Past the Shadows

By A. F. McKeating

Dragons don't exist. Do they?

Claire North: twenty-two years old, museum dogsbody, looking for meaning in her life after a bad patch.

An ages-old race of people who claim to be descended from mythical creatures.

A chance encounter with a stranger, which catapults Claire into a series of terrifying events which soon have her fearing for her sanity and the lives of the people she cares about most.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A. F. McKeating
• Release date: Apr 26, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310292170

A. F. McKeating

A. F. McKeating lives and writes in the UK. She has published several novels and short stories. She writes for children as Alison McKeating.

Book preview

PAST THE SHADOWS

By A. F. McKeating

Text copyright © A. F. McKeating

All Rights Reserved

PAST THE SHADOWS

by

A. F. McKeating

SMASHWORDS EDITION

* * * * *

PUBLISHED BY:

A. F. McKeating on Smashwords

Past the Shadows

Copyright © 2013 by A. F. McKeating

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

Text copyright © A. F. McKeating

All Rights Reserved

Table of Contents

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

About the Author

Other Books by A. F. McKeating

Chapter 1.

We are many and yet few. Ancient in mind and deed, yet our desire to rule springs as fresh as the day it was born. Our hearts are colder than the stars and perhaps as old. We were blessed to be first, doomed to be last.

We came from outside, beyond the walls of this world. From times before time, dancing to the music of the spheres.

Now we hide above, below, behind the world. Part of it… and yet apart. History has become legend and few are they who know of our existence now. Secrets are in our nature, treachery in our breath.

Our children's children's children people the world. They carry their inheritance in their blood, but most can only guess at their true nature. One day we will reclaim them as our own.

It is years beyond reckoning now since we were driven from view, forced to hide at the margins of this world, to seek out the shadows and corners as our refuge. We conceal ourselves through choice, not cowardice, but still, hiding like common criminals does not become us.

We must trust in our descendents, who will lay the path for our return. Yet, oftentimes, we watch them and despair. They lie, they steal, they rise up against their own people, striving to out-do each other with their vile acts. Are they a fitting legacy for our race? Perhaps, after all, they are… After all, they are our children.

For now, we are content to observe them – unseen, unheard – as the skein of petty human affairs unravels. It amuses us to let the so-called masters run through to the end of their days, bold and unwitting, as if it were all up to them. Yet time, like gold, is infinitely precious and, if left unguarded, soon spent.

Our will is strong, forged in fire, and it knows no bounds. We watch and wait until it is our time again. It will come.

Chapter 2.

A damp early autumn night, somewhere on an estate in north Cambridge. In the background, the sounds of a party: the insistent beat of dance music, shouts of laughter and a clatter of bottles and beer cans outside the back door as someone trips over the debris. It's that time of the evening when you get that feeling in your stomach as if you're at the top of a ski slope, ready to fight the familiar lurching pull of gravity as you teeter on the edge. Across the road, more lights are coming on in the neighbours' houses; they're bracing themselves for trouble.

Sitting out here on the front wall, her ears still ringing from the music, she takes another draught from the bottle she brought outside with her. No idea what it is, something sweet and slightly sickly; alcohol for toddlers, that's what it tastes like, and it makes the cold sore on the corner of her mouth sting. Still, it does the trick. Tonight, she just wants to forget.

Her companion (he said his name was Jack) raises his beer can in a toast. She clinks her bottle against it.

Cheers!

He grins. He's got good teeth, she thinks.

Take you home?

She shakes her head. It would be nice, but no, she can't. She's pleased that he looks disappointed.

His face falls. I'll be gone tomorrow.

He said something earlier about manoeuvres. He's in the army or something. At least that what she thinks he said when they first met inside the house; it was hard to hear him over the music. He didn't say it outright, but it comes across in his bearing: the upright stance, the taut watchfulness even when he's smiling, as if he's always prepared for trouble. She's not sure where he's based. It was so loud in there, she missed half of what he said. She thinks he might also have made a comment about top secret work, but his expression made it seem as if he might have been joking. That's probably what they all said; it was a good line with the girls.

Sorry. I just can't.

A kiss then. That's all.

