Grey Haven (Book 1: The Dreamer Chronicles)
Chapter 10

Instead of going to class like I had promised Carrie, I went home.

Harry’s door was shut tight. He was sleeping, resting for the night of dreaming ahead. I didn’t even briefly contemplate going to him for advice. His advice would be that I not wake him up for something as ridiculous as a personal problem. I bypassed his door and went to my room.

After hours of studying the paint on my walls, I heard Carrie come home, slamming the front door behind her. It shook the house. She immediately went to her room and slammed that door, too. Her hurt seeped through the walls. It was more noticeable than Dana, who was proudly explaining how she had bested four shades in Shade Tactics. I owed Carrie an explanation and an apology, but after my conversation with Sully, my mood was sour. My explanation would just turn into another argument, and an argument was the last thing I wanted.

I didn’t join the others for supper, and I only opened my door when Harry knocked on it hours later. He threw my folder onto the bed without commentary. I opened it and was surprised to see that I had six missions, but two of the six were stronger shades than ones I had dealt with previously.

When Harry came to my room to make sure I was hooked up to the monitor, he fidgeted with the controls unnecessarily. Neither of us mentioned the missions, but it was in the space between us all the same. His worry told me that he hadn’t had a hand in arranging the fights. He wasn’t sure I’d survive, and he didn’t like that I was being tested now when things were so precarious. I was willing to prove that I could handle them and more. I was willing to replace anything that would take away from the weight of the past few days.

My first dream was typical, easy even. The shade was haunting an older woman. It whispered dark lies into the woman’s ears, urging her to hurt her family, telling her they hated her and would betray her eventually. The shade was too distracted with whispering the lies to notice me aiming my crossbow at its forehead until it was too late.

The second dream was different. I knew I had found one of the harder missions right away. The evil in the air urged me to be cautious, to tread carefully, that there was awareness behind the evil.

A whispering wind circled a dry prairie, and I had been set down in a creek bed of broken stone. The sky was a cold mixture of yellow and orange, and the grass was waist high and brittle from the lack of water. I followed the stone path slowly, my eyes searching the sky, the ground, and the horizon for signs of the shade I felt. I walked for ages. The sense of the shade didn’t fade, but it didn’t get any closer either. It was almost like the shade was everywhere, in the air, in the grass, and in the sickly sunshine.

Finally, the tall grass stopped, and I came out to a small clearing forged out of fire, leaving black ash in its wake. The second I stepped into it, a low clicking started up. It filled the air and made my heart race faster.

I took another step inside the clearing and the blackened earth swirled and shifted. It picked up speed until it was the size of a small tornado. I raised my crossbow, but there was nothing solid to aim at.

As the earth shifted, a little girl stepped into the middle of the chaos. She watched the tornado in stricken awe. Her expression was terrified and fascinated. I pointed my crossbow at her and moved closer. I wasn’t sure if she was the victim or the shade, but I had to check.

The tornado dropped to the earth as suddenly as if someone had flipped a switch. The black powder fell around the girl, leaving her clean and untouched. The only thing that had changed was her eyes. They were as black as the earth around her.

She laughed. It was a large sound, and it was eerie coming from such a small girl. The wind stopped whispering peacefully through the prairie as the laugh shook the dream and me, howling with incorporeal fury.

I fired an arrow at the girl. The girl’s eyes widened as the arrow sped toward her faster than she could react. The arrow hit her in the forehead and she dissolved into black dust with a poof of air.

My body tingling with the truth that the fight had been too easy, too victimless, I waited tensely. The shade was as powerful as the one that had almost killed me. She shouldn’t have been that easy. Everything was off. I had never walked into a dream that was so empty, so devoid of torture and mayhem. The nightmares the shades brought were always more personal, more emotional. They had a feeling of fear and primal need. There was nothing to the dream beyond the girl’s laughter and the sense that I had missed something.

The ground shook violently. It was the only warning I got before a crack appeared directly under my feet. I jumped away, and then dodged as hard, black stakes burst out of the ground. The sharp, razor-like barbs followed me as I hopped back, always a second too late to hit.

The laugh echoed in the air again and the girl reappeared in front of me, on the opposite side of the divide. As I glared at the girl, I realized what didn’t fit about the dream. She was part of the dream, perhaps even a powerful shade, but she wasn’t the shade controlling things. She was a distraction.

