Chasing Shadows (15 page)

But the Shadow had. 

She was honest with herself and acknowledged that descending into the depths of the labyrinthine halls below was so daunting because she was completely alone this time. Will had been with her that day—he always seemed to be there when she needed him most—so strong and reassuring as he guided her to her friend, and his compassion for her that night in the midst of her distress had cemented him in Sarah’s heart.

Will’s concern for her had never been fabricated. It was never more obvious to her than when she’d realized that he had stayed by her side for days after she’d been poisoned. Her stomach warmed at the memory, and she knew that if Will was with her at this moment—regardless of the unresolved feelings between them—he would hold her hand to guide her. She longed for that comfort now.

The stairs ended, and she stopped where the hallway curved to the left. She held her candle high, the light bouncing off the cold walls and casting shadows across the dark path until they faded into the blackness.

“Follow the path around to the left.” Hoping to break the stony silence around her and keep her mind from making the darkness more sinister than it truly was, Sarah whispered aloud the instructions from the servant she’d met at the top of the stairs—the same man who had also kindly provided her with the small candle. The hallways and turns had easily confused Sarah, and he had been the third servant she’d asked directions from, not to mention the guard who’d seemed none too happy to be interrupted from his important duty of standing in front of a door. She had decided to steer clear of any guards for the rest of her stay at the castle.

“Do not veer off to the right too soon,” she whispered, her breath causing the flame to flicker and nearly go out. Sarah froze and sucked in a lungful of stale air, terrified at the possibility of being left in complete darkness. She hardly dared to breathe even after the flame came back to life.

With one hand cupped protectively behind her only source of light, Sarah moved slowly through the passageway, her eyes flickering to the dancing flame every now and then as she mentally went over the directions—
Third arch, go right. Follow the stairs down . . . take the left tunnel.

Making her way down yet another flight of stairs, she walked forward slowly, stopping, almost against her will, in the middle of the floor where the four passageways connected. Her spine tingled in apprehension an instant before she realized where she was. She told her feet to move down the tunnel leading to the alchemist’s lab so she could abandon her wandering in the creepy tunnels. But still, she found she couldn’t move.

These passages all looked impossibly similar, but the tightening in her stomach told her that if she continued on through the tunnel just ahead, she would end up in the dungeons. She wasn’t sure if it was out of morbid curiosity or nostalgia for that night nearly a millennia ago, but Sarah found herself straining to hear any sound coming from the tunnel as she stared into the darkness ahead.

She was so focused on listening for noises coming from the dungeon that she didn’t hear the rat until it climbed over her foot. Her shriek echoed off the stones as she jumped away from the vermin, though it had already scampered down another corridor, squeaking in fright. Sarah lost her grip on the candleholder, futilely grappling for it in the air. The small flame was extinguished by the wind her flailing hands stirred, and she lost sight of it before it clattered to the ground.

Frozen in terror, her heart beat erratically against her chest. The candle was useless to her now since she had no way of lighting it, so she didn’t bother searching for it in the dark. She stood there, body rigid, staring at the lighted tunnel but too afraid to move an inch.

In the total darkness that enveloped her, she waited for the grating noise of dragging chains and the sound of life wasting away to start up suddenly, or the blood-curdling screams of torture and whimpering children and prisoners who had given up hope. At the very least Sarah expected to be able to hear a guard or two shuffling around in the passage as they moved from cell to cell, checking on the neglected inmates.

Nothing.

The absence of noise was somehow more ominous than the ones Sarah had braced herself for. She shivered as a cold wind whistled softly in the tunnel on its way to her, curling through her hair and touching her body with icy fingers as it brushed past her. A whip suddenly snapped somewhere down the way. She jerked in surprise, and her breath caught when she made out the faint sound of the lifeless, almost inhuman moan that rode on the breeze coming from what she imagined must be the torture chamber.

Sarah’s bones chilled at the hollow, wavering sound of someone too weak to cry out, and she stood there another moment in wide-eyed horror, feeling helpless to do anything. Could she help whoever was being beaten? Did they deserve punishment? Maybe she could steal a guard’s key and release the prisoners, then whisk them off to the forest where they could build a village of their own.

