Into the Dark: The Shadow Prince Part 10

"Well, n.o.body bothered to tell me how time works here. That's why I went back to the gate. I needed to know if it was still active. So I'd know that I hadn't been waiting for weeks."

"You went back to the gate? Did anyone see you? Did you talk to anyone?" I shake my head. "No," I lie through my teeth. I don't want him to know what I did. How royally I screwed up. "I went right there and came right back. I know I shouldn't have, but I needed the rea.s.surance."

Dax drops the bags on the table in the corner of my room. "It's my fault," he says. "I haven't been the best guide so far. I should have known not to leave you alone. . . ." His words sting, but I can't deny their truth.

"Are you going to tell Simon?"

"I should, but I think it's best we keep this between the two of us. For both our sakes." I realize then that my actions have a reflection on Dax. As my guide, he could be punished for my mistakes.

I want nothing more than to ask him again what he knows about the circ.u.mstances of my quest, but I cannot bring myself to broach the topic. Any talk of Daphne might cause me to slip. The guilt is eating at me already.

"What's with all the stuff?" I ask him, trying to turn the topic off my inept.i.tude.

"Oh yes. I came bearing gifts. Every Champion needs his special tools," Dax says, pulling several things out of the bags and placing them on the table. There's more strange clothing, like what I was made to change into before pa.s.sing through the gate, plus belts and a couple of pairs of shoes.

"New wardrobe makes the man," Dax says. "These clothes are more up-to-date with current fas.h.i.+on than what you're wearing. You'll fit in just right around here. Well, at least in appearance." I nod. Blending in would be good for recon. I need to study Daphne's movements, just like I would with that hydra I hunted down last year for the Feast of Return. I stalked its movements for days. I knew its favorite places to go. Where it ate and slept. Where it was most vulnerable . . . before I made my move.

Dax reaches down into the depths of the last bag. "Now don't lose these," he says, handing me three small cards made out of a thin, hard material. Two have my picture on them, and the other has a long set of numbers. "Two IDs and a credit card. This ID says you're seventeen; the other one says you're twenty-one. You'll never know when which age will benefit you more. The credit card is how you pay for things. Simon set up the account and will handle the bills-which means he'll know about everything you spend money on. Got that?"

I nod.

"Now, this," he says, "is going to be your most important weapon of all." I expect maybe he is going to bestow me with some kind of enchanted sword or maybe even some poison-tipped arrows, but instead he pulls out a thin, black rectangle with a reflective screen. It looks almost identical to the white communication device I'd found in Daphne's bag.

"What is that thing?" I ask, pretending that I have never seen anything like it.

"It's an iPhone," he says. "And it's the most important tool you'll need in the mortal world." He slides his finger across the screen and the thing comes to life. He presses on the different icons, and shows me the functions of the device. "They've improved since the last time I was here. It's so fast.

And so thin." He almost sounds as giddy as Simon. "Its primary function is communication.

Somewhat like the talismans the Court uses, except it only transports your voice, not an astral projection of yourself."

I nod. I've heard the Heirs speak of their communication talismans but I've never actually seen one. I doubt they look anything like this iPhone object.

Dax hits a few icons and then scrolls through what looks like a list of names. He finds his own name and then a few seconds later, a ringing noise comes from his pocket. He pulls another iPhone out and shows it to me. "See, you need anything and all you've got to do is. .h.i.t my name and it'll call me. We can talk, no matter how far away, through these.

"However, this next feature is the most important." He clicks on an icon that says YouTube and holds the phone up in front of me. "You know how we are taught to learn? Someone demonstrates and then we repeat his movements?"

"Yes." The Underlords are natural mimics. We learn by repeating what we see or hear, absorbing the ability to do just about anything in a matter of hours. Some of us-including myself-can master any new skill in a matter of minutes. It's how I've excelled in my lessons. Humans don't have the same accelerated ability, I recall, according to Master Crue's many lectures.

"Well, the same watch, absorb, repeat method also applies to recorded videos."

"Videos?"

"I'll show you." Dax taps icons of letters, spelling out the words how to juggle. "We'll start with something easy."

I watch as a prep.u.b.escent boy with a face full of pus-filled lesions appears on the screen. He holds three round objects in his hands. I listen and absorb as the boy demonstrates how to juggle the objects. When the demonstration ends, Dax hands me three apples from the bowl on the table.

"Try it," he says.

I picture what I have just watched in my mind, and mimic the boy's actions, movement for movement, and juggle the apples perfectly on the first try.

