Into the Shadows: The Shadow Vampires Trilogy, #1

By Sara Crawford

Is Chloe ready to travel into the shadows?

Chloe Chastain thought the mysterious stranger from the internet was just another obsessed fan of her favorite vampire books, and she grew close to him, letting him see into her soul. When she discovered that he was the actual dangerous vampire, Theodore Dupont, from her favorite books, she vowed to forget him.

After an encounter with her childhood bully goes horribly wrong, she knows Theodore is the only one she can turn to for help, and she travels to New Orleans to find him. As she learns all about the world of the vampires and her role in it, she tries to resist her connection with Theodore, but she's not even sure if she wants to anymore.

When she finds out how much is at stake for not only Theodore and herself, but the entire New Orleans supernatural community, she's forced to make an impossible choice.

Fans of The Vampire Diaries and Rainbow Rowell's Fangirl will love this Southern gothic young adult vampire romance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sara Crawford
• Release date: Feb 26, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393366034

Sara Crawford

Sara Crawford is an author, a playwright, and a musician. Ever since she was five years old, she has lived for art in one form or another. This manifested itself as writing plays at age eight and convincing (forcing) the neighborhood kids to perform them on her driveway, auditioning for Atlanta Ballet's The Nutcracker three years in a row before finally landing a small role as a toy soldier, starting an all-girl band in high school, writing and producing her own plays and short films, and most recently, writing a YA trilogy about a girl who falls in love with her Muse (THE MUSE CHRONICLES). Sara has been an actress, a singer, a playwright, a songwriter, a guitarist, a keyboard player, a poet, a screenwriter, and an author of both fiction and non-fiction. She graduated in 2008 from Kennesaw State University with a B.A. in English and in 2012 from the University of New Orleans with an M.F.A. in Creative Writing (emphasis in Playwriting). She has taught creative writing courses for Southern New Hampshire University, and she has been in numerous bands in Atlanta, including Pocket the Moon. She also loves to talk about books, music, and writing on her YouTube channel and talks art and creativity on her new podcast, Find Creative Expression. For more information visit http://saracrawford.net or https://www.youtube.com/user/saracrawford.

Book preview

For anyone who has ever been an obsessive fan of something.

Chapter One

As soon as I turn off the water in the shower, I hear a knock at the hotel door.

Just a minute! I shout as I wrap a pristine white hotel towel around my long, blonde curls and use another towel to dry my body off. I throw my black robe on and rush to the door, but when I open it, there’s no one there. I glance down the hallway and see a short, pixie-like red-haired woman walking too fast.

Hey! I yell at her, but she doesn’t turn around. Her fiery red hair curled up into a bun is the last thing I see as she opens the doorway to the stairwell and vanishes. I didn’t even get a good look at her face, but that hair...

Could it have been Christine?

No, that’s ridiculous. Christine du Maurier is fictional. She doesn’t exist.

For a moment, I think about running after her, but a large box on the floor tied with an intricate black ribbon distracts me. An envelope sits on top of the box with my name written in calligraphy.

Ms. Chloe Chastain

I check once more down the hallway before grabbing the box, shutting the door, and flinging myself onto the bed next to my sketchbook. I tear the envelope open. It reads:

Chloe,

I understand you’ve been trying to find me.

Come to the Mascarade d’Ombres dance this evening.

Please wear this dress and mask.

And perhaps I will emerge from the shadows for you, ma chérie.

Theodore

My heart is pounding as I read these words. I can feel all of the blood in my face rushing to my cheeks, and a sudden chill comes over me. On the back side of the paper is an address and a time. 10:00 p.m. A little late for a party, but I suppose I should expect nothing less from Theodore. If this really is Theodore.

That did look like Christine... or at least the way I always imagined she would look.

I untie the black ribbon to take a look inside the box. Inside is a spectacular violet leather mask. The mask sits on a gorgeous matching gown, and I take it out of the box to get a better look. It’s the most beautiful gown I have ever seen. It’s violet and elegant in its simplicity. There is a matching cloak and a too-huge-to-be-real diamond necklace. It looks like something a European princess in the 1800s would wear, not something a 17-year-old Southern girl should even be touching. I can’t imagine how much this gown cost. Probably more than the brand-new Honda Civic I used to drive here.

I’ve been obsessed with the vampire books, The Chronicles of the Shadows, ever since I read the first book, Theodore, when I was 14. There are currently 11 books, and the story spans across two centuries. The author, Clarise Johnson, lives here in New Orleans, and she’s been writing these books since the 1990s.