Her shoulders sagged in defeat when reality struck and she regained her senses: She was no Robin Hood—she was nobody’s hero. With no weapons and even less common sense if she followed through with her tomfool plan, she would never be able to overpower the guards, carry the wounded prisoners to safety, and even though her dad owned a hardware store, she had absolutely no idea how to build anything if it didn’t come with instructions, let alone an entire town from scratch. She was powerless to do anything, and she knew some of them belonged in there, anyway.  

The reminder was like a bucket of ice water over her head, and she quickly ducked into the safety of the tunnel on the left, though she felt like a coward for doing so. But there was nothing she could do to help them, and her interference would only make things worse when she failed.

Even escaping into the warmth of the lit tunnel wasn’t enough to abate the remaining chill from the cold wind and the hollow moan it had carried with it. Rubbing her arms to warm them, Sarah stood close to one of the mounted torches, relishing its warmth as she looked for the open doorway belonging to the alchemist. Spotting the wide, door-less entrance a ways down the long corridor, Sarah nearly skipped to the entrance in her haste. A drawer slammed shut from inside the room just as she stepped into the doorway, rattling the vials and tubes on the table at the center of the room.

The only person in the small space—a slight, wiry man—was hastily trying to right the instruments he had overturned on the two shelves stacked at the back of the table. He looked frazzled at her sudden appearance, though Sarah was fairly certain she had made enough of a racket to alert him of her presence as she ran like a frightened mouse through the corridor.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” She stood in the doorway, unsure if she would be of more use helping him clean up or staying out of his way. Before she could make up her mind, he had put all the empty vials back in their places and straightened the contents of the table. He looked up and shot her a nervous smile through the menagerie of vials, his right eye magnified through one of the shakers filled with a clear green liquid, giving him the look of a mad scientist.

Through the gap between the bottom shelf and the table, she could see him ball his shaking hands into a fist. “Not at all!” His voice sounded constricted and overly bright, and he cleared his throat. “You must tell the prince’s advisor that it is not quite ready yet. I will alert him the moment of its completion.”

Sarah blinked. “Oh, I’m not here because of the prince or Cadius.”

The older man rubbed a twitching finger beneath his straight nose, and she noticed that there was a small pink mark on either side, like he had been pinching it earlier. He narrowed his eyes at her, like he was squinting to see better in the brightly lit room. “Oh? I assumed you came to summon me on behalf of the prince. Is there something else for which my assistance is required?”

His apprehension was palpable. Sarah stepped into the room and stood on the other side of the desk. She leaned down to better see him through the shelves and smiled, putting on a calm and open expression to alleviate his nervousness. “I’m supposed to collect some herbs for a poultice. Damien Lisandro sent me.”

“The lord?” He appeared surprised, raising his nutmeg-colored eyebrows until they nearly touched the smattering of gray at his temples. “Was someone injured?”

Now it was Sarah’s turn to look surprised. Stories seemed to circulate quickly among the staff, and she’d assumed that everyone had heard about the encounter between Damien and the doctor by now. How far removed from the world was this man? “Well, the lord was stabbed, actually. By the doctor.”

His eyes widened as they searched her face for the truth, revealing irises that matched the patches of darker hair on his head. The candlelight played off the gray flecks speckling the brown of his eyes, making his surprise and disbelief even more apparent. “The physician? I can scarcely believe such an account.”

“I saw it happen myself.” Well, that wasn’t entirely true, since she hadn’t
actually
seen the doctor stab Damien, but she had heard them arguing, which was practically the same thing. “Were you friends with the doc“—Sarah corrected herself—“the physician?”

“I would not go so far as to say that. We were more . . . colleagues,” he answered slowly, sounding guarded. “But Malcolm hardly seems the type to attack anyone, let alone a lord. It just seems so unlikely.”

He was around the desk and mere inches from her before Sarah was fully aware of his movements. His look was a mix of urgency and curiosity and . . . excitement? How starved was this man for news from upstairs? “You said you saw the event?”