Dax nods in approval.

"Child's play," I say, placing the apples on the table. "How will this help me?"

"Juggling won't help you much. Not unless Daphne has a thing for clowns, but you can pretty much learn how to do anything using this application." He picks up one of the apples and takes a bite.

"There are many gaps in your education."

"I've noticed," I say under my breath.

"You aren't as prepared for this world as you might think you are. It's why I didn't want you venturing out on your own yet. Who knows what trouble you could have gotten yourself into?" Guilt clutches at me, and I wonder if I should tell Dax about what I've done. I don't know how to fix the problem I've created with Daphne. I feel like such a fool. But if I tell him, he would probably have to tell Simon. How can I share my secrets with the one person I trust if he's under orders to report back on me?

"Just don't ask the Internet for dating advice. That's never a good idea, trust me."

"Dating?"

"You'll see."

"What else can that thing do? Can it track someone?" I'm thinking of Daphne and wondering if this iPhone can show me where to find her again.

"If you have the right app. Or if you have their address, you can type it into this map function and it will tell you where and how to find the location." He hands me the phone and then starts putting my new clothes away in a chest of drawers next to the table.

Address. I remember seeing something like that in Daphne's papers. I'd memorized it without even really thinking about it. While Dax isn't looking, I punch the numbers and words into the search bar in the map's feature. After a moment, a small red dot lands on the map, showing me where Daphne lives.

I could go there right now if I wanted. I could sneak out again as soon as Dax left.

I shake my head, dismissing the thought. What is it about this girl that makes me act so stupidly? I tell myself it's for recon reasons, but I know there's a part of me that just wants to see her again.

"I have one more thing to show you. Outside," Dax says. "But first, we'd better do something about your hair. Someone might think you're trying to look like a pirate if you go wandering around, looking like that."

"I'm tired, Dax. Can it wait until tomorrow?" Really, I'm itching to study Daphne's things some more.

Learn as much about my adversary as I possibly can. I don't want to be caught off guard again.

"Believe me," he says. "You don't want to wait to see this. It's going to change your entire world." chapter sixteen daphne "Wow, this place is perfect, isn't it?" I say to Tobin as we walk on one of the lake paths.

He'd given me a tour of most of the places in town that could be reached on foot. I wheeled my old bike along as he carried Gibby and pointed out different places of interest. My favorite so far is a street of small, boutique-style shops that Tobin said is called Olympus Row. Each of the stores had been designed to look like a shop you would find in a Greek village, with the white stucco walls and blue roofs and doors. It made me feel like I'd been transported to another world. We'd stopped for gelato, and ate it while we watched a group of kids splas.h.i.+ng in a fountain before heading for the trails that wind around the lake.

"Don't let it fool you," Tobin says.

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing is ever as perfect as it seems," he mumbles. A strange black note drifts off him. It clashes with his warm vibe. "What, is this town ripe with conspiracies and secret societies?"

I say, trying to lighten his mood.

"Hey, I'm just saying you never know. . . ." Tobin strums a few bars on Gibby. The sound m.u.f.fles whatever emotive notes he might be putting off at the moment. He sings a couple of lines from a song I don't know and then stops walking. "Hey, speaking of secret societies," he says, his voice much lighter now. "There's this party next week. . . ." He trails off and I'm not sure I'm following his segue. "Are you telling me that the Skull and Crossbones are holding a recruitment meeting? Or is it a Masons sort of s.h.i.+ndig?" "Aliens," Tobin says. "It's an alien rave."

"Ohhhh," I say with a laugh. "Hey, what's over there?" I point at the smaller island of the lake, even though I know very well it's the grove. "You haven't shown me that place yet."

"What? Oh, that's the grove. I thought you said you went there earlier today?"

Oh yeah. I had. "I must be all turned around," I say, sheepishly.

"Let's go check it out again."

"Uh," Tobin says. "It's just a bunch of old trees. Once you've seen them, that's kind of it. n.o.body even goes there. Anyway, about this party . . ."

"The alien one? Come on, let's cross the bridge."

"Yeah, that one. Except without the aliens. I was kind of hoping. . . ." He lets his sentence trail off again like he isn't sure what to say next.