I lowered my crossbow and edged toward the divide that had formed in the ground. A white light at the bottom was the only spark against the total darkness. It was a path to another place, another shade. I took a deep breath, arched a sarcastic eyebrow at the girl, and jumped off the edge feet first.

Though risky to leap blindly into the dark, the fall wasn’t far. I landed gently on a moss-covered rock in the middle of a rushing stream. A man was standing ankle-deep in the water in front of me. He had a beige suit on and a black tie. His face was rugged and sharp, like a pickaxe, though his eyes were amber and warm. His pants were rolled up, so that the icy-cold water surging around him wouldn’t ruin the fabric. I pointed my crossbow at him, searching the creek and the surrounding area for crawlers. The stillness that permeated the dream was unsettling. It wasn’t a nightmare, at least not one I had ever experienced.

“Julie Aim,” the man said.

My hand froze on my trigger. The shade shouldn’t have been able to speak let alone know my name. The girl dropped down next to him and hissed at me as I worked not to let my surprise show. At least she was wild, the way the shades I knew were.

“And you are?” I asked him.

He laughed, tipping his head back and clutching his chest. The laughter was the same from before. It shook the earth with rumbling pleasure. “It is a pity you have to die,” he said. “I would very much like to keep you.”

I eyed the second shade that was crouched at the man’s feet. I remembered Carrie’s words. Some shades had lesser shades who worked for them. He was a minor shade. Seeing him made me realize what I was missing.

“You’re the one targeting dreamers, aren’t you?” I asked.

“I had a hand in it,” the man said with a shrug.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked.

The man smiled. “Why not?”

His smile transformed into an expression far uglier. It was contempt. I felt a sharp tug in my navel. Harry was trying to pull me out of the dream, but it wasn’t working. The shade must have been fighting him. He was too powerful.

“Time to go,” the man said. He took a step back. As he did, the ground opened for a second time and there was no time to dodge it. I fell through the darkness.

The landing was not gentle.

I hit pavement and my legs gave out from under me. I dropped my crossbow and rolled to keep from breaking my legs. Trained to keep moving even when we were in pain, I clambered back to my feet and picked up my crossbow.

A quick search told me that the scenery had changed once more. I was in a large city that stretched into the horizon, and it was on fire. Thick smoke swirled to the sky from a hundred fires, and dark clouds obscured the midday sun. The buildings were mostly steel and glass, a monument to modern engineering. Despite the modern feeling, there was decay, as if no one had tended to the buildings in years.

The street I had landed on was wide but broken. Cars were in the middle of the street, blocking any linear path I might take. Many of them had been set on fire at some point, some held rotting bodies, but most were empty, as if the people had simply vanished. There was silence in the air; the city was holding its breath, waiting. A feeling that danger was near permeated my senses. I wasn’t sure if it was the shade’s presence causing the feeling or something else. Either way, it was trouble.

A dull moan of unquenchable hunger broke the quiet. I reflexively gripped my crossbow tighter and kept firm control on my fear as I looked for the source. The sound drew closer, causing chills to break across my arms. It was terrifying, eerie. I took a step to my left, to look around a tall building that was blocking my view, and then lowered my crossbow in fearful awe.

The noise wasn’t coming from a single being. It was from hundreds. They were humanoid, but humans who had been killed in gruesome, painful ways, only to be brought back to torment the living. Flesh hung off their bodies, and deadly wounds obscured their features. They were zombies. There was no other word for it.

The zombies had black eyes and broken bodies that made their shuffle slower but unnerving. They were shades; the most shades I had ever seen at one time. They ambled toward me with jerky movements, but purposefully, hungrily. I turned and saw more zombies approaching from the opposite direction. They would surround me in less than a minute.

A large building was directly in front of me. The front doors had been broken open by the horde at one point, proof the structure wasn’t impenetrable, but it was better than waiting for the zombies on the street. I ran to the doors and kicked the glass and metal out of the way. I glanced back once before I stepped inside and saw the zombies change course. They followed me, their mouths gaping wide to release another inhuman moan.