“I didn’t technically
see
it happen,” Sarah admitted. “But I did hear the two of them arguing about something, and it was pretty obvious what the physician had done.”

The gray in the man’s eyes sparkled in the light. “Ah, so you did not see it with your own eyes.” He paused. “Are you quite sure they were having a disagreement?”

Sarah thought back. Had it been only just this morning? “I didn’t catch all of it. But the physician sounded peeved about something, and they were definitely arguing.”

Stroking his beard thoughtfully, he asked, “Is it possible that someone put him up to it?”

Sarah thought about that and then shrugged her shoulders, wondering what he was implying. “I didn’t see anyone else, if that’s what you mean.”

“The eyes can be deceptive,” he murmured. For whatever reason, the corner of his mouth tipped, as if he were holding a secret.

“Your name, child?”

“Sarah. I’m one of the—” She halted, remembering that she was no longer a maid. “I’m staying at the castle.”

He smiled with pleasure that wasn’t fabricated. “The honor is mine.” He dipped his head. “Charles Ashmore, at your disposal.” 

~Chapter 17~

Sarah gaped at him, mentally slapping herself on the forehead for her stupidity. “Professor?” she whispered when she found her voice.

Charles started, appearing alarmed at the use of his adopted daughter’s name for him. “Where on earth did you hear that?”

Automatically glancing at the door to make sure they were alone, Sarah suddenly wondered when she’d become so paranoid. Was this what it was like for Karen, constantly looking over her shoulder and wondering if the next person she encountered would turn her in?

And Will. He must live with the same kind of anxiety that someone might uncover his secret. Sarah began to understand the closed-off, stony-faced Will she originally met. But he had to know it was inevitable—someone would eventually discover who he was, and Sarah was fearful that even with all the good he had done, there were those who would see him hanged without a second thought.

Sarah realized that the professor was gripping her shoulders. “Child, where did you hear that name?”

She blinked at his intensity and underlying excitement. “You are the professor, aren’t you?”

Even in the silence, the look on his face was enough of an answer. Sarah could hardly believe she had found him and that she might have walked away without ever realizing who he was. Though Charles Ashmore and Karen were not related by blood, somehow she had expected them to resemble each other. But the only similarity between the two was their slight figures and penchant for science, though even that was far more extreme on the professor’s part.

Inclining her head toward him, she held up the hand with the watch on it and whispered, “I’m a friend of Karen’s. You know, a
friend
of Karen’s.”

The light in the professor’s eyes seemed to brighten as he examined the watch, though he was careful to keep his expression even. She could tell he was practically bursting with excitement, but his voice was controlled as he hedged, “Are you saying that you are from . . .?”

He let the question hang, and Sarah grinned at the game he was playing, though she couldn’t fault his caution. “I’m from Oklahoma, in the twenty-first century,” she whispered.

Charles let out a hearty laugh that startled her. “I knew there was something strange about you! How on earth did my dear girl manage such a feat? Were you in the lab with her? Have you come to this country before? Are you showing any side affects yet? Come, come—sit down and tell me everything!”

Sarah felt a little overwhelmed with all of his questions as he guided her to a stool behind the table. She watched the man open the only drawer built into the table, quickly pulling her knees up as he jerked the compartment open. Charles hardly seemed to notice her, nor did he appear to realize that she hadn’t answered a single one of his questions.

His eyes were almost feverish in light of this possible “discovery,” and Sarah could almost see the wheels in his scientifically inclined mind spinning wildly. Now that he was no longer in character, she was able to see the eccentricities that Karen had alluded to before, and the fact that the professor had neglected to ask after Karen’s welfare wasn’t lost on her, either.

Charles produced a pair of wire-rimmed glasses from the drawer and slid them on. “There, now!” he exclaimed, sounding surprised. “Aren’t you a young thing?”

Sarah couldn’t tell if that was a compliment or an insult. “I’m eighteen, Mr. Ashmore—just a little younger than Karen.” The hint fell flat, and she sighed. Pointing at the glasses with a lone finger, she asked, “Why did you stash those before I came in?” 