I'm not sure what to say, either. c.r.a.p, had I totally been oblivious again? I'd read Tobin's vibes toward me as nothing but a friend-zone sort of way. But as CeCe had already established, I totally suck at this sort of thing. So much so that I don't date. I'd always been too focused on my music to care whether or not I got asked out, and I never felt like I had the time to spare when I did. Truth is, the idea of dating has always seemed like it's in opposition to my goals. My mom had let herself get sidetracked by a guy, and look where that landed her. I know I'm hesitating too long, so I say what comes to mind first. "I, um, don't really date. . . . It's got nothing to do with you." I cringe, knowing I sound completely lame. "I just feel like I need to stay really focused on the music department. . . ." "Oh. Yeah, I get that," Tobin says. "Totally focused here, too.

The party is for the music department. My mom likes to throw a big s.h.i.+ndig for them after the first month of school. It's supposed to help everyone bond as a group, you know. She's kind of overly invested in my social life. I just wanted to make sure you knew about it. . . . So you could come. Alone. Of course." He gives me a sheepish grin. A tinge of pink highlights his cheeks. I listen carefully to make sure his friendly tone is still there, and feel relieved when I still hear it under the wavering notes of embarra.s.sment. I would hate it if my social lameness had messed up my first-and possibly only-potential friends.h.i.+p in this place.

"In that case, I'll be there. a.s.suming I even get into the department, that is."

"Believe me, you're getting in."

"So let's go explore this grove place," I say, eager to change the subject. I grab Tobin's arm and try to pull him down the path toward the grove, but he literally digs in his heels to stop me.

"Seriously, Daph. n.o.body goes there. That place gives me the creeps."

So Marta hadn't been making it up that n.o.body ever went there. "Why? Do weird things happen there or something? Or are you just chicken?" I ask, trying to sound nonchalant and jokey, but I really do want to know. Maybe I wasn't the first person to have encountered something strange there.

"Call me a chicken all you want. It's starting to get dark. How about we go get cupcakes back at the row. My treat."

"Come on, ya dork. It'll be an adventure." Tobin's resistance is starting to freak me out, but I need to go back to the grove. I'd left Gibby's case behind-which, yeah, I could probably easily talk Joe into replacing it for me-but I had also left my tote bag. Along with it, my cell phone, wallet, my school registration forms, and various other bottom-of-my purse junk. Which means Mr. Creepy Eyes could possibly have access to the contact information for all of my friends in Ellis Fields, my Pomegranate Bliss lip gloss . . . and my new address. I could only hope he hadn't noticed my tote and had left it there. I need to get it back before he, or anyone else, happens upon it.

"Then I guess I'll have to check it out on my own," I say, and head toward the bridge that leads to the island. Tobin could either follow or let me go alone. I'm pretty sure he'll follow.

"This place has the creepiest vibe ever," he says as we get closer, his reluctant melody echoing on the bridge.

I don't know what he is talking about. The only thing creepy I had found about the grove was the stranger. Its vibe had been what had drawn me to it. I don't know how it can repel anyone else. Then again, they can't hear it singing the way I do. . . .

As we near the grove, I notice that something is different about the grove's song this evening. I stop and listen for a moment. Instead of being a soothing lullaby, it sounds off. Like it's full of broken, discordant notes.

"Something's wrong," I say, leaning my bike against the bridge's railing. "With the grove." I jog toward the ring of poplar trees. "If something is wrong in the grove," Tobin says, huffing with Gibby in his arms, trying to keep up, "shouldn't we be running away, not toward it?"

"Not in the grove. With the grove. I can hear it."

"You're kind of weird, Daphne Raines."

"I know." I pa.s.s between two poplar trees into the dark grove of aspens and laurels. I gasp. This place barely resembles the beautiful grove I had sung in this morning. Several of the smaller trees are broken, and mounds of earth have been upturned. One of the aspens looks like it's been struck by lightning: its trunk was scorched, and one of its large branches has been turned to ash.

"What happened here?" I whisper, more to the grove itself than to Tobin.

"This damage looks fresh," he says. "I didn't think anyone came here. Not since . . ."

I jog over to the laurel tree that's shaped like a tuning fork. It's one of the few trees other than the poplars that are undamaged. I find Gibby's case, but my tote bag is gone-along with all of my personal information.

"Not since what?" I ask Tobin, realizing he didn't finish his sentence.

He leans my guitar against the scorched tree. I follow him as he follows the path of destruction, which slopes down the steep side of the island toward the lake.

"My sister," he says. "She used to hang out here. She'd come here to run lines-she was on the theatre track. She's the only one I ever knew who came here."

