. There was a dusty photo album and an old pair of dress shoes that had been his mother's. Behind the photo album was a beat up cardboard box.

He pulled the box to him and stepped off the stool. The lid was loose and came off easily, revealing something wrapped in an old quilt. Mason set the box down on the bed and unfolded the fragile fabric.

He had seen the book once before, when the mourning time for his father had passed and his Nana had pulled it out to record his death.

It seemed smaller somehow than he remembered it. The leather that covered the book was hand tooled, the same symbol that adorned the talisman around his neck etched into the cover, and the name Jerah was stamped underneath. He ran his hand reverently over the cover before opening it.

Inside it was a history of his line, his family. It was incomplete, of course. In part it was because his Nana had refused to update it after his father's death, and in part because the ancestor who had copied it from the original had been rushed so it wasn't fully transcribed.

He sat and slowly paged through the book, marveling at how much there was to learn. The first pages were filled with the family tree and marked where the branches expanded onto other pages. There were stories of lives lived in other times and other places as well as remedies and recipes in the writing of varied hands.

Now that he was alone, it was his duty to copy the book into one of his own. It was meant to help him learn his history and fill in the gaps of his knowledge of Shade work and lore.

Near the last half of the book, he could see his Nana's handwriting. She had made notes on various pages, changing measurements on a remedy to ease mouth pain and breaking down the ingredients in a family blend of herbs. Later pages she wrote herself, a recipe for honey wine flavored with honeysuckle and infused with Shade healing to be given as a wedding gift.

Mason stood and took the book out into the kitchen. He would need to go into town to get a book of his own. He could take care of the business of his Nana's accounts and the like while he was there. They didn't have much, but there was a small bank account and he would have to record her death with the county.

If he left early enough, he could get to town before sunrise, and only his walk home would include daring the sun. Mason left the Book of Line on the table and began making a list of things he would need.

Near to four in the morning, Mason pulled an empty backpack onto his shoulders and headed out. In the dark, he could take the fastest route, down the dirt road. Shortly before he reached the town of Naft, the road would become gravel and at the town limits, it became paved. The maps told him that the paved road would lead down to a two-lane blacktop highway that would take him out into the world.

Mason reached the start of the gravel and stopped to check the lightening skies. Sunrise wasn't far off. He pulled down the sleeves of his flannel shirt, covering his arms and adjusted his old floppy hat to make sure his face was shaded before he set out again.

The town of Naft had been growing in recent years. Since he was fourteen, he'd made the trek into town once a month to pick up what they needed, the things they couldn't hunt for or grow. His first memory of it was of single building that housed the post office, town hall and a dry goods store. Now it had a bank, a coffee shop that opened at four in the morning and stayed open until nine at night, a grocery store, and a gas station in addition to that one building.

He nodded a greeting to old man James, who was always up with the sun, sweeping the walkway in front of the town hall building and getting ready for the day. He could feel the heat from the sun, though it still sat low enough in the sky that only it's red glow was visible over the trees.

Naft was named for Maxwell Naft, who was the first to settle here. His Nana had always told him that Naft had been a Shade, but if he was, no one else seemed aware of it.

Mason let himself into the coffee shop, lifting a hand to Brandy, the early morning waitress. There were only two others in the place this early, men who likely worked in one of the larger towns down the mountain and had to get an early start.

Wasn't expecting you this morning, Mason. Brandy said as she came to the table he snagged in the corner.

He nodded. I know. Nana passed. I need to handle a few things.

Oh, I'm sorry to hear that.

Thank you. I'll take a cup of coffee when you get a minute, and a glass of water.

Sure thing. She walked away and Mason looked up at the television over the counter. Early morning news was talking more about Darchel.

"If you are just joining us this morning, we are talking about the news that a medical exam has confirmed that suspected serial killer William Darchel is, in fact, a Shade. We are joined by Dr. Anthony who has examined the suspect."

Mason glanced at the two men at the counter, then back at the television. The doctor being interviewed was a big guy, at least next to the morning news anchor, who seemed tiny beside him. His dark red hair was just starting to grey at the temples and his face was a little pink, as if he'd just been running.