She thinks, what's a kiss, after all? She leans forward, ears still buzzing. The sound of a smashed glass and a scream makes her freeze. Not here.

He takes her hand, pulls her to her feet.

Come on.

She hesitates. I don't know.

Just a walk.

A police car cruises to a halt outside the house.

All right then.

Just a walk. Just a kiss. That's not so bad, is it?

They stroll away from the mayhem. The noise of the party recedes and her ears clear a little. She takes another sip from the drink, wincing again at the claggy sweetness. Oblivion always comes at a price, as if she didn't know that already.

And then, somehow, a couple of teenagers are standing in front of them. They look barely old enough to be out on their own. One of them steps forward, a blonde lad with a face that might have been described as cherubic in other circumstances.

Got a phone, mister?

His eyes are big, his voice a nervy falsetto which tempts her to laugh. Almost.

Jack swears softly, though, and pushes her a little behind him. He addresses the blonde kid. Don't be stupid. Go home.

The glitter of metal as the kid raises his hand. See this?

Yeah, I see it. Put it away before you get hurt.

She puts her hand on Jack's arm, feels the tension, energy coiled and ready to strike. He moves away from her and towards them. Don't. It's not worth it, she murmurs.

The other kid wants to leave, she sees it in his face, hears it in his voice, high-pitched and shaky as he begs his mate to leave it. But the one with blonde hair isn't going to back down. Neither is Jack.

The kid lunges forward. She thinks she cries out. The scuffle lasts seconds before he falls back, yelping. She didn't see quite what Jack did to make that happen, he moved so swiftly. The teenagers retreat, pausing only at a safe distance to yell, losers! before disappearing into the darkness.

Jack snorts; it might even be a laugh. His eyes glitter, still alert for a challenge.

You're quick, she tells him.

Goes with the territory.

So, where did you say they're sending you?

He stays silent, a strange look on his face.

Sorry, I suppose you can't say, can you?

It's not that.

Is it a long way from here?

Yeah, you could say that. A million miles. A smile touches his lips.

She suspects he's teasing her in some obscure way.

You'll be back, though, right?

There's no coming back. Ever. His voice is bleak now.

He stops, turning to face her. What about that kiss?

She waits, poised at the top of the ski slope. Then she reaches up to kiss him. His arms are round her, warm and strong. Their breath mingles. She tastes fear and loneliness and the sugary tang of raspberries. Her head is spinning now and she teeters on the edge of the slope, ready to let go. She breaks away and leans back her head to look at him.

That's some kiss, soldier.

He grins, the sadness in his eyes dimmed for a little while. Got to take your happiness where you can get it.

She closes her eyes as he bends to kiss her again. There's no point hanging onto the safety rails now. The balance has tipped and she's already past the point of no return.

Close your eyes and push.

Chapter 3.

To: Hagen, J

Subject: Confidential

Priority: Urgent

Commander,

Test subject LX/5 has been detained after extensive tracking. Two agents were injured in the course of detainment. Arrangements have been made to test them for possible contamination.

LX/5's whereabouts during escape have been ascertained – movements were restricted to Cambridge and surrounding area. Agents are sweeping the field to ascertain level of possible threat. Evidence suggests LX/5 made contact with at least one civilian – further details to be extracted. Situation to be re-evaluated once further intelligence on this individual have been verified. Standard monitoring protocols have been instigated.

Risk: potential cross-contamination and compromising of mission.

Level of risk: high.

Field operatives will continue to monitor the situation, with a view to intervening where appropriate. Arrangements have been made to deposit the remains in Deep Storage 1, pending your instructions re: termination. We are also exploring other options.

I will provide further briefing as the situation develops.

Captain Antony Bradman

*

To: Bradman, A

Subject: Re: Confidential

Termination is the only reasonable option. LX/5 is of no further use to us now. Nor are the other two – make the usual arrangements. We can't risk any more accidents.

Hagen

*

To: Hagen, J

Subject: Re: Confidential

Termination complete. The agents' families have been informed and have received your messages of condolence.

Unfortunately, LX/5 has evaded security. We are making strenuous efforts to bring the situation under control.

*

To: Bradman, A

Subject: Re: Confidential

I don't need to tell you that it's more than just your career riding on this. Make more strenuous efforts before I have to ask the Management Team to intervene. They're twitchy enough as it is after that debacle at Dover.