The interior of the building was dark. There were no lights, no power. I turned the flashlight mounted on top of my crossbow on and did a quick survey of the room. The floors were marble, and large desks were spaced at regular intervals to my right. A counter ran the length of the back wall. Behind the counter were two doors. The first was closed, but the other appeared to be to the vault. There were stairs and an elevator to my left. A bank vault would be a defensible position, but it could also be a trap. It was too small, too limited in retreat options. I would have to replace somewhere else to make my stand. I ran to the stairs and took them two at a time.

The stairs were thinly lit by windows that ran the length of the staircase. Even still, they were incredibly dark, heavy with the sense of oppression.

On the second level, there was proof that I wasn’t the first person to think of using the stairs as a means of defense, or even the first dreamer to replace myself stuck in this world. The dreamer had placed a large filing cabinet in front of a pair of double doors. The doors had been knocked off their hinges, and the cabinet held claw marks. Bloody smears ran down the wall next to the cabinet, and behind it was a broken body slowly decaying. The smell of death was overwhelming. I put my hand over my nose and refocused on the stairs. I had to hope that Harry would replace me and get me out before I met the same fate.

On the fifth floor, I stopped. There were more levels above me, but I didn’t want to go to the roof. The fifth floor was as good a place as any to make my stand. Two metal doors kept the stairs blocked from the rest of the floor. A long hall was behind the door. I paused and considered my options.

Another low moan came from below me. The shades had broken through the front doors. It would take them longer to climb the stairs with their broken bodies, but I had to move fast if I wanted not to be overrun when they reached me.

I closed and locked the doors behind me. The hall was darker than the staircase. There were not nearly as many windows to brighten the space. The darkness made me paranoid. It added to the fear in my chest. Pushing it back into a box marked LATER, I searched the floor to make sure I was the only one around.

The first room on the right of the hall was an office. It had a computer, a desk, a bookcase, and a knee-high cabinet. It only took a glance to see that it was empty. I moved to the next room, and the next, all the way to the end. The rooms on the hall were all the same, except for a supply closet and two bathrooms; they were empty too.

The hall eventually opened out to an area that held three glass rooms for conferences and meetings. There were three more halls leading away from that central point. I examined each of the halls and rooms quickly and carefully. I found four more doors that circled back to the main hall. I closed and locked them as I went and pulled furniture out of the rooms to block the doors. Satisfied with my work, I went to the supply closet to see what it held.

The closet was full of chemicals and cleaning supplies. I knew the supplies had plenty of uses, but I was more interested in the rubbing alcohol. There was a row of twelve bottles on the bottom shelf. I pulled them off the shelf and grabbed a mop that was sitting by the door. I put them near the doors to the stairs, then went hunting for something to put the alcohol in. I rifled through the desks and breakroom for hidden stashes. I was rewarded with three half-empty bottles of liquor and a flask, as well as ten glass mason jars that had been used to hold flowers.

I set the jars and alcohol with the mop, then focused on the door. I knew that it would be impossible to create a lasting barricade. The dreamer on the second floor had proved that. Instead, I needed to slow them down and lower their numbers to a manageable level. I went back to the supply closet, pulled out a handcart, and went to work rearranging the furniture.

I hurried from office to office, pulling out the cabinets and bookcases and arranging them in front of the door. I put four bookcases against the door and stacked the filing cabinets parallel to the wall so that the shades would be forced down a narrow tunnel. They would follow the path of least resistance to get to me. Hopefully. I stacked four cabinets beyond the tunnel, a shield for me to stand behind while I faced the shades. It would be my only protection.

The moans were closer.

“Come on, Harry, where are you?” I said to the room.

One of the fluorescent lights flickered above my head, but it was far from comforting. I knew that if he could get me out, he would have done it by now.

“Fine,” I grumbled. “I’ll do things the hard way. What else is new?”

I sat on the floor and poured a mixture of the rubbing alcohol and drinking alcohol into each of the containers. I then cut strings off the mop and stuffed them into the bottles as a fuse. I coated each fuse with alcohol.