Brandy delivered his coffee and water and momentarily blocked his view of the television. Can I tempt you with a bagel or something?

No, I'm fine. Just killing time until the bank is open.

She followed his gaze to the television, shifting her weight to lean lightly on the table. Can you believe this?

Mason sighed and sipped at his coffee. Yeah, crazy, right?

They're saying he was drinking the blood of the last victim when they found him.

He looked up at her, nodding. I heard that too.

She shook her head. Scary, thinking those things are out here walking around with the rest of us.

Mason swallowed. There can't be that many of them, or we would have heard of them before now.

That's what the news was saying this morning, Brandy agreed.

One of the men at the counter held up his coffee cup and Brandy left Mason to go fill it. The doctor was gone from the screen and instead the senator he'd seen before was there. "Of course, we are concerned that there are more of them out there. Darchel insists that he acted alone, but as we find out more about him, I am convinced that there are Shades living among us, just as he did. I think we need to begin by rooting them out and expose them for the evil that they are."

Mason shook his head and turned to look out the window. He drank his coffee and watched the town come awake instead of watching the talking heads on the television. At least it was more entertaining.

The door chimed as a small family came in and the two men at the counter left. Brandy came to refill his coffee and turned the television to cartoons for the kids. When the clock turned past eight in the morning, Mason rose and dropped a five-dollar bill on the table.

He pulled his hat down to protect as much skin as he could and dashed across the street to the store. He walked past the canned goods and aisles of groceries to the counter in the back, reaching for one of the catalogs. He found what he wanted and filled out the order form before taking it up to the front where the owner was stocking a shelf with bags of potato chips.

Early in the month for you, isn't it?

Mason nodded and handed him the order form. Needed to do some business. I need to order that and cancel our usual grocery order.

The older man looked at him with knowing eyes. I'm sorry for your loss.

Mason nodded. Thank you.

Do you need help with her body?

No, thank you. I've already buried her in the family plot. I just need to register the death.

The man nodded. Manny's away visiting his sister. But I can take the information. Let me get you the form.

When he returned from a back room with a piece of paper, Mason took it and filled in the requested information. Filing the form would leave him with no regular income. His grandmother had been collecting government money since her husband's death. He could manage with what he could hunt and grow on the land, at least for now.

How long for the book? Mason asked, pulling his wallet out to pay for it.

About a week, if I get the order in today. I'll have Andy bring it out to you.

Have him leave it on the porch if I don't answer the door.

Will do.

Mason sighed and headed next door to the bank. Closing the account would give him enough money to get through the next few months while he decided what to do with his life.

CHAPTER TWO

I think recent events illustrate my point well enough, Councilwoman Bethany Flanders said.

Are you suggesting that we should be racist and xenophobic? Anson Lambrecht asked the councilwoman. Alaric touched his father's shoulder in warning.

Is it racist to defend yourself against murderers? the councilwoman argued. She bristled and put both hands on the table in front of her. My husband and several other state assemblymen are drafting a bill that would require all Shades to register so that they can be monitored. All I am suggesting is that we consider a local ordinance to protect our children.

"This is not going well." Alaric thought to his father over their psychic connection.

"Steady," his father replied, his thought warm and familiar.

While I recognize that your concern is for the children, I fail to see how the proposed ordinance would do anything more than turn our citizens against one another. Alaric looked up at the speaker, caught a little off guard. Townsend Marley was not usually the voice of reason.

Councilwoman Flanders held up a file folder. We're talking about people who kill. I got this from Chief Kalin. We have had three bodies found in two weeks, drained of blood, Shade symbols carved into their skin.

Alaric sat forward, his hand on his father's shoulder. He hadn't heard anything about any Shade related deaths. His father's surprise told Alaric he hadn't either. Why is this the first we're hearing of it? Anson asked.

She stood a little straighter and lifted her chin defiantly. The police are afraid that if it came out that we had one of these killers here there would be mass panic.

