Shadowlands (Shadowlands 1)

“Darcy!” I whispered, not slowing my pace as I looked around. “Where did you go?”

“Rory?” a faint voice called.

“Darcy!”

“Rory?” the voice came again.

I stopped and whirled around. The wooded area dividing the highway was much larger than I’d anticipated, and I was in a clearing about twenty feet wide. There was a break in the clouds, revealing a perfect half moon hanging overhead.

“Darcy!” I shouted, suddenly not caring if it drew Mr. Nell to me. I had to find my sister. “Darcy! Where are you?”

Birds took off from a tree overhead. A squirrel scampered past my

feet. A soft moan sounded in the distance. Minutes felt like hours as I whirled around and around, looking for Darcy.

Then I saw it.

A long, pale finger peeked out from a tangle of low bushes and brush. The nail was painted a shimmery silver that glowed in the moonlight.

“No,” I whispered, my blood flowing like ice through my veins. “No, no, no.”

Slowly, so slowly, I cut through the clearing. Dead leaves crackled underfoot. A twig snapped. Fallen pine needles rustled like sandpaper on wood, and an owl hooted in the distance. Too soon I reached the hand. Heart in my throat, I pushed back the brush. A loud sob escaped my lips.

My sister—my beautiful sister—was lying there. She was on her stomach, her arms over her head like she had been struck down mid-dive into a swimming pool. Her dark hair fanned out in all angles, hiding her face—but not the deep gash in the back of her skull.

“Oh god, oh god.”

Panic swelled within me as I grabbed her wrist. Her skin was still warm, but when I fumbled for her pulse, my heart shattered. There was nothing. Nothing. Tears streamed down my face, mixing with the blood matting my sister’s hair. Darcy, the girl who wore a tutu for an entire year, who’d kicked Grant Sibley when he pulled my braid in fourth grade, who’d sometimes picked on me until I cried but who I loved desperately, was dead. And so was my dad.

My family, everyone I loved, was gone.

“Rory Miller…” a disembodied voice whispered behind me.

I spun around. A figure was standing there, hooded and dark, a shadow come to life.

Steven Nell.

He wore the awful tan corduroy jacket over a dark blue shirt. His wire-rimmed glasses glinted in the moonlight, and he held a long knife in one hand and a bloody rock in the other. His nose was flat where I’d broken it, his cheekbones sharp, and his ice-blue eyes were narrowed at me.

“Miss me?” he simpered.

Bile rose in my throat. “You killed my sister,” I hissed, rage and grief battling in me. “You killed my dad.”

Mr. Nell smirked. “I wouldn’t have had to if you’d just come with me. But you didn’t play by the rules.” The silver knife at his side gleamed. “Are you going to be a good girl now and behave?”

Was I going to be a good girl? Was he serious?

Adrenaline rushed through me, and I let out a feral scream. I saw the startled look in his eyes just before I hit him, like he hadn’t expected me to fight. Like he’d thought I was just some meek girl who’d gotten lucky back in New Jersey. Like I would just accept that he’d murdered my family, that he’d taken all I had left like it was no more meaningful than snuffing out a candle. Like I was going to be his fifteenth girl after all.

Sixteenth, a mechanical voice in my head said. He’d already taken Darcy.

My knee knocked into his hip with a loud crack. He let out a cry of pain, but I didn’t feel anything except the rage that flowed through me like molten lava. The knife slipped from his hand, landing with a soft thud on the ground at our feet. He grabbed for my shoulder, but I ducked, taking an elbow to his stomach.

He gasped, heaving a loud oof, and went down.

Before I could move, his hand wrapped around my ankle. He gave it a hard tug, and I felt myself falling backward. I kicked hard, flailing my limbs, and my left foot connected with something just as my back hit the ground. I heard a crunch and looked up to see Mr. Nell crouching with his hands over his face. With grim satisfaction, I realized that I’d rebroken his nose.

“You bitch,” he sputtered, blood streaming down his face. I tried to kick him again, but he caught my foot and twisted it, hard. I felt something pop in my leg, and pain exploded through my body. He pinned me down and thrust his knee against my ribs, pressing me against the ground. A moment later, two rough hands closed around my neck and squeezed.