I took a deep breath as I thought about the thin plan I had put together. It would take a miracle to get out alive. It was what the shade at the river had planned, no doubt. I was curious why he hadn’t killed me when he had the chance. I was also curious how he had stepped into my dream. It was the second time in a week a shade had been where it wasn’t supposed to be. It was easy to think Harry had left me to die. The moans coming from the staircase did little to increase my confidence in him or my situation. They added to my fear and doubt. Neither would get me out alive, though. I had to be emotionless. I had to focus on the steps that would help me live. That icy-cold logic was more important than blame right now.

I knew how to prioritize, but there would be one hell of an explanation coming from him later.

With the cold calm swirling dutifully, I waited patiently for the shades to make their way up the stairs. The only thing that kept me in place was common sense. Patience was better than impulsively chasing after a last stand that would do nothing beyond prove my ignorance. Martyrs and heroes didn’t keep fighting. They just died, which didn’t solve as much as they thought. Surviving mattered more.

Finally, the zombies made it to the doors. The slow shuffle of many feet stood out over the sounds of moaning. The zombies at the front of the horde started pounding against the door. The constant bang of dozens of hands on the door filled my ears. It was a rhythm of unspeakable violence. It was a timebomb that ticked down until there was nothing left but my weapons, the zombies’ unquenchable hunger, and me.

I stayed sitting on the floor, conserving my energy, and rechecking my weapons. I stayed there until the sound on the door changed to metal bending and breaking. It was the sound of strength bowing down to determination. I jumped to my feet and, with my crossbow held against my body, I picked up the jar closest to me. The mixture of alcohol swirled with a beautiful amber color against the thin light of my flashlight. I pulled out a lighter from my pocket and waited.

The bookcases I had stacked against the door slowly wobbled then crashed to the floor. The doors creaked open with the crunch of metal. Hands reached through the crack, though their bodies could not yet fit through.

I waited, patient.

Finally, the door gave out.

The zombies stumbled and crawled over the bookcases to get to me. The cabinets I had stacked in a funnel forced them into a tight wedge. They didn’t attack the cabinets. They were too focused on me.

I let them get to the end of the cabinets, then I flicked the lighter to life. I touched the flame to the mop wick and threw the jar directly at them. The jar exploded when it hit the floor and the flame spread out, coating everything in front of me. It filled the door and staircase with bright, warm light and illuminated the rotted flesh and bloody injuries of the zombie-shades.

The flesh quickly turned black with the touch of fire on their skin. The fire tore through their ranks, though several burning shades continued their desperate way toward me. Their eyes remained hungry, even as they burned to death. The low moan turned into a death rattle that held despair and pain of a thousand deaths. The hallway slowly emptied, and stillness returned as the zombies burned to dust.

But my task wasn’t finished. There were more on the stairs below. I picked up another jar and waited patiently once more, the icy cold centering me.

When the fresh wave of zombies reached me, I tossed the jar at them mechanically. I repeated the violence of fire nine times. Each time, there were fewer zombies to kill.

I was down to my last jar when silence finally filled the air. I waited patiently for more to come, my lighter held at the ready. It was foolish to think I had seen the last of them. The seconds turned into a minute. The minute seemed to stretch in front of me forever.

At the end of that minute, I heard the unmistakable sound of heavy boots on the stairs. The steps were confident but cautious. There was no stumbling or shuffling of broken bodies making their painful way up the stairs. The person wasn’t a zombie, but that didn’t mean they were a friend. It could be another shade, perhaps even the shade I had faced at the river. He could have come to finish me himself. My lighter hovered near the mop wick. Sweat ran down my face and body from the tension and adrenaline.

“Julie?”

The voice was familiar. “Carrie?” I asked back, doubting my ears.

“Yeah,” she called. “Don’t shoot me with that stupid crossbow of yours.”

“I won’t,” I promised.

Carrie stepped into view through the broken doors. It was the first time I had ever seen her in the dreamworld. The difference wasn’t subtle. Her red hair was pulled back in to a slick ponytail, and she was dressed in black. She wore heavy boots, a tank top, jeans, and a leather jacket. In her hands was a black shotgun. She had a bag on her back and dual curved knifes strapped to her legs. She was dressed to kill.

“Having fun?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I admitted.