So, because we may or may not have a serial killer who may or may not be a Shade, our logical response is to put anyone who might possibly be a Shade into some ghetto?

Next to Councilwoman Flanders, a slight man with almost delicate hands cleared his throat and stood. I believe the point to be made here is that people who are different, who can kill us without a weapon, should be segregated, for the protection of our citizens. I would take it a step further, and include any person with extra-human ability.

Alaric sat back in his chair, his eyes on the newest member of the city council. He was a local minister, the kind that had always made him nervous.

What exactly do you mean by extra-human, Roth? Anson asked, crossing his arms. Alaric could feel his concern and outrage at the idea that Roth might mean them.

Alaric did not like the way Roth looked at his father then. "I'm sure you are aware, Councilman, that the Bible counsels us to expel evil. Even now, in this age, there are those among us who receive nefarious powers from the devil and use them to ensnare the godly."

His father actually snorted. You can't be serious, Reverend. This is a city council, not a church meeting. You've been warned before to leave your religion at the door.

Three months ago, you would have argued that there was no such thing as a Shade, Councilman. Roth said, an eyebrow lifting. And yet, here we have found that they do exist and that they are evil. If such an evil being, with powers beyond our own, is real, how can we deny that there are also Witches and other beings that can bring about our destruction?

So…what? Anson asked. You want to outlaw psychics and herbalists now?

The corner of Roth's mouth lifted into a sort of half smile. It would be a start. There was a smugness about him, a sense that he was pleased with Alaric's father's objection. But he couldn't know the truth. For generations, his family had kept their secret, their tribe, like the Shades and others, hidden in plain sight, not out of malice, but for self-preservation.

Anson shook his head. Alaric looked around the council chambers, mentally trying to tally those who would support the ordinance currently under discussion, which would limit the locations where a Shade could legally live. He scanned the surface emotions of the those he could, coming back with a nearly fifty-fifty split with at least one member of the council still very undecided.

He glanced at the clock. There wouldn't be a vote now. The session was nearly over. I suggest we table this discussion until everyone has had a chance to review the ramifications and legality of what it is being proposed. Councilman Marley said.

Alaric's father nodded. Seconded.

Harold Mackey, the recording secretary held up a hand. All in favor? A chorus of Ayes shuffled around the room. So moved. The allotted time for this session is at an end. Do I have a motion to adjourn? Several people raised a hand. Moved and seconded. All in favor?

No one waited for him to say approved. As one, they all began standing, turning to aides and heading for the door. Alaric's father put a hand on his arm, drawing him to the exit. He put his copy of the proposal in Alaric's hands as they headed for his office. Get me numbers.

Alaric nodded, holding the door for his father. Should I tell Mom you're going to be late?

Anson smiled and nodded. She knows.

An aide for one of the other councilmen came running toward them. Turn on the news, right now.

Alaric darted around his father and turned on the television in his office. The screen came to life, instantly filling with flames as a voice tried to relay what was happening.

"We are in downtown Sacramento right now, where a fire is blazing after witnesses say that five men claiming to be the 8th Battalion beat a man and dragged him into this building, where they reportedly set the man on fire."

Alaric sank into the chair, his stomach tightening as his father moved to stand beside him. He could feel the comfort his father was sending his way, but underneath it he could feel his father's own fear.

"We have received footage that is supposedly from the 8th Battalion, a militia group that has taken credit for several attacks across the US. I warn you that this footage is graphic."

The burning building faded and in its place was shaky footage of four men in navy blue from head to toe, ski masks obscuring their faces as they dragged a bloody black man to a column in a dark building where they stood him up and tied him. "We are the 8th Battalion. We are the mighty right hand of God. This is justice." Two of the men doused the man with liquid from gas cans, trailing a puddle away from him. A third man lit the puddle as they all jumped back.

Screams filled the air as the fire raced up the man's body. Alaric looked away from the screen as his hand found the button to turn the screen off.

That's right here. Alaric said to his father.

I think it's time to go home, Alaric. Anson said, his hand warm on Alaric's shoulder. We can work on this tomorrow.