He smiled at her. “You are astute, aren’t you? My dear girl has found herself a like-minded ally, I see.” Waving to his glasses, he replied, “I hid these because I assumed you were one of the guards, and we don’t want to introduce spectacles into society too early now, do we?” His English accent became more apparent as he spoke, and Sarah vaguely recalled Karen mentioning that he taught at Oxford for a time.

His eyes drifted to the open doorway, and he frowned deeply, muttering, “Now I have to be especially careful of guards walking in on me unannounced, since Cadius ordered the door removed. I would hate for my research to be interrupted by a trip to the gallows for witchcraft if they saw my spectacles as a threat. Though I am nearly blind without them,” he continued unhappily, adjusting the glasses on the bridge of his nose.

“That’s kind of why I’ve been helping Karen out,” Sarah baited.

He blinked. “So I won’t be sent to the gallows?”

Sarah resisted an exasperated sigh. Charles might be intelligent enough to unearth a notch in time, but he was completely oblivious when it came to human subtly. “
Nooo.
I tried to help
Karen
when
she
was in prison on the charge of being a witch.”

She was rewarded with a flash of worry lines across his forehead. She wouldn’t normally put so much effort into drawing a negative response from someone, but Sarah felt that her friend deserved some concern for all she had been through, especially from the man who had raised her after her parents died.

“Is she all right?” he asked. His eyes flickered to the doorway, and Sarah could almost see his mind going to the dungeons. “Is she still here?”

“No, the Shadow saved her just before she was supposed to hang.”

The professor’s head whipped around to face her. “The legend? He’s real? Have you seen him yourself?”

This time she sighed aloud. Charles’ attention span was like that of a four-year-old. “Yes, he’s real. He and I are sort of friends,” she answered honestly. At least, she hoped they were still friends after today.

“Fascinating,” Charles murmured, stroking his bearded-chin. “I so wish I could observe him, but without my eyeglasses . . .”

“Why don’t you just wear your glasses so you can see him for yourself?” Sarah asked, a little more curtly than she had intended. He didn’t seem to notice her sharp tone, but she softened it anyway. “It doesn’t really matter if someone sees them or not. It’s not like it can affect the future, or anything.”

His hand fell away from his chin. “Oh, child, we can’t be certain of that. There are far too many variables to take into account.” Now the hand was waving in the air to exaggerate his point, and he motioned to the vials, tubes, and pouches littering the table and shelves. “That is why I am doing so much research here, and also around the castle when I am permitted—to see if I can find any correlation between the future where we live, the past we know from there, and
this
time where we currently abide. Then perhaps . . .” His voice faded as his eyes drifted to the shelves lining the walls around the small room. Sarah could tell his mind was already working around the complications.       

“But I could help you escape,” she volunteered, surprising herself. But now that the option was out there, it made more sense than Charles remaining here as Cadius’ puppet. “Wouldn’t it be easier to do your research from
outside
the castle?”

She watched him shake his graying head. “I must stay here and find out all that I can.”

Sarah stared at him dubiously. “Don’t you want to be free and see Karen again?”

“I must finish my studies here,” he replied firmly, lifting his sleeve to expose a time watch of his own. “I can leave anytime; I
choose
to stay. Karen knows of my devotion to my creations, my discoveries. She understands why I must remain here.”

Karen had once explained that the professor wanted to remain at the castle with his research, rather than be free with her, though Sarah had assumed that the situation was only temporary. But after meeting Charles for herself, she realized why her friend had longed to be a part of a tight-knit family like the Joneses. The eccentric professor might love Karen and be her last surviving relation, but Sarah could imagine why it had never felt like
home
with Charles Ashmore.

“It’s quite the little ruse you have going on here.” Sarah swirled her index finger in the air to indicate the room.

Charles smiled as if they shared some great secret. “I was quite fortunate to have been caught when I was. Look at me!” She tried to return his enthusiasm, but her smile was weak. He didn’t appear to notice, anyway. “And the master Cadius takes such fascination in my work and has readily financed all of my studies, even providing tests for me to conduct. It is so refreshing to be appreciated for my talents.”

“I’d imagine so,” Sarah murmured, though she wasn’t sure a response was necessary.