“Harry lost sight of you on the monitors,” Carrie said. “He created a crack between dreams to this world to get you away from the shade you were fighting, because, you know, you can’t be pulled into the grey with a shade controlling the dream, hoping you would take it. You obviously did, but the problem was that he still couldn’t see you to open another door, didn’t know where you had ended up. So, he pulled me out of my dreams and sent me to fetch you. Took us a while to track you down.”

“He can see you?” I asked.

“No. I had to come in here blind. There’s something strange going on with this dream. He didn’t really explain. All he said was to replace you, then get out of the city. It’s supposed to be easier for him to pull us out if we’re not in the center.”

“Let’s go then,” I said, setting my jar of alcohol down. “I’ve had my fun.”

“Come on,” Carrie agreed.

Relief warm and hopeful churning through me, I stepped over the dead zombies. Some were still burning. The stench of burning flesh was no less alarming with her arrival, but I noticed it less. I was more focused on the idea that there was a tangible way out. I wasn’t trapped after all.

We were cautious as we made our way down the five flights. We moved the way we had been trained. I watched Carrie’s back, while she maintained our forward motion.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” I confessed to the back of her head.

“I know. I’m sorry too,” Carrie said. “I know that you care about people.”

“And I know that you’re hard on yourself because you want to help people,” I said. I gestured at our surroundings. “Including me.”

“Hey, what are friends for if not wading into terrifying hellscapes for each other, huh?” Carrie asked, her voice full of dry humor. She frowned. “I also know that you’re keeping something from me. What is it?”

My explanation wasn’t hard to replace. I wasn’t eager to hold on to any more secrets, and my encounter with the shade was proof that I wouldn’t be able to drop the mystery, no matter how much I tried. I had been targeted, and this was far from the end of it.

I told her about being attacked at the fire, the burning of the book, my confrontation with Chris, and the shade that had interrupted my dream. She listened silently, her mind running over the information as she watched and listened for signs of the zombies.

“So that’s why you wanted to back off?” Carrie asked. “You thought it would be safer for us?”

“Yeah,” I said. “But I can’t drop it now. Whoever hit me over the head told that shade about me and the shade came looking for me. It knew my name, Carrie.”

The fact that the shade had known my name freaked me out more than a horde of zombies ever could. Shades were not supposed to know our names. Whoever was working with the shade had broken more than just trust. That person was willing to make us targets in the real world. It went beyond betrayal. I wished that I had hunted the traitor down in the woods instead of going home. I wished I had ended it there.

“We’ll replace him,” she promised, perhaps sensing my fear.

“I hope so,” I said. “Because I don’t think I’ll get lucky again.”

“Good thing Harry is so quick on his feet,” Carrie said. “Most guardians wouldn’t have thought of sending another one of their dreamers in to help…most guardians probably wouldn’t have risked it. And opening the dream up the way he did…”

But I didn’t want to think about how close a call it had been. Not now.

“I hope it didn’t ruin your mission,” I said.

“I was between missions when he pulled me out. Once we’re free, I can finish up,” she said. “No harm done.”

“Good,” I said.

We stepped down the last stair and into the large, open area of the ground floor. There were more dead zombies on the floor, zombies Carrie had killed on her way up. Thirty or so were on the ground. As we passed, they dissolved into grey ash.

“Do you know how it’s possible for so many to be here at once?”

“Harry didn’t say when he sent me,” Carrie said. “I have a guess, though.”

“I’ll take a guess from you over someone else’s certainty any day of the week,” I said.

Carrie smiled at the compliment. “I think we’re in a dream where the person has given up control of their mind. There are lots of reasons why they would, but yeah, not a junk dream, but also not a regular dream either.” She hesitated. “Even if we tried to save the person by killing the shades, it wouldn’t do much good. The shades would just keep spawning. It’s places like this that some shades like to form and grow. It makes it easier to go undetected. There’s so much chaos... That’s why Harry sent you here. It’s harder to track dreamers, too, and the shade that was hunting you wouldn’t be able to sense you.”

We stopped at the broken front doors and peered outside. There were more zombies on the road, but not nearly as many as before. Crawlers had come with the horde. Their black bodies stood out against the cracked pavement and stark light of the fires that raged in the city. They weren’t trying to hide. They trusted the chaos to give them easy prey. Their clicking and hissing mingled with the moans of the shades. The stench of rotted flesh mixed with the crawlers’ unique brand of awful.