Alaric nodded, standing slowly. Thanks, Alison.

She nodded. I thought you should know.

Tell your mother that the preserves were appreciated. Anson said as Alison started to leave. And we'll have you over for dinner sometime next week. He shut the door behind her and turned to Alaric. Perhaps we should call a meeting. Things are starting to get hot.

Alaric nodded. I'm starting to think that maybe Riley was right. None of them wanted to believe that things would get as bad as Riley had seen them in his premonition, but each day something new happened to make him wonder.

He felt his mother reaching for him, her thoughts warmly caressing against his shields as she checked in to make sure they were okay. He returned the affection as he gathered his things. His father joined the link and for a moment they just shared in the familial bond, before information was relayed and his father reached out for the other members of his clan.

They left the office then, needing no words as they made their way to the car and headed for home. It would be a tense night for all of them.

We have to be prepared for where all of this is going, Riley said, his voice quiet, but intense. Riley James had married into the family a year before. He was younger than Alaric by about five years. The product of a mixed marriage, Riley's mother was a Vodon priestess from Ghana, his father a police officer in Virginia who was a part of the clan. His skin was a soft brown, his eyes a deep, dark blue. His hair changed often, but was currently dyed blond and gelled into spikes. His gift was not the most active, but it was strong. It had been Riley who first suggested that the current tensions would lead to war, and that their kind would be among the casualties of that war.

We don't know where it's going, Bryan countered from his place near the front door. Bryan Wagner was one of his father's best friends; they'd known each other since they were kids. His chin was covered with dark blond hair that was shot through with gray. His skin was deeply tanned, all but the stark white of the scar that ran from his hairline down onto his cheek and into his beard. He was a good fifteen years older than Alaric and together they were two of his father's three Keepers.

Alaric glanced across at the third of those Keepers. She was older than all of them, a distant cousin with a depth of gifts he couldn't begin to guess at. Victoria Olson was the epitome of what he supposed a wise woman looked like. Her long silver hair hung in braids and her colorful clothes were as playful as the sparkle in her eye. Alaric had known her since he was four or five, and she never ceased to surprise him. Her gifts were plentiful but never on display, and she was known to be as wise in the ways of herbs and stones as she was in her counsel.

Victoria raised an eyebrow at him and Alaric smiled. As Keepers, they shared a fairly intimate bond, but he didn't want to intrude, so he withdrew.

We need to watch our step. Alaric's father said beside him. Riley's premonition seems to be pretty close to the truth.

That has never been the most reliable of gifts. Bryan said. We've worked hard to pull this clan back together. I don't want to see us run off by a vision that may or may not come true.

You want to wait until the person burned alive is one of us? Riley asked, his hand coming to rest on his wife's shoulder.

The only child of Alaric's aunt, Abigail was only twenty-two, and was nearly six months pregnant with their first child. Of all of them, she was the only one who was publicly known for her gifts, making a living as a psychic, reading cards and palms out of the parlor of the house she had inherited from her mother and sometimes from a local metaphysical shop.

"The 8th Battalion is a problem, even if they haven't turned their eye our way. It is pretty clear my fellow council members have, however. Anson said. Tonight, Reverend Roth suggested that his proposed ordinance should apply to more than just Shades."

It isn't just here either. Victoria said, her sharp eyes sweeping the room. The winds bring news of violence erupting all over. This business with the Shade murderer has opened a door to a very dark place, and that darkness has found its way out.

Bryan crossed his arms and leaned back against the door. The racism isn't new.

The face of the man who had been killed filled Alaric's mind, the footage playing as though he was back in his father's office watching it. He could almost feel the pain as the flames caught. He turned away, trying to keep his discomfort from derailing the conversation.

Perhaps it isn't new. Victoria said. But once it was shoved behind a door and we tried to pretend it was gone.

I don't want to be the one to say that it isn't our fight… Bryan said.

Yes you do. Anson answered with a shake of his head. But you're wrong. Bigots seldom focus on just one group of people. And when it gets dressed up in religion, we're all fair game.