No more emails. Ring using secure line if you have news. Records to be minimised – eyes only. No paper trail. No need for more bureaucracy.

Chapter 4.

Claire North shivered and pulled up the collar of her jacket as she got out of the car. It was going to be a cold night for the first week of October. She hoped Pete had switched on the heating in the flat. She'd felt a bit shaky all day, not quite herself somehow, and the headache that had been nagging at her since she got up that morning was showing no signs of letting up.

Feeling apprehensive, she glanced up at the building, a neat modern arrangement intended for young professionals (who, me?), which still made her feel out of place somehow. She and Pete had argued again this morning. The row was her fault, of course. That message on his phone last night had got her riled: See you soon. K xxx. At least, that's what she thought it had said. He'd snatched the phone away so quickly, she wasn't sure. When she challenged him, he said it was just a text from a mate.

He was having a laugh, Claire. Stop being paranoid. You're getting too intense.

And we all know what happens when Claire gets too tense, don't we? She starts to lose it. That's what he meant, wasn't it? Poor little Claire, worrying about things that aren't real again, because that's how he'd always see her now, wasn't it?

She hadn't even bothered to say goodbye when she left this morning and she'd ignored the couple of text messages he'd sent asking if she was OK. That was childish of her, but there was still time to make it right. They'd been seeing each other for eighteen months, living together since May. They were on the verge of Getting Serious and that was a good thing, wasn't it, even though she was only twenty two? A sign that she was growing up, settling down, getting a grip… Only Claire just wasn't sure how she felt about that. He knew a lot about her, too much maybe (a couple of glasses of wine late one night had seen to that), but it hadn't seemed to put him off. In fact, he seemed pleased that she'd confided in him and it had brought them closer together, at least that's what Claire had thought.

You need someone to lean on, he'd said as he'd pulled her to him.

She'd felt flattered as well as relieved at his response. He was one of the good guys. Kind, funny, respectful. She knew he didn't deserve the way she acted sometimes; spiky and argumentative for the sake of it, an instinctive loner. He made too many allowances for her.

Momentarily, she felt contrite. Maybe she was the problem after all, not him. And she was the one who'd kissed another guy at the weekend, wasn't she? But it wasn't any more than that, she reminded herself. Anyway, it was all Jodie's fault. She was the one who'd persuaded Claire to go that damned student party. And it was really just a moment of silliness brought on by the aftermath of an argument with Pete over whose turn it was to empty the dishwasher, plus a generous helping of alcohol, and maybe the sudden feeling of being let off the leash… It was only a kiss, nothing more; the guy had had second thoughts later on when they'd left the party together, or so it had seemed. It turned out that he was satisfied with just holding her hand as they walked by the Cam. They hadn't even talked that much, just strolling and enjoying each other's company as if they'd been old friends who had no need for constant conversation. It had felt good in a sweetly old-fashioned kind of way and when he called the taxi and said goodbye to her, he'd attempted nothing more than a chaste peck on her check.

Look after yourself, he'd said.

And you.

That was it. Nothing more. Still, she'd paid for it the following day with a monster headache and an equally large dollop of guilt at having even contemplated looking at another man.

Her headache thrummed steadily in synch with the faint hum of the overhead lights in the entrance hall. It served only to magnify the general sense of dissatisfaction she'd been feeling lately about… well, about everything. The museum assistant's job that didn't seem to be going anywhere. (Assistant? How about general dogsbody?) The well-meaning comments from her mother about of the need for stability. (The emphasis that she always placed on this word when she was talking to Claire didn't help.) The lingering air of concern that seemed to have infected everyone who knew her. Sometimes, she wished she could shrug off her life entirely; peel it away and shed it like an unwanted skin. As if.

She sighed when she saw the out of order sign stuck on the door to the lift. Normally, she would only have used it if she had a lot of shopping to carry since the flat was on the first floor, but today she didn't feel normal. Far from it. Distinctly abnormal, in fact. Her stomach gave a lurch as she contemplated the flight of stairs, which struck her as only a little less daunting than Everest.