“So!” He clapped his hands together, startling her. She was having a difficult time keeping up with him. Sarah watched as he rubbed his palms together eagerly, staring at her like she was an appetizing dish that he was preparing to dive into. “You never did say how you came to be here.”

With a sigh, she told him about the watch being damaged and the storm at her house that had pulled her and Lilly back in time, and then she relayed how Karen had found them.

“And you say it deposited you at Karen’s exact location?” the professor interrupted.

Sarah thought back. “Yeah, I would say we were pretty close to each other.”

“Fascinating.” Charles went back to stroking his short beard, and she could tell he was no longer talking to her as he mused, “Obviously, the damage done to the timepiece did not disable the GPS, or they would not have arrived in such close proximity to the watch.” He motioned for her to continue. “What happened after that?”

Surprised to be addressed again, Sarah blinked and then continued with her story, watching his eyes widen enthusiastically when she talked about encountering Gabriel Dunlivey and the Shadow in the forest, but he managed not to interrupt this time. “Then Karen said that the watch had enough energy to transport, so I sent my sister back.”

“So it
did
lose power when it was damaged?” he clarified.

“Yeah. Karen mentioned that something similar happened before.”

Charles nodded. His expression turned suddenly grave “Yes. After the disloyalty of a colleague of mine, I brought into our confidence one of my students, a rather young man with a brilliant mind for science and history. We experienced a similar event, though he recovered enough power to return.” He swallowed thickly. “After nearly losing him, we managed to protect most of the system from multiple types of destruction—water damage, heat exposure, etcetera—but we never discovered how to maintain the energy store once it had been damaged, without returning to the lab for modifications, that is.”

Sarah didn’t waste her breath telling him that he could go home and work on the issue. The professor seemed lost to his own thoughts and didn’t pose any more questions, but now her own curiosity was longing to be satisfied.

“Mr. Ashmore?”

He blinked as if coming out of a trance. “Yes, child? Is there more?”

She cleared her throat quietly. “Well, I really haven’t talked to Karen that much about this whole thing—you know, wormholes and continuums, and all—but earlier you asked me if I was showing any side affects. What did you mean by that?”

The man appeared baffled. “You mean Karen did not discuss it with you?” Sarah shook her head, and he mimicked the movement. “Just after we replaced the machine with the more convenient watches, we three were able to travel quite frequently and with great ease, so we never bothered to stay in one place and time for very long. But then we began to notice . . . changes,” he answered carefully.

Sarah narrowed an eye. “What kind of changes?”

He seemed hesitant to answer, and Sarah felt her trepidation return. “You must understand that time travel is no simple feat. Your body is solid mass and does not simply reside somewhere one moment and then—
poof
!—appear in another the next instant. It must first be broken down, every molecule disintegrated and altered into transferable atoms that can . . . float through time and space, so to speak.”

He held his hands in front of him, palms-up, the expression on his face almost apologetic. “For a few brief moments, you cease to exist. It’s the only possible way to move through the fabric of time—to be broken down on a molecular level. But the alteration of the genome is so severe that sometimes it cannot be properly reformed when a jumper is dropped and pieced together again.” The professor smiled slightly at a memory. “That is what my student called us—jumpers.”

With a blink that pulled him from his spell, his hands started moving again as he became more animated in his explanation. “The alterations and degeneration of atoms is a highly extreme process—fragmentation of ones very genetic makeup is hardly natural.” Charles laughed as thought he’d made a joke. Sarah blinked, and he went on, straight-faced once more. “Thus they are unnaturally reformed, sometimes erroneously and haphazardly when ones organs become exhausted from scrambling to piece together a human being.”

She snapped her mouth closed. “So, you’re saying that I could grow an extra toe, or something?”

Charles actually laughed at this, though she was being completely serious. “An additional appendage—what an idea! I would very much like to see that.” Sarah gaped at him, but he didn’t appear to notice as he resumed waving his hands expressively before him. “I suppose it’s possible, if given enough time. Eventually, the genome alterations would be irreversible, though we have yet to experience so extreme a change.”