Roth made it pretty clear tonight that he wants to see anyone his religion brands as evil contained, at the least. Alaric said, pushing the fiery images in his head away.

But Roth is a councilman, not a member of these militias that are committing the violence. Bryan insisted.

You sure about that? Alaric asked. He licked his lips and drew in a deep breath before glancing aside at his father.

You've been quiet so far. Anson said. Speak your mind.

When you asked him if he wanted to outlaw psychics and herbalists tonight, his reaction was…it was like you validated something for him. He is hiding a lot more than he's showing.

Did you read him? Riley asked.

Alaric shook his head. No, just surface stuff, emotions. I wasn't close enough…and I'm not sure I want to read beyond the surface with him.

I think we need to be vigilant. And we need to be prepared. Anson said. I will be increasing my time with the globe, see if I can spot trouble coming. I want the rest of you to be alert too. And if you see something, tell us.

Alaric sensed his mother's approach and turned to her as the room slowly emptied out. She smiled and took his hand. Her touch was soothing. She was worried, he didn't need to read her to know that.

When the room was empty but for his parents and himself, Alaric sighed and tried to stifle a yawn. His father was going to go out into the yard, to the grove of trees where the orb waited. It was one of the few remaining artifacts of their ancient tribe in existence. It was a source of energy, a means of connection. The appointed leader of the tribe could use it to instantly reach any and all with gifts, no matter where they were. Since his father had taken on the mantle to lead the tribe, they had used it to unite the displaced families, bringing them together in a way the tribe hadn't known in over a century.

His father had been chosen because he was one of the few remaining with a bloodline that went back to the old world, back to a time when their tribe had been whole. Anson had inherited the role from his uncle and he had chosen Alaric to stand with him, though at the time Alaric had barely been an adult. Nearly seven years had passed since that day when he had stood with Bryan and Victoria to support his father's initiation.

Alaric had learned a lot since then. In some ways the ritual that had connected him to the others had opened him up, brought his gifts to the fore. He'd been a skilled empath even then, though he seldom exerted influence, preferring to use his gifts to gather information. It made him good at reading people, at seeing through lies. But in the years since the ritual, his ability to read far more than emotions had become stronger.

His father saw it as a sign that Alaric would follow him as leader. It was part of why he delegated authority to Alaric regularly, hoping he would become familiar with the work of leading the tribe. As his mother walked with his father out into the yard, Alaric turned for his room.

They had been a fractured tribe, scattered across the world, the gifts waning as they intermarried with those without gifts. Since his childhood, Alaric had helped his mother trace the lines, contacting people, offering them connection, family. Some had moved to be closer, and they had begun training again.

Together, he and his mother had designed a series of tests to help determine which gifts were strongest in those that came to them wanting to learn. Using the knowledge his father collected from the memories of the ancestors, they were building customized courses of study and intensive practical trainings.

He sat at his desk and ran a hand over his face. All of it could come crashing down around them. He had been skeptical when Riley told them of his vision. As Bryan said, precognition wasn't ever the most reliable of their many gifts. The future was always in motion, and telling the future was like trying to pin it in place.

But he was starting to feel like, just maybe, Riley's vision of the future was closer to true than any of them wanted it to be.

CHAPTER THREE

"The FBI is now indicating that the explosion this weekend outside a crowded Catholic church in New York City was not, in fact, the product of foreign terrorism as was originally speculated. Two suspects are in custody after exhaustive investigation. The bomb was set in the predominantly Hispanic neighborhood by a white supremacist group. Twenty-two people died in that blast and another thirty were wounded. We will have more information following coverage of the press conference due to begin momentarily."

Mason turned away from the television and turned his attention back to the books on the coffee table in front of him. He had nearly completed copying his Nana's Book of Line into one of his own. It wasn't as complete as he had once believed, with gaps indicating that none of his most recent ancestors had gone back to the original in generations.

To complete his book, he would need to take a journey across the country to the grave of the first Jerah to land on American soil.