"Used to? Did she go away to college or something?" But by the way Tobin's tone has changed, I know that whatever made Tobin talk about his sister in the past tense isn't something pleasant. "She ran away. Six years ago. I haven't seen her since." "Oh," I say. "I'm sorry." I really am. Here I've dragged him into a place that reminds him of something painful for my own selfish purposes. I feel like such a jerk. "Hey, we can go back now if you want." Tobin stops abruptly and takes in a sudden breath. "Is that someone . . . down there . . . ?" He takes off running down the slope.

I follow at a slower speed, trying not to trip on a rock or branch and go tumbling into the water head over heels. I come up short when I finally see what he did. Light from the lamps, which line the jogging paths across the island, reflects off something lying in the water at lake's edge. It looks like the body of a girl, submerged almost up to her chest. Tobin splashes into the water, wing-tipped shoes and all, and kneels in the mud next to the girl. He presses his fingers against her throat. I hold my breath while he searches for a pulse. "She's still alive!" he says, scooping her up. I almost protest his moving her, but it's not like we can just leave her in the water. "It's Pear," he says. "Pear Perkins."

I know that name. "The girl who missed the auditions?" "I guess we know why," Tobin says, grave notes marring his voice.

"I think she's been unconscious for a while."

I climb down the hill and help him lay her down on the sandy bank away from the water. He pulls off his jacket and covers the girl's upper body, but before he does, I see that she has four deep gashes in her arm, just above her elbow. The gashes make my stomach churn, but it's her shoes that make me think I'm going to be sick. Pink and silver platform sandals. Just like the ones the girl I'd hit with my bike had been wearing. I hadn't realized it when it happened, but as I replay the memory in my head, I see that the girl had jogged off in the direction of the grove. I place my hand on Tobin's wet elbow. "I think I know who did this," I say. "And I think it's my fault that it happened." chapter seventeen haden "Touch those shears to my head one more time and I swear to Hades, I will blast your face off!" Dax only laughs, and snips at my hair again. "Just a few more cuts," he says. "I got pretty good at this when I was here before."

Underlords, even Lessers, don't cut their hair. When my father had cut my braid from my head, it was the first time a blade had touched my hair. Cutting a Champion's braid is supposed to symbolize rebirth. The start of a new life. To me, it feels like an insult. With every snip Dax makes, I feel like what little is left of my honor is falling to the floor.

Garrick sulks in the corner. Someone had fetched him new clothes and he's changed out of his grubby robes. His eyes are pink and watery, still irritated from the harsh light of the sun. His hair is shorn almost to the scalp.

"You cut my hair as short as the Lesser's, and I will kill you."

"Promises, promises." Dax chuckles again. For a former Underlord, he sure does laugh far too often.

Then again, former is the word that needs to be emphasized with Dax. "I had to shave Garrick's hair.

It was filthy and matted, so I had no other choice. Yours, on the other hand"-he makes one last snip -"is done."

I jump out of the chair I've been forced to sit in through this ordeal and quickly bring my hands to my head. I brush my fingers through what hair remains. It is longer than Garrick's, but I can tell that a slight curl pulls at the edges of my s.h.a.ggy locks over my ears. "What have you done?" I demand.

"You have made my hair curl like a Boon's, or a nursling's!" Dax shrugs. "Sometimes you don't know you have curls until you cut your hair. Besides, it's not all that bad. The girls will love it." He puts the shears down on the kitchen table and I am sorely tempted to stab someone with them. "Now, as promised, you will get your reward. Follow me outside." Dax is looking giddy again. This concerns me greatly, but I follow him still. Garrick trails behind us out of the house. What I see in the driveway makes my mouth water with antic.i.p.ation.

"Unbelievable," Garrick whispers. It's the first word I've heard him speak since we pa.s.sed through the gate.

"Are those automobiles?" I ask.

"Cars," Dax says. "Call them cars. Master Crue's take on English vocabulary is a bit archaic. And these are more than cars. They're Teslas. Very hard to get, but Simon procured them for us this afternoon. There's a Model X and a Model S-but the Roadster is mine." He points out each car respectively.

Garrick, having suddenly found new life, runs to the Roadster. His fingers caress the lines of the car.

"Can I . . . Will you teach me to drive?" He looks at Dax with an eagerness in his eyes. He's like a Lesser who's been given an entire hydra leg for supper.

"Lord Haden first," Dax says. "And we'll take the Model S. Neither of you are touching my Roadster until you've mastered driving."

Garrick's shoulders drop and he skulks into the backseat of the car.