Last year, I began speaking with Theodore online. At first, I thought the whole thing was just some obsessed fan creating elaborate fan fiction, embodying the character and speaking to other fans online, but after a while, I started to wonder if that was the case.

We started speaking on the phone. He sounded exactly like I always imagined Theodore would sound. He told me that most of the stories Clarise Johnson had written were true, that he had met her in a bar in New Orleans one night in the 1990s and told her his entire life story. At the end of the night, he compelled her to forget that she had met him, and she wrote the whole thing down. He said she changed a few details and left out a few characters, but it was mostly accurate.

He used to read me the books on the phone. It was like listening to the audiobooks, but a million times better. I would melt at the sound of his exquisite French accent as he read to me all about his adventures. Every now and then he would interject comments.

This didn’t exactly happen like that, of course.

As magical as it seemed, I knew it couldn’t possibly be true. I didn’t care, though. I grew closer and closer to him. I even started calling him Theo. It became a sort of game. There was an entire part of my life that none of my friends knew about: my obsession with the Shadows books and my Shadows fan art. I couldn’t talk to my boyfriend, Steven, or my best friend, Daliah, or my mostly absent parents about any of these things. But the other obsessive Shadows fans online? The fanfiction authors? My new friend, Theo? I could share my truest self with them.

It wasn’t until our conversation last June that I started to take him seriously. It began like all of our other phone conversations, and then there was a moment of silence.

I know about Thomas, he said, almost so quietly I couldn’t hear him.

What? I asked, frozen in place. I had told no one about Thomas. Not even Steven. Perhaps it was a coincidence. Perhaps Theodore read something in the papers.

I know that you killed him. I didn’t speak after that. What could I say? "Don’t be afraid, ma chérie, I understand why you had to do it. He would have killed you if you hadn’t. And your secret is safe with me. But I wanted to prove to you that I am who I say I am."

In the books, Theodore is the most powerful of all vampires, having been created by the original vampire, Monique. She perished in the fourth book in the series, which meant he’s currently the oldest vampire alive. Or undead. Whichever. This also meant that he could read people’s minds, see into their souls, learn all of their secrets.

I quickly hung up the phone. I was terrified. Up until that moment, I had only thought he was like every other devoted Shadows fan I met on the internet. A really great actor, sure, but I had never truly entertained the idea that he could have been the real Theodore.

For the next week, he tried to contact me, and I refused to return his calls or messages. Until he finally left me a voicemail.

"Chloe, ma chérie, it’s Theodore. I suspect you’ve grown frightened of me, but that’s alright. You’re so young, and I have all the time in the world. I see something special in you, Chloe. You have something that not everyone has. I can see it in your paintings, your sketches. I’ve seen inside your soul, whether you’ve wanted me to or not. There is so much more depth to you than you show everyone else. We could conquer the world, you and I. When you’re ready, come find me. I’ll be in New Orleans."

I’ve had that voicemail on my phone for almot  a year. I couldn’t bring myself to delete it. There was truth in the words he had spoken. But I knew I should forget about him.

If all of the books were actually true, this man had done unspeakable things. He had murdered innocent people. He had turned people into vampires who didn’t want to become vampires. He had invaded the privacy of countless people, reading minds and seeing into anyone’s soul he wanted to. I knew that I should delete this voicemail and never think of him again, except in the same way I had always thought of him—as a fictional character who existed only in my imagination.

But a month ago, everything changed. And I knew there was only one person I could turn to. I knew what I had to do.

The day 11th grade ended, I drove from my hometown of Mobile, Alabama to New Orleans. I told no one where I was going. My parents believed I was traveling the country with Daliah and her parents in attempt to cheer me up from my breakup with Steven. No one knew that I was here.

I’ve spent the last two weeks trying to find him. I went to all the places he hangs out in the books. I asked everyone I could find. Most people laughed at me, thinking I was just another Shadows fanatic touring New Orleans. I even did several vampire tours and ghost tours, but my search was leading nowhere.

Until this box showed up outside my door.

I take a deep breath and glance at my cell phone. It’s 8:35. I was so mesmerized by the dress and the invitation, I didn’t bother to check the time. When I look up the address in my phone, it says it’s 10 minutes from my hotel. So he’s sent me this extremely expensive dress and given me a little over an hour to get ready.

Typical. He expects everyone to go out of their way to please him.

But then they usually do.