Secreted in a compartment in a gravestone in what was now Washington DC was a much larger Book of Line, one that tracked all of the family lines. As the last of his branch of the Jerah line, it was his duty to go back and update the book, and take from it any updates left by other Shades paying homage to their origin.

It was a rite of passage passed down from the days when the journey involved was far more arduous than his would be. He merely had to navigate the hardships of his natural sensitivity to sunlight and figuring out the confusing maze of transportation through cities he knew nothing about. He glanced toward the television and amended the thought. He'd also need to steer clear of the gun-toting, Shade and minority hating, right wing crazies who were popping up everywhere. The number of hate crimes had been rising in the last weeks, spurred on by Darchel's arrest and the xenophobic rhetoric that was being spewed by several of the presidential candidates now that the race to party nominations was getting contentious.

"No, at this time we do not suspect any Shade involvement. The words made Mason look up. There was a man in a suit behind a podium with at least twenty microphones in his face. Behind him stood an array of similar men in suits and in front of him a sea of reporters, each clamoring to ask the next question. The men responsible are a part of a white militia group known as the 8th Battalion. As far as we know, this attack was purely motivated by hate. The suspects have confessed and indicated that there will be more attacks to come."

A suspected Shade had been beaten to death in Montana the week before. A homosexual black man and his Hispanic partner had been found dead in their car, which was covered with spray painted swastikas and racial slurs. Three Islamic centers had been burned following political rallies in their cities.

He'd always believed his Nana was paranoid, but since her death, he was beginning to wonder if she wasn't right after all. The world outside his quiet mountain home was a terrifying place.

Mason closed his Nana's book and got to his feet to return it to the hiding place where he'd found it. When he returned from his trip he would update it and then bury it where it belonged.

He returned to the living room as a clip was playing of Norman Douglas' rally in New York the week before. "I'm not saying that we should kill… you know, but we shouldn't be afraid to take back our country. They take our jobs, they take our lives, they force their beliefs on us. Islamic terrorists, black and Mexican gangs, Shades, the gays… they are all here and they are killing us. We need to stand strong. We need to deport all the illegals. We need to keep the bad element out!"

Mason turned the television off. He didn't want to hear any more. Instead he went to his room, pulling his old hiking backpack out of the closet. It had been his grandfather's. They had used it when they went hunting or camping up in the mountains overnight.

He packed a few changes of clothing, an extra pair of gloves and went into the bathroom to pack up the necessities. He wanted to travel light. He'd keep to the woods until he got down the mountain, and from there he could catch a bus traveling east. He wasn't sure how long it would take him.

He stopped at the hall closet for the pup tent and sleeping roll, checking them before securing them with the straps on his pack. In the kitchen, he pulled out the old cast iron skillet and packed up the last of the canned goods and cleaned out the fridge to make a couple of sandwiches. He put his new book into a smaller canvas bag and stashed it in his pack before he got his hunting knife and kit. The knife fit into his boot, the kit fit into the pack.

Mason slipped on his jacket and settled his hat on his head. It was early evening as he stepped out onto the porch, pulling the door shut and locking it behind him. He adjusted the pack on his shoulders and took up the hand carved hiking stick that he and his grandfather had made.

He paused at the tree line, looking back at the little house that had been his home for years. He had never dreamed he would leave it. Not like this.

Mason set out into the gathering dark of the night, moving through the familiar woods at a steady pace. He had hiked through these trees all his life. In fact, the town at the bottom of the mountain was the furthest he'd ever been from home. He kept to back trails that steered clear of people and houses. He stopped close to midnight, in a dense thicket where he couldn't see the sky, to eat a sandwich. Out this far, the world was quiet. He could almost pretend he was alone.

Near dawn, he stopped and pitched his tent, crawling inside to sleep. It was made of thick canvas so it would protect him from any sun that could find its way through the heavy tree cover above him. The familiar confines of the tent were comforting. He unrolled his sleep roll and lay down on it. In the recent days, as he'd worked on copying his book, he'd taken to practicing things he'd read about. It was something he should have been doing all along, if he'd been allowed to follow the traditions, starting his own book as he reached puberty.