Carrie pointed her shotgun to the west. “We need to go that way.”

“Together,” I said.

Carrie nodded once, and we stepped out through the door.

Fighting through the zombies and crawlers wasn’t as difficult with Carrie at my side. What would have been impossible for one was easy for us. We made our way west carefully, but quickly, pushing through our enemies with violence and blood. Finally, the pavement ended, and a large stretch of wilderness abruptly took over. The second I stepped off the road, I felt a familiar tug.

“I’ll see you on the other side,” I said.

“Don’t get lost this time,” Carrie said with a smile.

I smiled back and felt the welcome pull of the grey. As soon as I touched down, I let out an explosive breath. Tension and fear coursed through my body, but it was nothing compared to the righteous anger and relief that I had made it out alive.

When I woke up, the anger stayed with me. It was the second time in a week I had left the dreamworld angry. My room was dark. The clock by my bed told me it was three o’clock in the morning. My body was drenched in sweat, proof of the exertion I had faced.

I yanked the sensors off my face and stood. I started pacing, letting the anger make its natural course through my body, centering myself in it. Harry wouldn’t check on me until later. The others still needed him to watch over them, so any conversations between us had to wait. But I wouldn’t be able to wait for him in my room. It was too claustrophobic.

Being quiet was useless in a house where people were drugged into sleep, so I swung open my door and stomped into the living room. I had barely sat down when a knock came from the front door. Through the glass panels on the door, I saw three people: Mrs. Z., Bernard, and Chris. Confused but curious, I opened the door.

Each person had a different reaction as I stepped into view. Mrs. Z. eyed me analytically, checking for injuries, while Bernard stared at me as if he had never seen a girl before. Chris eyed the house and the property suspiciously, as if I were invisible.

I stared at them, waiting for them to make the first move. I knew why they had come, but I wasn’t eager to see Chris or Mrs. Z., to face more half-truths meant to warn me or bitter words thrown like grenades.

“May we come in, Miss Aim?” Mrs. Z. asked.

“Yeah,” I said.

I stepped out of the way and they filed inside. Mrs. Z. and Bernard sat on the sofa and chair, while Chris walked a circle around the living room, homework room, and kitchen. I wasn’t sure what he was looking for. It was possible he thought enemies were hiding in the cupboards. With his paranoia and anger problems, he probably saw enemies in the mirror. Mrs. Z. waited patiently for me to join her on the sofa, while I stared at Chris in a mixture of dislike and curiosity. I finally gave in to Mrs. Z.’s silent command and tentatively sat.

“Please tell me exactly what you experienced,” Mrs. Z. said.

My voice was technical, precise as I told her my story. The precision was the only way to keep my anger in check and not vent my frustration and fear on them. Mrs. Z. kept her eyes on my face throughout the telling. Her eyes flickered with emotion a couple of times, especially when I mentioned the shade I had encountered, but her expression remained neutral.

“I see,” Mrs. Z. said when I was finished. “You carried yourself well, Miss Aim. I am impressed.”

“I’m not looking to impress you, ma’am,” I said.

Chris had found his way back to the living room. He was leaning against the front door, and he chuckled at my words.

I ignored him and continued with, “I just want to stop this guy from attacking anyone else.”

“That is Chris’ task,” Mrs. Z. confessed.

“Great,” I said sarcastically.

“He will take care of the shade,” Mrs. Z. promised in a way that also chastised me for my rudeness. “What else can you remember about the shade? Were there any physical characteristics that stood out?”

“What? You think he’s taken the same shape in our world and is walking around plotting to end Grey Haven with a face we recognize?” I asked. Mrs. Z. didn’t reply. She waited sternly for an answer. “Fine. Like I told you, he was sharp angles. He had brown hair, dark eyes. Um, he had a beige suit on and his feet were in the water...”

I closed my eyes and pictured the man. It wasn’t hard to bring up the details. They were sharp and clear. He was a nightmare that wouldn’t leave me anytime soon. I opened my eyes again as the picture materialized. I realized why the man’s feet had been in the water. It was a detail that had previously escaped me.

“His feet were burned,” I said. “I think that’s why they were in the water.”

“Bastian,” Chris said. His blue eyes brightened with understanding and he stopped leaning against the door.

