Book of Night(36)

“There’s something wrong with your shadow,” Posey said in a hushed voice.

Charlie looked down. There was no ripple, but it had acquired a slight delay between her actions and its response. In all other ways, her shadow followed her movements exactly, yet Charlie had the disturbing feeling it was mimicking them.

“Do you know what’s going on with it?” Charlie asked, thinking of an article she’d seen. Ten Ways to Wake Your Shadow, according to BuzzFeed. Put a bag over your head. Hold your breath underwater. Hit your hand with a hammer. One thing that hadn’t come up: being attacked by another shadow.

Posey frowned as though this was the beginning of a particularly unkind joke. And it would be, for Charlie to get what Posey most wanted. No one knew why some shadows quickened while others never would. Trauma seemed to be a component, but not a surefire method. But if Charlie had magic, well, it was hard to think past the idea that her sister would hate her.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” Posey asked, effectively changing the subject.

Charlie sighed. “The guy made his shadow change shape. It became solid. Knocked things over. Knocked me over.”

“From one of the gangs?” Posey asked.

Charlie thought of Salt and shook her head. “I think he was working for someone independent.”

Her sister looked skeptical. “You take something from him?”

“Not yet.” Charlie stood, walking her half-empty plate over to the sink. As she did, she saw that the white van was in the driveway, parked, lights off. No one seemed to be sitting inside. She remembered the splash of headlights. “Did Vince come back?”

Posey shrugged as though nothing could interest her less. “I don’t know. Did he?”

“I’m going to go see if he’s okay.” Charlie stuck her bare feet into a pair of work boots that Vince had abandoned near the door, the soles encrusted with dirt. They were much too big and her feet slid around in them, but she thought she could manage a slow stagger.

“He’s fine. Why wouldn’t he be?” Posey asked, standing. “I’m going to go check in with some friends. We have a chat tonight.”

“You can’t tell anyone what I told you,” Charlie cautioned.

“I don’t need to say it happened to my sister,” Posey said, exasperated, as though the idea of not telling people was ridiculous.

“No one,” Charlie insisted.

“Whatever,” Posey said, lifting her phone to take a video of Charlie’s shadow. At Charlie’s expression, she sighed dramatically. “I’m just trying to figure out what’s wrong with your shadow.”

Charlie had been waiting for Posey to at least float the possibility that it had quickened. That she hadn’t was a relief, and if Charlie felt some small measure of disappointment, it was easily ignored.

Charlie headed outside, the slam of the screen cutting off her thoughts on the subject. Her feet sloshed around in Vince’s too-large boots as she walked around to the side of the house, and she tightened her robe against the icy breeze.

She found Vince on the back steps, staring up at the stars.

He seemed to have lost his jacket. He had his arms folded over his knees, forehead resting on his wrists, t-shirt pulled tight across his shoulders. The motion-sensing lamp over the back door gave off a faint golden glow, gilding him. Moths circled, sending little shadows over his shadowless body. He must have been sitting there for a while.

When he turned, his face was carefully blank, as though he’d made it that way for her.

Charlie rested her hand on the chilled skin of his arm, and he sucked in his breath.

“You okay?” she asked, and he nodded.

It occurred to her with a sinking heart just how much she liked him. She should have realized at Barb’s house, when she’d been so angry with Suzie. Or when she continued to check for the photo in his wallet. Or at any moment before this one, when she’d discovered how little she knew about him.

He tipped his head up. “Do you think that stars have shadows?”

She followed his gaze. They were close enough to Springfield for light pollution to dull the night skies, but galaxies still spangled above them. The moon had marched nearly to the end of her night, ready to stagger to her own bed at dawn.

“I guess if there’s some brighter star,” she said, thinking of lying on the couch months ago, a deep-voiced man explaining the universe on her television while she tried to convince herself to apply for a new job. “Like the kind that’s about to become a black hole. Don’t they flare first?”

Vince nodded. “Quasars. They flare as they’re dying. I guess that would give any other star nearby a shadow.”

She thought about the struggling, squirming thing attached to the bearded man. She thought about just how sideways Vince’s night had gone—from attempted good deed to body disposal. Just because he’d lied to her, it didn’t mean she wasn’t sympathetic to how terrible the last few hours must have been. Even if he’d seemed calm, even if he’d killed before, that didn’t mean he was okay. Maybe she wasn’t the only person pretending to be fine. Reaching over, she took his hand.

He flinched a little, as though she’d surprised him.

“That guy could have killed me.” It was hard for Charlie to judge how long she’d been unconscious, but it had been long enough. “So, if you’re feeling guilty, you should stop.”