He closed his eyes, taking his grandmother's talisman from around his neck and holding it in his right hand as he started with a simple routine: breathing in slowly and out just as slowly, bringing his focus out of the outside world and down into his own body, feeling through his limbs and organs for any signs of disease or damage and directing energy to heal anything he found.

It was calming, if nothing else. As he lay there, he directed energy to his feet and legs to prevent any soreness that might develop in his muscles. He swept his inner eye over his vital organs, through his stomach and intestines. He didn't actually expect to find anything, but the text had said that it was a good practice daily so that anything that did begin to develop could be caught early and dealt with before it became a problem.

Besides, he figured it was a good thing for a Shade to know his own body. He'd never had any schooling in human anatomy, so he would have to learn it through the study of his own. Once he'd completed his review and centered his thoughts again, he reached inside him for the network of thoughts and memories that had grown from the joining of his mother's last breath and his grandmother's.

The memories were all scrambled, far from any coherent story line, something he could look through for the knowledge he needed. He picked at a thread of memory and let it play through him, filling his mind with another time and place, a young Shade with a young wife and a baby on the way, building a place for them in a small village.

Fear shot through him as men in uniforms and priests came to find him, and the memories jumped around as he was named and questioned before escaping with his wife into the mountains. There wasn't much to learn from those memories, but they left him cold and shaking.

"Do not be afraid," a voice said inside him.

Mason let go of the memory and smiled into the face of his grandfather. It was his own memory that bubbled up then, one of their trips up the mountain. They were beside the pond where they would swim. Mason stripped down to just his underwear, nervous because the water was deep. His grandfather was in the water already, beckoning Mason to join him.

"Do not be afraid, Mason. Shades are made for the water." With a sudden clarity, Mason remembered the day and as he moved through the memory, knowledge filled him. His grandfather had taught him how to use the water to speed healing. Mason had twisted an ankle on the hike. As he reached his grandfather in the water, Mason could feel his energy moving around them.

His grandfather had helped him float, telling him to pay close attention as he used his hands to bring the energy to the inflamed tissue around his ankle. After a few minutes, it was Mason's turn to try. He wasn't as graceful as his grandfather, his small hands less adept at bringing the energized water where he wanted it, but he realized that he could direct his own energy into the water, not just try to use his grandfather's.

Mason let the memory go and drifted toward sleep. His dreams were jumbled memories, snippets of lifetimes not his own, and lessons learned from his parents and grandfather in his early childhood, all jumbled together with news images and his grandmother's fear filled words.

He woke in the late afternoon and lay listening to the stillness of the woods. By nightfall he would be well into the civilized world and that peace would be a memory. He wanted to soak it in as much as he could.

Mason stretched as he climbed out of the small tent. Long shadows and hints of golds and reds through the thick tree cover told him the sun was beginning to sink in the distance and he should be on his way. It didn't take him long to strike camp and set out in the general direction of the town he'd only been to a handful of times in his life, and most of those had been before his father had died.

The dark in these woods was deep, making them difficult to travel at night for anyone who wasn't accustomed to the dark. He knew it meant he wouldn't be likely encounter anyone.

Several hours after starting, Mason could feel the pull of water and altered his course. He wasn't sure how long it would be before he would find clean water again.

Beside a small mountain pond, Mason stripped down and waded out into the water. Life teemed in the water; fish and plant life and as he sank deeper he could sense the lingering touch of another Shade. He stopped and scanned the area, but if there was another Shade he was too far away for Mason to sense him.

The water still carried his energy though and Mason almost wanted to seek the Shade out. He hadn't met a Shade who wasn't family since before his father died.

Mason soaked only for a few minutes, restless now and eager to be moving again. He dressed as quickly as he could and pulled an apple from his pack to eat as he walked. As he resumed his hike, he noticed a path worn into the ground. Again, he felt the lingering presence of another Shade.

He continued cautiously, scanning around him more thoroughly than