“Mmm-hhmm,” Mrs. Z. agreed with Chris.

“If he’s here, then…” Chris started to say.

Mrs. Z. held up a hand to silence him. “You’ve done more than you think this night,” Mrs. Z. said to me. “But I’m afraid that I am going to have to suspend your dreamer duties. Effective immediately.”

I shot to my feet and let my anger flow out from where I had been keeping it bottled. Being suspended from dreaming was worse than ending up trapped in a world of zombies with no obvious way out. It was punishment for something I didn’t do. “What?!” I demanded.

“Just until we resolve this situation,” Mrs. Z. said. “You have gained the attention of a powerful shade and his traitor here at Grey Haven. I simply cannot take the risk.”

“Isn’t risk what we do?” I demanded. “Isn’t that what you told me when you offered me the chance to come here? You said that we take risks so that others can live in peace. You said it was noble work and that the risks and sacrifices we made were worth saving people’s lives. And now, when things get a little difficult, you tell me it’s too dangerous?”

Bernard looked as if I had slapped him in the face at my yelling. The surprise turned swiftly to anger. “Think about who you are talking to!” Bernard chastised me.

“It is okay, Bernard,” Mrs. Z. said. Her light-colored eyes turned to me. Her expression was neutral, but I saw two vastly different emotions in her eyes. One was anger for my disrespectful tone; the other was pride that I was unwilling to back down so easily. Mrs. Z. stood and fixed her dress primly. When she spoke, her voice was cold. “In all my years of running Grey Haven, I have never let a student walk into a situation I knew could kill them. I have misjudged students’ abilities, but I have never sent them out on a mission I knew would get them killed. We build students up, so that they may face the powerful shades when they are ready. We do not throw powerful enemies at you. The shade has proven that it’s capable of pulling you out of dreams and hurting you. It has proven it wants you dead. You are my responsibility, Miss Aim, and my decision is final.”

“What’s the point of me staying then?” I asked.

“It is not a permanent change,” Mrs. Z. said.

“You can’t promise that,” I said.

“No, I cannot,” Mrs. Z. agreed reluctantly.

“I’m not going to sit around and wait for him,” I pointed at Chris, “or you, to figure out what’s going on,” I said.

“Leaving is even more dangerous than staying,” Mrs. Z. said. “Out there, we cannot protect you.”

“I can protect myself,” I said. “Besides, you don’t seem to be doing that great of a job protecting me here.”

Mrs. Z. sighed. “I cannot stop you from leaving, of course. The decision is yours.”

“Damn straight,” I said.

Mrs. Z. walked over to the door. Bernard jumped up and rushed to open it for her. Chris shifted out of their way silently. He was back to surveying the house and furniture now that the conversation was done. His eyes glanced across my face a couple of times, but it was only because I was standing in the way of the décor.

Mrs. Z. paused at the threshold. She turned to look at me, eyes soft. “If you do choose to stay, I promise that I will not keep you on the sidelines. There is work to be done here at Grey Haven. You can help me accomplish it.”

She left without waiting for a reply, Bernard on her heels. Chris took in the room one last time, memorizing it, then followed them silently. He left the door open, probably just to irritate me. I huffed and stomped over to the door to close it, hating him as much as I hated this situation.

Before I shut the door, I saw Mrs. Z. and Chris talking at the edge of the yard. Bernard was in the car, texting on his phone. I couldn’t hear what Chris and Mrs. Z. were whispering about, but they were clearly arguing. Chris’ expression gave their argument away more than Mrs. Z.’s did. She was resolved, not angry.

I turned away from them to pack my things, feeling conflicted about my choice but as decided as Mrs. Z. seemed to be. I wasn’t going to sit around and wait for another attack. I was done playing by Mrs. Z.’s rules, done being used in someone else’s game. Too, I wasn’t sure who to trust anymore. There was no telling who had drawn the shade to me, and I refused to sit and wait for it to happen again. I was many things, but I wasn’t foolish enough to become bait.

My regret at leaving Grey Haven – and Tommy and Carrie – wouldn’t change the facts in front of me. I had to leave, and I had to replace the truth before it was too late, for me and for the school. It was the only way forward; it was the only way to survive. And I always survived.