I turn the television on so I have something on in the background while I’m getting ready. The movie adaptation of Theodore is on.

You can’t be serious, I say aloud to the television.

About a half an hour later, there’s another knock at the door. I’m still wearing my robe, but at least I have my hair and makeup done. When I open the door, the last person I expected to see is standing in front of me.

Oh, good, you’re almost ready, my best friend, Daliah, says. She’s wearing a golden dress with a matching mask that looks impeccable with her ochre-colored skin. Her dark curls are styled in an updo that looks magical, and she’s wearing dark black eye shadow that brings out her large brown eyes.

How did you know where I was? I ask.

I was sent to get you and take you to the ball, she says.

Sent by who?

My brother. Theodore. 

Chapter Two

What do you mean brother? I ask, dumbfounded.

Well, obviously not biological, she says, looking down at her dark skin. In the books, Theodore is always described as the palest vampire in existence. Monique was my maker, too, which makes me the second oldest vampire in the world.

My mouth falls open. Daliah laughs and makes her way into my room.

Come on, Chloe, didn’t you wonder why someone who looked like a supermodel showed up in your little high school in Mobile, Alabama and befriended you? I ignore the veiled insult as she sits down on the bed, examining the my gown. Wow, he really went all out, didn’t he?

I don’t understand, I say. You go to high school. I’ve seen you in the sun. I thought that would burn a vampire.

For most vampires, yes, she says, staring at her perfectly painted fingernails. Monique was special. Anyone who drank from her could walk in the sun. And now anyone who drinks from Theodore and I can as well.

"So Theodore's a daywalker? But in the Shadow books—"

Creative license, Chloe. Clarise left out quite a bit. I’m not even in the books. She scoffs as she notices the film, Theodore, on the television. And he looks nothing like Theo. She rolls her eyes at the actor on the screen.

Why aren’t you in the books? I ask.

Theo and I were estranged at the time, she says, when he met Clarise. He conveniently forgot to mention me. She lets out a sigh. Anyway, after you stopped talking to him last June, he sent me to that stupid school to check on you. I owed him a favor. And he wanted to make sure I protected you. So I stayed.

Why do I need protection?

Chloe, you ask far too many questions. You need to learn how to just go with it sometimes. She sits back on the bed, crossing her legs.

So none of it was real? We’re not really friends?

I didn’t like you at all when we first met. She’s never had a problem being blunt. But over time, you grew on me.

Wow, thanks so much, I say, giving her a fake smile. So you’re really not going to tell me why I need protection?

Are you ready to put your dress on? she asks, completely ignoring my question. She stands up with the gown in her hands.

I can do it, I snatch it from her. I can’t help but feel angry about our entire friendship being a sham.

Let me know if you need help, she says, turning up the volume on the television. I love this scene.

As I slip into the dress, I think back to the school year. Daliah was easily the most attractive person to ever grace the halls of Michaelson High School. And she did work at the blood bank. I should have figured that one out, I suppose.

But how was I supposed to know vampires were actually real? And how could I possibly have known she was connected to Theodore, my favorite fictional character? The key word being fictional.

I’m so caught up in my thoughts, I forget to even look in the mirror when I hear Daliah gasp.

Chloe, you look exquisite, she says. My brother picked the perfect dress for you. I glance at my reflection and do a double take.

It’s hard not to know when everyone thinks you’re conventionally attractive. I’m a blonde cheerleader with decent curves and a reasonably athletic body so naturally, I'm used to a certain amount of attention. But I never thought I could look like this. I look like someone with desire in her eyes. I look like someone who’s swallowing a dark secret. I always thought I looked like a magazine—shallow and superficial—but tonight, I look like a literary novel with complex layers.

This violet dress hugs my curves in exactly the right way. The bodice accentuates my delicate frame, and my blonde curls are hanging loose in a carefree style. The diamond necklace is so exquisite, and the cloak sits on my shoulders in a way that makes me look otherworldly. I’ve never looked so beautiful.

Thank you, I say to Daliah. And for a second, it feels like nothing has changed between us, and we are just two 17-year-old best friends, getting ready for a dance.

***

Daliah drives us to some relatively deserted part of New Orleans that I’ve never been to. There are still areas of this city that never entirely recovered from Hurricane Katrina, and this is one of them. It’s 10:07 as she pulls her Lexus into the parking lot of what looks like an abandoned warehouse. From the outside, it looks broken down, with black paint chipping off the walls.

Chloe, put your mask on, Daliah says. We walk down concrete stairs to