By the time she'd managed to haul herself up to the first floor and fumble her way into the flat, Claire felt exhausted. She steadied herself against the wall for a second as her stomach heaved again. Then Pete was there. She leaned her head against his shoulder as he slipped his arms round her.

Sorry, he murmured.

Me, too. She closed her eyes, beginning to relax.

Pete was tall, a little over six feet and, leaning into him, she felt safe again. Judging by the pressure against her thigh as he shifted his weight, he was feeling rather less relaxed. He gave her a long, tender kiss, which was almost enough to rouse her and make her lead him to the bedroom. But not quite. Even if she managed to make it that far, what she really wanted to do was slump into bed and pull the covers over her head. She pulled away from him, sensing his disappointment. He smiled a little and said she looked a bit pale. Then he peered at her more closely for a moment and seemed on the verge of saying something.

She caught a waft of something richly savoury from the kitchen. It made her feel queasy, but she seized the opportunity to deflect the conversation.

Mm, that smells nice.

He brightened. Coq au vin. Thought I'd do something special to, well, you know...

She followed him through to the sitting room. He'd set the table and placed a candlestick and some carnations in the centre. Claire smiled. Maybe things weren't so bad. He poured her a glass of wine and she watched from the window as he lit the candle. She spared a glance at the road outside, keeping an eye open for anyone who might be watching. It seemed quiet out there, but you could never be sure.

Come on, Claire. Snap out of it.

She pinched her arm and turned away from the darkness. As she looked at Pete, she reminded herself how lucky she was. He was good looking, considerate, had a good sense of humour and was happy to share the household chores; an advertising man's (or woman's) dream for a dating website. At first, she'd found it difficult to believe that someone like him could be interested in a grouchy old plain Jane like her, but he'd persisted, winning her over with small attentions like hunting down that book she'd mentioned, or bringing her breakfast in bed on a work day when she felt so crabby she could have chewed the head off the first person she saw – even him.

Becoming aware of her attention, Pete looked up, his blonde hair flopping over his eyes as they crinkled into a smile. Penny for your thoughts?

I don't deserve you, she told him

Don't be silly.

But she could see he was pleased and he flushed a little. He poured himself a glass of wine and they drank a toast to us, although the taste of the merlot was making her gag. After the tiniest of sips, she put down her drink and waited as he pottered about the kitchen, getting the food ready.

Claire cast a final glance at the street before joining him at the table. She tried to fight the sensation of queasiness that roiled in her stomach as she watched Pete ladling the coq au vin onto her plate.

Lovely, she murmured as he set it in front of her.

She moved the food around with her fork while he made a move to top up her glass, which was still almost full.

There's, er, something I meant to tell you. He wasn't looking at her as he spoke.

Claire's heartbeat quickened as a flash of understanding cut through the nausea. The candle, the food, the flowers, the soft music playing in the background now. She took it all in for the first time. Oh, no. Did it have to be tonight of all nights when she just felt like sticking her head under the cold water tap, preferably after she'd puked her guts up?

Pete

I know I should have said it sooner, he began in a rush.

Her stomach fluttered. She stared hard at a piece of chicken as it sat in the dark reddish-brown sauce that reminded her of congealing blood. A metallic taste prickled at her palate. She averted her gaze from the plate quickly, aware that Pete was still fumbling for words.

So, er, the thing is, it was all a bit last minute. I hope you don't mind.

Sorry?

His blush deepened, even after he gave a gentle huff of impatience. I'm trying to tell you I've got to go away for a few days. They want us – me – to help out in Reading. You know, the new branch they're setting up? It'll mean a few trips over the next couple of weeks.

Oh, I see. Claire found herself wondering whether Reading really needed any more quantity surveyors.

She watched with a mixture of relief and disappointment as he took a gulp of his wine. He ran a hand through his hair in a familiar nervous gesture.

It's all right. I don't mind, she told him, although the idea of being alone in the flat struck her as being faintly unsettling. She lifted a forkful of food to her lips, thinking that she'd force some of this down if it killed her.

Pete's face brightened. You sure?

Yeah, it'll give me a chance for a girly night in. Maybe I'll ask Jodie over, she said with a smile as her stomach rolled again. When are you going?

Tomorrow.

Oh. She chewed